Fox Hollow

Fox Hollow

It’s going to rain again. I can tell from the way the clouds stretch across the darkened sky, blocking out the moon, and how subtle swirls of steam bounce off the asphalt. Humidity and the scent of earthworms congest the October air, making the fifty-degree atmosphere a little more bearable.

I follow Max across the Radio Shack parking lot, stepping in all the puddles he carefully avoids. The shuffle of Converse on concrete and the splashes of obscured reflections take the place of our words. We head toward the Cutlass twenty feet ahead and I swing a handful of plastic bags back and forth, skipping slightly to catch up with Max. Beside him, I reach out with my free hand to lace my fingers through his, but think better of it and pull back.

Max hands me the keys to the car and we climb in, throwing everything in the backseat. With a flick of my wrist, I gun the ignition and, not surprisingly, the engine stalls. After a few pumps of the gas pedal, the vehicle roars to life. Soon I’ve pulled out of the lot and have begun to speed down Euler Road.

“Can you stop by Michael’s house?” Max asks, once we’ve reached a red light.

It only takes those six words to ruin my night. “What?”

If he detects my sudden irritation, he ignores it. “I told him he could stay with us for a few days. Since we’re out now, we might as well pick him up.”

“When were you planning to tell me this?” I grip the wheel and feel exasperation hissing through my teeth.

“Does it matter? It’s not even your house.”

“It’s not yours, either,” I snap. I’m sure that Max’s parents, whenever they come back around, won’t be too happy about someone like Michael staying in their home.

The stoplight changes and the car lurches forward, pressing us against our seats. “I hate your friends,” I mutter. “They’re all dim-witted crack addicts.”

“And I’m not?” he says, playfully, but a hint of offense ices his tone.

I decide it’s safe not to answer; we ride in silence for a few more blocks. A dull ache in my belly reminds me of how long it’s been since I last ate. “I’m hungry, Max.”

“I’ll grab something to eat when we’re there,” he replies automatically. Sighing, I pull into the lane that will eventually lead us to a subdivision by the university.

Max clears his throat and starts shaking his head. “No, no. The other way. He’s at his mom’s house, not his dad’s.” I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. “In Fox Hollow.”

My breath catches somewhere between my heart and my throat. A cold numbness swells in my stomach and then begins creeping down my legs. Unsure if I’m still pressing the gas pedal, I look over at Max. “You know I can’t go there.”

“Come on.” His voice is louder, now. I’ve tried his patience. “It’ll only be for a few minutes, and you’ll have an actual reason to be driving down there.”

Come on. It’s the phrase he always uses to signal that the discussion is over; his choice overrules mine. “I can’t,” I repeat, my words softer. “I’m sorry.”

Max reaches over, grabs the wheel, and spins it hard to the right. Old tires squeal against wet pavement as we hop over two lanes and take a right at the upcoming intersection. I swallow a yelp and shrink back in my seat, trembling, as he steers us toward a winding side street. We fly over two speed bumps and make a sharp left at a road I’ve seen too many times.

He finally lets me have the wheel, and I dutifully take us over a small hill. “It’s the second one from the corner,” he reminds me.

I could drive down here with my eyes closed and still be able to find the house on the corner--Kayden’s house. “I know.” Our Oldsmobile pulls into the long, pocked driveway and I stop right next to a line of rose bushes, shifting gears to park.

Max pauses for a moment, hesitating, staring out the windshield. Then he turns and reaches up with his left hand to cup my chin. His fingernails dig into my cheeks as he pulls my face toward him, forcing me to look into those dark, glossy eyes. “I love you. Okay?”

        I wrench away and find myself gazing at the nearest hedge. “Go get your friend.”

        He sits there for a few seconds longer before exiting the car, slamming the door behind him. He heads up to Michael’s doorstep. The porch light turns on, then off, and Max is ushered inside.

A raindrop smacks the large pane in front of me. I turn on the radio, hoping for a song to drown out the incoming shower. After changing stations a few times, I find something easy to hum to. Usually the music would calm me down, but when one song passes, then another, and another, I switch it off and listen as my heartbeats begin to synchronize with the relentless drum of the idle engine. Now fully aware of the glare of my headlights, I turn off the car.

Soon, trickles of rainwater are spilling over the roof and streaming down the windshield. I allow myself to look out the right window and at the house next door before my view becomes blurry.

Its three stories seem bigger than ever, the white siding and gray shutters more menacing--as if presenting a challenge.

I remember the small pair of binoculars in the trunk. Without pausing to reconsider, I stretch my arm across the car and tug on the middle seat, pulling down the rim and exposing the inside of the trunk. My binoculars are farther away than I thought, but if I stand up a little, I can grab them.

A yellow glow appears to the right of me. The light in the window above the corner house’s garage has flipped on. Startled, I immediately drop the binoculars and curl into a ball in my seat. I remain paralyzed halfway under the steering wheel and listen to the steady taps of rain overhead until Max and Michael return.

“That took way too long!” I hiss, sitting up as they climb in, not caring how Max will respond to my tone. Michael plops his backpack on our plastic bags. Max’s throat hums as if he wants to say something, but he stays quiet, fiddling with a granola bar as if he knows I’ve lost my appetite.

I launch the car into reverse and peel out of the driveway. As I careen down the rest of the street, I look back in my rearview mirror and see that the light in that window is still on. Kayden’s silhouette stands there, watching.

The old, familiar warmth of adrenaline floods my body, cradling my heart and honeying my senses. Then the Cutlass carries us away into the night.

***

The next morning I expect a phone call, a letter, or a visit from a policeman, but Max’s neighborhood remains strangely still. By the time the week has passed, the only thing I’m paranoid about is Michael eating all the pop-tarts.

