roses, methodical, absorbed.
She pressed daisies together, piece by piece, unnervingly quick. The wind was quiet. Everything was quiet, muffled. She said, “I dig talking with you. You sit there and listen. And you haven’t said one single stupid fucked-up thing for a while. Plus you flinch like a nun, which is trustworthy. And no hard-on, though you’re definitely a dick.”
He flinched. Not so fast on the hard-on. Her camisoles up around her face, the perfection of her navel in the devastation. And of course the wind picked up again, and continued to mount. He said, “I like talking with you, too.”
“Ask me questions. I like when you ask me questions. I like that you listen.”
“Well, here’s the main one. How did you end up down here? In the cabin, I mean.”
“Professor DeMarco. It’s hers. Or like her husband’s family’s. She said I could use it. I’d been talking with her on the phone and texting and so on and e-mails. She was always trying to get me back in school. Nice to be loved, yo.”
Eric said, “Well, yes, it is.”
“You take everything so
seriously.
Daisies. Over there. I see some over there.” She looked a child suddenly, collecting her pieces as he picked them out for her, talking away: “She said if I needed I could come stay as long as I liked, stay the whole summer. She knew how hard everything had been with school and with Jim deployed. I thought I was going mental. She thought I needed a rest. And so I did come and stay here. She walked down twice to visit and she was pretty nice, but maybe a little overly, like, weird? We swam in the river. We talked and talked. I mean, it was nice. She was really nice. She swam naked, and she’s unbelievably fat. And I was supposed to go back to Presque Isle and be with Jim’s family and substitute teach again on some fucking random calendar date, and she and her husband came exactly then and helped me carry my stuff up and load my car. They were going to stay here. I just couldn’t go
back.
Not to Presque Isle. Not without Jimmy there. I stayed on the road for the two weeks the DeMarcos were down living here, slept in the car, drove up to, like, New Brunswick, Bay of Fundy, some campground up there, pretty dramatic, ate wild fresh salmon this craggy dude would catch and sell on the beach but that he just gave me free. And don’t think I fucked him, because I didn’t, not really. And I avoided everyone else. I barely noticed the beauty of the earth. Then I drove back down here, broke. So I sold the car to the dealer over on High Street? Moody’s Used Vickles? And then I came back down here to live till I could figure out the next thing. But I didn’t have a single dime to rub together, as my father would say.”
“How do you not really fuck someone?”
“You just really don’t fuck them. Not for a fish.”
“And you came down here.”
“Yes, back down here.”
“But you’d sold the car.”
“Moody gave me like two thousand bucks for it, enough to pay it off and still have, like, three hundred dollars, which went faster than you’d think, like two trips for groceries and this trip today.”
“And Professor DeMarco doesn’t know you’re here.”
“Professor DeMarco doesn’t know. But she wouldn’t care.” Danielle made a Professor DeMarco face, hunched down, spoke in a high falsetto, what might have been comic in another setting: “She’d be
so
worried.
”
There was something he’d very much wanted to tell Danielle while she was talking about Jim, but he couldn’t quite get it in his head again as another gust rocked the house. So instead he said, “Maybe I can get you your car back, or at least a better deal. It’s not actually illegal to take advantage of people in distress, but it’s not hard to embarrass someone like that, like Myron Moody, get a positive result.”
“You know him?”
He knew him.
Danielle pulled her Rasta cap off, scratching her head unhappily. Her hair was really very dirty and
She pressed daisies together, piece by piece, unnervingly quick. The wind was quiet. Everything was quiet, muffled. She said, “I dig talking with you. You sit there and listen. And you haven’t said one single stupid fucked-up thing for a while. Plus you flinch like a nun, which is trustworthy. And no hard-on, though you’re definitely a dick.”
He flinched. Not so fast on the hard-on. Her camisoles up around her face, the perfection of her navel in the devastation. And of course the wind picked up again, and continued to mount. He said, “I like talking with you, too.”
“Ask me questions. I like when you ask me questions. I like that you listen.”
“Well, here’s the main one. How did you end up down here? In the cabin, I mean.”
“Professor DeMarco. It’s hers. Or like her husband’s family’s. She said I could use it. I’d been talking with her on the phone and texting and so on and e-mails. She was always trying to get me back in school. Nice to be loved, yo.”
Eric said, “Well, yes, it is.”
“You take everything so
seriously.
Daisies. Over there. I see some over there.” She looked a child suddenly, collecting her pieces as he picked them out for her, talking away: “She said if I needed I could come stay as long as I liked, stay the whole summer. She knew how hard everything had been with school and with Jim deployed. I thought I was going mental. She thought I needed a rest. And so I did come and stay here. She walked down twice to visit and she was pretty nice, but maybe a little overly, like, weird? We swam in the river. We talked and talked. I mean, it was nice. She was really nice. She swam naked, and she’s unbelievably fat. And I was supposed to go back to Presque Isle and be with Jim’s family and substitute teach again on some fucking random calendar date, and she and her husband came exactly then and helped me carry my stuff up and load my car. They were going to stay here. I just couldn’t go
back.
Not to Presque Isle. Not without Jimmy there. I stayed on the road for the two weeks the DeMarcos were down living here, slept in the car, drove up to, like, New Brunswick, Bay of Fundy, some campground up there, pretty dramatic, ate wild fresh salmon this craggy dude would catch and sell on the beach but that he just gave me free. And don’t think I fucked him, because I didn’t, not really. And I avoided everyone else. I barely noticed the beauty of the earth. Then I drove back down here, broke. So I sold the car to the dealer over on High Street? Moody’s Used Vickles? And then I came back down here to live till I could figure out the next thing. But I didn’t have a single dime to rub together, as my father would say.”
“How do you not really fuck someone?”
“You just really don’t fuck them. Not for a fish.”
“And you came down here.”
“Yes, back down here.”
“But you’d sold the car.”
“Moody gave me like two thousand bucks for it, enough to pay it off and still have, like, three hundred dollars, which went faster than you’d think, like two trips for groceries and this trip today.”
“And Professor DeMarco doesn’t know you’re here.”
“Professor DeMarco doesn’t know. But she wouldn’t care.” Danielle made a Professor DeMarco face, hunched down, spoke in a high falsetto, what might have been comic in another setting: “She’d be
so
worried.
”
There was something he’d very much wanted to tell Danielle while she was talking about Jim, but he couldn’t quite get it in his head again as another gust rocked the house. So instead he said, “Maybe I can get you your car back, or at least a better deal. It’s not actually illegal to take advantage of people in distress, but it’s not hard to embarrass someone like that, like Myron Moody, get a positive result.”
“You know him?”
He knew him.
Danielle pulled her Rasta cap off, scratching her head unhappily. Her hair was really very dirty and
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