Blindness(25)

“Codes, honey, come here. Give mommy a hug,” she says, her words barely coherent. She’s hammered—and it’s not the kind of drunk I’ve seen at the bars near Western, or the kind of drunk Trevor gets after a night out celebrating. It’s not even the kind of drunk I hear some nights on the phone with Aunt Caroline.

I know I’m staring at her, and I’m sure my face is full of pity. She’s wobbling on her feet as she teeters to the fridge, opening it up and leaning her full body inside, like she’s looking for something in the back of a closet. I look back to Cody, waiting for him to do something, but he’s just eating his sandwich. What is it with people in this house pretending everything’s okay?

No longer able to take it, I decide to try to get Shelly to open up, thinking maybe if Cody hears the state his mother is in, he’ll feel compelled to do something about it. “Hey, Shelly? When’s Jim coming back?” I ask, hoping she understood me.

It takes her four attempts to set the bottle of wine flat along the counter, each time leaning it crooked and watching it slide sideways. I’m about to ask her again, when Cody interrupts.

“You know he’s up there f*cking her, don’t you?” he says, and I’m immediately speechless, trying to replay his words again to be sure I heard them right. Cody doesn’t say anything more, just continues to eat his sandwich while his mother purses her lips, her eyes bloodshot, but wide.

“Don’t you dare speak about your father that way!” she yells, this time her words perfectly clear. She slaps Cody as she says it, and the popping sound reverberates throughout the empty house. His cheek is red, and she’s looking at it, almost like she’s proud of her work—a half-smirk on her face, but her eyes still void of emotion.

Cody drops his sandwich from his hands, and pushes the plate forward until it falls into the sink. He doesn’t even acknowledge her standing there, her body shaking, as he leaves. “He’s not my father, and you’re pathetic,” he says, his voice flat.

The door slams to a close behind him, and I’m left alone with Shelly. I don’t know what to say, what to do. I expect her to begin sobbing, but she doesn’t. Instead, she clutches the bottle in her hands and turns her body away from me, muttering incoherently under her breath as she goes back to her room. I’m invisible.

I move to the window and can see Cody climbing the stairs up to the carriage house—the harsh rain pelting him. I don’t even stop to think before I grab the sweater I have hanging near the back door and run after him. I catch him just as he’s closing his door, and I push my way inside behind him.

Cody’s place is small. There’s a tight living room with an old sofa, some TV trays, and a galley kitchen to the side. I notice Cody’s laundry is piled on the floor next to the stacked washer and dryer tucked in a pantry closet. A door on the far side leads to what I presume is his bedroom, and that’s where he goes, once again attempting to shut the door on me as I follow. I catch it in my hand and wait in the doorway while he falls forward on his bed, sliding his body up until his face is planted in his pillow.

“Just leave. I’m sorry I bothered you,” he says, working his feet until his shoes fall to the floor. He grabs a fistful of his pillow and lifts it over his head until it covers it, like he’s trying to hide.

I know the safe thing to do would be to leave. But I can’t seem to get my body to follow through with my mind’s orders. I’m wavering at the door, watching his back rise and fall with the heavy breaths he’s taking. Eventually, I close the door all the way and slip my own shoes off, kicking them to the corner. I pull my sweater off, too, since the rain nearly soaked through it when I ran outside. I wait at the foot of the bed, unsure of my next move. I know he can sense I’m still here. I see his hands grip at the sheets and squeeze, like he’s holding everything in just for my benefit.

“What did you mean?” I ask, not really knowing where to begin with him. He pushes his pillow from his eyes slowly and squints at me. “Before? What you just said to your mom. About Jim?”

I can’t seem to get myself to repeat it. His words were so harsh, so ugly. And as desperate as I am to understand why he’d lash out at his mother, part of me knows deep down that he was probably telling her the truth. I sit down on the bed and slide myself up to the headboard, closing the distance between us, hoping it will help him open up and slow down his breathing.

We sit there, looking at each other for a full minute before he answers. “Jim’s having an affair…some woman in Chicago. My mom knows all about it; she just lets him get away with it. Says she’s the one who gets the house and all this,” Cody says, rolling to his side and waving his hand in the air.

My heart sinks even more—every new fact I learn about the Appletons drives my opinion of them lower. I’m struggling with Trevor, trying not to paint him with the same disappointment I have for Jim and Shelly. I know it isn’t fair, and I know he doesn’t have the full story. He would be ashamed of his father if he knew everything.

“I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing what else I can say. Cody shrugs and pulls his pillow from above him, stuffing it behind his neck now so he can roll onto his back. I’m unable to avoid the glimpse I get of his bare stomach as his shirt raises up just enough to show the line of his boxers peering out from the top of his jeans. I’m flushed suddenly and start to chew on my fingernails as a distraction. I keep reminding myself I’m here because somewhere along the way I became Cody’s friend—or at least, I’m trying to.