Take Me With You(36)

Suddenly, the neighbor looks up, Scoot and I both expertly pretend we weren't just discussing her.

“Hey!” She waves. Her eyes move to me, she puts down her watering can and makes a beeline across the street. Fuck. No. Fuck.

I tense up dramatically. Scoot notices. “It's cool man. Relax. She's nice.”

Don't tell me to relax. I can't fucking relax. It's never fucking worked and yet he's always putting me in these impossible positions.

“Heeey! How are you?” she asks Scoot.

“Good, Milly. Getting some gardening done?”

“Yeah, thought I'd do so before your party starts tonight.”

Party?

Scoot looks over at me sheepishly. “Well, it's not a party, just a little thing in the backyard…” he dismisses.

“And who is this, fella?” She runs her finger up and down in my direction, oozing with overdone sexuality.

“Oh, this is my brother, Sam.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam,” she says, putting out a limp hand for me to take, like she's a lady. I nod and give it a gentle shake.

“Do you live around here?” she asks.

My throat clenches, a bead of sweat rolls down my temple. I don't have a way out of this.

“Y-y-y-y-y-yes.”

Her smile drops a bit and she tilts her head. “Ooooh that's nice.” I can see in her eyes; she's trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. She's thinking I'm a retard. Just like all the kids used to call me.

“I just moved in from Savannah, Georgia, just a few weeks ago. It's been a big move,” she transitions smoothly.

“Milly is getting a fresh start here,” Scoot adds.

“Divorce,” Milly confirms, wagging her tongue and pretending to tug on an invisible noose around her neck. “They say California is where you want to come to start over.”

“Everyone's flocking here,” Scoot replies, guiding the conversation for me. “Our family though, we're originals. Back generations, been here almost as long as this state has.”

I nod to maintain some modicum of participation in the conversation.

“Scoot!” Katie calls from the house. “Can I borrow you for a sec?”

“I'll be right back,” he calls tensely, knowing that I would rather be set on fire than continue this conversation alone.

Milly eases herself against a wooden support, waiting for me to say something else. But I can't. It'll only get worse.

“Scooter invited me to the party, but he didn't mention he had a brother!” she says, playfully shoving my knee.

I give her a shy chuckle. With Vesper, I've spoken clearly more frequently than I ever have. I no longer have to wait for a new home to enter so I can feel that rush that tunes me like a dialer searching for a crisp channel on the radio. My notes are always off, my words spotty, but when I'm focused on survival, sex, or anger, it's like someone turns my tuner to the right spot and the words come out like a perfect melody.

“Well, I better finish up my gardening.” She finally relents.

I smile and nod.

“I'll see you later then?”

I nod again and give her a friendly wave.

She baby-waves at me before spinning on her heel and shoving her hands in her pocket.

Milly sways her hips as she crosses the street. A recent divorcee out on the prowl. I can smell the desperation.

At any other point in my life I'd be carving out a plan to get into that house and make her regret all the attention she ever begged for. But all I can think about is the pretty girl sitting in her room, with her ass stretched, waiting for me to fuck her.





Scoot failed to mention that the family dinner he had invited me to had grown into a neighborhood cookout. That's him in a nutshell right there: always pretending to give a shit, when he doesn't at all. He doesn't really know me or understand me. He thinks he can just keep prodding and pushing and I'll become like him. He knows this is my nightmare. A social gathering, where I have to talk to a bunch of people, some of whom I have never met. But if I leave he'll end up coming over to apologize and that's the last thing I need.

Just to add to the inherent misery, a few of his neighborhood friends who are cops are here tonight. I’m not worried they know who I am. In fact, when I do have to interact with these guys, I get a kick out of knowing they have no idea. Who would think Scoot’s little brother is The Night Prowler? But cops in general, they remind me of my dad, and I’d rather keep my contact with them to a minimum. I’ve kept my ear out for chatter when I was around them, but the one time work came up, Katie butted in and playfully ordered they not talk shop.

I know it would seem like the thing to do would be to get chummy with the cops at the party, but I’ve always been reserved around them so the change in behavior would be odd. It’s best not to talk. Any seemingly innocent piece of information could slip and implicate me down the line. I could place myself near the scene of a crime on a certain day or mention something about The Night Prowler that only the man himself would know. Some of these guys, they are like hawks, always scanning people, always hunting. So while everyone is drinking and socializing, I find a way to hide out upstairs where the kids are playing, like a fucking weirdo. Now I'm the stuttering creep who hides from the party with kids. I can't fucking win.