The People We Keep(76)

I hold my breath. Squeeze my keychain flashlight so I can see. Press the buttons for 2-3-5-6 on the lockbox and then it opens and we have the key.

“Whose place is this?” he asks as I unlock the door and push it open.

“My uncle’s,” I say. My father had a brother, but he died in Vietnam. It’s easier if Justin doesn’t know that last summer I spent a few hours after dark with my flashlight, trying out combos until I got the right one. It wasn’t hard. Six of the ten buttons were worn and finger-grubby, so the code had only been changed maybe two or three times over years and years of use. The order doesn’t matter on punch code boxes. Just that you pick the right numbers.

Justin turns the lights on in the living room and I resist the urge to turn them off. Old wicker furniture with palm tree prints on the cushions. The air is stale and damp. There’s dust on the coffee table. Odds are with us for a night or two at least, but we’ll have to be careful and I don’t know how to tell Justin to be careful without explaining.

It’s probably okay. I know people who squat as if they’re legit, taking long showers, leaving the lights on. People around here don’t keep track. Most of them are only on vacation anyway, renting the house next door for a week or two. They don’t know who belongs where, or which houses are supposed to be vacant. Maybe I call more attention to myself when I try to go under the radar. Maybe Justin and I are safer being conspicuous.

We bring our clothes in. I leave my guitar in the car when I stay in houses like this. I never do it otherwise, but Justin doesn’t know me well enough to think it’s strange. It makes for a cleaner getaway if a getaway becomes necessary.

“Let’s walk over to the beach,” Justin says after we’ve thrown our stuff in the bedroom.

“It’s late. I’ve been driving all day.”

“That’s why you need to walk,” he says. “Come on!”

The only reasons for not going are ones I can’t tell him, so we go.

He holds my hand as we walk down the road in the dark and cross to the beach. The moon is the slimmest sliver, hidden behind clouds. It’s disorienting. The blackness of the horizon. My hair flying in the wind. I can hear the power of the waves, even though I can’t see them clearly. It’s dark music they make. I could walk right into the water and become part of the movement, but I’m tethered to Justin, fingers hooked. Our feet sink in the sand. The air is thick and smells alive.

“We made it,” he says, laughing.

“We did.”

“Fuck you, Dad!” he yells to the waves. His voice is tired, ragged, young. “Now you.” He squeezes my hand. “Your turn.”

“Fuck you, Dad!” I yell. Because the waves are too loud for anyone else to hear us. I can barely hear myself.

“Yeah!” Justin yells, and then he lifts me up and kisses me. His face is wet. I wipe his cheeks.

“Fuck ’em both,” I say.

He stumbles and we fall, landing soft in the sand. I wish the world would always catch me this way. Justin holds on to me still, tucks his head into my neck. “Thank you,” he says. “I need to be myself sometimes, you know?” His breath is warm. I find his lips with mine. The waves are loud and the night is dark, and no one will see us.



* * *



We sleep late, even though the mattress is old and sagging. Musty pillows. Sand in the sheets. Justin takes forever to open his eyes. Even after I extract myself from his grasp and get out of bed, he lies there, breathing in slow rhythm. It’s better if we leave. This is not a place to linger.

“Gypsy rules!” I say, shoving the pile of clothes Justin left on the floor into his duffle.

“What?” He sits up fast. Looks around, trying to make sense of where we are.

“We’re on an adventure. We could end up anywhere. We may as well put our stuff back in the trunk. So if we decide to drive to Mexico next, we don’t even have to come back here.”

“Mexico is kind of far,” Justin says. “If we go to Mexico, I won’t be back at school in time.”

“Proverbial Mexico,” I say.

“But we’re just walking over to the beach, right?”

“Manatee Beach is way better,” I tell him, eager to get him in the car, “and it’s kind of a hike. It makes sense to drive.” It’s not that far, but I’ll wind through a few neighborhoods and make it seem further than it is, so he isn’t tempted to run back to get something. It’s best for us to stay away from the house all day in case someone shows up. People usually check in before dark. There’s still a risk at night, but if someone wasn’t here Sunday night, it’s not likely they’re coming now. Friday it gets dangerous again. But I like this house because it’s kind of run down, so I don’t think they rent it out much. It’s not what I would pick if I were paying. “My uncle always drives over to Manatee instead of walking.”



* * *



It’s funny, even when it’s bright and sunny and warm, when I close my eyes, branches and frozen rain are what I expect to see the next time I open them. All I have to do is blink and the shiny palm trees and bright yellow sun are suddenly shocking.

Justin runs into the water until it’s up to his waist, then dives in, pulling his arms back to hurl himself forward. Strong strokes he probably took lessons to learn, in a clean blue pool with floating ropes to mark out the lanes.