Black Chuck Page 4

  “Do you love Alex?” Evie asked.

  “What?” Sunny’s eyes flashed wide. “Where did that come from?”

  “I’m just curious,” Evie said, leaning back against the seat. “I just don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like.”

  “Oh.” Sunny maneuvered the car onto the county highway, and soon they were flying past orchards and green cornfields. “I guess so,” she said. “I mean, he’s hilarious. And sweet. And a babe, even if he is a total mess.”

  “Does he love you?” Evie turned to look at her friend.

  “Yeah, he does.” A little smile played on Sunny’s lips. “He’s such a puppy. He totally worships Shaun, you know.”

  Evie laughed. “You think?”

  Alex was like a thinner, sharper version of Shaun, with feathery reddish-brown hair to his shoulders and the same stretched-out T-shirts. He’d perfected all of Shaun’s facial expressions, though on his angular bones they looked somehow meaner and more defensive.

  “He’s like Satan’s Own royalty, you know.” Sunny’s smile had gone dark and sly. “His great-grandfather was an original member, way back.”

  Evie gaped at her. “Whoa. I knew his dad had a motorbike, but…”

  Sunny cackled. “Yeah, it’s a little more than just having a motorbike. His dad is full-patch. So are, like, a hundred of his cousins. But don’t tell anyone I told you that.”

  “Who would I tell?”

  “True. Ré already knows, obviously. And Shaun. I guess you’re the last of us. But it goes no further, okay?”

  Evie shrugged. She literally had no one else to tell. “Why is it such a big deal?”

  “Just…reasons,” Sunny said, laughing again.

  “Does it bother you?” she asked. “That he’s a biker?”

  “Hells no!” Sunny cried. “It’s, like, the only thing that’s even cool about him.”

  “Seriously? But you guys have been together for a million years.”

  “Not quite three,” Sunny corrected. “But yeah, long enough. And anyway, I’m kidding. There’s other cool stuff. He’s just so frickin’ bombed all the time, it’s hard to tell anymore.”

  Evie laughed. She pictured Alex, red slits in his face for eyes. He was the most stoned guy she’d ever met. And he never seemed to be without weed, though he didn’t have a job of any kind. The others dabbled, but it was truly Alex who earned them all the “burnout” label that followed them at school.

  The warm air whirling around the cabin of the Buick almost felt like summer—damp and heavy. Like right before she’d met Shaun the year before. Heat that promised sleepless nights. She pictured her stuffy attic bedroom, Shaun’s ghost all over it still. Suddenly the thought of another night alone there seemed unbearable. “Do you want to go to the lake tonight?” she asked Sunny. “With the guys, I mean?”

  Sunny pushed herself back against the cheap vinyl seat, contemplating. “That could be fun. I couldn’t get there till later though. I have a thing tonight.”

  “A Korean Mafia thing?” Evie teased. Sunny was always disappearing to do secret stuff she never talked about.

  “Don’t mock me, jjin dda!” She swatted a long arm across the seat at Evie, laughing. “I’ll sic my godfather on you! He’s, like, ninety years old, but he’s very fierce! Very fierce.” She spoke these last words in the warbling old voice of her godfather and then cackled insanely.

  Evie laughed and shook her head. She rolled her gaze back out the open window, across the empty fields, lifting her fingers to the wind again.

  R

  Réal slapped the empty pockets of his jean jacket and thought, I am going to murder that girl. The leather clasp that normally clipped his keys to the inside pocket was missing, and when he ducked out to check the parking lot, sure enough, the Buick was gone.

  He stood at the top of the stairs, jacket clenched in his fist, the crash of metal doors hitting their stops full force echoing across the pavement. No one drove the Buick. No one.

  He flared his nostrils for one second more, neck tight, jaw tight, then turned, yanking the door open again.

  Réal froze.

  At the end of the first floor hallway stood two dark-blue uniforms.

  They hovered outside the main office, talking to the principal, who was nodding a lot, looking serious.

  Réal swallowed and opened his hand. As the door swung from his grip, the sun cast a white glare across the glass, and all he could see was his own reflection staring back at him, wide-eyed. His heart knocked against his ribs.

  Ciboire! he swore. His books were still inside.

  Behind him, the sound of a familiar engine rose up, and he turned to see the Buick bouncing back into the parking lot, Sunny smiling coolly from the driver’s seat.

