The Guest, page 22
“Like that kid,” he said, “with the ear. He kidnapped himself.”
“How would that even work?”
“I’m sure I could figure it out,” he said.
“That’s crazy.”
Jack was excited by the chance to force his father to prove exactly how much he loved him. The blunt emotional calculations that would have to be made. Then he was briefly concerned it could go the wrong way.
“Like, what if he doesn’t pay?” Jack frowned. “No, he’d pay. He’d be too embarrassed if people found out he wouldn’t pay.”
“Come on.” It still seemed fake. A game he was playing. “And you’d just, what, grab the money from the mailbox?”
“Yeah, I guess he’d, like, call the cops or whatever. Don’t they, like, trace the money or something anyway?”
“It’s not your problem,” Alex said. “I’ll figure something out.”
But even as she said this, she could hear that she didn’t sound very convincing. That some part of her was still allowing space for someone else to solve her problem.
And then he just suggested walking into the house and taking the money.
The simplest option.
The dad wouldn’t even notice anything was gone. Why would he even check? And by the time he did, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
“But that’s crazy,” Alex said. “Won’t he be home? Won’t your stepmom be there, or whoever?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but not tomorrow. It’s Labor Day. They go out on this boat. Every year. We’ll just go in. It’s my house, anyway. And he owes me.”
* * *
—
The last night.
Alex was especially loving to the boy. Attentive. She squeezed his hand. She kissed him with her eyes closed, with full focus. He looked drugged with happiness—so responsive to any tick of affection.
All the problems had disappeared. All the worries dropping away.
Her imminent departure made it easy to be kind. To pet his hair over and over. To say, when he said I love you, “I love you, too” and let him hug her more tightly. And she did love him, in a way—he had solved everything.
She would pay Dom back.
She would return to Simon.
All the wrongs would be corrected.
Already Alex was saying goodbye in her mind. Goodbye to the boy. Goodbye to the bed. Goodbye to the little house.
Jack spoke of places he wanted to take her in the city. Of a future that included both of them. She let him keep talking. Let him lull himself into a stupor, his words all slurred together. His eyes flashed in the dark. They could get a place together, he said. Figure out some way to make all this work.
“Sure,” she kept saying. “Yeah. That sounds good.” She scratched her fingers along his scalp. The way Simon liked. Jack made a moan of pleasure.
He groaned when she got up. “Don’t go.”
“I’m just getting a sweater.”
When she unrolled the lilac sweater from her bag, the little onyx animal fell on the floor.
“Shit.”
“I got it.” Jack hung over the side to sweep an arm under the bed. He sat up, splaying his hand to reveal the animal in his palm. “I like this,” he said. He held it out to her. The weight of the little animal surprised her. The stone felt cool, charged. Before she could think too hard about it, she handed it back.
“Keep it,” she said. “It’s yours.”
“Really?”
She felt a pang, watching his hand close around the object. But then, like all feelings, it passed.
“I love you,” he said. Drunk off his own solemnity. He probably believed life would always feel like this. This heightened, this vivid. A constant state of emotional inebriation.
Alex said it back.
I.
Love.
You.
Convincingly, she said it convincingly. Though she felt the familiar throb of a scowl on her face. Jack rested a finger on the furrow between her brows.
“You frown so much,” he said. “Even while you sleep.”
“Yeah,” she said, flinching his finger away. She rubbed the spot like she could erase the wrinkle.
He fell asleep before she did. Mushed into the pillow, his mouth open. She could smell his breath. His lips were chapped. He looked like the teenager he was.
She would miss him, she told herself. He was a sweet boy. In the end. Wasn’t he? And it was better this way. For both of them.
11
Labor Day. Finally.
Bad, anxious dreams, a bubble of dread in her chest when Alex woke up. But she could barely remember any specifics of the dreams, only a submerged sense of urgency, the knowledge that there was a task that she was failing at, that she would always fail at. By the time she got out of bed, the feeling was gone. Not even a memory.
The morning was overcast, the bushes outside seeming to hold dampness, a chilly breath emanating from the windows. Patchy clouds. Would it rain for the party? Simon’s lawn wet and swampy and his guests huddled under a humid, dripping tent. She’d imagined a perfect day, a blue-sky reunion. But the rain would probably clear up by the time the party started, anyway. Simon usually got the things he wanted.
Jack wasn’t in bed. Easier that way—she had some time alone. Each thought that appeared in her brain was smoothed to a psychotic polish. She played through the next steps, then played them through again.
A detour to Jack’s house. Jack would get the money. She’d meet up with Dom, deal with that problem. Then she’d go to the party.
Dom had agreed to meet her at the train station. A public place, a comforting enough place. She’d have the money.
No fucking around, Dom had texted. And sent a screenshot of Simon’s company website.
