The Guest, page 20
“We went for a walk,” he said.
Once inside, Jack paced in a tight circle. “Fuck,” he said, mostly to himself.
“Is everything okay?”
It seemed possible he didn’t even notice she was in the room, he was so absorbed in his pacing.
“My dad,” Jack said, “is a fucking prick.”
Without warning, Jack punched the wall, hard. The drywall crumpled, a black triangle that opened inward. The dog flinched, and Alex tried to keep the animal close.
“Hey,” she said, “hey. Let’s sit down.”
Jack looked on the brink of tears, his mouth set tight and his hands in fists, but he let Alex lead him to the couch.
Jack’s dad had, apparently, texted all of Jack’s friends, and Max said he was demanding to know where Jack had slept last night, and he was tired of his father keeping tabs on him like this, acting like he was a kid, and nobody asked his dad where he slept all those nights he’d been gone for so-called work, had they?
“Suffocating,” Jack said. “He makes me feel like I’m suffocating.”
“It’s okay,” Alex said. “Maybe you both just need a little space.”
Jack nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, “yeah, that’s it. I’m not going home. Let’s just stay here, who cares.”
“And he’s okay if you take a few days? You told him that?”
Another nod. “God,” he said again, overtaken, throwing himself back against the cushions.
Good to make him sit down, to let the adrenaline burn itself off. She patted Jack’s back, lightly, just to indicate her presence, though it didn’t help. He barely seemed to notice she was there.
Only the dog, jumping up on Jack’s knees, knocked him out of the trance.
Jack’s face split in a sudden smile. “Doggo,” he said. “You’re a good boy, huh? Aren’t you?”
* * *
—
Alex cut the pizza into ragged squares with a bread knife. Jack shifted a square onto a paper towel. He took small bites.
He had calmed down: another drink, another square of pizza. He apologized for his outburst, at least. So he was aware enough to know he’d acted badly.
“I’ll fix the wall,” Jack said, a wholly unlikely possibility, but one that he seemed to believe. They both averted their eyes from the yawn of drywall.
Jack picked errant cheese off the paper towel, rolling it into a ball before putting it in his mouth. He ripped off another piece for the dog, who perked in anticipation. Even as Jack seemed to compose himself, his speech picked up speed again. A conversation he was having with himself.
“You met him,” Jack said. “My dad. So you get it. Didn’t you see it right away?”
Jack was talking so fast she could barely track it.
He started almost to cry, telling some story about the puppy his stepmom had made his dad get. The puppy was peeing everywhere, tearing up the furniture, and everyone, he said, was just getting mad at the dog.
The worst thing, he said, was that they could have just sent the puppy away, there were places you could send puppies and they came back in a month or so, perfectly well behaved, perfectly trained. They could have paid their way out of this. Why wouldn’t his dad just admit that he actually hated dogs, that he didn’t care what happened to them? Everyone would have been happier.
“He just yells at the puppy,” Jack said, “and the puppy doesn’t even know why the fuck he’s yelling at her.”
Jack believed that people should be fully transparent, that everyone could just tell the truth and in this way avoid pain.
“She’s getting fat now, too,” Jack said. “My stepmom. A thyroid condition, she says—this doctor comes to inject her twice a week. But she’s just getting fat. Sorry,” he said. His voice sounded as though the words were being forced out of him. “Sorry. I won’t talk about it anymore. You’re annoyed with me, aren’t you?”
Alex shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“Okay,” he said, “just tell me if I’m being annoying. Okay?”
He studied her with visible anxiety. Could he sense that she had pulled away? Did that make her feel powerful, clocking how agitated she could make him, how closely he was tracking her attention?
Alex crumpled up her paper towel.
“If it’s a big deal,” Alex said, “if your dad’s really so mad, maybe you should go home.”
“It’s fine,” Jack said, his voice jumping an octave. “Really, I’m sorry, okay?”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s better to just go back.”
“Seriously?”
She didn’t respond, washing her hands in the sink. The energy had turned, curdled. His unease was palpable.
“Well, why don’t you go home?” he said. His voice was approaching shrill. That was new.
When she didn’t say anything, he seemed to understand he had upset her. She was normally better about hiding those things.
They stared at different places in the room. A noise in the driveway made her meet Jack’s eye. He didn’t look worried.
Then a knock on the front door. Then someone opening the door without waiting for a response.
The owners? She stood up, instantly braced for trouble, but Jack barely reacted.
“Hey,” Jack called out. “We’re in the kitchen.”
* * *
—
There, ambling into the kitchen, was Max, sucking a smoothie through a straw, the smoothie a muddy-looking purple. He sucked audibly, leaned against the stove with his thin hips jutting out.
“Hi, Alex.”
“Hi.” She wasn’t smiling, but she knew that she should smile, that smiling would be normal. Max looked between her and Jack with an inscrutable expression.
“Where’s the bathroom, man?” Max said.
“Just back that way.”
When Max left the room, Alex straightened but kept her voice low.
“You invited your friend over?”
