Forgive Me (7 page)

Jason grabs my shoulders and forces me against the tree. He hooks one hand under my knee and raises my leg above his waist. I kiss him and pull his hair with both hands to try and hold on to something. His thick neck pulls against my hands and I gyrate on him. My body no longer belongs to me. Jason releases himself with one hand and enters me in the dark of night, against a tree on the Harrison farm. I whimper, having just enough grasp on the world to know I cannot make noise. The realization excites me further as I open my eyes and see the lights of the jackpot. He thrusts into me, and each time I want more. I’m pinned between Jason and the tree, my foot barely touching the ground. He kisses my neck and pulls at my skin with his teeth, all the while continuing to have me, and I cannot take it. I come and fall limp in his arms. Jason continues and each time he’s in me I convulse. He’s holding me up and fucking me at the same time, yet still barely breaking a sweat. The guy is not human.

He comes and I rest my head against the tree behind me. Air enters my chest, and I smell the animals nearby. I belong here; an animal myself. A breeze blows past me and I look up at the stars, still clinging to Jason Leer.

I look down and see Jason watching me as he zippers his pants and hooks his belt buckle. He hands me his mother’s boots and as I bend over to put them on I realize my lovely white eyelet dress is covered in dirt.

“It looks like I wrestled the steer,” I say.

“This is almost over. Maybe you should wait in the truck while I go collect our money.”

“You think?” I ask sarcastically. “It looks like I just banged the winning bulldogger.” Jason smiles at my proper use of steer wrestling vocabulary.

Jason walks into my house and straight to the shower. He turns the water on and takes a towel out of the linen closet as if he lives here. He kind of does. I drop my denim jacket and purse on the floor, and try to pull my dress over my head but it catches on something and scrapes my back. It’s pinned to me. I turn on the light to see my back in the mirror. My dress is torn. There’s dried blood on it and it’s sticking to my back—to a cut on my back.
This is what happens when you have sex against a tree.

“Let me see,” he says, and turns me around. He pulls the dress from my back in a motion that reminds me of my father ripping a Band-Aid off, and I wince. Jason grabs some toilet paper and covers the cut. “I’m sorry, Annie.” I turn toward Jason and he keeps his hand holding the toilet paper over the cut. His face is drawn with concern. “Believe it or not, I do try and control myself around you.”

“Don’t worry about my body.” I pull his face toward mine, holding it in both hands. “It’s never felt anything as amazing as you inside of it.” At this Jason relaxes. “Worry about my wardrobe.”

I wake up crying and frustrated. Jason rolls over and puts his arm around me.

“What’s wrong?”

“I had a bad dream. My mother was in it,” I say, and leave off the part about Jason.

“I still dream about my mother all the time,” he says sadly.

“Was it easier that you had time to say good-bye? I wish I’d had a chance to say good-bye.”

“How do you say good-bye to your mom?” Jason says, and I cry some more. He’s right. Time doesn’t help. You’re never old enough to lose your mom.

“Annie, come to Oklahoma with me. Transfer to Oklahoma.” The dream of my mother runs through my head and the words of my brother.
Be careful going
home
. Jason and I are lost souls, together. I don’t want to answer him. I don’t want to answer myself. I want to surrender to Jason again, to go to Oklahoma with him and live this life forever, but I know the answer for now is no and it brings neither of us any solace.

I roll toward him, still locked under his iron arm, and slide down to bury my face in his chest.

“You can’t hide from me, Annie.”

“I know,” is all I say because he knows everything.

I
’m folding laundry for what might be the first time all summer when my phone dings with a text from Julia. She and the rest of the Rutgers girls have been calling and texting every day. I rarely answer.

The phone rings before I set it down. I know without looking it’s Julia, unhappy with my answer.

“Hey,” I say, bracing myself.

“You love the shore. Why won’t you come?”

“I just think it’s too soon. I’m not ready for the shore,” I say, and cannot believe how weak I sound. My voice never sounds like this with Jason.

