They’d had serious discussions as well, about family struggles, financial struggles, and academic struggles; of the future and the past. They’d talked about why the world was the way it was, and how it worked, and who did what to whom, and what did it all mean anyway? Mark had always been fascinated by Sharon’s dreamy, philosophical side, the part of her that appreciated art, flowers, and butterflies and saw what the world could be rather than what it was. He also admired the way she could get down to business when a situation called for it. It was a trait he had not yet acquired, although he hoped he would one day. It was this almost machinelike aspect of her personality that kept her on the honor roll year after year. That, too, had always impressed him. Her smarts, her beauty, her sense of fun — there were so many things about her he loved…
But at the moment it was as if the circumstances surrounding them had swallowed the Sharon Blake he had known since childhood and replaced her with this blank-eyed cipher. He had come here to try to comfort her, maybe even cheer her up. It had never been difficult before. But this was something else. Something worse.
“You know what the rain makes me think about?” he asked, grinning and nodding toward the window. “That night we were coming back from the mall in Tommy’s Bronco. Remember? The big curb over in Wellington Court?”
It was an old and well-loved tale, and Mark was aware that Sharon already knew it down to the finest detail. Tommy Bissett had just gotten his driver’s license, followed by his first vehicle — a used Ford Bronco. On the night in question, during their sophomore year in high school, Tommy had taken the two of them to the mall over in Hydebrook. They prowled from store to store until closing time, and by then a storm system had moved in and was soaking the area with a vengeance. For Tommy Bissett, this meant opportunity.
With Mark and Sharon giggling their heads off, he hydroplaned and fishtailed his way down the darkened, rainswept Route 161 to the Silver Lake exit, then toward the residential district via Shepherd Boulevard. Nodding at the rainpool that had gathered at the intersection of Shepherd and Broadway, Tommy grinned and said keenly, Now that’s what I call a puddle. He backed up a short distance and gunned the engine, and the resulting wave was, in his view, good but not good enough. Four more attempts were made, each starting farther back than the last, after which Mark and Sharon felt sick to their stomachs. Just one more, Tommy told them, his eyes wild as he threw the engine into reverse. This one’ll be the BEST. Then something went wrong — Tommy spun the wheel to avoid the curb just as he had before, but this time the steering system didn’t respond and the vehicle slammed into the blunt barrier at high speed. When the Bronco came to rest, there was a distinct tilt to its bearing.
Cursing, Tommy undid his belt and scrambled out. The axle was fine, but the wheel was bent beneath it like the folded leg of some sleeping animal. Worst of all, Tommy didn’t have a spare. The trio then had to walk three miles in the downpour, Tommy a few steps ahead of them and continuing to showcase his expertise in the field of profanity while Mark and Sharon tried to stifle their laughter. Whenever Mark thought of this story, he was reminded of her fun and easygoing nature — a part of her that didn’t seem to be anywhere in view now.
“Yeah, that was funny,” Sharon said flatly, with a nod that was all but imperceptible. She could’ve been reading from a script cast in a language she didn’t understand.
Mark sipped the juice and thought about conjuring another tale of days gone by; there were plenty to choose from. Then a question struck him—If you find yourself saying “Remember the time” a lot, is that a sign of something? His gut told him it probably was. A sign that there had been a fundamental change in the whole equation. He wasn’t much older than her; just a few weeks. And as his dad sometimes liked to remind him, “I have shoes older than you.” So how could he be so young and yet feel so… worn?
He groped a new topic, something upbeat, but nothing presented itself. Her family? No — nothing but a horror show there. School? Another no — we’re just a few months away from graduation, and all we want to do is get out of there and move on. Music? Movies? Television? Nothing seemed right, and that birthed a new kind of fear. He had never found it difficult to strike up a conversation with her before.
“Hey, are those new curtains over the sink?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was straw-dry.
“You put them up recently, right?”
“A few days ago.”
“They look nice.”
“Thanks.”
“And those throw pillows on the couch in the living room.” He motioned in that direction with his thumb. “They’re new, too, aren’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“You got them at the store?”
“Mm-hmm.”
By “store” he meant the dollar store where she’d been working part-time for the last three months, after school and on weekends.
“They look good, too.”
She nodded. “They look okay.”
“You know, I never asked you this before, but do you think—”
“How are your parents doing?” she cut in, becoming animate at the same time. A trace of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I haven’t seen them around town much.”
“They’re okay,” he said. Sharon had always gotten along famously with both of them; a point that bugged him a little bit, although he planned to keep that classified as top secret for eternity. His mom thought Sharon had tremendous natural beauty and never hesitated to tell her. And his father habitually remarked, “She’s really got it up here,” while tapping the side of his head.
“My dad and I had a big blowout this morning,” he told her, “and I left.” He held up his phone. “I’ve got this turned off because I don’t want to talk with him. I don’t even have to look to know he’s tried calling or texting me. Probably both.”
“I hear you,” she said.
“Yeah,” Mark said back, softly. “I know you do.”
They were looking directly at one another now, so much being communicated without language, desperate and sincere and yet jumbled by the confusion that is the exclusive property of teenagers stuck in a situation beyond their comprehension.
“So… what’s going to happen after graduation?” Mark asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Have you talked about it with your family?”
“They won’t help me out. I don’t even have to think about that one.”
“That sucks.”
She nodded absently. “It sure does.”
“What about money? Is there any stored away anywhere?”
“No. It’s going to be a huge problem.”
He hesitated with his next question, but it had to be asked. “What about Carl? Is he going to do anything?”
“Hard to say since he’s disappeared.”
“Shit, I didn’t know that. I’m really sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“Are you going to find a way to go to college?”
She let out a long sigh. “I’d like to, but I don’t see how.”
“What about work? Will you stay at the dollar st—”
Sharon cut him off with a smile so dazzling that it surprised him into wide-eyed silence.
“You know what I’d like to do right now?” she said.
“What?”
She sprung to her feet and the denim shirt floated open, affording him an even clearer view of the bump. My God, he thought, there it is.
Pointing toward the window, she said, “I’d like to take a walk in the woods back there, just you and me. You know how much I love walking through the woods in the rain, with the smell of the wet ground and all the noise in the treetops. Whaddaya say?”