  “Fuck, Sunny,” he muttered, more relieved than he wanted to be at seeing her behind the wheel. He dove down the steps and yanked open the car door, getting in practically on top of her. “Move over, for Christ’s sake,” he ordered, tossing his jacket at the girls.

  Sunny slid across the front seat, long legs and leather boots piling all over Evie. Réal swung around and pulled right back out of the lot again, the Buick roaring like a bull, Sunny whooping gloriously over the sound.

  “Ça va, Réal?” she singsonged, leaning against him, her body warm and cool at the same time.

  “Don’t even talk to me,” he said, eyes flicking at the rear-view mirror.

  “Aw, are you mad at me?”

  “You stole my car! Yeah, I’m mad at you, dumbass.”

  Sunny shrugged. “I had to. Evie was having a meltdown. I had to take her home.”

  “Yeah, good work,” he muttered. “She’s still here.”

  “Well, I had to bring the car back. It was almost out of gas!”

  Réal glanced at the gauge on the dash. “Fuck, Sunny!”

  Sunny just laughed and leaned against him again. He pushed her off with his left hand. Fucking hurricane. It was always like this with her.

  A minute later her fingers were under the edge of his T-shirt.

  “Stop it,” he muttered quietly, but he didn’t push her away. He caught her maniac grin in the mirror and just shook his head.

  They rolled down Division Street toward town, toward the river, in silence.

  Sunny suddenly sat up and pointed at the big, rundown medical center on the east side of the street. “Drop me there.”

  When Réal pulled into the parking lot, both girls got out. Sunny brushed her hair back with both hands, twirling it into a knot before letting it fall across her shoulders again. All for show, he thought.

  Sunny said to Evie, “Text me if you go to the lake.” Then she spun off without saying goodbye—or thanks—to Réal.

  He was left staring at the bright shape of the open door. Then he leaned across the front seat and said to Evie, “Come on, girl. I’ll take you home.”

  5

  E

  Angry silence rolled off him in waves. Evie shrank in her seat.

  Finally, Réal said, “You live on Shaun’s street, right?”

  “Yeah, but at the west end,” she said. “Near the cemetery.” Then she added quietly, “Sorry we took your car. She told me you gave her the keys.”

  He made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

  Evie couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he was intimidatingly quiet, as always.

  The late afternoon was almost sticky, and a haze had fallen over the streets.

  Evie turned to him again. “Do you want to go to the lake tonight?” she asked. “Feels like it’ll be warm.”

  Réal didn’t answer, didn’t look her way.

  “Not just us, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” he said, and then, “Sure. Why not.”

  They turned onto Evie’s street. Shaun’s street. It was a long, single lane of rutted pavement and asphalt patches, buckled in the middle, with scrubby grass at the shoulders. One side had all the houses, and the other was
just an empty field that had been for sale as long as anyone could remember.

  “Did you know Shaun when you were little?” Evie asked.

  Réal glanced at her. “Yeah,” he said. “Since I was nine. We’re in the same grade, but he’s older.”

  “’Cause his birthday’s in the summer,” she said, watching the field go by.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  Evie could feel him looking at her again. He asked, “How you getting to the lake?”

  She looked away from the field, mouth slightly open. She didn’t have a car. Shaun had always driven her in his beat-up, vintage green Challenger that, by miracle or more likely by bribe, was legally road-certified. She could still feel its cracked black vinyl biting her bare legs.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll drive,” Réal said, reading her mind.

  A little ways down the road, Evie pointed out her house, and they slowed, pulling into the driveway. Réal ducked to look through the windshield at her shabby white bungalow, chipped, dark-green trim around windows all shaded with mismatched curtains. She’d have been embarrassed if she didn’t know Ré’s place was about the same.

  He sat back and stretched his arm across the back of the seat, fixing her with the same look he’d had that day outside the gym. Worried. “Is anybody home?”

  Evie shrugged. “My mom works nights.”

  “So you just hang out here all alone?”

  “Yeah, except when Shaun—” she started. Her throat closed on the words, but Réal nodded like she’d said them anyway.

  He said, “There’s supper at my place. I gotta go home anyway. We can just head to the lake from there, if you want.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, and he smiled.

  “Beats coming all the way back here to get you,” he said.

