12. Chapter 12
“Damn, I bet she’s really taking a beating,” Tommy says as he scrutinizes the newspaper in front of his face and sips tepid coffee.
We’ve been blocking out thresholds all day and are finally taking a break. Gino’s over by the tool bench recharging the nail gun, and I’m next to Tommy at the folding table, pouring hours-old Tim Horton’s coffee into a cup.
“Who?” I ask, in response to Tommy’s question.
“Lizzie.”
I choke on my sip as I see Gino sag a little at the tool bench. “What are you talking about?” I ask.
Tommy looks up at me expectantly, like he can’t believe I don’t know what he’s talking about. Then he looks at Gino who is just shaking his head as he swaps out the battery on the nail gun.
“Dude,” Tommy says. “She misidentified some guy. Called him a sexual predator. I heard the people on the local radio talking about it. They were making fun of the poor sap, Stockwell, I think his name is.”
“Learn when to shut your mouth, Tommy,” Gino interrupts, and I look up to find his apologetic eyes. He sighs. “I heard some talk about it, too, bro. I wasn’t gonna bring it up. Thought it was, I dunno,” he shoots a death glare at Tommy, “distasteful.”
Now Tommy looks apologetic. “Sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking.”
I rip the newspaper from his hands and glance it over, feeling my stomach bottom out. I’m not even sure what exactly they’re talking about, but I do understand Lizzie fucked up. And, yet again, I’m sure it’s my fault. If she’s anywhere near the state I’m in, it’s hard for her to think about anything other than us.
Hell, I almost put the nail gun through my hand last week because I saw her leaving the office earlier in the day with Dee, both caught up in a fit of laughter, and I began thinking maybe it’s best I just stay away from her, seeing as I hadn’t seen her laugh like that in who knows how long.
Whatever mistake she made, I just know she’s beating herself up over it.
I ball up the newspaper and toss it before I swipe a bunch of empty cups and a bag of those little creamer cups off the table and storm out of the shell of a room we’re in. Descending the temporary stairs, I hop down onto the dirt ground and head toward the gravel parking lot, the sound of saws and hammering seeming to creep up on my senses, getting louder and louder, even though I’m getting farther away from the job site.
A hand on my shoulder causes me to spin around. “What?!” I bark out, and see Jenny standing right in front of me.
She jumps back.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“No, no. I’m sorry. I just … I was calling your name, and you didn’t respond.”
I look at her, and then down. Her blonde hair is pulled back and she’s not wearing any makeup, like usual when she’s on the job.
“I just have plans that need to be approved before I can start any paperwork, and I can’t find your dad or your brother. I shouldn’t have come to you, I’m sorry. I can figure it out on my own.”
It’s then I see papers in her hand, and I don’t look at her as I respond. “I’ll tell my dad to come see you first thing in the morning.”
Ever since Jenny and I … well, since we fucked up my marriage, I avoid her at all costs. It hurts because we were good friends.
My dad hired Jenny just out of high school to do some bookkeeping. Even as a young adult, she could handle the foul-mouthed workers who would catcall and whistle at her as she made her way across a jobsite in a pair of jeans and a company T-shirt.
One night, during those early years, we both worked late, and I happened to have a cooler of beer in the back of my truck, so we sat on the tailgate and popped the tops on a couple.
I remember thinking she was cute, her blonde hair a mess from the workday, drywall dust smattered across her nose.
And damn, could she drink. She was already reaching for a second beer before mine even started to gather condensation on the bottle.
“What?” she asked, seeing me eye her.
I glanced away, embarrassed that I was caught ogling. “Nothing,” I said. I took a swig of beer, then added, “I knew you were a tomboy; I just didn’t know you could drink all the guys under the table, too.”
She clicked her tongue and slowly slid off the tailgate, clearly dejected.
“I’m sorry,” I rushed out. “Shit, Jen. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, it’s fine,” she said, dusting off the ass of her pants.
“You know,” I said as I looked up at Jenny and waited for her to look at me. “I don’t just see you as one of the guys.”
She blushed and looked down at her hands. “It’s just, sometimes I don’t feel very feminine. The other day one of the guys took a piss off the deck while I was standing right next to him, for God’s sake. I’m not necessarily offended, but, shit, just maybe a few boundaries.”
“He shouldn’t have done that,” I deadpanned. “Seriously, that’s not cool. And I’ll talk to them.”
“No, please. I don’t want them to think I tattled. And like I said, I’m not offended. I guess I just like to remind everyone that I am still a lady, despite the dirt under my fingernails.”
We shared a silent moment before I replied, “I don’t think anyone needs reminding of that.”
Jenny blushed. “So, wanna head to Norm’s for a round? I heard the guys saying they were gonna head over tonight.”
“Sure.” I nodded.
As we settled into the truck cab, Jenny reached into her purse and pulled out a little baggie with a couple of blue pills in it. She dumped two into her palm and jingled them around for a moment before she side-eyed me.
“You down?” she asked.
When I only raised my eyebrows, she elaborated. “They’re just uppers. Nothing too potent. It’ll just give us energy for a few hours.”
