Till It Hurts by Cora Brent
Tori
Now
The downtown Arcana strip is sleepy and grim, at least to my eyes. A gleaming gold Cadillac belonging to Paul Elkins is parked outside his office but I have no excuse to interrupt his working hours. Besides, it’s pretty clear that someone tipped Jace off that I’m here. I haven’t exactly been going door to door around town and greeting old friends. As far as I know, Paul Elkins is the only person aware that I’m in town. Maybe there’s some rational reason he had to inform Jace but right now I’m too irritated to care about rational reasons.
When I drive past the neighborhood where my father used to live, I feel a touch of guilt. I keep meaning to call Rochelle. After my father died, she took Carrie and moved back to Midland to be close to her parents, but Midland isn’t exactly on the other side of the moon. It’s less than an hour away by car.
My stomach gurgles, warning of its unhappiness. Thanks to the sudden manifestation of Jace Zielinski, I never got around to eating breakfast. The Plainsfield Mall is the closest mass retail and dining opportunity and since I’m already pointed in that direction I decide to keep going.
The shock of seeing Jace has already begun to wear off. Aside from tormenting me with his existence there’s nothing he can actually do to me. The terms of Gloria’s will don’t allow him to sell the house or to prevent me from staying there. There’s certainly not much in small town Arcana to entertain an NFL bigshot. He’ll get bored in a hurry. I’m sure I can wait him out.
With this in mind, I feel more cheerful and flip on the radio. An oldies station fades in and out. A country music channel comes in clearly for ten seconds and then dwindles to static. My eyes are on the road ahead while my fingers play with the dial.
And then I freeze.
The song piping through the speakers is as clear as a bell. I probably haven’t heard it in ages. I used to hear it all the time. Colt listened to country music while I favored either classical or old school rock. But Jace always had a thing for the alternative beats of the 1990s and somewhere in the universe there’s a force of nature with a sick sense of humor. That’s the only explanation for the fact that the song now playing on the radio was Jace’s favorite. Creep by Radiohead. Very famous song, has been covered endlessly. The anthem for disaffected generations would be haunting without ten thousand memories attached to it and yet I don’t turn it off, not even when I feel my chest getting tight.
Many years have passed since I last cried over Jace. I refuse to cry now. It’s only a song. And he’s only the boy who broke my heart. Neither one of them can cut me if I don’t let them.
I’m sure it’s a coincidence when the station breaks up into static as soon as Creep ends. Rather than search for something else, I just switch the radio off and listen to the monotonous rumble of highway miles passing beneath my car’s tires. In time the familiar shape of Plainsfield Mall beckons from the next exit. The mall appears smaller than I remember from my childhood and teen years when I’d ride the bus here from Arcana, usually in the company of my brother and his best friend. We quit using the decrepit public bus when Jace got his driver’s license and Gloria handed over the keys to the rusty old Chevy pickup that had belonged to his grandfather.
This is the way things will be as long as I’m here. Everywhere I go and every landmark I see will be a reminder of Jace. Our lives were hopelessly entangled long before our first kiss.
When I reach the vast parking lot of the mall, I’m reminded of an article I read a few months back about how malls all over America are slowly dying. Soon after entering the glass entrance doors I see that Plainsfield is no exception. Two of the big box department stares that bracket the sprawling retail complex are vacant and a third of the smaller stores are empty. The movie theater still functions, but it’s now a discount establishment playing pictures that were released a year ago. The food court remains but most of the stalls are dark because it’s early and the mall itself just opened. There is a cart selling shrink wrapped muffins and boiling hot coffee so that will have to do. Aside from an old man reading a newspaper and a yawning woman who discreetly breastfeeds in a corner, I’m the only occupant in the sea of empty tables.
With my mouth full of a rather bland carrot muffin, I do something I’ve stopped myself from doing time and again. I conduct an internet search for Jace Zielinski. There have been plenty of occasions where seeing his name was inevitable. And as much as I like to curse him out inside my head and keep scrolling, sometimes I stop and read a paragraph or two.
Hundreds of articles pop up in reference to last month’s Super Bowl, about how Jace led the underdog New York Lions to an astonishing victory. There’s a ton of speculation that he might end up being the greatest American quarterback of all time.
If only he’d adjust his attitude.
The theme runs through just about every analysis; Jace is an athletic genius. With the manners of a grizzly bear.
“The sullen leader of the New York Lions…”
“Temperamental winning quarterback Jace Zielinski…”
He’s been fined for storming out of press conferences. He’s been denounced for refusing interview requests. Curiously, despite his issues with authority and with the press, his teammates offer nothing but high praise. Leon Chaps, a Lions player who I recognize from all the car commercials he stars in, insists that “Jace Zielinski would give any friend the shirt off his back.”