“Paws off,” I growl when I catch him taking the last strawberry package. He reluctantly surrenders the pastries and I sit on the balcony outside to eat them.

It’s an amazing day, too warm for Halloween. The sunlight filtered through a line of scarlet trees reminds me of the pleasant golden feeling I experienced seven days ago. “I need to go for a drive,” I say to my legs, which are stuck between two railing posts and dangling off the ledge. “As a matter of fact, I need to…”

No.

“Max and I got off easy last time. I’m not going to push that luck any further,” I mumble aimlessly, my words distorted by a mouth full of artificial flavor. “It is a nice day.” The breeze comes to a halt, as if attempting to improve my appreciation of the weather. A clump of chewed-up pop-tart slides down my throat, cold and so unlike the adrenaline I had once known. I swing my legs back and forth, imagining the old rush that had pulsed through me. If I go, I will have to make it a short trip, much shorter than the one before. There can be no risk of him showing up again.

“I’m taking the Olds,” I shout across the house several minutes later. For a few seconds I pause, almost hoping that someone will stop me, but Michael has disappeared and Max doesn’t answer. Soon I’ve sunk into the black cushion of the front seat and have pumped the gas pedal enough to get the car going. I allow my hands to take control and, like clockwork, they steer me toward Fox Hollow.

I park at a nearby playground, making sure I’m tucked safely between two other vehicles, before hopping out and going around to the trunk. Opening it, I spy my binoculars. I shove them into my sweatshirt pocket, close the trunk, and then begin the short walk to the neighborhood, keeping an eye out along the way.

My feet have no trouble recalling the path: down one block, left for half of the next, right, up, another left. As the curve of the street evens out, I spot the house on the corner, soaking up the sun’s beams and radiating its own sort of brilliance. Taking a quick glance at the perfectly-mowed grass alongside the curb confirms my suspicions.

It’s garbage day.

I can’t help but grin as I quickly seize one of the green bins and wheel it behind the bushes by Michael’s house. I flip the container over and welcome a rancid smell as the contents of a family’s life spill out before me. Working efficiently, I separate food from plastic packaging and paper, and eagerly begin sifting through the latter.

Why hadn’t he done anything last week? What was keeping him from enforcing the law? I claw through the papers, my mind racing, struggling to process. Maybe he had tried to send a letter, and someone threw it away accidentally. Maybe he had simply tossed the file because it didn’t matter anymore. Maybe--

“I filed a restraining order to keep you out, and you still came here anyway. Twice.” A scornful bark of laughter sounds from behind me. “God. You really are insane.”

I freeze, willing my body not to turn around--but it does. Kayden stands there, hands crossed over his chest, eyebrows creased, lips in a shape I can’t comprehend. I stare at him, waiting for a sudden calming rush, but the only thing that swarms through my body is a chilling onset of panic. I stumble to my feet and brace myself against the upside-down garbage can, heart racing and vision blurring. “I’m sorry.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you.” He looks straight at me, eyes cold and unfeeling. “After you and your boyfriend stopped by, I knew it was only a matter of days.”

Subconsciously, I reach into my pockets and curl my fingers around the binoculars, squeezing the right barrel. It occurs to me that I should probably run, but this is the most Kayden has ever said to me and I just can’t leave. There are so many things I need to tell him.

“So,” he says. “What excuse do you have this time? Why couldn’t you leave me alone?”

My thoughts skip around, hopelessly trying to find a starting point. “You made my life hell.” It comes out in a menacing growl, one I hadn’t intended to voice at all.

To my surprise, Kayden simply shakes his head. He finally breaks our eye contact, looking around at the changing trees and the sun-colored leaves littered across his yard. He returns his gaze to me, his head still wagging. “No. No, Cam. You did that.”

I whip the binoculars out of my coat and hurl them at him. He shoves both of his hands out in defense and we watch as the contraption ricochets off his palms and shatters against the driveway. Kayden laughs, a ringing, mocking sound so unlike the beautiful tune I had imagined.

“You know what I never understood, Camryn?” he asks, not bothering to wait for an answer. “Why you even did it in the first place.” In the distance, somewhere beyond the winding side streets and speed bumps and thousands of stoplights on Euler Road, a siren wails. “Why did you continually try to immerse yourself in my life?”

I’m dimly aware of something wet trailing down my cheek. “I love you. I’ve… I’ve always loved you.”

“Love?” Kayden bends down, retrieves a glass shard from the binocular lenses, and holds it up. “You think this is love?” The ragged edges slice into his thumb and forefinger, drawing blood. He doesn’t notice.

“You know, I almost feel sorry for you,” he continues, “a girl so desperate for genuine affection that she has to stalk someone.” The lens piece falls back onto the pavement. “You’re so fucked up.”

The whining drone of a police car becomes deafening. “I said I was sorry,” I choke out.

“But you’re not.” Kayden shakes his head again. “An apology is a promise. And it’s clear that I can trust no promise made by you.”

Two Crown Victorias barrel down the street toward us like white-and-red bullets. Before I know what’s happening, two police officers have approached us. “Camryn Wenner?” one asks. I shake my head wildly, but Kayden nods and signals toward me. Soon, my hands are clasped behind my back and enclosed in cold metal.

Kayden turns to face me as I’m pushed to the curb. “Maybe it’s better this way.”

The other officer reads me my rights and I’m shoved into the backseat of one of the cars. The door slams and Kayden’s face shows up next to my window, still saying something, but I can’t hear him anymore. As we pull away from the edge of the street and exit Fox Hollow, the only thing I can think about is that I have to call Max. He’ll be needing the Cutlass.

Author's Note

This is a little over two years old now. Not sure why I never posted it before.