23. John
23
JOHN
A few days later, I stop by Grandpa Malone’s house, and the smell of fresh paint assaults my nostrils as soon as I enter. Everything in the foyer and living room seems brighter and brand-new. “This place is looking better already.”
“Right?” Aaron’s finishing up painting a window sash in the dining area. “It’s amazing what a little declutter and an update will do for a room.”
“Along with someone who knows what they’re doing.” The compliment makes Aaron smile. “Is Micah around?”
He motions toward the second floor. “Upstairs. Been there all morning.”
I climb the steps to his room, the space still so familiar.
We spent plenty of time here in high school when we were first getting to know one another and falling in love. When Micah was grounded or in trouble, which seemed like always, I would climb the trellis outside his window. He’d let me in, and we’d try hard to be quiet while we talked and touched and kissed until our mouths were swollen, but we could never get our fill. Grandpa Malone caught us a couple of times and eventually made the message clear that I was to use the front entrance.
I knock on his bedroom door, noting the worn, warped wood. The house is old, but I can see how Aaron would find it appealing. “Come in.”
I enter Micah’s room and find him sitting on the floor, a shoebox in front of him.
“What are you up to?”
His eyes brighten upon seeing me. “I found this in the closet.”
The lid is off, and inside is stuff from his childhood—trading cards, playbills, fishing lures—and even more memories begin to flood my brain. Tears streaming down Micah’s cheeks after the cheating incident, locking himself in his room, skipping school and watching endless hours of movies to numb his mind. Me holding him, urging him to return to classes before he flunked out.
“Someday, I’ll be in a movie.”
Micah loves action-adventure and sci-fi most of all.
“I don’t doubt it.” We’re side by side on the bed, arms touching, neither of us having the willpower to scoot away. It’s been happening more and more, us sitting or lying too close, as if a magnet is pulling us together.
He grits his teeth. “No matter what the locals say.”
“What do they say?” My question is hesitant, given how upset he seems.
“That I’ll never amount to anything. Just like my father used to tell me.”
“Fuck him.” Anger surges inside me. I have this need to protect Micah, to shelter him from any more hurt. “And don’t you dare let them make you feel that way.”
“I can see why they do,” he mutters. “I’ve been in trouble most of my life.”
“My mom says you’re just misunderstood.”
He snorts. “Guess that’s one way of putting it.”
I meet his eyes. “Why do you do it, then?”
“Do what?”
“Get in trouble so much.”
He lifts a shoulder. “At first, it was resentment. I hated my home life, hated my dad, but maybe after I moved here, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy—that’s what the social worker said—like I wanted to show them all how bad I could be.”
“Mom’s never believed you’re bad,” I murmur. “Neither do I.”
I hear his breath catch. I can’t look at him—all I can do is focus on staying still, hoping he never decides to scoot away. Instead, he settles in, his arm relaxing against mine, the contact making the hairs on my arm tingle. I exhale, feeling like I can breathe again just having him near.
My mom had no idea at the time about my growing feelings for my best friend, and I thought they were just on my part. I didn’t realize he shared them until the night we woke up tangled together in my sheets. It was the first time I felt how hard he was against me before he bashfully rolled away.
I sink down on the carpet next to Micah as he lifts a silver ring from the bottom of the box.
My heart throbs upon seeing his wedding band. “I put it in here for safekeeping last time I was home—after we decided to separate.”
“Mine is stored away too.” In the bottom of my underwear drawer. Some days I miss the feel of it on my finger. The feeling of belonging to someone. Not that a piece of jewelry always reflects what’s in someone’s heart.
He frowns as he twists it in his fingers. “It’s tarnished from not being used.”
I reach for the band to inspect it closer and notice the copper showing through the silver finish. “It’s not like they’re real. We couldn’t afford much at the time.”
We’d stepped into a shop on the strip in Vegas and randomly bought a couple of silver rings after attaining our marriage license. They were cheap and essentially amounted to costume jewelry.
“That’s what I liked about them.” I smile fondly at the memory. “That our wedding was no frills, only you and me, an idea born out of love and some dumb rings.”
“Yeah, me too.” His expression is earnest as he sets the ring in the box again, making the ache in my chest grow.
“What are those playbills from?” I ask, trying to ease the intensity of the moment.
“High school.” He smirks as he lifts the program with A Christmas Carol displayed on the front. “Remember when Ms. Hart was doubtful I could stay out of trouble, let alone stick to a schedule, but she gave me the part anyway?”
“Not only were you the perfect Ebenezer Scrooge,” I tease, “but I remember how excited you were to be included at all.”
“I’ll always be grateful for that opportunity.” It was the beginning for him, of finding something meaningful again and getting his life together.
Not that he knew what to do with himself after we graduated. I was busy with opening the bar, and he worked available shifts in my family’s businesses. Micah was essentially lost without a plan until I suggested he attend theatrical workshops outside Aqua Vista. But it still didn’t seem like enough. I always had an inkling we’d end up exactly where we are today.
He thumbs through the program. “I wonder what Ms. Hart’s up to nowadays. Think she’s still running drama club?”
“You can always drive over to Sunrise Bay. See if she’s still around.”
“Maybe I should—or not. Why would she want to see a former student?”