“Yeah? So what?” Jack said. “Are you mad?”
“I mean. I don’t know. We’re in someone else’s house. It’s not exactly ideal to start inviting more people over.”
“It’s just Max,” Jack said.
She heard the toilet flush; she just shook her head.
When Max returned, he lifted a slice of pizza, took a sniff, then dropped it back on the pan.
“Just visiting the outlaw,” Max said. “Our little runaway. And the new dog.” He petted the dog with careless attention.
Alex glanced at Jack: he looked unconcerned by Max’s tone. Was there pride on his face?
“He told you Robert called me?” Max said to Alex. “They’re freaking out.” Max sucked harder on the straw, then shook the plastic cup, trying to knock something loose. “I told them I was sure you were fine.”
Jack shrugged. She could see that the mention of his father made him anxious.
“And you are fine,” Max said. “They’re pissed your phone’s been off.”
“It’s been dead, mostly,” Jack said. “Dunno.”
“But didn’t you check in with them?” Alex said. “Your dad?”
Jack shrugged again.
Max was addressing Alex now. “You’ve met Robert, I assume?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Once.” Jack, she noted, was not looking at her.
“Nice guy,” Max said. “But not happy with our friend here.” He slapped Jack on the back.
“He’s not that nice,” Jack said.
“I’m not gonna say anything,” Max said. “You’re my friend, not them. I told them I didn’t know where you were. Which was basically true, wasn’t it? Until, oh, a half hour ago.”
“But wait,” Alex said, “it’s only been, what, a night?”
Another shrug.
“Didn’t you tell him you were staying with a friend or something?”
Jack didn’t answer.
“You really don’t know Robert, do you?” Max said.
“He’s just protective,” Jack mumbled.
“Well, yeah,” Max said. “They said you left your meds at home.”
Jack blushed.
“I’m not saying anything.” Max gave up on the straw, plucking the lid off the plastic cup and tipping the contents into his mouth.
Alex looked from Max to Jack. Jack winced, his eyes jumping away from hers.
The silence that fell was loaded, Max noticing, surely, that Alex and Jack had both gone quiet.
“Shit,” Jack said, when the dog squatted to pee. He shooed the dog toward the door. “I’m gonna take him out,” he said, “just a sec.”
Alex busied herself by opening a fresh roll of paper towels. She dropped a sheet on the puddle of urine. What exactly did this mean for her, the parents looking for Jack? Jack with his meds, the meds he was or wasn’t taking. He was definitely not supposed to be here, at this girl’s family’s house. At least Jack didn’t know Alex’s full name. That was comforting. Alex could feel Max watching her.
Max shrugged. “Seems like you’re pretty set, huh?” he said. “With our friend.”
“Sorry?”
“Nothing.” Max emptied his cup. He wiped his mouth. “Just, not really sure what he’s getting out of this. I mean, I know, but I don’t really know, right?” He laughed a little.
Best not to respond. She bent to pick up the sodden paper towel with pinched fingers and drop it in the trash. She washed her hands, thoroughly, more thoroughly than she needed to.
“I just don’t like it,” he said, “if I think someone is using him.”
Alex wiped her wet hands on her shorts. “Right.”
“Like,” Max said, “why are you guys here? He’s not supposed to fuck with Annie anymore, and definitely not break into her fucking house. Why can’t he just stay with you?”
She was off her game—her mind was blank, no answer floating up as it usually did. Alex made herself shrug.
“Do you even have a car? You know he’s seventeen, right?” Alex didn’t move. Max’s eyebrows rose. “Oh shit,” he murmured, smiling.
Before she could respond, Jack came back to the kitchen.
“Hey,” Jack said. He went to touch her; she felt Max watching.
“I’m tired,” she heard herself say. Her voice was faint. “I’m just gonna lie down.”
Max studied her as she got to her feet, and Jack looked anxious, too, all his feelings right there on the surface, and she didn’t want to see it.
Max wiggled his fingers at her. “Sleep tight.”
* * *
—
Another fifteen minutes before Alex heard the sound of Max’s car in the driveway. Jack appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. The room was dark. The dog was breathing audibly, curled around himself on the carpet.
“He’s gone,” Jack said. “Are you mad or something?”
What was this feeling? It was, what, feeling stupid?
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to Jack’s face. She had to look away: he looked especially young, in that moment, the babyish fat in his cheeks.
“Are you mad?” Jack said.
“I’m”—she stopped. She didn’t know. He was seventeen. But better not to know, not to ask. The less information, the easier things would go. She should probably convince Jack he needed to go home. Because, no matter how she arranged things in her mind, they should probably not stay here. Definitely not together, and maybe she couldn’t even stay alone, now that Max had seen her here, now that Jack would likely have to account for the missing day. Or days? It was already Saturday, she thought, how had that happened?
“Please,” Jack said, his words spilling into each other, “don’t be mad.”
“I’m sure he’s worried. Your dad.” She spoke in a faraway tone. “We shouldn’t be here.”