I only paused a moment before I stuck my hand out and she dropped one in my palm.
Jenny got shitfaced that night, and there was something about how inebriated she was, and the sag in her face and eyes that was a turnoff. Also, there was something familiar about it.
I stopped drinking before I got too sloppy, and dropped Jenny off at home.
As I pulled up to her apartment building, I quickly jumped out of the truck and jogged around to her side to help her out. I helped her up the stairs to her apartment and, I can’t lie, the contact felt good. I had one arm around her waist as she slung an arm around my shoulder. My other hand would occasionally find her abdomen when she swayed and needed a steady hand.
She dug her keys out of her purse and fumbled through what seemed like an endless amount of copper before she settled on one, then looked at me. We met face-to-face, our eyes locked, and there I was, staring right back at me. Bloodshot eyes with red veins snaking through cloudy orbs, dilated pupils, saggy lids.
And I’m pretty sure she knew exactly what I saw when I looked at her.
She eventually unlocked her door and made her way inside, and I left her at the threshold.
I expected her to be late to work the next morning, if she showed up at all. But when I walked into the office trailer, there she was, having gotten a ride in.
Jenny’s back was to me as she pulled something from a filing cabinet before shutting the drawer with her hip.
“You’re one of my best friends, Jenny,” I blurted out, and she jumped with surprise before giving me a smile in return.
“Good,” she said.
I nodded.
She nodded.
Then, after a brief stare-off, I turned to leave. As I started to push open the flimsy screen door of the office trailer at the job site, I heard her clear her throat.
“Knox?”
“Yeah,” I turned to look at her.
“You know I need you to sign off on these plans, right?” She held up a stack of papers.
“Oops, shit!”
And just like that, we were good.
I’m a little nervous as I pull open the door to the newspaper office. I’m not sure what Lizzie has told these guys about our situation, buuuut judging by the daggers Dee is firing at me with her eyes, I’m guessing it’s not good.
“Hey, D—”
“Leave.” She has her arms crossed over her chest as she leans back in her chair, chin down, eyes up, glaring at me. Damn, she’s got that glare down pat.
“Look,” I lean my elbows on the counter as I hunch over it. “I didn’t know about the issue with the, you know, error, until today. I just wanted to stop in and see Lizzie. I know it’s got to be killing her.”
Dee lets out a huff. “She’s not here.”
“Oh. Damn. Is she out on assignment?”
“No, limp dick. She’s—”
“Hey, there, Knox. Long time, no see.” I look up to see Monty approaching. His hand is outstretched, and he greets me with a handshake. Thank God it’s a warmer reception than I got from the Ice Queen over here.
“Hey, Monty,” I say as I take his outstretched hand. “I was just looking for Lizzie, but—” I look over at Dee to see her still staring at me, arms still folded across her chest, “I guess she’s not in.”
Monty and Dee exchange a look before he puts his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor, before looking back up at me. “Lizzie is on suspension.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” Monty responds. “She’s not very happy about it.”
“I can imagine.” After a beat I add, “Maybe I’ll swing by the house.”
“The fuck you will!” Dee pipes up.
“Dee,” Monty chides.
“No, Monty! Lizzie is having a bad few fucking days right now, and she doesn’t need you,” she points a finger at me, “coming around when she’s down, trying to make her feel better. Just go home, Knox. Or to Jenny’s, or whoever else’s bed you crawl into these days.”
Ouch. Pinching my lips between my teeth to prevent myself from slinging back any insults to Lizzie’s best friend, I simply turn and head out the door.
“Knox, wait up!” I hear Monty on my heels.
“Nah, man. It’s good. I get it. Lizzie and Dee are tight, and I hurt Lizzie. I would be the same way if someone hurt my brother.”
“Yeah, well, Dee has a way of making insults even more colorful, I guess you could say.”
“Got that right.”
“Look,” Monty says as we come to a stop in front of my truck parked on the street. “I don’t have to tell you that Lizzie can take care of herself, right?”
I look down at the keys in my hand, then back up at Monty. “No,” I say as I let out a breath. “She never needed anyone. She never needed me.”
“That’s not what I was trying to say—”
“It’s good, man. I gotta go.” I open my truck door, but Monty puts a hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. It reminds me of something my dad would do.
“She might not want to need you,” he says to me. “Or maybe she really doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be there for her—with her—anyway. Just give her a little time. She’ll find her feet. You both will.”
I nod my head a few times. “You’ll look out for her when she won’t let me do it?”
“I always have, kiddo.” He lets go of my shoulder and steps back. After I hop into the truck and roll down the window, resting my elbow on the sill, Monty adds one last comment. One that shocks me.
“Stop dragging yourself over the hot coals, Knox. If you don’t forgive yourself, she can’t forgive you, either.” He walks away, and I have this weird prickly feeling in the back of my throat.
I decide not to reach out to Lizzie. If she needs space, I’ll try to give her space. Besides, we have always found our way back to each other. Maybe we just need a little more time.