One of the boys looked at him earnestly. He looked at Becky. Then he looked at one of his friends. They looked at each other and, just like that, the boy took out a gun aimed it at Addison and said:
“Yeah, you can give me all your FUCKING money.”
There was no insult. There was no smile, just a deadly earnest that told Addison he’d better bend down and open the drawer.
“All right,” he said, trying to suck the bile and bring his voice above the heart that was beating double time, that was making him faint. Where was Becky? He couldn’t see Becky. He couldn’t see anything. He breathed, he couldn’t think. His hand under the counter stiffened. He bent down.
He brought up his gun.
“Fuck!” Becky shouted.
Somebody else shouted, but Addison just saw the face. The other boy, was staring at him, his eyes wide in a black face.
Addison swallowed and swallowed and then said, blowing out his cheeks, “Is there something else I can help you with?”
The boy looked at him. Addison waited for him to click the lock.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” someone muttered behind him.
“Let’s go man.”
“Come on let’s go.”
And the other boy’s gun lowered, but after they left, Addison was still standing there wide eyed and angry.
“Where the fuck did you get that?” Becky demanded.
“I got it over the summer.”
“Addison, you need to tell Mr. Darrow.”
“That,” Addison said, “I will not do. Do you have that tape?”
Becky handed him the tape she’d taken from the surveillance camera.
Addison looked it over.
“I thought you were going to show that to Mr. Darrow.”
Addison, low in the passenger seat, lazily unspooled the innards of the cassette and then rolled down his window and threw it into the night.
“Addison!”
“It didn’t happen.”
“Yes it did,” Becky said. “You’re crazy. You don’t do that! That’s how people get killed. Don’t you know that? You could have just given up the money. You could just get the Darrows to put up some plexiglass and—”
“No! Fuck that!” Addison said. “It’s not about the money. It’s about not being scared. I will not be scared.”
Becky took her hands through her blond hair and swore for a long breath as they dodged a yellow light.
“FUUUUUUUCK! You know what, Addison? You don’t want to be scared, but you don’t care about scaring me, do you?”
Addison frowned and looked at her.
“Becky,” he put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s not like that.”
Becky shrugged his shoulder off and turned her head up. Addison thought she was so pretty. Too good for him. He didn’t mean to piss her off.
“Where do you want to go to dinner?” she said.
He suggested: “Burger King?”
“No,” Becky said. “I feel like TGI Fridays.”
“You brought money for that?”
“No,” Becky said. “But I feel like you can pay.”
Mark Power’s wife had died of cancer, not heart disease, so that didn’t really explain why once she died Mark had started taking a daily aspirin. He’d heard it reduced the chance of heart disease if you took one a day. Now that he thought abut it, Sidney had told him this and then added, “But I always take two, to be double safe.”
So Mark popped two and then, in his shorts and tee shirt, padded down the hall to Chris’s room.
“Still studying! Go to bed!”
Chris looked up from the pile of books and took off the glasses he never wore in public.
“Yeah, well, this is going to be a big year.”
“It can be a big year tomorrow,” Mark told him, sitting on the bed with him. “Everyone already knows you’re smart.”
“Are you telling me to slack off?” Chris said with a grin.
“Me?” Mark pointed at himself. “Never. But... You are allowed to have more fun.”
“I have fun. I had fun all day.”
“Yes, well,” Mark gave up on it and shrugged.
“What, Dad?”
The funny thing was that Mark did know what he wanted to say, but he also knew there was really no good way to say it. In fact, he hadn’t even thought about it until today.
“I think there’s this thing over at the Darrows on Saturday. They’re having a Labor Day cookout and I was thinking we should go.”
“You should go. I think I’ve got something planned.”
“Oh,” Mark said. “Well, all right.”
“Is that all, Dad?”
“Yes, I think. I saw Mason today.”
“Yeah, Dad, me too. I go to school with him. What about him?”
“Oh, well, I just... saw him today.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Chris said, waiting for his father to make some sense.
“Well, I’m going to go and let you study now. But don’t study too late.”
“All right, Dad,” Chris smiled at him again, and Mark realized just then that his son had shut him out for the space of that whole conversation.
“Love you dad.”
