Solitary: A Novel (27 page)

"Do we have any plans for Thanksgiving?"

"Oh, I meant to talk to you about that."

I have a feeling I already know what Mom is going to tell me.

It's Tuesday afternoon, and she's off work tonight, and we're having some frozen dinners while watching television.

"I'm going to have to work half the day. But not too long. I figured we could do a Thanksgiving dinner that night."

"Sure," I say.

Maybe this is bad, but I'm glad she's working.

It helps with the idea I have.

I finish up the mystery Mexican dish on my plate and go upstairs to email Jocelyn.

She told me at school her step-uncle would be working tonight.

I clean up, and Mom asks what my rush is.

"Just want to go online for a while."

She nods, uninterested, picking at her meal and sipping at another glass of wine.

WHAT WOULD YOU THINK OF HAVING

THANKSGIVING DINNER AT MY HOUSE?

I wait for a while to see her response. It comes after a few minutes.

WHAT TIME?

LUNCH TIME?

LET ME SEE. I'LL HAVE TO COME UP WITH SOME

EXCUSE.

MAKE UP ONE. ANY ONE.

DINNER WITH YOU AND YOUR MOM?

NOPE, MY MOM'S WORKING.

There is another pause.

OKAY.

OKAY WHAT?

I'LL FIND AN EXCUSE.

I can't help but smile.

I wake up truly thankful on the very day you're supposed to give thanks. The plan is in place, and nobody knows except Jocelyn and me. It's not like we're running away to Vegas or anything (though if she asked I would probably say yes). My mom will head out around nine thirty or ten. Jocelyn will be coming by around eleven.

Worst thing that could happen is that Mom sticks around and has lunch with us.

It's not like she doesn't want Jocelyn around.

She would probably think it's a good thing, seeing her son with the gorgeous gal from school.

I go downstairs, but I'm not in the mood for breakfast. Instead I head outside to the deck to see what the weather's like. I'm on the deck for a minute when I see something odd.

Tracks.

Muddy tracks coming up our stairs and then stopping at our window. They proceed around the deck.

I'm wearing jeans and a sweatshirt since it's pretty cool out, but I'm in my bare feet. I tiptoe on the cold deck as I look to see where the tracks go.

This is probably stupid, because the person who made them could be waiting right around the corner where the deck wraps itself around.

Instead the tracks keep going and disappear where the deck ends and the forest ground begins.

I put my bare foot beside the track, a skinny white block on the dark wood. Whoever made the tracks was big. Gigantic.

The dirty tracks look like they were made by boots.

Not only was he big, but he also didn't seem to care much that he left a nice little trail behind him.

As I head back inside, I stop and notice how the tracks seem to make a resting place right by the window.

Someone was watching us.

And it had to be last night or this morning, because I know for a fact those tracks weren't there yesterday.

I go inside to tell Mom.

Before she leaves, I mention the muddy tracks to her again.

"I'm sure it's not anything," she says.

I wonder if she's saying this because she's running late or because she doesn't want me to worry or if she really, truly believes it.

I'm thinking A or B myself.

"So some creepy guy standing by our window looking in doesn't scare you?"

"How do you know it's a creepy guy? It might not even be a man."

"That would be even creepier, if a woman made those tracks."

"I have to go."

"Okay."

"We'll do dinner later tonight, okay? Make sure you take out that stuff and follow the instructions."

"Got it."

She glances at me, then gives me a nervous smile. "Keep the doors locked, just in case."

"Always do."

"I'll see you this afternoon."

I nod and instantly forget about the tracks.

I have a visitor coming over for lunch.

For what I guess I can say is truly an official date.

I hear the knock and stop for a second, breathing in.

Then I go to the door and open it.

Jocelyn stands at the door, a dark beauty in light blue. She wears a loose, long dress that falls down to her ankles and a jean jacket covering it. Her hair is bound together and falls to one side of her shoulder. I probably stare too long at her, because she laughs and makes a face, wondering if I'm going to let her in.

"Oh, yeah, come on in. Sorry."

Jocelyn enters and I'm a bit lost, wondering what to do, if I should take her coat or start eating or sit on the couches for a while and talk.

She gives me a hug. I awkwardly put one arm around her but feel nervous and unsure.

"Thanks for doing this," she says.

"You haven't seen what I've done."

"You invited me over. That's enough."

"Hope so, 'cause lunch isn't going to be anything special."

She laughs and walks over to the couch. "So your mother is working?"

"Yeah. Not that she would care if you came over. I just would rather-I'd rather keep it my own business."

"I told my aunt I was having lunch with Poe."

"In New York?"

"She doesn't know Poe's up north." "What's your aunt doing?"

"She's probably hanging all over Wade. And he's probably half bombed by now."

"Sorry."

"That's fine. I'm not there, nothing to be sorry for."