“Are you kidding?” I elbow him playfully. “You were one of her favorite people. She’d love to hear what you’re up to. Or maybe she already knows.”
He frowns. “Doubtful.”
“I think she’s followed your career. Last time I saw her was years ago, though, with a group of teachers celebrating the beginning of summer break at the bar. We chatted for a bit.”
His eyebrows rise to his hairline. “So you told her I moved to LA?”
“Uh-huh.” Micah sulks, no doubt worried about what she thinks of him leaving. “She seemed excited for you.”
He nods as he replaces the items in the shoebox and closes the lid.
“Anyway, is there a reason for the surprise visit?”
“Thought I’d help with anything you need.”
“I actually think I’m all set.” He stands and wipes imaginary dust off his knees. “I only have one more area to sort through, and Aaron’s about to start priming Grandpa’s room.”
I follow his lead by standing and straightening my clothes. “If he needs help painting, I’m all in.”
“I’ll let him know. Though he’ll likely turn you down like he did me. I have a feeling Aaron is pretty meticulous.”
I smirk. “You’d be right. Ask Jack how much he was allowed to help with other projects.”
“Even the space Jack bought in town?” he muses.
“No clue.” I raise my hands. “And I’m certainly not stepping in the middle of that discussion.”
He snickers. “You’ll have to send me a photo when it’s all finished.”
My gut churns. “Will do.”
“So, um, I was thinking of taking the boat out for a couple of hours.” Micah chews the inside of his cheek. “Want to join me?”
My instinct is to decline, not only because I’m not a big fan of boats but because the more time we spend together before he leaves, the worse it’ll be when he finally does. But I can’t seem to help myself. Besides, I trust Micah, and I know he won’t go too far out. “Only if you can get me back in time to open the bar.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We say our goodbyes to Aaron as we head out the door.
Once on the dock, Micah stops in his tracks in front of the bait shop. Following his gaze, I spot a young adult, possibly in her twenties, behind the counter.
“Must be his granddaughter,” he mutters and opens the door. “I see Cap agreed to get some help.”
She frowns and shifts uncomfortably. “My grandpa had a stroke.”
His face falls. “I’m sorry to hear that. How is he doing?”
Another woman exits the back room, and I can see the likeness, so I can only assume she’s Cap’s daughter. “The doctors say it’ll be a while before he’s on his feet again. In the meantime, we’re helping out around here.”
“Please send him my regards.”
“Poor Cap,” I say as we head down the dock to the boat. “Sounds like you and he have been getting on?”
Micah nods. “Since I first showed up here. He didn’t give me any attitude about what happened back then, and I’m pretty sure he’s told the old-timers to leave me be about it too.”
“Glad to hear it.”
We work quietly together, steering the boat out of the harbor and onto the water. It reminds me of the good old days when it was only the two of us in the early morning hours, sometimes before school, but mostly on the weekends. That must be the reason I can’t tear my eyes from him. Micah looks so damned peaceful out here. Confident too. His composure is different from the one he displayed during the audition process, but it’s unfair to compare the two. One has high stakes, the other is only a hobby. A hobby his grandfather made into a career.
No doubt Micah recognizes the gravity of this place and the boat being linked to his grandfather. There’s history here, and though he won’t readily admit it, it might prove hard for him to leave it behind.
We drop anchor and fish for the better part of two hours, just talking and enjoying each other’s company. Not that I’m truly fishing, only indulging him. And he throws back every catch anyway.
I watch as he closes the tackle box and stores our rods. “Maybe you should’ve saved some cod for my fish fry.”
He straightens. “You think?”
“Uh-huh. Would be awesome.”
“Next time out, I’ll keep that in mind.”
As we head inland, I point toward the pier in Sunrise Bay that leads to the high school. “Let’s dock and go ashore. See what’s what.”
I can see the glint in his eye. “Are you serious?”
“Why not?”
Once there, I help him tie the bow line around a cleat while he handles the spring line near the stern. With the boat secured, we step onto the dock and shake out our sea legs, then head toward the high school, identifying landmarks from our younger days, like the gymnasium and the flagpole where we’d meet each morning.
“Outside of the newer benches,” I observe, “it looks about the same.”
“But smaller,” Micah points out.
“Isn’t that always the case?” I muse.
“Well, except when it comes to Grandpa’s house.” A bewildered look crosses his features. “Somehow, it seems bigger.”
I don’t draw attention to the fact that he lives in a bedroom in someone else’s apartment. But that’s not at the heart of his comment. It’s more that inheriting the house is overwhelming and sobering for a kid who essentially came from nothing. I want to beg him to embrace the history of the Malone family in Aqua Vista, but it would undoubtedly fall on deaf ears. Micah’s got to feel he’s part of his heritage to believe it, instead of an abused child pawned off on his grandfather.
We hear a bell ring, and soon enough, kids file out of the building on their lunch break.
As a group of students get settled at one of the many picnic benches, Micah steps closer. “Excuse me, does Ms. Hart still work here?”
“Yep,” one of the girls replies, then points toward the nearby parking lot. “That’s her car.”
“And there she is!” another student exclaims, and we see her, her shoulder-length black hair now mixed with gray.
Micah sucks in a breath as if his past has come full circle.