Hurricane Days (29 page)

“Carol,” Robin said, closing the door behind her. She was dressed in her designer suit and coat and looked very conspicuous in such a drab, depressing environment.

Carol was staring out the window, not looking at her.

“I’ll tell you anything for a cigarette,” she said.

“I can’t do that,” Robin replied.

“Then I don’t know shit.” Carol turned and saw that it was Robin. Her eyes widened. “Wow, if it isn’t her majesty, the Nazi governor!” Carol always had a way of bringing Robin down to earth, and Robin was relieved, and a little worried, to see she still hadn’t lost her edge.

“So you do recognize me!” Robin sat in the only chair available. It was a sterile, hospital-style room with a single bed, a nightstand and not much else. “Do you
live
here?”

“Hell, no.” She sat against the metal headboard. “I’ve been in and out for counseling.” She made air quotes. “They’ve put me on every kind of drug. I’m the rat they like to experiment on.”

“I understand.”

She appraised Robin in one brief glance. “My head’s always been fucked. But not as much as yours.”

“Okay…”

“You’ve made a career out of self-loathing.” She laughed a sinister laugh.

“I need to ask you something,” Robin said.

“Of course you do. Why else would you be here?” She could smile at her in a way that told her not to mess with her; she could see through everything and everyone. Unfortunately, she had little interest in anyone who wasn’t there to talk about her. As far as she was concerned, she was the most important person anyway.

“I see how little it would take for you to divulge information about me,” Robin said.

“The cigarette thing? Nah. They won’t let me smoke anyway.” Carol smiled tiredly; her eyes were glazing over. She was either heavily medicated or bored. Robin had to make sure that Carol wouldn’t say anything to cause serious damage to her reputation. “Have any reporters visited you? Ann DeMarco?”

“No, and don’t worry. I don’t tweet.” Carol was obviously still an avid watcher of news networks. “You really are a piece of work. I don’t see you for decades, and now I can see the fear in your eyes…” She widened her eyes in a way that sent chills down Robin’s spine. “Fear that I might say something about you and that heavy metal chick in college.”

Robin shook her head. This wasn’t looking good. Either she would say something to get revenge or be so drugged, it wouldn’t matter. Of course, she could dismiss anything that was said by someone in a psychiatric hospital. The wheels began to turn. Yes, she could probably spin this. Part of her visit had been to evaluate Carol Munson’s condition. If she’d seemed sharper, Robin would have been more concerned. But she could handle whatever came now.

“If someone like Ann DeMarco asked you whether or not I had an affair with another girl in college, what would you say?” Robin asked.

“I’d tell her it’s none of her fucking business.”

Robin exhaled. “Really?” She knew she must look visibly surprised.

“Really. Even though I should hang you out to dry…Hmm. Maybe I should say, if you get in office, we’re screwed.”

“If you feel like that, why would you protect my privacy?” Robin asked.

“Hey,” Carol barked. “I might not like who you are, but I have ethics. Do you?”

“Right.” Robin nodded politely. There was a long, uncomfortable quiet. They were obviously strangers now.

“I can’t believe you found me,” Carol said. “I’ve been off the grid.” She gave Robin an explanation filled with a strong paranoia about the Internet and anything that became public information. “I pulled the plug on every social website, thinking no one could track me down.”

“I have…people.”

“Holy fuck.” Carol laughed. “Who knew you’d get so big you’d ‘have people’?”

Robin smiled in spite of herself. Something about being back in Carol’s presence brought her immediately back down to earth. “It is kind of weird,” she said with a smile.

Carol tucked her hand under her chin. “You know, I could tell ’em how you liked to go dancing.”

“Dancing,” Robin repeated. That seemed harmless enough, although Robin couldn’t remember what she was talking about.

“Remember Andrew?”

“Oh, right, yes.” That information wasn’t too bad; many people had friends who were gay.

“Did you hear about him?” Carol asked.

“No.”

“Of course not. You’re too busy judging everybody. ‘Being gay is unnatural’…give me a fuckin’ break! Who the hell do you think you are!” Carol’s anger was getting so loud, someone might come in.