“I called Jenn this morning. She told me you’ve been hanging out with the cowboy. What the hell is going on?” Julia sounds pissed off. That must be some misplaced emotion, right? Can you be pissed at the girl whose parents were just killed in a car accident?

“It’s been one month. What exactly should I be doing differently?”

“Look, Charlotte. We miss you. We’re worried about you. Violet and I are going crazy up here; you’re not online, you don’t text, we never see you. Then I talk to Jenn and apparently she and Margo aren’t seeing much of you either. Of course we’re worried. I know this is hard, but you’ve got to lean on the people you’ve trusted your whole life, not some cowboy.”

“Why do you say it as if it disgusts you? He’s not
some cowboy
.” I am pissed. “I’ve known him my entire life, too, and to date he has yet to call me and yell at me for my behavior, or lack thereof!”

“You’re missing my point,” she says, a bit gentler.

“No, I got your point. I’m not coming up. I’ll be up there in a few weeks and I’ll see you and Violet then,” I say, ending the conversation. “Thanks for calling,” I add, and hang up.

Now I feel completely horrible. What the fuck? And why is she talking to Jenn? It’s as if my grief counseling team in Salem County is preparing for the patient transport to New Brunswick. Margo and Jenn will soon be replaced with Julia, Violet, and Sydney.

I fold the towels with a new verve and question whether Julia’s words have any merit. She doesn’t really expect me to be online one month after my parents’ death, does she? I get up and walk to the computer to Google local grief share programs. I think there’s one at my church. Maybe I should talk to someone. I have no idea what I should be doing in the wake of my parents’ death. When the Google window pops up I type “Steer Wrestling” in the search box.

Images of steer wrestlers diving off horses onto steers, riding alongside, and wrestling on the ground pop up on the screen. It slows the action and I’m able to mentally connect it with the five-second memories I have in my head. I type in “Rules of Bulldogging” and expect the computer to laugh at me, but it lists different resources with steer wrestling rules. One website describes it as the Big Man’s Event because many of the steer wrestlers are large, hefty cowboys.
I wish you were here
. It requires strength, speed, and timing. I Google “Rodeo’s Big Man Event” and it’s like I’m reading about some alien competition amongst super heroes. Articles describe the bulldogger leaping from the back of a galloping horse at thirty miles per hour onto a four hundred-and-fifty-pound steer with the goal of stopping it and putting it on its back.
What the hell is wrong with you, Jason Leer?
Maybe some perspective wouldn’t hurt.

I text Jenn:

I get back from her:

Within a half hour Jenn and Margo are both at my doorstep. They help me fold sheets and towels.
What am I going to do with all these sheets? With all these beds?
They’re excited to see me, as if today is the first day I’m home from college and I realize I’ve neglected them. Probably Julia and Violet, too.

“So, where are we going?” Jenn asks, not hiding her excitement.

“We have two great options,” Margo offers. “Sam’s parents are at their shore house. We can either go there, or have a barbeque at his house here.”

“Not the shore. Not yet,” I say.

“It might be good for you,” she tries again.

“I’m not interested in what’s good for me,” I say without a hint of humor. “Where do you guys think I should be one month out in this whole grief process?” I ask because every person I know must know more about this than I do. I can’t remember even being sad while my mom and dad were alive, let alone working through grief.

“I don’t know, but if we string twelve of these together, you’ll have made it a year and that’s got to be better than now,” Margo says as her phone rings and she walks out of the room answering it. Jenn’s phone dings with a text and I sense the momentum of a party brewing.

“Promise me this will be a small barbeque,” I plead.

“No promises!” Jenn yells on her way out the door. “They’re always broken in the end.”

I want Jason to come with me to the barbeque. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t. He knows every single person there. That doesn’t change the fact that if I wasn’t “dating” him, he would never show up there. Even in such a small town, there are groups, cliques, fashions. Jason is absolutely from a different group. I cowardly text him:

It’s the first text I’ve ever sent him. I don’t even know if he checks his phone often. If he doesn’t respond by lunch, I’ll call him. I think the more notice he has, the better. Notice of what? It’s a barbeque, for goodness sake. As I put my phone on the table it rings and my heart drops. Of course he’s not going to text back. He’s archaic.

