Auggie was perched on the edge of the couch, in between a stack of books of Shakespeare criticism on the one side and, on the other, the crown jewels: empty Big Wave bottles, a bottle of Percocet, and half a joint.
“Jesus Christ,” Theo said, grabbing the pills and the joint and throwing them in a drawer.
“This is a really nice house,” Auggie said, still sitting on the couch like he thought it was spring loaded and might launch him into the air if he sat back any farther.
“Don’t,” Theo said, flipping on the window unit.
“It’s cute,” Auggie said.
“I said don’t.”
Auggie stared at him, his expression slightly hurt.
Theo went into the kitchen, got a glass of water from the tap, and drank it. He looked out at the deck. He looked past the deck to the tree line of old growth. A fox darted behind a blackberry bush, the branches waving, and then Theo thought of the beers he had picked up with Ian, the table Ian had refinished, the floors Ian had stripped and sanded. He pressed the glass, cold and empty, to his forehead.
“Do you want me to come in there?” Auggie said.
Theo went to the opening that joined the kitchen and living room. “I think this was a mistake. You should go.”
“What? Why?”
“Auggie, please. This is not a good idea.”
“Is it about the joint? Because I don’t care. And I won’t say anything.”
“I’ve had a really, really bad day. This morning, I had to—you know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. But then I came back, and somebody had stolen the wheel off my bike, and I had to walk. And I’m so fucking sick of walking, but the minute I sit down behind the wheel of a car, I have a fucking panic attack. And I’m realizing, right now, that you are my student and I am talking like a crazy person.” Theo rubbed his hip, where it was already aching. “It’s been a really bad year, ok? I’ll help you on this stuff because I know you need help. But I think it’d be better if you go.”
Auggie’s gaze went to the plastic train in the corner, the dolls in their misbuttoned dresses, the toy shopping basket with plastic carrots and milk cartons and muffins. When he looked back at Theo, his dark eyes were wet.
“Please don’t say you’re sorry,” Theo said, unable to stop himself. “If you say that, I’m going to lose my mind.”
Auggie’s adam’s apple bobbed, and he wiped his eyes.
“Hang out in the library,” Theo said. “Or at the student union. Find somewhere you feel safe. In a few days, we’ll figure this out, and it’ll be over, ok?”
Auggie stood and held out his hand. “Keys.”
“What?”
“Give me your keys.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to get your bike.”
“I don’t want you to get my bike. I want you to leave.”
“You can either give me your keys, or I can walk to a hardware store, buy bolt cutters, and do it that way.”
“This isn’t about the bike, ok? I just—that was just an example.”
“Ok, but it’s something I can help you with. Give me the keys. I won’t steal your car.” Auggie offered a sloppy, slanted grin. “Promise.”
“I really—”
“Ok, I’ll find bolt cutters.”
Auggie was pushing open the screen door when a strangled, “Fine,” escaped Theo.
Auggie looked back.
“Fine,” Theo said again, a little more coherently. “Fine. Thank you. But that’s it. Then you go home or go to the library or go somewhere else, ok?”
“Yeah,” Auggie said, holding out his hand again. “Sure.”
13
Auggie had passed the bus stop on his way in, and he remembered seeing a bicycle chained up, a wheel missing. He backtracked now, tossing the keys in one hand, trying to keep his attention on the jangle, the sudden weight, the sharp edges. Instead, his mind kept going back to Theo in an undershirt and running shorts. The September day was hot; that probably explained why Auggie was sweating so much.
When he got to the bus stop, a heavyset young woman was sitting on the bench, raking back her hair from where it stuck to one sweaty temple. Two little kids, a boy and a girl, were playing on the asphalt shoulder, chasing each other and giggling.
“Not on the road,” the woman called to them. “What’s your daddy going to say if I tell him you were playing on the road?” With mock severity, she smacked her hands and said, “He’s gonna spank you.”
The boy shrieked with laughter, obviously having heard the empty threat before, and the girl, who must have been a year older, caught up with him and screamed, “Tag.” Auggie dropped into a squat, undid the lock, and worked the chain free from the bike’s frame. He hoisted the bike over one shoulder, the remaining wheel bouncing against him and threatening to unsettle the load, and then he got his balance. When he caught the woman’s eye, she smiled and waved and looked back at her kids.
As Auggie made his way back to Theo’s, he told himself the same thing he told himself every time he saw something like that: not everybody grew up the same; just because it looked perfect didn’t mean it was. He knew better than anybody the power—and convincing illusion—of a moment frozen in time. Maybe that little family
