I Was Here(31)

                          x x x

             The morning drags on. Alice and Stoner Richard aren’t home and Harry hasn’t left his room, so I sit there, on the front porch, watching the rain come down. In the corner, I see one of the catnip-filled mice the kittens would spend hours attacking. It’s like it’s staring at me.

             “Oh, fine.” I grab my phone and text Ben. How are the cats?

             He texts back immediately: Out back. Trying to catch rain. Then he texts a picture of them frolicking in a yard.

             Good pastime for Seattle cats.

             Beats chasing tail.

             You’d know.

             Ha! Where are you?

             Tacoma.

             There’s a lag before the next text. Then, Come visit them? They grow up so fast.

             I’m not entirely sure why my stomach does a little tumble except that the thought of seeing Ben McCallister is both repulsive and the opposite of that. Before I’ve had a chance to think too much about it, I text back: Okay.

             Three seconds later: Need a lift?

             I’m covered.

             He sends me his address and tells me to text him when I’m on the road.

                          x x x

             There’s a whole vanload from Harry’s church group going to Seattle, and I’m a little shocked to find Stoner Richard crammed into the back.

             “Hey, Cody,” he says.

             “Hey, Richard,” I reply. “Didn’t take you for a—”

             “A Christian?” He laughs. “I’m just in it for the paint fumes. I’m all out of weed.”

             One of the girls in the middle seat throws a paint roller at him. “Shut up, Richard. You are so full of shit.”

             Cursing, stoner, do-gooding Christians. Okaayy.

             She turns to me. “His father is a minister in Boise. Do you go to church?”

             “Only because memorial services are so often held in them.”

             She and Richard and Harry exchange a look, and even though I don’t think she goes to Cascades, it’s clear she knows what—and who—I’m talking about.

             Someone blasts Sufjan Stevens, and Richard and Harry and the rest of the van sing along all the way to the outskirts of Seattle. I text Ben that I’m nearby.

             Repeat just hit the litter box, he texts back. I’ll save it for you.

             I allow a smile at that.

             “Careful.” This from Stoner Richard. We’re pulling onto the off-ramp now, and he is climbing over the back row.

             “You’re the one surfing in a moving vehicle.”

             He squeezes next to me. “I know how guys like that are. Saw how he was with Meg. Charming on the outside, but inside, total douche.”

             And here’s the crazy awful horrible thing. For one second, I almost defend Ben. But then I catch myself and I’m appalled, because Richard is right. Ben is a dick. He slept with Meg and then he blew her off, and now that she’s dead, he feels bad about it and he’s trying to be nice to me to make up for it.