Mark left the room. He hadn’t swallowed the aspirin quite right and one was still lodged in his throat. He swallowed and wondered if he should say what he wanted to, his hand still on the doorpost. Mason, as far as Mark knew, didn’t play a sport or really have too many accomplishments at Saint Vitus. The truth is, Mark had never thought about his godson that much, and certainly not about his best friend Addison. But there it was: Mason had a best friend. When Mark looked back at Chris, in his shorts and tee shirt, with his glasses on, studying hard, the star athlete, destined for academic success he thought, I would never raise my son to be like that Addison. Chris is the kind of kid you brag about, that’s what I want him to be, but...
Mark walked out of the room and went into his own. He turned on the TV loud enough so that Chris knew he was there. After his wife died, he always did that.
As he sat on his bed and looked at the ceiling fan turning he thought: Chris doesn’t really have any friends.
The phone rang and Mason Darrow jumped out of bed to pick it up.
“Hello?”
It had to be for him. No one else would call at this time of night, but then no one should call at this time.
“Mason?”
“Tommy?” He sounded troubled over the phone, but these days Tommy always sounded troubled.
“I’m worried about Addison.”
“You’ve been worried about Addison for years. You’re trying to save his soul and he’s trying to buy a ticket to hell. I don’t know why you all go on like this.”
Mason collapsed on the bed. “And, incidentally, I don’t know why you don’t worry about me.”
“You’re not going to hell,” Tommy said simply. “You’re good. And you believe in Jesus.”
“Well, if that’s all it takes...”
“No, Addison is... different. I worry about him.”
“Because...? I mean what now?”
“Well, he’s going to start having sex.”
“We don’t know that, and I don’t want to think about it, really.”
“What are we going to do?”
“What can we do?” Mason said.
“Mason!”
Mason blew out his cheeks. How long had he been Tommy Dwyer’s friend? All his life almost.
“Look,” Mason said, deciding to come down to Tommy. “I worry about Addison too. But all we can do is pray.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place.”
“Because that sounds sappy and silly and I don’t think I have to advertise my religion to the whole world.”
“Even to me?”
“Yes,” Mason insisted.
“I think we should pray right now,” Tommy said over the phone.
“Oh, God...”
“That’s a start.”
“Tommy.”
“Indulge me.”
“Fine,” Mason said. “Pray.”
“Dear Jesus,” Tommy began, “please watch over our friend Addison, lead him to a true knowledge of you and stop him from having premarital sex. In your holy name. Amen.”
“Amen,” Mason muttered. “Please go to bed, Tommy.”
“Good night, Mason.”
“Tommy, don’t call me again.”
“I won’t. Good night, Mason.”
“Good night.”
Joel McKenna woke up from a horrible dream, but couldn’t recall it. His heart was thumping in his chest and his body was covered with sweat. He’d soaked his boxers, and his mattress then thrown the covers off.
He turned to look at the clock and saw the red numbers telling him, without debate, that it was 4:30. He shut off the alarm which was going to come on in about ten minutes. He had to shower and get ready for work.
He tried to be quiet. Joel wished he could keep the water quiet. Seth was asleep. Seth was in such a bad mood all the time and after yesterday, the first day of his senior year, things were worse not better.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where I’m going to go next year. I hate this school. I hate life.”
“But Saint Vitus is a good school. You’ll do well with it. It’s where we all went.”
Only Seth didn’t do well at it, and the truth was, when Joel remembered his school days he realized that he hadn’t loved the place either.
He masturbated in the shower like he did every morning. It was a sin, but a venial one. He’d been celibate since his wife had left him. Funny how he’d done everything right all of his life and then, through no perceptible fault of his own had ended up a divorced masturbator who was getting dressed so he could drive to the bus station to run the Number Seven.
After a short breakfast he rinsed the sink and combed his hair again. He knelt by his bedside, folded his hands together and kneeling before the crucifix prayed the blue glass rosary beads wrapped around his hand. Then he kissed them before sticking the beads in his pocket.
Jesus, sometimes it’s so hard. Why do you make it so hard?
But it wasn’t right to say things like that Joel reminded himself, crossed himself. Seth was just waking up and the first signs of daylight were in the sky. Every night Seth filled the coffee pot with water and coffee so that in the morning all Joel had to do was hit the red button and the coffee was on. His son, his cranky, crabby son who looked like a pothead with all his hair and his flannel and his depression, laid out his shoes and his clothes and even his underwear while Joel was sleep. Joel had never asked him to do this, and whenever Seth became… the word Joel used was “throttleable”—strangling inducing—Joel remembered this. Every morning at about this time, Seth shambled out of bed, hair in his face, pulling his boxers out of his crotch and scratching his bare chest.
“Have a good day, Yadda,” he said.
And Joel would kiss his son on the head and leave.