A Tragic Kind of Wonderful(42)

The reply comes almost immediately.

Call me if you need a pickup or

anything else. I can be back

here in fifteen minutes.

David must have pretyped it, too.





HAMSTER IS RUNNING

HUMMINGBIRD IS HOVERING

HAMMERHEAD IS THRASHING*

HANNIGANIMAL IS DOWN/MIXED

Zumi sits cross-legged on a corner of the blanket, hard to see in her black hoodie. She trickles sand into a tall bottle. Connor sits to one side, facing the path, watching me approach. It’s hard to tell in the dim light but he looks exhausted.

I say, “How long you been out here?”

“What’s in the sock?” Zumi asks.

I dump out the bottle and say, “Admission is getting expensive.” I try to hand it to Connor but Zumi takes it instead.

“I don’t have bendy straws,” I say. “And I don’t see any cups. I guess if someone’s sick, the vodka will kill the germs.”

“This isn’t just for me? You didn’t bring any for you guys?”

I smile. It’s definitely Zumi’s kind of joke, though she said it seriously.

I don’t want to drink at all. I wonder if I’ll have to, if for no other reason than to reduce the amount she drinks. Maybe I could spill some. Drinking wasn’t a thing with us last year and I want to know how much was in the bottle she’s now filling with sand.

Zumi opens the vodka and holds it out to me.

“Make a toast.”

“Uh …”

“To Annie’s memory.” She waggles the vodka. “From the heart.”

I take the bottle and raise it a little.

“Um … to Annie.” I think a moment. Then, “This town wasn’t good enough for you.”

Zumi barks laughter. It’s real, raw, angry, and hurt, all at once. “Damn, Mel. You nailed it! I knew you would! Now drink!”

The instant before liquid touches my lips, I choke on burning fumes. Zumi rescues the bottle.

“God …” I can’t stop coughing. “People … pay… to drink … gasoline?”

“Not much,” Zumi says, examining the bottle by the light. “This is the cheap stuff. Now you, Connor.”

He takes the bottle and holds it up.

“To Annie. We weren’t good enough for you either.”

Zumi nods, her face tight. Connor tips the bottle. I can’t tell if he really drinks. He doesn’t react anything like I did. Maybe he’s used to it. He hands the bottle to Zumi.

She stands unsteadily. Connor and I scramble up to join her. She raises the bottle high, by the neck, but looks down, hidden by her hair. I glance at Connor. In the harsh light of the lantern, his face is tense.

After a moment, Zumi lifts her head and takes a long, hard swig. I see bubbles and no reaction. Apparently she’s used to drinking gasoline.

“Annie!” she shouts over the crashing surf. “Nothing was good enough for you, you fucking bitch!”

She lurches forward—I grab on to keep her from falling, my adrenaline spiking as if the lantern below us were actually a fire. Connor takes the bottle.

Zumi leans on me, still facing the sea. “Fuck you, Annie! What a … goddamn … waste of time!”

I struggle to keep her steady.

“That’s all you were! Selfish, shallow … waste of … of …” She drops her arms. “To hell with you …”

I pull Zumi off balance to get us to sit. We go down hard but it’s okay. I wrap my arms around her and she hides her face against my shoulder. She’s not crying but her muscles are clenched and I think her nose is bruising my neck.

She growls, “If you ever … ever … ever say ‘I told you so,’ I’ll bite you.”

I stroke her hair.

“I mean it. It’ll leave a scar.”

Connor sits and closes his eyes. He exhales like he’s letting out air he’s been holding a very long time. He wipes his face and opens his eyes. I reach out to him.

He tries to hand me the bottle. I roll my eyes. He sets it down and takes my hand long enough to squeeze it.

“You, too, Connor,” Zumi mumbles. “Not one word. Ever.”

*

I can’t say I’m used to drinking gasoline already, but after a couple hours of tiny sips, I’ve discovered it’s possible. Is this how it starts? My first steps along the path of Hurricane Joan?

Nobody makes me drink, but Zumi seeing us take turns keeps her talking. She needs to say these things and get it all out. Then I can go back to never drinking again.

“My uncle Leo,” she says. “I don’t think you ever met him.”

I shake my head.

“He and Aunt Chris were happy for as long as I could remember. Then suddenly last year he moves in with us, gets a divorce, sells their house, finds an apartment, because Aunt Chris cheated on him.”

She drinks and hands the bottle to me.

“He thought it was this one mistake. He’d been busy with work and said he blamed himself. Then he found out she’d been seeing this guy for two years, a few times a week. And there’d been other guys before that.”

I pass the bottle to Connor.

“He said the betrayal was bad, but worse was thinking back over the years. About how when she came home from the mall, she’d really been with another guy all afternoon. Or her going out to pick up pizza, coming home with a smile and a kiss, saying it took an extra half hour because their order got lost.”