“Hello?”
Why is this a question?

“You’re going to a barbeque, huh?”

“I’m hoping we’re going to a barbeque.” I realize now that I knew before I sent the text that Jason is not going to this barbeque.

“Call me and I’ll bring you home,” he says without a hint of irritation.

“Really? It might be late.”

“It’ll be worth the wait,” he says, and I’m practically purring. This is going to be the longest barbeque of my life.

Noble picks me up first and we head into town to collect Margo and Jenn. I turn to Noble and marvel at him as he drives, completely oblivious to my appraisal. His father’s farm has provided the perfect tan and highlighted his curly brown hair. Tonight the blue in his eyes is intensified by the navy t-shirt snugly covering his chest. He is a very handsome boy.

“Julia called me today,” he says, and I’m not surprised.

“Did you tell her I’m going out tonight? Apparently, she is very concerned with my social life.” Noble half-laughs at me and I suspect he received an earful about “the cowboy.”

“She’s worried.”

“I’ll see her in two weeks,” I say, dismissing the subject. I already feel terrible about hanging up on her. I’ll add Julia to the distinguished list of people I need to apologize to. She’s right behind God and Pastor Johnson.

“Speaking of, when do you want to go back to Rutgers? I was thinking we could go up about a week early.” His question is a small glimpse of my old life. Noble always takes me to school.

“I’m not sure I need a ride. Can I let you know later?”

“You’re going back, right?” He’s alarmed. They’ll all be meeting with Sean soon.

“Yes. My parents would want me to.” I leave it at that, not saying that’s the only reason.

The four of us pull off Route 40 and the lights fall behind us. Dusk comes quicker now that summer is waning. The sky rages red in the distance. Tomorrow will be beautiful.

“Red sky at night, sailors delight,” I say, and Jenn and Margo turn in their seats to see the sunset.

“Oooh that’s a great one,” Margo agrees.

Noble turns into Sam’s driveway. His house is old money. It’s one of the mansions that still have a name attached to it. The “Old McGlynn House,” it’s called. When it’s discussed, it’s followed by “you know, the one Dr. Hanson had until he died.” It’s brick on all sides with a front-facing garage. It’s big enough that the garage doesn’t have to be turned to look substantial. There are five enormous double windows on the front and Mrs. Shabo always puts Christmas lights in each one that make it look like they have five trees. Sam’s dad made a fortune creating and selling a tech company during the boom and now continues to create new software and companies to sell. He’s new money, but his parents loved the idea of country living so instead of buying in one of the new developments the next county over, they bought this place. I couldn’t be more in love with the Old McGlynn House if I lived in it myself.

Cars pull off his driveway and onto the side lawn, which is more like a pasture minus the cattle. I don’t know why we don’t just park out front until I see Clint carrying saw horses out of the back of his truck to block the yard.

“Hey, Clint,” Jenn yells out the window. “What’s up with the parking at this barn?”

“Sprinkler system out front.”

“Oh,” she says. Of course, a sprinkler system. I’m guessing that wasn’t here when it was the Old McGlynn House. I hear what sounds like a band warming up in the distance. The guitar chords sour as they blare through speakers somewhere behind the house.

“What the hell is that?” I moan. “A band?”

“Think of it as two guys doing an acoustical set,” Margo says, and Noble starts laughing at all three of us. “Can you hand me my bag?” I struggle to hand Margo the bag as we get out of the Jeep.

“What’s in here?”

“Bathing suits and towels for when we go swimming or in the hot tub. I figured you wouldn’t remember to bring one.” It never occurred to me.

