Joe Hill - Horns

“Well. You don’t need to. Listen, if you really love each other, you’ll know it for sure in six months, and you’ll want to get back together.”

She shook her head and said, “No, I…I do think this is looking a little more than temporary. There are some things I’ve learned about myself this summer, some things I know, that have changed how I feel about my relationship with Ig. I know I can’t be married to him. After he’s been over in England for a while, after he’s had time to meet someone, I’ll finish it for good.”

“Jesus,” Lee said softly, playing it again in his head: There are some things I’ve learned about myself this summer. Remembering what it was like in the kitchen with her, his leg between hers, and his hand on the smooth curve of her hip, and her soft, fast breath in his ear. “Just a couple weeks ago, you were telling me what you were going to name the kids.”

“Yeah. But when you know something, you know something. I know I’m never going to have kids with him now.” She seemed calmer, had relaxed a little. She said, “This is the part where you step up to defend your best friend and talk me out of it. You mad at me?”

“No.”

“Do you think less of me?”

“I’d think less of you if you pretended you still want to be with Ig when you know in your heart there’s no future for the two of you.”

“That’s it. That’s exactly it. And I want Ig to have other relationships, and be with other girls, and be happy. If I know he’s happy, it’ll be easier for me to move on.”

“Jesus, though. You guys have been together forever.” His hand almost trembled as he shook a second cigarette from his pack. In a week Ig would be gone and she would be alone, and she would not be reporting in to him about who she was fucking.

She nodded at the pack of cigarettes. “One for me?”

“Seriously? I thought you wanted me to quit.”

“Ig wanted you to quit. I was always kind of curious, but, you know. Figured Ig would disapprove. Guess I can try them now.” She rubbed her hands on her knees and said, “So. Are you going to teach me how to smoke tonight, Lee?”

“Sure,” he said.

In the street a skateboard banged and crashed, and some of the teens shouted in a mixture of appreciation and dismay as a boarder went sprawling. She looked over the edge of the roof.

“I’d like to learn how to skateboard, too,” she said.

“Retarded sport,” Lee said. “Good way to break something. Like your neck.”

“I’m not too worried about my neck,” she said, and turned and stood on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. For talking me through some things. I owe you, Lee.”

Her tank top clung to her breasts, and in the cool night air her nipples had crinkled, dimpling the fabric. He thought of reaching up and putting his hands on her hips, wondered if they could get started with a little touch and feel tonight. Before he could reach for her, though, the roof door banged open. It was the roommate, chewing gum, looking at them askance.

“Williams,” said her roommate, “your boyfriend is on the phone. I guess him and his Amnesty International friends waterboarded each other today, just to see what it feels like. He’s all excited, wants to give you the rundown. Sounds like he’s got a great job. Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Merrin said, and turned back to Lee and whispered, “She thinks you’re one of the bad guys. Which, of course, you are. I should go talk to Ig. Rain check on dinner?”

“When you do talk to him-are you going to say anything about-us, the stuff we’ve talked about-”

“Oh, hey. No. I can keep a secret, Lee.”

“Okay,” he said, dry-mouthed, wanting her.

“I have one of those butts?” said the fat, butchy slant, coming toward them.

“Sure,” Lee said.

Merrin flapped one hand up in a little wave, crossed the roof, and was gone.

Lee shook a Winston out for the roommate and lit it for her.

“Heading to San Diego, huh?”

“Yeah,” said the girl. “I’m moving in with a friend from high school. It’s going to be cool. She’s got a Wii and everything.”

“Does your old high-school friend play the game with the dots and the lines, or are you going to have to start doing your own laundry?”

The slant squinted at him, then waved one chubby hand, swiping away the curtain of smoke between them. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“You know that game, where you put a whole bunch of dots in a row and then take turns making lines, trying to build squares? Don’t you play that game with Merrin to see who does the laundry?”

“Do we?” said the girl.

HE LOOKED BACK AND FORTH with his one good eye, searching the parking lot for her, everything lit up by the weird, infernal glow of the red neon sign that towered above all-THE PIT-so the rain itself fell red through the hazy night, and then there she was, out under a tree in the rain.

“There, Lee, right there,” Terry told him, but Lee was already pulling over.

She’d told him she might need a ride back from The Pit, if Ig was very angry, after “The Big Talk.” Lee had promised he’d drive by to check on her, which she said he didn’t need to do, but smiling and looking grateful, so he knew she really wanted him to. The thing about Merrin was that she didn’t always mean what she said but often said things that were in direct opposition to her intentions.

When Lee saw her, in her soaked blouse and clinging skirt, her eyes reddened from crying, he felt his insides contract with nervous excitement, the thought in him that she was out there waiting for him, wanted to be with him. It had gone badly, Ig had said terrible things, had finally cast her aside, and there was no reason now to wait; he thought there was a good chance when he asked her to come home with him, she would agree, would say yes, in a gentle, accepting voice. As he slowed, she saw him and raised one hand, already stepping toward the side of the car. Lee regretted not taking Terry home before coming here now, wanted her alone. He thought if it were just the two of them in the car, she might lean against him in her wet clothes for warmth and comfort, and he could put his arm around her shoulders, maybe work his hand into her blouse.

Lee wanted her up front and turned his head to tell Terry to get in back, but Terry was already up, about to pull himself over the front seat. Terry Perrish was trashed, had smoked half of Mexico in the last couple hours, and moved with the grace of a tranquilized elephant. Lee reached past him to open the passenger-side door for her, and as he did, he put his elbow in Terry’s ass to move him along. Terry fell into the back, and Lee heard a soft, metallic bashing sound as he came down on the toolbox open on the floor.

She got in, pushing the wet strings of her hair out of her face. Her small, heart-shaped face-still the face of a girl-was wet and white and cold-looking, and Lee was seized with an urge to touch her, to gently stroke her cheek. Her blouse was soaked through, and her bra had little roses printed on it. Before he knew he was doing it, he was reaching out to touch her. But then his gaze shifted and he saw Terry’s joint, a fat blunt as long as a ladyfinger, sitting on the seat, and he dropped his hand over it, palmed it before she could see it.

Instead she was the one who touched him, lightly putting her icy fingers on his wrist. He shivered.

“Thanks for picking me up, Lee,” she said. “You just saved my life.”

“Where’s Ig?” Terry asked in a thick, stupid voice, ruining the moment. Lee looked at him in the rearview. He was hunched forward, his eyes unfocused, one hand pressed to his temple.