are no survivors. No time left for mourning.”
Cathy pulled Johnny’s hand off her arm and glared at him.
“Honesty! What do you know about being honest?”
“So this is the way it’s going to be?” he asked, biting down angrily on his lip.
“Did you get a job yet?” Cathy shot back.
“I’m trying,” he responded defensively, his eyes dropping momentarily. “It isn’t as easy as you think. Just because you’ve got that shit job at Apache Burger, you think anyone can get a job. And look at your parents. If you were stuck, they’d give you anything. My folks are counting the days until they can get rid of me.”
“You’re not trying hard enough,” Cathy screeched. “And it’s not a shit job. I like it. People come from all over the city to eat the onion rings at Apache’s. Last week a couple of players from the Maple Leafs showed up. We took pictures of them with the staff.”
“Losers,” Johnny muttered. This isn’t working! He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Ah, shit, Cathy, what am I going to do? When my parents find out that I screwed up, they are going to go ballistic. It was just so boring. I had a psych class in this auditorium with a thousand other students. I could never stay awake. Half the class was dozing off. You should see the number of essays they expected. I had this philosophy prof who gave us an assignment the second day of class. What is the meaning of nothing? That’s what he wanted and he wanted it in less than thirty words. What are you going to say in thirty words about nothing? I could have said it in one word.”
“You’ve got an excuse for everything.” Cathy flicked the ashes off her cigarette then drew smoke deep into her lungs. Terry was right.
Johnny flicked the ashes of his cigarette into the air. The breeze blew it back at him.
“Shit!” Johnny swept the ashes off his trousers.
Cathy laughed. “You’re such an idiot.”
Johnny smiled sheepishly, then climbed back onto the car. Cathy loved Johnny when he didn’t try so hard to be cool. She loved the little boy in him. She wasn’t so sure about the man he was becoming. Maybe he will never become one.
“Sometimes I wish there was just you and me and the highway,” Cathy said wistfully.
Johnny was about to respond but did not. Somewhere inside him he knew that Cathy would not be going with him down the highway.
Something told him he didn’t want her in his future. He wanted her now, on her back.
“Everything is too complicated,” Cathy continued, the southern belle accent slipping into her voice. “You, and me, and school, and my family, and the whole fucking world. Stop. I want everything to stop for a few moments so I can catch my breath.”
Cathy sucked on her cigarette. She looked into the sky.
“Are you going back to school next year?” Johnny asked.
Cathy shrugged her shoulders. “My parents want me to graduate from high school, but I don’t know. What’s the point? The cook at Apache’s is this Egyptian guy. He’s got a degree in Engineering. He went to school in Moscow. He says the people there are lonely. Drowning their emptiness in vodka. The women laughed hysterically when he touched them.
The children bruised their knees on the cobblestone. Every night the men were passed out in the streets. He told me that you could hardly breathe with the desperation”
What the fuck does that mean? He drew on his cigarette. “I heard that you and Terry were an item after I left for college.” Cathy turned away. “Who told you that?”
“I just heard it. Well, is it true?”
Cathy bowed her head and moved slowly away from the car toward the edge of the lake. “What if it is? It’s not like we’re married.”
“I thought we had an arrangement.”
“You’re the one who said we could see other people,” Cathy responded, turning sharply around and looking at Johnny.
“Then it’s true,” Johnny cried.
“And you didn’t see anyone?” Cathy replied, her shoulders stiffening.
“That kid is such a slug,” Johnny said, his jaw clenching like a fist. “I’ll deal with that little motherfucker.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Cathy screamed at Johnny. “You will not touch Terry and he’s no slug. He’s real smart. He’s on the honor roll at Michael Power, which you never were and he writes stories. Interesting stories.” Cathy turned back to the lake. “He wrote this story about meeting God when he was a little kid.”
Johnny fell back on the hood of the car laughing. “God!”
“I liked it,” Cathy said.
“He’s just trying to get into your pants.”
“He doesn’t have to try,” Cathy responded angrily, walking down the beach toward the water.
“Wait a minute!” Johnny cried, following behind her. Grabbing Cathy’s arm, he swung her around.
“That hurts!” she cried.
“Have you been doing that little slug?”
Cathy pulled away.
“That’s my business,” she said, sucked deeply on her cigarette before flicking it into the water.
“You slut!” Johnny cried. He threw her onto the sand and began to undo his jeans. “You’re my girl!” I’m taking what’s mine.
Ginger Cookies
Detective Kelly knocked on the back door of the house at 36 Botfield Avenue. He waited. A moment later a middle-aged woman in a brown smock answered the door. He introduced himself and showed his badge.
“I rang the front buzzer,” he said.
“Oh.” The woman smiled. “That hasn’t worked for years. I keep telling Frank that we should get it fixed but he keeps putting me off. Something about a box being hidden behind the walls of our basement.” The woman explained that she was doing housework and invited the detective in for a cup of tea if he didn’t mind a little mess. He stepped inside the house and was escorted to a small kitchen. The woman put a kettle on the stove.
“Mrs. Gray,” the detective began. She insisted that he call her Ruth.
“I’m Sam,” he added.
Ruth smiled. “Sam. That’s a lovely name. We had a dog once named Sam. A collie.”
“I was hoping that I could talk to your husband.” Mrs. Gray explained that her husband was visiting their daughter that afternoon. He cut her grass. It kept him busy now that he was retired.
“Do you have any other children?” he asked.
“A son. We lost him when he was a child.”
“I’m sorry, Ruth.”
“That was a long time ago, Sam.” She smiled, though he detected a break in her voice as she spoke. “He was always rebellious. The police said that he would return but he never did. I know that we weren’t to blame but I can’t help wondering if there wasn’t something I could have done, something I could have said. You don’t have any word on him, do you, Sam?”
The detective shook his head. “How old was your son when he disappeared?”
“Nineteen.”
The kettle whistled. Ruth got up and filled the teapot. She placed two cups on the table and then brought out a plate of cookies. Kelly took one of the cookies. It was stale.
“I hope they’re not stale. Frank buys them. Always trying to cut corners. It’s not easy since Frank retired, making ends meet. Thirty years as an accountant. Most of our savings were used up trying to find Johnny. He would be in his forties now. It’s hard to believe.”
“You must have married young,” the detective said with a smile.
Ruth blushed. “Yes, I was. Eighteen years old when Johnny was born.
We had to get married. Nothing to be proud of, but I never regretted it. If only we could live those days again. I would have done things differently.”
The detective nodded. “I guess we all would.”