I stand in front of the couch she's sitting on. "Your bruise keeps getting better. I can barely see it."

"Makeup can do wonders. And in the case of my aunt, so can denial."

I don't notice that much makeup Jocelyn doesn't wear that much.

"Can I, uh-you want anything to drink?"

She laughs. "Such an adult thing to say. Yeah, I'd like a cocktail, please."

"Well, not sure-"

"Kidding. Anything you have is fine by me."

I get two cans of Diet Coke, and she takes one. I sit on the chair across from her.

"I don't have a disease, you know," Jocelyn says.

"Yeah, I know."

"Then come over here."

I sit next to her on the couch, and she moves her body to face me. She sips her soda and smiles.

"What?"

"Isn't this nice?" she asks.

"What?"

"Nobody around. Just you and I."

"Yeah."

"You wanna know what I thought the first time I ever saw you?"

"Sure."

"I thought, `Uh oh. He might be dangerous."'

"Yeah, really dangerous."

"I just hoped that you fit how you looked. And acted."

"And how was that?"

"I hoped you weren't another arrogant jock."

"Definitely not a jock," I say.

"You're a soccer player. Definitely a soccer player. But you're also definitely not arrogant."

"Guess that's a good thing."

"I'd prefer insecurity any day."

I look at my can of soda, then the surrounding room.

"You get so nervous around me, you know that?"

"Yeah," I say. It feels good to admit it.

"You don't have to be."

"You know what I thought the first time I saw you?"

"What?" she asks.

"I thought that you were the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

"Stop."

"No. I mean it. And I still feel that way. Even more so. I thought that you-that there would be no way, you know. No way for you to be interested."

"I told you. I'm complicated."

"And I've told you, I don't care."

"I like that. Some things you're not so sure about. Like sitting next to me on the couch. But other things-like that. You're very certain."

I look at her and don't look away. "I'm very certain, Jocelyn. Very."

This would be a great time to kiss her, but I don't. I guess she would let me. In fact, I know she would. I can see it in her eyes. But I'm still-I'm hesitant.

For lots of reasons.

The moment passes, and she doesn't seemed fazed.

"You know, I don't smell a turkey."

"Yeah, well-I had to improvise. I have turkey, it's just the kind you get at the deli in slices."

"Awesome," Jocelyn says. "So we're going to reverse things and have the turkey sandwiches first."

"Yeah, sorry."

"I love it. That's the best part of Thanksgiving, when you're stuffed and you're not exactly hungry, but you have a fresh turkey sandwich at nighttime."

"Yeah, but you're probably not stuffed."

"I'm not hungry either," she says. "My mind is preoccupied with other things."

"Is that a good thing?"

"A very good thing. He's a very good thing. And he doesn't even realize it."

I feel warm and brush my hair back and have the urge to dive behind the couch.

"Plus when he turns red, his ears do as well."

"Okay, I think I'm going to keep getting things ready so I don't continue to look like a fourth-grade boy."

"You're cute when you blush."

"That doesn't help."

I stand and move toward the kitchen and hear her laughter.

It's a glorious sound.

We sit on the floor in front of the crackling fire eating our sandwiches and potato salad and chips. It's a pathetic meal, but Jocelyn acts like it's the best meal of her life. She sits cross-legged with her dress spread out over the ground like a tablecloth and watches me as I talk about the school back home and stuff with my family. I suddenly find myself talking about my parents, a subject I never discuss with anybody.

It's a freeing thing, opening up like this and being listened to. Not judged or critiqued.

"What ultimately did it?" Jocelyn asks.

"Depends on who you ask. My mom blames God. Well, not even the God, because she doesn't believe in one. Just the idea of God. She blames God because my dad suddenly changed his life and his beliefs and didn't seem to have much time for what my mother and I wanted."

"I don't get it."

"Yeah, I don't either. It's just-he quit his job. Felt `called' to do this and that, all while my mother ends up having to carry the load. It was too much. They argued all the time. My dad wanted my mother to find faith. But you can't force someone to believe."

"I know," Jocelyn says. "I know too well."

"The whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth."

"I can imagine."

"It's crazy-I'd never say this to Mom or Dad or-well, I guess to anybody. But it almost seems like-like it would have been better if my mom had found my dad cheating on her."

"What? Are you kidding?"

"No, listen. I know-that would've been bad. But this was like, like Dad lost his mind. He found God and then abandoned his family. I don't get it. Mom doesn't get it."

"You said she was the one who ended things."

"Yeah, because she couldn't deal with him following God. At least, if he was following some other lady, that would make more sense to me, because she's there. God-who knows?"

"There's this Christian radio station I listen to a lot. I like the music. They've got these commercials or segments that are different people reading psalms. It's kinda cool. They always make me want to-I don't know-find out more, figure things out myself But I guess-well, that's a problem in itself. How can we `figure out' anything? Faith is still about believing in something you can't see."