Robin tried to calm her down. “I know. I haven’t been…truthful.”

“You think?” Carol shook her head. “Go on your computer and look up Andrew…what was his last name?”

“Bennington.” Robin hadn’t forgotten.

Carol was surprised at her memory. “Yeah, look him up. See what happened to him.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“Don’t remember.” She was obviously lying.

“All right then.” Robin smoothed a single wrinkle across her skirt. She had to keep her clothes as tidy as possible, especially if she was seen in a place like this.

* * *

All the way back to Georgia, Robin refused to let Carol get inside her head and make her feel guilty about her success. She’d always been jealous of her and Adrienne anyway, Robin rationalized. How funny it was… Robin could forget where she put her phone, her keys, but she’d never forget the name of the boy with the laugh. Somehow he held a special place in her memory. Maybe she should get in touch with him too, make sure he still had her back.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Crossing the Florida state line, I wasn’t the same girl who came down a few months before. I was resolved to remain cool when I saw her again, although my stomach did flip-flops with each highway sign that said “Tallahassee.” Palm trees emerged on the horizon, frosted from an unexpected deep freeze.

How different the panhandle of Florida was from the rest of the state. It could actually get cold here—down to the thirties in winter. Fortunately, I’d packed as if I were still in Georgia, with what seemed to be a suitable number of jackets for various occasions. I remembered the night before the holiday break.
The oatmeal sweater.
I distracted myself on the tedious drive down the highway with thoughts of which clothes I wanted to wear—and in what order. Somehow, order gave me peace, especially when nothing else did.

The dorm room was empty. So, unfortunately, I had plenty of time, which wasn’t good for someone like me. Too much time could turn my thoughts to monsters. I had to keep myself busy. I had enough time to buzz around, unpacking, fussing with my hair in the mirror, sipping a soda, fussing some more with my makeup, going to the bathroom because of the soda, coming back to the room to fuss even more.

Lydia, the RA, banged on the door, and I jumped out of my skin before answering it. She shoved a flyer at me. “Tips on hurricane preparedness.”

“I thought the season was over.”

“We, uh, had a little trouble getting everyone organized,” Lydia explained. “So we want to do better preparedness drills.”

“So these are tips for
next
season.”

Lydia was defensive. No one had questioned her hurricane flyers before. “You goin’ to a party? You look all made up.” She must have decided to be less socially awkward this semester. But her attempt to make small talk only came off as creepy.

“No,” I replied.

“Wait. Don’t tell me. You’re expecting some guy. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“You guessed it.” I smiled as I closed the door.

I spent a couple more grueling hours waiting to hear the key in the door. “Hey!” Adrienne came crashing in with more suitcases than she had before.

“Hey! Need some help?”

“No, I got it.” She dragged in one that seemed bigger than she was.

“You got a dead body in there?”

Adrienne caught her breath. “I forgot about your weird sense of humor.”

When she was successfully inside with the door closed, she turned to hug me with more force than the one before the holiday, the one I remembered all December long. I was filled with joy at the sight of her.

When we finally pulled apart, she said, “It’s so great to see you! It feels like it’s been forever.”

“I know, right?” I smiled shyly, often disarmed by her directness. “How was your Christmas?”

“It sucked. Don’t ask.”

“Okay.”

“My dad had his new girlfriend over…the whole time.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“How was yours?”

“It was okay.”

“Did you get anything good? Like clothes without flowers on them?” She laughed hysterically.

“Bitch.”

We were immediately at ease with each other again, almost comfortable. Then she said, “I really missed you.”

“No, you didn’t. You missed making fun of me.”

“Well, that too.” There was an awkward pause. “You know,” she said. “I almost called you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t sure you’d wanna talk to me.”

“Why not?”

“I thought you were mad at me, because of that last night.”

“No,” I assured her. “Not at all. Whatever I said, and I don’t really remember, it was probably just because I was drinking.” I’d rehearsed that on the way down. “How is Sean?”

“We had a fight.”

“I’m sorry,” I lied. “Hey, I got something for you.”