I stare at the quote. The contrast is curious. I don’t know what to think. Then again, I don’t know Jace at all, haven’t for a long time.
And he doesn’t know me either. He never will.
After I clear the muffin crumbs off the table, I decide to set aside the mystery of Jace Zielinski and wander around the mall. I’m not interested in buying anything and I don’t have much money, yet when I find myself standing front of a store that’s filled with a circus colored palette of sparkly accessories I go inside. This place makes me think of my sister and I smile. Carrie at nine years old is nothing like how I was at the same age. My sister is an ecstatic ball of energy who loves glitter and purple unicorns. She dances and she sings and her mother has told me that strangers will often stop her to exclaim over what a remarkable child Carrie is.
My smile falls as I skim the brightly colored merchandise. Far too much time has passed since I’ve seen that little girl.
“Shopping for someone special?” The sales clerk, a girl who looks like she could still be in high school, has wandered over to help her only customer.
I touch a set of bangle bracelets in six different shades of pink. “My little sister. She’s nine.”
The girl nods. “My sister’s nine too.” She plucks an item from a nearby display. “I bought her these earrings for Christmas and she loved them. Does your sister have her ears pierced?”
In her hand is a set of stud earrings in the shape of silver unicorn heads. “I’m not sure.”
She’s puzzled. It seems like something you should know, whether or not your little sister has her ears pierced.
She sets the earrings back where she found them and flashes a bright smile. “In that case, bracelets are always a safe bet.”
In the end I purchase two sets of colorful plastic bracelets, along with a small backpack patterned with tiny winged horses.
Then I find an empty bench and make a call that I should have made already.
Rochelle answers her cell phone and she’s confused but delighted to hear that I’m staying in Arcana. She’s also full of questions, all of them reasonable, and none of which can be easily or quickly answered while sitting on a bench in the middle of a shopping mall. When I say that I’m taking a career break and I’m staying in Arcana to sort out my options, she gets quiet. I know that this is not a good explanation, but so far I’ve told her nothing about what happened to me last fall.
“We can drive out to visit you,” she offers. “I don’t mind the drive and Carrie would LOVE to see her big sister.”
That sounds wonderful. Until I remember that Jace is hanging around. The less he knows about my life the better. Plus, the situation might be rather awkward for other reasons. Rochelle knows all about what happened between us and I doubt she’s a fan of his.
“How about if I come to you?” I suggest.
She pauses. “You sure?”
“Yes. It’s fine.”
Rochelle says she already has tomorrow off from work. It’s also Saturday so Carrie doesn’t have school and her dance class will be finished by eleven in the morning.
“I can’t wait to see you,” Rochelle squeals and coming from anyone else the words might sound artificial, but I know Rochelle. She doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.
Talking to Rochelle leaves me feeling a little more cheerful. I’d prefer to stay cheerful so rather than returning to Gloria’s house and confronting her hostile grandson, I retreat to the movie theater. Two wildly confusing superhero flicks later, I grab a chicken sandwich at the food court, which is more populated than it was this morning, but not exactly hopping with activity either.
Still reluctant to leave the mall, I’ve learned to appreciate the theater’s discount makeover and return to experience more sticky floors, popcorn perfume and a menu of endless superhero action. Getting lost in impossible worlds is good medicine. I refuse to consider whether I might have occupied the same seat while fooling around with my boyfriend once upon a time. Jace was a huge movie buff and he even planned to try his hand at screenwriting. I wonder what became of the reams of original stories he used to keep in his bedroom desk. Somehow, in spite of everything, I feel sad that I don’t know the answer. Gloria might have known whether or not Jace still writes. She would have told me if I’d ever asked. I never did.
The late winter sky is growing dark when I finally return to Arcana. Jace’s truck is nowhere in sight. McClane greets me ecstatically when I open the door so I know Jace hasn’t fled the state, which leaves me with mixed feelings. Dread and wariness and something else, something I’m not sure how to identify. Resignation perhaps, that maybe we were fated to come face to face someday anyway and it’s best to get it over with. Or maybe somewhere deep inside is the tiniest vestige of a foolish girl who is glad to see him.
I run my hands up and down my arms, suddenly chilled. McClane paws at my leg and whines.
“Are you lonely?” I hunch down and scratch under his chin. He slobbers on my arm and tries to do the same to my face, nearly knocking me over in the process. I laugh and rub his ears. “Thanks for the friendship.”
The dog’s ears perk up all of a sudden and his tail thumps up a storm. He spins around in circles and hurls his body against the closed door. A glance out the window confirms my fears. Jace’s giant red pickup truck has returned. It’s fair to assume that Jace has returned with it.