Jack opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t know he’d be so mad. Can’t we just stay one more night? He’s mad already, he’s not gonna be that much more mad.”
She should insist. She was already implicated.
Could he could tell what she was about to say? He chose that moment to pull her phone from his pocket. He held it out to her, an offering. “I think it’s working,” he said.
“Seriously?”
When Alex turned on the phone, there was no stutter, no jar: her home screen appeared, bright and clear, and it was as if nothing had ever happened.
“Is it okay?” he said, but he knew by Alex’s face that it was: he was obviously pleased.
Alex clicked through the phone, checked the browser. Everything was fine.
“Damn,” she said.
“I told you,” he said, but it was sweet.
Alex palmed the phone. She tried to imagine the night ahead. It was easier not to insist, easier to stay here—where would she go, anyway? She’d figure it out tomorrow.
10
Alex stopped the bike in the same beach parking lot, ringed by the same dunes. She left the bike leaning against the wooden fence, the dog at her side. Jack had still been asleep when she’d left. It was early enough, even on a holiday weekend, that the beach was mostly empty. A few surfers dragging their boards in the sand, an old man in a wetsuit and hood swimming ferocious lengths. No lifeguard posted up yet, no families staking claims with their tents and buckets. The dog ran to the water, then ran back to Alex, his fur wet and particular. When she scratched under the dog’s chin, his tongue shot out, showing its crinkled black ridges.
The ocean was rough. The waves were high enough to scare Alex. But she’d come all this way. She waited until a set was over, then forced herself to get a running start. She had not timed it right: when she surfaced, a wave crashed into her, hitting with enough force that she was pinned to the sand. She sputtered underwater until she saw the white froth overhead dissipate.
“You okay?”
The man in the wetsuit was bobbing nearby with his wetsuit hood pulled back, his nostrils pinched shut with a piece of plastic.
She nodded, catching her breath. There was sand everywhere: she could feel it in her scalp, in her swimsuit bottoms.
“That last one really knocked you over, didn’t it?” he said.
Alex smiled, tightly, gave a nod. “I’m fine,” she said, “thanks.”
He paused, as if he might say something more. Offer some further warning. Then he pulled his hood back over his head, disappearing under the water.
She forced herself to stay in the water a while longer, to keep bracing for the next wave. Conditioning herself to wait out the fear. To wear herself out. Even when she got knocked over again, it was thrilling this time, her head clear, the world winnowed to this immediate moment.
The water was the warmest it had been all summer. What did it mean that the waves had a milky cast? She tried to remember if that was a sign of something, some indication of favorable or unfavorable conditions. She didn’t know, either way. So it didn’t matter.
She kicked to stay in place.
She needed to get rid of the kid. That was the main thing. She’d already fucked up, spending so much time with him. And there were things she would have to think over before tomorrow. Certain things she would need to figure out how to explain to Simon, details she might need to soft-pedal. Dom still had to be dealt with. She didn’t let herself dwell on whether she had caused new problems in the interim. The painting at George’s. Whether this thing with Jack would end cleanly—how to tell the boy that she was leaving, that their temporary world was over. She would get herself to Simon’s, and Jack would take care of himself. Return to his own home, his own family.
She ducked under the water. When she surfaced, she was farther out. Her body was moving her along. Moving her along as it always had. Water streamed into her eyes, pressurized her ears. She wiped her nose.
At some point, she knew, she would tire herself out. How far out could she get before that happened? A mile? More? She couldn’t even start to guess, though; at this moment, it didn’t feel impossible that she could swim forever, that she would never get tired.
Nothing terrible had happened, she told herself, nothing insurmountable—this had just been a brief dream, a rip in the ordinary fabric, and now it was explained, justified. She had continued on, persevered, because, in some part of herself, she knew this could all go back to the way it had been before, and that she had only to outlast it.
* * *
—
When Alex finally got out and made her way to the shore, she saw the blood. A cut on her knee that glowed white when she wiped it clean, then pooled immediately with blood. The red looked too bright, like the bad special effects in that movie they had watched. The cut didn’t hurt, just felt sparkly from the salt water. She sat with the towel pressed to her knee. Eventually, the bleeding stopped.
She ate a cold slice of pizza she’d brought in tinfoil, and then a second piece. That was the last of it. Dinner tonight—they’d figure something out. One more night to get through—that was nothing. Her phone was fixed. The party was tomorrow. The end was in sight.
In this state—her mind whirring—it took a while for Alex to notice the dog was gone. It didn’t seem possible. She stood on the sand, scanning the beach. Her eyes skipped along but never landed on the thing she wanted to see. She walked one way. Then the other. She called out for the dog. She climbed to the top of a dune, shading her eyes. She jogged back to her towel. Expecting to find the dog waiting for her. The dog wasn’t there.
The search was obviously futile. Still, she set out again in the other direction, whistling for the dog. She couldn’t go back to Jack without the dog. The absence of the dog made her looming defection worse. If she could just give Jack the dog, then she could go to Simon’s and all would be well. There was a cleanliness to that exchange. It made things fair, somehow.
