Callie's Sister

Chapter 10

I knew it was wrong. He knew it was wrong. But he knew it was what I needed. He nodded softly, still holding my gaze.

“Okay,” he said and we walked toward his car. Once upon a time it was probably a hot car, but now the paint was battling the rust to see which would take over. The window frame of the passenger door was ripped, with a few pieces of metal sticking out. He opened my door for me. I slid in, kicking aside the old Doritos and Milky Way wrappers. Cam reached under his seat to retrieve the key and started the car.

We didn’t speak for the first twenty minutes, falling into the same comfortable silence of our bike rides. When you’ve known someone your whole life you can do that and it’s not awkward.

I hooked my iPod up to the adapter on his car radio and we let the music seep between us. My arms hugged my knees and my eyes focused straight ahead. I knew if I looked at him I might lose it. We passed fast food joints, Wal-marts, other big box stores, each colossal temple of material goods and home improvement increasing the distance from home.

Eventually the commercial overload gave way to farms. Miles of cows and silos and fields fading after autumn harvests. And then another round of chain stores. I sang each of their jingles in my head – anything I could do to keep my mind from returning home. As we drove past the Dunkin’ Donuts, I was overwhelmed by an urgent need for Munchkins.

“Cam, pull into Dunkin’ Donuts.” He obeyed, skidding into the exit. “Look, there’s a drive-thru.” He went the wrong way through the parking lot and was rewarded by the thrust of a middle finger from a guy in a pickup truck. Cam started to return the salute, but I pulled his hand back down.

“Did you see the gun in the back of the truck?” I asked him.

“Sorry,” he said. “Reflex.” I kept my hand on his arm for a minute and felt the warmth flow through my hand and into my body, relaxing me. I flopped back in my seat, my feet rustling the garbage on the floor of the car.

“Do you ever clean this thing?” I asked. Gross. Totally skeeved, I searched the clutter for a bag to shove everything into. I looked in the back seat and there among the used soda can collection I found an old plastic grocery bag. I grabbed as much refuse as possible while the cars in front of us crept through the drive thru.

“Since when are you a neat freak?” Cam asked.

“About four months,” I replied, ignoring his cynicism. Go ahead, psychoanalyze me. Tell me it’s a natural reaction. Tell me it’s the only way I can control my world. Tell me something I don’t already know.

I burst out of the car, overflowing garbage bag in one hand as I scoured the drive-thru for a trash can. Spotting one on the other side of the pavement, I ran over to it, shoved the bag into the impossibly small hole and hopped back in the car just as Cam was pulling up to the drive-thru window.

“50 Munchkins, please,” I shouted across Cam and into the speakers. “And a large iced coffee, light and sweet.”

“50 munchkins for two of us?” Cam asked.

“What are you getting?” I asked. The munchkins were mine. All 50 of them if I wanted. And a large jolt of sugar-filled caffeine. After not eating much all summer, I had this sudden craving for junk. Deep-fried-and-soaked-in-sugar junk. Cam, Mr. Moderation, ordered a single chocolate glazed donut, with a carton of skim milk.

“And a large plastic bag and several napkins please,” I shouted into the speaker. I was determined to keep the place neat. I dug a ten dollar bill out of my pocket and handed it to Cam.

“I got it,” he said, pulling out his wallet. I put my hand on his hand. Another jolt.

“You drove,” I said. “I get to pay for the sugar and caffeine. Or in your case highly nutritious skim milk.”

“Don’t knock the skim milk – it helps build healthy teeth and bones,” he said, flashing me a healthy-teeth smile. Cam drove up to the pickup window; we grabbed the donuts and were on our way.

The silence fell between us again. I opened the house-shaped Munchkin box and dug in, devouring a powdered sugar, jelly, chocolate frosted, chocolate frosted, powdered sugar, cinnamon, another jelly and then a plain. Sips of the iced coffee interrupted the donut gorging, but only briefly. Between all my running and the forgetting to eat as no one was home most of the time, I had lost most of my baby fat. My body was kind of stunned by all the sugar.

Slightly nauseous, I rolled down the windows to get some fresh air. I pulled the scrunchy out of my hair and let the wind whip it around, sticking my head out of the car like a golden retriever. The feeling of the wind was so great I leaned further out the window. I could smell the salty sea air already. It felt like I was flying as the trees blurred past us on the side of the road. I leaned out even more, eyes closed, cheeks caressed by the breeze, when Cam grabbed my sweatshirt and yanked me. My head hit on one of the jagged metal pieces of the window frame. Hard.

“OW!” I shrieked as I pulled myself the rest of the way in.

“Sorry,” Cam said. I put my hand to the back of my head and felt something moist. Glancing at my hand confirmed what I feared; I was bleeding.

“Oh, man,” Cam said, as he swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car.

“Keep going,” I demanded. “We’re almost there.” I scrounged around for those Dunkin’ Donuts napkins.

“Let me see it,” Cam said, handing me the napkins. I pressed a few to my head.

“I’m sure it’s no big deal,” I said. “Let’s keep driving.” My protest didn’t stop him. He leaned across the front seat and turned my head. Pulling the napkin away, he waded through the tangled mess my hair had become.

“It looks pretty bad,” he said. “More gash than nick. And it’s still bleeding.”

“Thank you, Dr. Kelly,” I said. Cam actually did want to be a doctor. First he was going to Duke, then to medical school. That was the plan. Cam always had a plan. Knowing this about him was both comforting and frustrating at the same time.

“I think we need to go to the Emergency Room,” he said.

I snapped around. “Are you kidding me? No hospitals. Now keep driving. Please.”

He started the car and got back on the road. We passed the flea bag rent-by-the-hour beach motels. I held the napkins to my head, checking them every few minutes. It was still bleeding a little. I was not going to the hospital. There was no way.

“Why did you pull me back?” I asked.

“I thought you were going to jump,” he said.

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m really not sure what to expect right now,” he said. “Why are we doing this?” I looked at him. Right into his eyes. He understood.