Alex spent a long time in front of the bathroom mirror upstairs. Brushed her teeth hard enough that her gums bled, scrubbed her tongue with the toothbrush. She wanted to be clean, immaculate. She combed her hair, redid her part twice so that a white line of scalp showed. Lined her lashes with minute dashes of an eyeliner pencil. This labor all felt freighted, meaningful. It was like a meditation, proof of her piety, her good intentions.
Her last three pills.
She swallowed them, one after the other, with a scoop of water from the faucet. It made her clench up, the sight of the empty pill bottle. She filed the feeling away. Because soon she would be back at Simon’s. Today. In a few hours. No more grasping, no more scrabbling.
Alex moved slowly. Gathering her things. Folding her clothes with care before putting them in the bag. Preparing for her exit. She would be on best behavior this time. She would never drop the ball again, not for a second. She would appreciate what she had.
Jack had agreed that it would make sense for them to split up, for him to go home afterward, act like everything was normal. She’d pretended that they would meet up again in a few days. And what would Jack do when that didn’t happen? When he realized she had disappeared? Jack would take care of himself. He’d be returned to his own home, his loving parents. Or good-enough parents. He didn’t know her full name. So what could he even do to her, how would he even find her again?
Soon she would be with Simon. Dom would cease to exist. All of this would be funny, in retrospect. She would see it as an amusing break from the correct order, a sojourn into the wilderness that had always been just that: a detour, something temporary.
* * *
—
When Alex came down the steps, Jack was stretched out on the couch in his satin basketball shorts and his big T-shirt. His forehead was dazzled with sweat. When he turned to look at her, he seemed concerned—what did he catch in her face?
She’d been grimacing. She made herself smile.
“You missed it,” he said. “It was raining.” He blinked out the window. “But it’ll clear up,” he went on. “Don’t you think?”
“Sure.”
He looked up at her again. A crooked smile. “They’ll be leaving for the boat in like an hour.”
The waiting made her antsy. She redid her eye makeup. Kept drinking half a glass of water, then forgetting where she’d left it.
Preparations for Simon’s party would be gearing up. The caterers would be backing up their truck in Simon’s service entrance. Emerging in pressed white shirts and dark pants, setting up burners and long folding tables. Extension cords in the grass, umbrellas blooming in the yard.
What was Lori doing right now? Scrambling around, running the show, trying to keep the dog away from the bartenders.
And Simon? Harder to picture what exactly he’d be doing. She let herself imagine him in the pool, cutting through the water. Laps always relaxed him.
She took an anxious little shit in the upstairs bathroom. Put in earrings, the earrings Simon had given her. They jittered in her lobes.
It had been Jack’s idea, hadn’t it? She hadn’t asked him, hadn’t forced him. He wanted to. And what if it went wrong? Would she have to account for herself, explain things? The most important point to make clear was that the boy had offered. And really, what seemed the more salient point was that, for a while, that brief stretch of days, everything had been good. Hadn’t it? The boy slept late. The boy was happy and they swam in the ocean and returned with salt in their hair. They’d both gotten something out of this. A fair exchange, in the end.
* * *
—
They got into the car in silence. Jack adjusted the mirrors. He took a big raggedy breath. “Ready?”
“Only if you’re sure,” Alex said. As if she didn’t care either way, as if he might actually change his mind.
He drove with uncharacteristic focus—not fucking with his phone, not chattering away, not playing music.
Everything was okay, Alex told herself. Like there was a momentum that she could relax into. And it wasn’t raining. Just a fine mist in the air, the sun already cracking through the clouds.
All the signs were good.
Maybe the first guests would already be arriving at Simon’s. The older couples and parents with children, the foreigners who came promptly at the start time. There would be food in silver warming trays and sauces burping away on burners and sautéed shrimp flashing in pans. Bottles sweating in buckets of ice.
Better for Alex to show up when things were already in full swing. When the party had its own logic, its own inevitable unfolding. The Dom problem would be over and done with. She let herself watch the green world blurring past the windows, spacing out in a pleasant trance—here it was, nearly returned to her.
* * *
—
At a stoplight, Jack kissed her with urgent attention, Alex feeling his lips, his tongue. He stared into her eyes with intensity. An unsettling intensity. A stranger, she thought to herself, this person is a stranger. But before the thought could bother her too much, the light turned green. Still, Jack kept gazing into her eyes. The car behind them honked, then swerved suddenly around them before speeding off.
Alex squeezed his knee. “Thank you.”
Did she love him, in that moment? Something like it.
* * *
—
What happened next:
Jack slipped into his big white house, emerging with the money in a casual, easy way, like he’d dropped by for a glass of milk.
Alex gave the money to Dom. He was deleted from her life.
Alex went to the party.
Simon was happy to see her. Simon cleaved across the grass to meet her, taking her hands in his. He kissed her.
All was well.