My stomach turns a somersault. The lunch I ate at the mall curdles with an ominous rumble. On the drive back I wracked my brain for what I ought to say to Jace but came up empty every time.
There’s no escape. Since I’ve claimed the living room as my quarters I don’t even have a door that can keep him out.
Quickly, I stow the bag of Carrie’s gifts in a suitcase pocket and retreat to the kitchen to put a little bit of space between me and Jace’s grand entrance.
He strolls in with mirrored sunglasses on his face, a colossal bag of dog food balanced on one shoulder and wearing a red baseball cap attached to a straw colored hair piece in the shape of a shaggy mullet. The vision is bizarre, to say the least. Jace drops the bag on the floor, rips off his weird hat and greets the exuberant McClane.
“Sorry, pal. They didn’t have the beef flavor. You’ll have to settle for chicken.”
Then I understand. At least I think I do. Jace took a trip to the store and Jace is famous. He must have to do this often, hide within some kind of disguise if he doesn’t want to be besieged. How exhausting.
Jace hauls the dog food over his shoulder once more and strolls over to the pantry. He has yet to remove his mirrored sunglasses or acknowledge that I’m here. It’s possible he hasn’t noticed. I’m not tall and I haven’t moved a muscle since he walked in.
“Does that really fool anyone?” I ask as I fill a glass with water. “The costume?”
He swivels and a pair of mirrored lenses confront me. Slowly, he removes the glasses and stores them in his shirt pocket. “What costume?”
I take a sip of water and try not to fidget as he keeps staring at me. There’s so much injustice in how absurdly, effortlessly hot he is. I really don’t want to fight with him. We’re not friends but we should be capable of carrying on a civil conversation. And I’m tired. It’s been a confusing day.
“I wouldn’t really do it,” I blurt out.
One eyebrow lifts. He waits for me to explain.
With a sigh I set the water glass down. “No matter what you say or how you taunt me, I wouldn’t sell you out to some gossip rag. I shouldn’t have made that threat.”
He mulls this over. Then he snorts with a smirk, his way of saying that he doesn’t believe me, which is rather maddening.
“Look Jace, I’ve had plenty of chances to drag you through the mud if that was what I wanted. You think there haven’t been scummy reporters sniffing around? Waving big checks and trying to dig up the dirty secrets of the quarterback king? If I ever decided to talk I’d have a lot to say. But I’ve never told them a thing. I never will.”
From the look on his face, I can tell the possibility has not seriously occurred to him before, that someone eager for tawdry gossip might uncover our connection and contact me. The first time it happened was right after he was a first round NFL draft pick. The most recent instance came in the form of a phone call from a New York reporter the week of the Super Bowl.
My response is always the same.
“I’ve never heard of Jace Zielinski.”
Jace’s fleeting expression might have a touch of sheepishness but then his jaw hardens.
“Are you waiting for me to thank you for not gossiping to the tabloids?”
“No. I don’t believe you thank anyone for anything these days.”
He doesn’t argue. He just changes the subject. “Why the hell are you sleeping in the living room? The master bedroom is empty. You know she’d want you to use it.”
Sleeping in Gloria’s bed surrounded by Gloria’s things would only hammer home the sad fact that she’s gone. “I like the couch better.”
He looks away. “Whatever. It’s your call.”
“Yes, it is.” My lower lip is getting shredded between my teeth because I’m about to be partially honest. I hope I don’t regret it. “I couldn’t pay my rent anymore. That’s why I packed up my car and came here.”
He’s not surprised. Jace was never stupid and this morning he hinted that he’d already connected the dots. While he couldn’t possibly know details, he understood that I wouldn’t come running back to Arcana unless I was desperate. His eyes now survey me without much sympathy but without hostility either. “So you’re out of work?”
“Yeah, I found it difficult to work after…” I kind of cough on the next words. “After the accident.”
“Right, the accident.” He crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Remind me again what happened.”
It seems like a trap. I can’t remember the exact words I muttered at the table this morning when I was still reeling from seeing him again after so many years. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
He frowns. “How badly did you get injured?”
“It’s not a big deal. As you can see, I’m in one piece.”
He’s inspecting my face more carefully now. I fight the urge to cup a palm over the shadowy scar that starts in the corner of my left eye and trails along my cheekbone.
I flip my long hair so that the scarred side of my face is obscured and begin rinsing out my water glass. Jace’s scrutiny makes me want to jump out of my skin. Some days I don’t even feel like the same person I was six months ago. I’ve grown used to being alone in the most complete sense with no job, no relationship and no real friends. Even trips to the grocery store became rare. My pride has suffered enough of a beating without being judged by a guy who regularly gets featured in every ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ list there is.
