The Drifter(39)

“You know, people can actually see you here,” he said.

“They can?” she asked. “I thought that weed that strong must give you superpowers. I was praying that mine was invisibility.”

“Good one,” Teddy said, as he reached out and clinked his beer bottle against hers. “I’m always torn between X-ray vision and the power of flight.”

They sat together for a while and listened to Jacob’s Neil Young whine, howling “shot her dead, I shot her dead” over and over. Betsy felt relieved to be partially hidden on the stairs, safe with Teddy, that internal voice, the one that was out to destroy her, silenced for the time being.

“I thought you would have graduated by now?” said Betsy.

“Nah, I’m on the five-year plan,” he said. He had to shout to be heard over the music.

“I’m out of here in December,” said Betsy. “No idea where to, though.”

“I say just pick a spot on the map and go. Get out of here. I hear Seattle’s cool? Maybe Chicago? Where else?” he said.

“Maybe New York? All of those places feel way too far away. Way too cold. But you never know. Right now, I’d be happy just to go to a place where a shirt and shoes are required for service. I’d be happy to be in a town that wasn’t turned upside down by a serial killer, too,” she said.

Predictably, Channing made her way over to the percussion section and was shaking a tambourine in time to a messy cover of “Dig It Up” by the Hoodoo Gurus. “My girlfriend lives in the ground,” growled Jacob. She did a kind of spinning dance move that made Betsy feel nauseous just watching. Then, as if the party wasn’t a complete disaster already, the front door opened and in stumbled Mack, clearly smashed, with a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. He searched the room from the doorway and when he saw Betsy on the stairs next to Teddy he pointed at her hard and shouted, “Outside!” which was barely audible over the music. Gavin didn’t see anything.

“Shit,” said Teddy. “You can just ignore him, you know.”

“I’ve tried it before. Doesn’t work,” she said, and steadied herself on the stair rail as she stood up. If Channing’s spinning got the pukey feeling started, Mack’s grand appearance sealed the deal. Betsy tottered down the stairs and ran out of the front door to throw up in what was left of the landscaping on the far side of the driveway near a woody patch that separated Weird Bobby’s place from the house next door. She rinsed out her mouth with the remains of her Corona and spit, as delicately as possible, fearing any stragglers outside who saw her in the bushes might not find the whole situation very refined. By the time she looked up, the front yard was empty. She was alone, except for Mack, who was looming in front of her. Even in silhouette, backlit by the porch light, it was clear that he wasn’t merely wasted. He was belligerently, blindly wasted. She steadied herself against a tree, ready for the fight.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he shouted. “You and Gavin?”

“As of this morning, I didn’t think so. Now I’m reconsidering.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“There’s nothing going on,” she said.

“It looks like you’re staying in his house, Betsy. There’s something going on or you’re a bigger whore than I thought.”

Teddy walked out onto the front porch.

“You kids playing nice?” he asked.

“Fuck off, Teddy,” said Mack, flinging a near-empty Solo cup at him, which hit the front door and sent a spray of booze over the back of Teddy’s shirt and shorts when he ducked to shield his head. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Christ, settle down!” he said. “Betsy, are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” she said, straining her voice to be heard over the music. “Just give us a minute.” Am I fine?

“Why don’t we all calm down and come back inside,” Teddy said. The music blasted behind him.

“This has nothing to do with you, Teddy,” Mack shouted.

Teddy paused. Don’t leave, Betsy thought.

“OK. If you’re not back in the house in five minutes, I’m coming back out here.” Teddy went back into the party.

“Why do you care, anyway?” Betsy said, turning to Mack, shouting in his face. “It’s been over for so many months now. You want me to die, right? Isn’t that what you said at Bagelville over your morning coffee? You hated me even when we were together.”

“I wanted you to die before you started fucking one of my best friends,” he said, so close now that she could smell the bourbon on his breath.

“I’m not fucking Gavin,” she said.

“Yet. You are not fucking Gavin yet,” he shouted, and he reached out and shoved her against the tree, pressing his body against hers, his rage turning suddenly to a condescending stage whisper. “But if I were you, I’d wait till he was finished with Channing first.”

“What do you mean? You’re so full of shit,” she said, trying to push him away.

“I mean that she was over at his house the night before we saw you at Bagelville.” He was spitting as he spoke. Betsy managed to push him off of her and stumbled backward, further into the woods. Mack followed. “Her car was outside. I unpacked some boxes and looked back out there two hours later. It was still there.”