FSE

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~ Chapter 33 ~

"I'm going home soon," Becky said with conviction.

"What?" I looked up from the checker board sitting on Becky's swivel-tray. She was red, I was black. She was winning, of course, but I almost had a piece on her side.

Becky grinned. Her eyes were bright. "I'm gonna go home. I'm gonna have a long, hot bubble bath and then I'm going to have a 32-ounce steak with mashed potatoes on the side. Maybe whiskey, maybe wine - I haven't decided."

"Enjoying the morphine, huh? Your move."

"I know! You can help paint my toenails!"

"Fuck that! I'm gay, I'm not a girl. Now move already."

Becky scrutinized the checker board and settled on moving a checker over the cardboard fold. The t.v. was on some news channel and muted. Music, alternative and folksy, chirped through portable speakers hooked up to her mp3 player. I had brought some stuff to keep her occupied while she healed. She had been moved to a larger room on a lower floor, no doubt in part of Mr. Hughes' help.

"Get me another slice," Becky handed me an empty paper plate with her unbandaged arm and I tossed a couple of cold pizza slices on it.

Oh. I was also sneaking in food for her.

"And stop eating my candy stash."

"I'm nhut!" I protested between chews of a deliciously nougaty candy bar.

Her words were still slightly slurred but she was looking a lot better. Her hair was getting back to length and was regaining its sheen. Becky was, overall, much more animated than she had been since the accident. Still, she was still healing, not to mention physical therapy sessions.

"I'm gonna be walking out of here," she boasted.

"They wheel you out in a wheelchair. It's a liability thing."

She jumped one of my pieces, opening up a spot for me to king. "Okay. Then I'm walking to the car once we get outside."

"You have, like, a half-a-dozen pins and screws holding your leg and hip together. I could stick magnets on ya."

Becky thought about it for a moment, "So I'm going to squeak like a rusty gate when I open my legs, then?"

"Hey!" I scolded her in shock, "Ew!"

We both laughed.

Becky took a swig of a beer I snuck in, "Just gotta make sure my legs don't freeze open this winter."

"You done yet?" I admonished. I moved my black piece onto her side. "King me!"

She reached for a checker she gained and I continued gloating, "That's right. Top me, you betch."

Becky batted her eyes at me, "Oh I'm sure you say that to all the boys."

"And what's your pickup line? 'Is it hot in here or am I just in heat?' ?"

"Give me some credit. I usually ask them if they want to play 'heads or tails'."

"Really? Did you have tell me that?"

"Hey," Becky shrugged, "You asked, your fault. So how's Aaron?"

I should have expected the question. I hadn't told Becky anything about Aaron since she told me to talk to him about how I felt. I didn't even know if she got my message I left on her phone. Still, it caught me off guard.

"He's," I searched, "okay. I did talk to him like you suggested."

"Oh, really? What'd he say?"

"We've decided to step back and take things a little bit slower." It wasn't really a lie. After the chance encounter and talk with Aaron on Mt. Adams a few days prior, it seemed like the best description I could give without explaining everything.

"That sounds reasonable," Becky agreed. "Since when are you reasonable?"

"I know right? Never. I must be losing my touch."

"Well when you fall of the wagon," Becky began.

I continued the phrase in unison with her, "-get back on the horse."

She surveyed the checker board, "Well looks like I win. Good game."

"Yeah, good game," I repeated.

"Don't tell me you stopped being a sore loser, too!" she gasped with fake incredulity.

"Nah," I shook my head, "I was playing with a handicap. Next time I'll wipe the board with you."

"You brat!" Becky sneered with a smile, "Go on home before I throw something at you."

"Okay, okay," I got up and headed for the door.

"Don't forget your golf cap!" She tossed my flat hat to me like a frisbee and I deftly caught it. "And just don't go shooting your mouth off again, bro!"

"I'm home!" I called out as I entered the house. The smell of grilling chicken and a peanut sauce wafted from the kitchen. "Smells good, mom!"

"Thanks!" her voice hollered back, "It'll be ready in about fifteen minutes!"

"Hi, dad," I plopped on the couch in the den where dad was watching the news.

"It's about time you got home," he said without malice from his chair." We've been waiting on dinner until you got back; thanks for calling by the way. How'd it go?"

"Fine. She's in better spirits."

"That's good," he replied, "It'll help speed up her recovery."

"Yeah, she's itching to get home."

"I bet, but it's gonna be a while."

"Planning on seeing her tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Mom and I are getting some of her stuff together. Oh, by the way. Aaron stopped by earlier."

My ears perked up and I looked at him, "He did?"

"Yeah. I told him you were out. I invited him to stay until dinner but he said he had stuff to do."

"Oh," my ears drooped back down.

"He left you something, though, I put it on your bed."

"He did? You did?" I sat up.

"Yeah."

"Okay, thanks," I got up and walked to my room. My nerves were abuzz. They went haywire when I saw a shoebox on my bed.

I sat down and opened it. Inside was a pocket-watch. It was gold-plated and without a chain. I clicked it open. It was ticking. I checked the clock next to my bed and the watch was accurate. On the inside of the cover there was writing. Light reflected off of the engraving on the concave metal.

It was a number and two letters: "4vr".

Also in the box was a folded piece of paper, a letter. It was short.

Caleb,

Thank you for being you. You have made me happier than I've been in a really long time. You're a special person and I'm honored to have gotten to know you this summer.

I want you to know that whatever happens, I made my decision myself. Don't blame yourself for anything. Nothing is your fault.

With all my heart,

Aaron

I sat there, numb. My eyes focused and refocused on the words. A tiny tick counted from the pocket-watch on my lap. Nothing's my fault? What wasn't my fault?

Oh god.

Oh god, no.

I jumped up, the letter, the box, and the watch spilling onto the floor. My foot caught the box and kicked it sideways across the room. I raced down the steps to the den.

"Dad, can I borrow your car?"

"Of course, keys are on the hook. Gonna be back in time for dinner?"

"Yeah," I lied and ran for the keys.

Outside I dialed his cell phone. Voice mail.

"No, no, no!" I repeated under my breath as my fingers flew through a text message. I sent it and prayed for a response.

I jumped in dad's car and pulled out of the driveway. Where was I going to go? Aaron's apartment? I could call Kat and have her try to get ahold of him. Did I even have her number? What day was it.

Oh fuck.

It was Thursday.

"No, no, no...."