* * *
—
Or that’s what Alex wished had happened. She could see it all so easily, each click of the frame advancing, so that it already felt real—of course she had solved all her problems. Of course it had all worked out.
What actually happened: Jack cleared his throat. He appeared to be driving down a street they had already been down.
Did she know, already? Was it obvious in his tone?
“Listen,” he said.
The silence between them opened up—that’s when she understood.
“There’s no safe,” the boy said. He kept looking at the road. “I don’t know why I said there was.”
Alex was quiet.
So it was over. So she would not be saved.
Ha. Ha ha.
He darted a glance at her. His cheeks were red. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”
Fine. Fine. A gag of rage appeared, then disappeared. Her mind was racing. A manic urgency was already overtaking her, a hilarity that teetered close to panic. All wasn’t lost. It couldn’t be. There were still things she could do. She’d do something. Do what? She couldn’t meet Dom. But she could go to the party. She’d go to the party and she and Simon would make up. And so she’d explain. Lay it all out. And he’d help her. It would still work out.
Alex forced a neutral expression.
“Can you drop me off?” she said.
A flicker in Jack’s face, a downshift. “Drop you off? Where?”
“A friend’s house.”
“What friend?” His voice was edgy. He had expected some reaction, surely, but not this one.
“A friend. But we can hang out again.” The lie was obvious. Her words were limp, her performance half-hearted. She should have been more reassuring. Should act like she didn’t care about his lie, didn’t care about the money. She should be spinning out a vision of the future to soothe him, a game she knew how to play. But she didn’t. She couldn’t summon the proper energy to massage this situation.
“Now?” he said.
“Can you actually just drop me off,” she said, “at the intersection before town? Where the market is?”
“But, like, right now? Right this second?” Jack looked frightened and young. It was painful how young he was. A baby, a child. He pleaded with her, silently, for guidance. He reached for her hand.
She stopped herself from recoiling, but he still noticed.
“Come on, Alex, I said I was sorry. I was just high. It sounded true when I was saying it. I’m dumb. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “Really. Let’s talk later, okay?”
“I do want to help you. We can figure something out. I love you,” he said, and hadn’t that been enough of a warning sign, how quickly he said that, his feelings flailing around for any place to land?
“You’re a sweet boy, okay?”
“Fuck,” he whispered, “fuck,” and he turned to Alex with a ragged, wild face. “Can you just wait? Why do you have to leave right now?”
It was sudden and startling, the way he crumpled.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said, his shoulders heaving, wiping his nose with his forearm. “Okay, I’m really sorry. Don’t leave, please. Please.”
She should comfort him. But she was frozen.
“I’m not in a good place.” His voice was nasally. “I’m really not doing good, okay?”
“I’m sorry.” She did feel bad, did feel sorry, but when she spoke she sounded sober and faint and bloodless.
“Alex,” he said. “Please. Come on.” Jack was still crying. Unbelievable, this flood of tears. Why, really, did it surprise her? He was a kid.
He switched tactics. “Where are you going? Tell me. Okay? You have to tell me.”
Her head was pounding: already she was steeling herself for a series of wearying logistics. She spoke very clearly and slowly. “You need to go home,” she said. “Just drop me off at the beach, okay?”
It was good he kept driving, that they were putting distance between themselves and the house, but, she thought, this wasn’t any road she recognized, the houses thinning, the dunes getting scrubbier and more forested, the car picking up speed.
“We have to talk,” Jack said, hands white-knuckling the wheel. “You can’t just leave, it’s not fair.”
Alex held her bag more tightly on her lap.
There was something she could say, some way to convince him to let this go—she had always been good at maneuvering disappointment—she just had to think for a moment, and how could she think with him crying like this?
“Just talk to me,” Jack said. “Please. I love you.”
His face was anguished, churning with pure misery. He wept and pawed at his eyes. Saying her name over and over.
“Jack.” She tried to speak calmly. Her voice rasped as if she’d been yelling: had she been yelling?
“I’m sorry,” Jack said, his shoulders heaving. “Okay, I’m really sorry. Don’t leave, please. Please.” His words squeezed together. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I might do something bad. If you leave.”
Was he telling the truth?
“Did you hear me? Don’t you even care?”
Alex told herself the boy wouldn’t actually do anything. That he would be fine.
“Jack.” What was she going to say next? She didn’t know. She was watching the boy’s face, not the road, and she saw the boy flinch, his features seizing up, and then she saw it, too.
A deer in the road. Teetering on its legs, the soft cupped ears in high alert. Standing right in their path. Why didn’t the animal move, Alex thought, why wasn’t it afraid?
The trees rushing at the windshield.
Then, a tremendous sound.
* * *
—
Alex could not, for a moment, move. Curious, was her first thought, curious. The boy. The question of the boy appeared in her brain. The prickles began at her spine.
Had she grabbed the wheel? No. The boy had swerved, hadn’t he? Like anyone would.
