“Ugh. I hate thinking about you doing that,” she said to my chest.
“Me, too,” I said quickly. And yet if you handed me a needle right now I might do it again.
The first time I shot heroin it took me to a sweet, forgetful place. But then it just left me wanting more, and afterward the high was never as good. I hated that shit with all my heart, and I loved it, too.
How fucked was I?
Sophie didn’t ask any more questions. The truth was that I’d been more honest with her these last few weeks than ever before. Weirdly, this was as healthy as our relationship had ever been.
It’s not a relationship, I reminded myself. Just two people relieving some sexual tension on Wednesday nights. That’s all we could ever be. And even while I wanted more, this arrangement prevented me from relying too much on Sophie’s company.
One of these days it would end for good. Sophie was almost done with school. She’d hinted at having to look for a new job. And I had to leave Colebury eventually. As long as her father was chief of police, this town would always be my enemy. I’d been stopped—and my car searched—twice this month. Once the cop said I didn’t signal a turn. But he let me go with just “a friendly warning,” because we both knew it was bullshit.
The second time the cop didn’t even give a reason. “Step out of the car, sir,” was all he said. I complied, of course. But these days the only place I drove was to the Shipleys’ and the grocery store. I walked everywhere else I needed to go. The police had made me into the most eco-friendly resident of Colebury. Griff Shipley would be so proud.
“You could rent a snowboard,” Sophie suggested suddenly, interrupting my morose thoughts.
“Sure. But what if one of your dad’s deputies goes to the mountain on his day off? You know it’s a bad idea if we’re seen together. I don’t want to make your life more difficult.”
“Fuck,” she grumbled in frustration. “There has to be somewhere we could go.”
I stroked my fingers through her hair and didn’t argue. She needed to realize it for herself—there were no cheery options for us. We were stuck, and there was no unsticking us.
Before Sophie left, I tugged her down for one more lingering kiss. I held the back of her head, making sure I got a good one before she went. It had to last me a long time. “Bye,” I said, instead of I love you. Saying it out loud would only be more depressing. Because I couldn’t have her. Not for keeps.
“Bye,” she’d said instead of I love you, too.
The sound of the door closing behind her had made me flinch. I went to sleep feeling sad and woke up feeling worse.
Thank God it was Thursday, though, and I could spend the day looking forward to an evening with the Shipleys. I showered and headed down to the garage at eight AM. When I touched the doorknob, the door creaked open under my hand.
Weird.
A chill climbed up my spine, and instead of going inside I just stood there for a moment. I hadn’t left the garage open last night. I’d never do that. We had too many expensive tools in here. As a recovering addict, I knew all too well that anything of value might be stolen by somebody who thought he could get a few bucks for it.
“Hello?” I said into the darkness. I supposed there was an infinitesimally small chance that Dad had come in here already.
Silence.
I reached inside and flicked on the lights. Everything looked just as I’d left it. And there was nobody here. So I shook off my wary feeling and made some coffee in the drip pot I kept in here. Then I got to work organizing our collection of paints and finishes.
My efforts were rewarded in the late afternoon, when someone rolled in to ask about a custom paint job. That never happened.
The young man had driven up in a Prius. While he got out, I circled the car, looking for the dent. But there wasn’t one. He wanted a perky paint job in lime green. “I own a solar-panel installation business,” he explained. “The car is going to be, like, an advertisement on wheels. I’m going to add decals.”
“Gotcha,” I said, inviting him inside to look at our paint catalog. I wanted this work. Paint jobs weren’t cheap. “Show me your logo. Let’s see what would make a good color choice.”
The logo was black, and he picked out the craziest, brightest green paint on the page. “Nobody’s going to miss you in that color,” I said.
“I know it’s a little much, but I want to be visible.”
Not a problem. “You know, if you angled a white stripe down the door right here, your logo would pop even more.” I pointed.
The guy rubbed his beard. “That is not a bad idea. I want it legible.”
“Exactly.”
He clapped his hands. “Okay. Let’s make this happen. What do I do?”
“Make a deposit, and I’ll order the paint. I can fit you in next week.” Or anytime.
“Good deal,” he said, and we shook on it.