Walking Disaster

Trenton killed the engine, resting an arm out of the open window. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said, wiping my eyes with my jacket sleeve.

“Rough night?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, staring at the Harley’s fuel tank.

“I just got off work. I need a f**kin’ drink. Ride with me to the Dutch.”

I took a long, faltering breath. Trenton, like Dad and the rest of my brothers, always knew how to handle me. We both knew I shouldn’t drive in my condition.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Trenton said with a small, surprised smile.

I swung my leg backward over the seat, and then walked around to the passenger side of Trenton’s car. The heat from the vents made my skin burn, and for the first time that night I felt how biting cold the air was, and recognized that I didn’t have nearly enough clothes on for the temperature.

“Shepley called you?”

“Yep.” He backed out from the parking space and slowly weaved through the lot, finding the street at a turtle’s pace. He looked over at me. “I guess a guy named French called his girl? Said you and Abby were fighting outside the cafeteria.”

“We weren’t fighting. I was just . . . trying to get her back.”

Trenton nodded once, pulling into the street. “That’s what I figured.”

We didn’t speak again until we took our stools at the bar of the Dutch. The crowd was rough, but Bill, the owner and bartender, knew Dad well from when we were kids, and most of the regulars watched us grow up.

“Good to see you boys. It’s been a while,” Bill said, wiping down the counter before setting a beer and a shot on the bar in front of each of us.

“Hey, Bill,” Trenton said, immediately tossing back his shot.

“You feeling okay, Travis?” Bill asked.

Trenton answered for me. “He’ll feel better after a few rounds.”

I was grateful. In that moment, if I spoke, I might have broken down.

Trenton continued buying me whiskey until my teeth were numb and I was on the verge of passing out. I must have done so sometime between the bar and the apartment, because I woke up the next morning on the couch in my clothes, unsure of how in the hell I got there.

Shepley closed the door, and I heard the familiar sound of America’s Honda rev up and pull away.

I sat up and closed one eye. “Did you guys have a good night.”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“I guess so. Did you hear me come in?”

“Yeah, Trent carried your ass upstairs and threw you on the couch. You were laughing, so I’d say it was a successful night.”

“Trent can be a dick, but he’s a good brother.”

“That he is. You hungry?”

“Fuck no,” I groaned.

“Alrighty, then. I’m gonna make me some cereal.”

I sat on the couch, going over the night before in my mind. The last hours were hazy, but when I backed up to the moment I saw Abby on campus, I winced.

“I told Mare we had plans today. I thought we’d go to the lumber place to replace your creaky ass door.”

“You don’t have to babysit me, Shep.”

“I’m not. We’re leaving in half an hour. Wash the stank off you, first,” he said, sitting in the recliner with his bowl of Mini Wheats. “And then we’re going to come home and study. Finals.”

“Fuck,” I said with a sigh.

“I’ll order pizza for lunch, and we can just eat leftovers for dinner.”

“Thanksgiving is coming up, remember? I’ll be eating pizza three meals a day for two days straight. No, thank you.”

“Okay, Chinese, then.”

“You’re micromanaging,” I said.

“I know. Trust me, it helps.”

I nodded slowly, hoping he was right.

THE DAYS PASSED SLOWLY. BUT STAYING UP LATE TO study with Shepley, and sometimes America, helped to shorten the sleepless nights. Trenton promised not to tell Dad or the rest of the Maddox boys about Abby until after Thanksgiving, but I still dreaded it, knowing I’d already told them all she would come. They would ask about her, and then see right through me when I lied.

After my last class on Friday, I called Shepley. “Hey, I know this is supposed to be off-limits, but I need you to find out where Abby is going for break.”

“Well, that’s easy. She’ll be with us. She spends the holidays at America’s.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing,” I said, abruptly hanging up the phone.

I walked around campus in the light rain, waiting for Abby’s class to let out. Outside the Hoover building, I saw a few people from Abby’s calculus class congregated outside. The back of Parker’s head came into view, and then Abby.

She was huddled inside her winter coat, seeming uncomfortable as Parker babbled on.

I pulled down my red ball cap and jogged in their direction. Abby’s eyes drifted to mine; recognition made her eyebrows raise infinitesimally.

The same mantra played on repeat in my head. No matter what smart-ass comment Parker makes, play it cool. Don’t f**k this up. Don’t. Fuck. This. Up.

To my surprise, Parker left without saying a word to me.

I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my hoodie. “Shepley said you’re going with him and Mare to Wichita tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re spending the whole break at America’s?”

She shrugged, trying too hard to be unaffected by my presence. “I’m really close with her parents.”

“What about your mom?”

“She’s a drunk, Travis. She won’t know it’s Thanksgiving.”

My stomach lurched, knowing the answer to my next question was going to be my last chance. Thunder rolled above us and I looked up, squinting as the large drops fell against my face.

“I need to ask you for a favor,” I said, ducking from the hard rain. “C’mere.” I pulled Abby under the closest awning so she wouldn’t get soaked from the sudden downpour.

“What kind of favor?” she asked, clearly suspicious. It was hard to hear her over the rain.

“My uh . . .” I shifted my weight, my nerves attempting to get the best of me. My mind screamed abort!, but I was determined to at least try. “Dad and the guys are still expecting you on Thursday.”

“Travis!” Abby whined.

I looked to my feet. “You said you would come.”

“I know, but . . . it’s a little inappropriate now, don’t you think?”

“You said you would come,” I said again, trying to keep my voice calm.

“We were still together when I agreed to go home with you. You knew I wasn’t going to come.”

“I didn’t know, and it’s too late, anyway. Thomas is flying in, and Tyler took off work. Everyone’s looking forward to seeing you.”

Abby cringed, twirling a piece of her wet hair around her finger. “They were going to come anyway, weren’t they?”

“Not everyone. We haven’t had all of us there for Thanksgiving in years. They all made an effort to be there, since I promised them a real meal. We haven’t had a woman in the kitchen since Mom died and . . .”

“That’s not sexist or anything,”

“That’s not what I meant, Pidge, c’mon. We all want you there. That’s all I’m sayin’.”