We walk around the side of the house and the backyard is an oasis. The entire town talked about all the work the new owners were doing on the Old McGlynn House when the Shabos first moved in. The paver patio and outdoor kitchen were big news. The idea of a refrigerator and sink built into a patio was foreign in Salem County.

There are people everywhere, but the yard is separated into sections, making it seem like the perfect crowd. Sam is at the keg station, three large tubs with a keg in each. He’s pouring beers and entertaining anyone in earshot.

Jenn and I get beers for Margo and Noble and realize after a moment of reversible deafness that we’re standing too close to the speakers. Nicole Dickson comes over and quickly consumes Noble’s attention. They make a cute couple. Not that he is looking to be a couple. I wish he would settle down.
Why do I care?
We move to the kitchen area, now littered with open bags of chips and a few hoagies. There’s a roll of paper towels and a large knife to cut the sandwiches. It’s a far cry from the spread Mrs. Shabo put out for Sam’s graduation party. Then the food itself took up a quarter of the yard. What would anger her more; that Sam threw a party, or that he threw
this
party?

Margo pulls me by the arm, leading me into the house. She carries two bathing suits in her hand.

“Let’s go swimming. We can kick these kids’ asses in a race,” she says.

“I don’t race anymore.” I tilt my head as if she should know better.

“Sorry,” Margo apologizes for the memory.

I remember the look of disappointment on my parents’ faces when I told them I wouldn’t swim in college. Swimming was what I did here, and I didn’t want to be here anymore. I wanted something different than my life in Salem County. I wanted to leave it all behind. They rallied, but I always felt guilty about it. Not guilty enough to join the team, but still bad. I should have just swum. Things are plenty different now.

“Hey,” Margo says, and breaks my concentration. “It’s okay. I didn’t swim either, remember? It gave our mothers something to commiserate about.”

“Why didn’t we just swim?”

“Because we were sick of setting our alarms for 5:45 a.m. every Saturday morning. Ten years was enough.”

Margo leads the way to Sam’s room and I lock the door behind us. His bedroom is massive, taking up one half of the front of the house. There are shelves with trophies from football, wrestling, and shot put. Sam is quite the athlete. Even though he no longer plays football he’s still a big guy. Big room for a big guy. His bathroom is larger than my entire bedroom.

“Wow,” I say as I look around the room.

“It never gets old, does it?”

“It’s beautiful. Sam’s so down to earth.”

“Mrs. Shabo told my mom they wanted him to go to public school with the farmers and the cowboys to help keep him grounded.”

“Hicks’ll have that effect on you,” I say as I take off my dress in the bathroom. I look in the mirror and the hickey on the side of my stomach stops me from breathing. I run my hand over it and remember Jason’s lips there. I swallow hard and examine the rest of me in the mirror. I have a bruise on my arm and one on the side of my leg, both from numerous positions in a hard truck bed, and the pièce de résistance, the two-inch long scab on my back from a tree.

“Margo?”

“Yes,” she says as her head pops into the doorway. Instinctively, I cover my body and Margo steps into the room, reading by my reaction. “What’s going on, Charlotte?” she says, concern mixed with confusion.

“Have you ever had rough sex?” At this her eyebrows raise and she tilts her head slightly to the side. She relaxes slightly.

“How rough are we talking?” She moves closer to me and pulls my arms away my body. Margo keeps her cool as she examines me, running her hand over the scab on my back. Her cold fingers give me a chill. “Was there any humiliation, degradation, or cruelty?”

“God no. I’ve never felt more wanted,” I answer, scorned. Jason would never hurt me, contrary to the evidence on my body.

“I wish I could help you, but I’m a virgin.” I double over with laughter. “So I don’t know what’s too rough. But if you’re enjoying it, it’s probably on the right side of the no-no range.”

“I didn’t know there was a no-no range.”

“It’s different for everyone. I would say my no-no range consists of hitting, biting, peeing on me, speaking disrespectfully, or tying me up.” My eyes sink at the last one. “I’m sure the no-no range changes over time and with different people. You have to be happy, though. Sex is supposed to feel good.”