“Me too!” Adrienne tore into her suitcase and dug around. “I know we said no presents, but I got this little thing…”

I pulled my gift for her out of the top drawer, the underwear drawer, of my dresser, where I’d hidden it underneath what she’d called my “granny briefs.”

“Present time!” she exclaimed. Sometimes she got so excited, she sounded like a little kid.

When she handed me a crookedly wrapped, small rectangular present, her grin reminded me of a school picture she’d shown me once. In her smile I could still see the young girl with OshKosh clothes and uneven bangs grinning back at the camera.

I gave her the wrapped cassette tape I made with songs I was starting to like—The Cure’s “Lovesong,” Erasure’s “A Little Respect.” Sometimes when she switched radio stations, she’d hear one of these and say something like, “That doesn’t totally suck.” Also, I’d heard many of these songs at the Cobra Club, although I wouldn’t tell her that. As I gave her my gift, I wondered if she was the type who would appreciate a homemade gift or if she preferred impersonal things from a mall.

When we looked down at the gifts we exchanged, we noticed they were about the same size. We tore into each other’s presents, and laughed uproariously. She’d given me a homemade heavy metal tape with songs I’d said I liked: Scorpions’ “No One Like You,” Dokken’s “Alone Again.”

I couldn’t stop laughing. This gift meant so much to me. It proved she was thinking of me over the holiday as I was thinking about her. But I kept the melodramatic sentiments to myself.

“We’re psychic!” she laughed, hugging me so tightly. “I love it,” she said.

“Me too. That’s…yeah. Something I wouldn’t have gotten for myself.”

“You couldn’t remember the bands!”

I nodded. “True. They say the best gifts are the ones you wouldn’t think of for yourself or that you forgot you wanted, something like that…”

“Do you have to analyze everything?” She stepped out in the hall and carried a couple more bags inside.

“Geez, the room isn’t big enough,” I said.

In one hand she carried an old guitar case. She opened it on the bed. “My dad picked this up at a garage sale.”

It was a beat-up guitar, just scratched enough to look cool, but one scratch away from being ready for the junk heap.

“He knows I want to play,” she said.

“That’s nice. Kind of like a peace offering?”

“I guess. But I’ve never had lessons.” She seemed embarrassed.

“You could learn.”

“I told you, no one in our town teaches it. They only have piano lessons.” She rolled her eyes.

“What about the music department here?”

She lifted it up. “I’m going to show up with this thing?”

I smiled slyly at her. She didn’t fool me. “You brought it back to school, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, so? I couldn’t have my dad see me leave it behind.”

“You could’ve kept it in your car.”

“What’s your point, RC?” She put it back in the case.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Okay. My plan is to mess around with it where no one can hear me, like at the beach or a deep forest.” She tried to sound dramatic.

“Whatever works for you.” I laughed. As soon as I stepped out to go to the restroom, I could hear the muffled sounds of guitar strings being plucked. None of the notes worked right together, but they were each being tested. I smiled to myself.

* * *

While in the bathroom, I reminded myself to be cool and strong, like steel. I wasn’t going to be humiliated again by someone who said she “wasn’t queer.” I bristled at the word. As I washed my hands, I stared in the mirror and told myself what I had to do. There was something about being around my family, realizing there was no future with Adrienne no matter how I tried to imagine it, all of it conspired to close the lid on the feelings I had—even if they were the happiest feelings of my life.

When I returned to the room, I caught her playing, and she winked at me. I knew what that look of playfulness meant. And I had to lay down the rules quickly before I lost my nerve.

“Whatever happened,” I said, “you know, when we drank…it’s in the past. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t make me—”

“I’m not going to be drinking anymore.”

“Oh, great,” she replied sarcastically. “You went home and got born again, huh?”

“Not born again,” I corrected. “I had time to clear my head and…that person I was…that…wasn’t me.”

“Well, I slept with somebody who looked exactly like you.”

“I’m being serious. Why would you want to bring that up again?” After all, she “wasn’t queer.”

“Over the break, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I said carefully. The curiosity was killing me, so I had to ask: “What did you fight with Sean about?”