Thankfully, Jace has lost interest in my personal history. He tears open the bag of dog food and pours a pile of brown kibble into a silver dish on the floor. He doesn’t look my way again before disappearing down the hall and a moment later I hear the shower running. I’m happy that there are two bathrooms in the house. This is all mortifying enough without being required to share a sink with him.
With Jace occupied in the shower, I take the opportunity to swiftly get ready for bed. It’s early but I’m ready to put an end to this day. I’d also like to eliminate the possibility of further exposure to Jace’s sparkling conversation.
I’m nestled in my couch bed with the lights off and trying to appear sound asleep when Jace emerges from the bathroom. He briefly lets his dog out in the backyard. When McClane comes charging back indoors, he leaps onto the bed beside me, joyfully presses his wet nose to my cheek and seems ready to settle in for the night before Jace calls him back. The dog whimpers with sadness and hops off the bed. Seconds later I hear Jace’s bedroom door close.
Relieved, I exhale and sit up. This is when I notice that Jace’s senior year photo, the one I irritably set face down on the piano, has been propped upright. Not only that, but the thing has been moved to the end table two feet from my face so that I can be monitored in my sleep.
Very funny.
With a grunt of annoyance, I switch on the lamp, seize the photo, walk over to the piano bench and throw open the lid so I can shove teenage Jace inside with the tattered old music books. The storage compartment of the bench is fuller than I bargained for and one of the books slides out, landing on the floor. I recognize the red and white softcover lesson book instantly. Gloria used it to teach me the basics when I first began taking lessons.
After shutting Jace’s photo inside the bench where he won’t think to look for it, I pick up the book and carry it to bed. There’s a smile on my face as I turn the pages and hear Gloria’s never ending patience in my memory.
“Stretch your fingers, Victoria. Excellent.”
I know that if I turn to page seventeen I’ll find Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. When I do this, a photograph slips out and I bite my lip over the unexpected blow of seeing all three of us together. I’m in the middle. Colt and Jace are on either side of me. Jace is laughing and Colt has decided to give me rabbit ears while crossing his eyes for the camera. I must have been aware of what he was doing because I’m shooting him some serious side eye. We’re all wearing Arcana Elementary t-shirts and I remember the day the picture was taken. It was the fifth grade picnic at Capstone Park. Gloria was there to help chaperone. Colt and Jace accidentally disturbed a wasp’s nest and everyone ran shrieking to the pond to get away from the stingers.
It’s just one in a sea of childhood memories featuring Jace and Colt. They were like two sides of a coin and while I was always allowed to tag along, sometimes I would feel slightly jealous of their alliance.
The wave of emotion is unwelcome. I feel compelled to jam the photo back in the book and push the book into the top drawer of the end table. Then I stare at my bare feet dangling over the edge of the bed and feel my fingers ball into fists around the cotton bedsheets.
I can’t expect to fall asleep easily after a day like this.
No one could.
The pill bottle is in the zippered interior compartment of my purse. Slight panic touches me when I shake a pill out into my palm and realize there are not many left. Less than ten. My health insurance has lapsed and I don’t have the money for out of pocket medical care. Any new doctor will want to conduct an exam and get a complete history before prescribing any medication. They know the problem signs to look for. I know them too. At the clinic it was an everyday occurrence for some struggling soul to wander in and make a desperate bid for pain relief. The care providers hated turning these patients away, knowing they would likely seek dangerous alternatives. Sometimes they could be persuaded to receive help for their addiction. Most of the time they couldn’t.
I push the lid back on the bottle and return it to my purse.
I don’t have a problem.
I just need to calm down.
I swallow the pill with a mouthful of water from the kitchen faucet and return to bed to await the oblivion of sleep.
In the darkness my thoughts blur around the edges and my eyelids grow heavy. These days I don’t often dream but when I do my dreams are nearly always of Arcana. The old Arcana of my childhood when summers were beautiful and I was never alone because Colt and Jace were always nearby.
To my knowledge, the two of them haven’t spoken in nearly a decade. And my brother is just barely in my life. It’s been five years since we saw each other. Even that was just for an hour when I had a layover in Seattle and he agreed to meet because he happened to be working not too far away with a lumber crew. Colt was born on my first birthday and I can’t remember a time without him. Of course, he’s still my brother and he always will be, but we’re nothing like the way we used to be. The thread binding us together was severed a long time ago.
Before I drift away, the photo I found flashes through my mind.
Then it fades into shadows.
The days of that happy, carefree trio of children are long gone.
There’s nothing left of them but the bitter aftertaste of what used to be.