without looking
back.
Chapter Eight
Sept. 7
Me: Are you there?
Sept. 9
Me: Horse, we should talk. I don’t want
us to hate each other. I think we made a mistake, please call me. I miss you.
Let’s fix this
Sept 10
Me: Are you even getting these? Please,
even if you hate me, call me. I need to tell you something
Sept. 13
Me: Okay, you win. Bye
Sept. 15
Things got a little dark after our trip to
the hot springs.
Work was okay, but it wasn’t like I loved
what I was doing. Don’t get me wrong, the kids were awesome, but it’s tiring to
be surrounded by little people constantly when they can’t even wipe their own
rear ends. And sometimes diapers blow out, which means exactly what you’d
think.
Good times.
Life with Jeff wasn’t going very well
either. It’s not like we didn’t get along, because we did. We didn’t fight or
anything. But he’d stopped talking to me, didn’t seem to work much and smoked
more pot every day. I had my first hint of real trouble coming when he asked me
how big my paycheck was. By this time I was buying all the food, which I didn’t
mind. After all, he’d floated me when I first got here, and when I’d gotten
hurt too. But it wasn’t like him to mooch, believe it or not. He’d always paid
his way and I’m pretty sure he’d carried Mom a time or two.
Things came to a head right after the
Reapers visited us again, this time without Horse. Jeff didn’t warn me and it
was hard to tell whether the visit was planned or not. I’d learned my
lesson—don’t ask questions unless you want to hear the answers. Honestly, I
didn’t think there were any good answers to the questions I had about their
business relationship.
I came home from work to find bikes in the
driveway. Horse’s wasn’t there. We were totally out of food and beer because I
hadn’t done my grocery shopping for the week, and I sighed in frustration. I
decided to go and buy pizza instead of cooking because I had a little extra
cash. I just didn’t feel up to whipping something together.
I walked in to find Picnic, Bam Bam, Max
and Jeff standing around the kitchen bar in tense silence.
“Um, hi?” I asked, setting down my purse.
“Hey, Marie,” Picnic said, and while his
voice wasn’t friendly, it wasn’t cold either. I guess Horse didn’t go home and
talk too much shit about me. “Just talking some business here.”
“Yeah, I see that,” I replied. “How ’bout I
go and grab some pizzas? Sound good?”
“Sounds great, Marie,” Bam Bam said. He
reached around to his wallet, pulling out some bills and offering them to me. I
was stunned.
“You don’t have to do that,” I murmured.
“Take the money and don’t forget beer,”
Picnic said, his voice short. Arguing with them didn’t seem like a good idea,
so I grabbed the bills and retreated. I took my sweet time getting the pizzas.
I really, really didn’t want to come back home too early, but after hanging out
at the takeout place for forty-five minutes I got a text from Jeff telling me
all was clear. I grabbed the pies and drove home, hoping Jeff’s weirdness
lately wasn’t connected to the Reapers. I kept hearing Horse’s voice in my
head.
Fuck with us and we will fuck you
back.
Jeff wouldn’t be that stupid, would he?
When I got back, I had another of those
surreal moments that seemed to happen around the Reapers with alarming
frequency. Earlier I would have sworn things were ugly between them and Jeff.
Now everyone was friendly—practically jolly—and they welcomed me (or rather,
the pizzas I carried) with the kind of cheer usually reserved for returning war
heroes. I tried to give Bam Bam his change, but he wouldn’t take it, telling me
to use it for gas.
The evening followed a familiar pattern. We
ate together and then they sat around drinking beer while I cleaned up. As the
night went on, the jokes got dirtier. I drank several beers. They built a
bonfire. Someone suggested tequila shots. I
back.
Chapter Eight
Sept. 7
Me: Are you there?
Sept. 9
Me: Horse, we should talk. I don’t want
us to hate each other. I think we made a mistake, please call me. I miss you.
Let’s fix this
Sept 10
Me: Are you even getting these? Please,
even if you hate me, call me. I need to tell you something
Sept. 13
Me: Okay, you win. Bye
Sept. 15
Things got a little dark after our trip to
the hot springs.
Work was okay, but it wasn’t like I loved
what I was doing. Don’t get me wrong, the kids were awesome, but it’s tiring to
be surrounded by little people constantly when they can’t even wipe their own
rear ends. And sometimes diapers blow out, which means exactly what you’d
think.
Good times.
Life with Jeff wasn’t going very well
either. It’s not like we didn’t get along, because we did. We didn’t fight or
anything. But he’d stopped talking to me, didn’t seem to work much and smoked
more pot every day. I had my first hint of real trouble coming when he asked me
how big my paycheck was. By this time I was buying all the food, which I didn’t
mind. After all, he’d floated me when I first got here, and when I’d gotten
hurt too. But it wasn’t like him to mooch, believe it or not. He’d always paid
his way and I’m pretty sure he’d carried Mom a time or two.
Things came to a head right after the
Reapers visited us again, this time without Horse. Jeff didn’t warn me and it
was hard to tell whether the visit was planned or not. I’d learned my
lesson—don’t ask questions unless you want to hear the answers. Honestly, I
didn’t think there were any good answers to the questions I had about their
business relationship.
I came home from work to find bikes in the
driveway. Horse’s wasn’t there. We were totally out of food and beer because I
hadn’t done my grocery shopping for the week, and I sighed in frustration. I
decided to go and buy pizza instead of cooking because I had a little extra
cash. I just didn’t feel up to whipping something together.
I walked in to find Picnic, Bam Bam, Max
and Jeff standing around the kitchen bar in tense silence.
“Um, hi?” I asked, setting down my purse.
“Hey, Marie,” Picnic said, and while his
voice wasn’t friendly, it wasn’t cold either. I guess Horse didn’t go home and
talk too much shit about me. “Just talking some business here.”
“Yeah, I see that,” I replied. “How ’bout I
go and grab some pizzas? Sound good?”
“Sounds great, Marie,” Bam Bam said. He
reached around to his wallet, pulling out some bills and offering them to me. I
was stunned.
“You don’t have to do that,” I murmured.
“Take the money and don’t forget beer,”
Picnic said, his voice short. Arguing with them didn’t seem like a good idea,
so I grabbed the bills and retreated. I took my sweet time getting the pizzas.
I really, really didn’t want to come back home too early, but after hanging out
at the takeout place for forty-five minutes I got a text from Jeff telling me
all was clear. I grabbed the pies and drove home, hoping Jeff’s weirdness
lately wasn’t connected to the Reapers. I kept hearing Horse’s voice in my
head.
Fuck with us and we will fuck you
back.
Jeff wouldn’t be that stupid, would he?
When I got back, I had another of those
surreal moments that seemed to happen around the Reapers with alarming
frequency. Earlier I would have sworn things were ugly between them and Jeff.
Now everyone was friendly—practically jolly—and they welcomed me (or rather,
the pizzas I carried) with the kind of cheer usually reserved for returning war
heroes. I tried to give Bam Bam his change, but he wouldn’t take it, telling me
to use it for gas.
The evening followed a familiar pattern. We
ate together and then they sat around drinking beer while I cleaned up. As the
night went on, the jokes got dirtier. I drank several beers. They built a
bonfire. Someone suggested tequila shots. I
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