  She screwed her mouth up, then nodded once, turning away.

  Without another word, Réal threw the Buick in reverse, and they slid out onto the street again, going back the way they’d come. Neither of them mentioned it, but they both knew he was taking the long way home.

  The yard was a war zone. Toys exploded everywhere. Bikes, skateboards, tools, car parts, muddy boots. Réal swung out of his car and walked right through the middle of the minefield, while Evie picked her way along behind him.

  A rusty loveseat swing hung from the porch beams, and more plastic toys were strewn across the deck. Réal held open the door for her. The smell of tomatoes and cooked garlic filled her nostrils, making her stomach kick.

  “Come on in,” he said, heading down a dim hallway to a large kitchen at the back of the house, where he tossed his jean jacket at a chair and dropped his keys on the table with a thunk. He lifted the lid off a slow cooker on the counter, poking around in it with a spoon. “You okay with chili?” he asked over his shoulder. “It’s vegetarian.”

  She nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure she was okay with it, her stomach still uneasy. She stood in the doorway, looking around. There were knickknacks on every surface of his kitchen, painted handprints and photographs stuck on the fridge, a dog bowl in the corner with a radius of kibble spilled around it. Homey and chaotic, just like the yard.

  “How old are your brothers?” she asked.

  “Uh, Beni’s sixteen,” he said distractedly, shaking spice into the pot.

  “Yeah, I had Geography with him last year,” Evie said, remembering the back of Beni Dufresne’s head. He had the same thick, dark hair as Réal, though Ré’s was clipped military-short while Beni’s was grown out, shaggy and wild.

  “Oh, right.” He nodded. Turning to face her, he leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, his legs at the ankles. “So then Ivan. He’s fourteen, and Luc and Mathis are eleven. They’re twins.”

  If it weren’t for his penchant for spitting sacres—those filthy Quebecois cuss words that always peppered his speech—it would be easy to miss that Réal’s first language was French. But when he pronounced his brothers’ names, Ee-von, Luke and Ma-tisse, his natural accent slipped through.

  “My mom really wanted a girl,” he was saying.

  “So they just kept trying?”

  He grinned. “Pretty much. Plus, we’re sort of Catholic.”

  “Oh.”

  Evie blushed. His grin had made Catholic sound dark and mysterious, conjuring images of forbidden things. Mistakes. A picture of Shaun in her kitchen, knotting his fingers in her hair. His lips, his breath. Evie swallowed. She closed her eyes, and tears spilled again.

  Réal did nothing for a second, and then he said, “Hey.”

  He crossed the kitchen, taking her arms lightly. “Hey now.” She breathed, then opened her eyes. He gave her a long look before saying anything, then: “He was my brother too, Ev.”

  Behind them, the front door crashed open, and two boys exploded into the hall, shouting at each other. Evie backed away from Réal, into the wall.

  She recognized Beni. The other boy was tall and lanky and had the same thick, black hair as the rest of them. Ivan, she guessed, as he ran up the stairs two at a time.

  Beni came down the hall, giving them a look as he stepped past into the kitchen. “Sup,” he said gruffly.

  Evie looked at Réal, feeling like the wall was the only thing holding her up. “I don’t think I can eat,” she confessed.

  “All right,” he said, eyes as soft as his voice. “That’s okay. You still want to go to the lake?” She nodded. “Okay. Just let me feed my brothers, and then we’ll go.”

  R

  The lake usually meant Fun. Which usually meant Trouble. Réal was surprised Evie even wanted to go—she seemed way too miserable. But girls were confusing. They always said one thing and meant something else completely. He knew that about them, at least.

  Back in the car, her dark hair spilled across her face. He couldn’t see her eyes, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She just stared out the passenger window as the trees flew by.

  “You mind if I grab some beer?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if she’d be insulted, being knocked up and all.

  “No, that’s okay,” she said, looking his way at last. She smiled weakly.

  “Okay. Cool.” He smiled back.

  The lake was not far from town, along a tree-lined stretch of old county highway, but unless you were looking for it, you wouldn’t know it was there. Locals only. It was shallow and cool, with a sandy beach and a fire pit that had seen its fair share of abuse.

  In full summer, it would be packed with kids, but probably not tonight. School wasn’t even out yet, exams still a couple of weeks away. But it was a warm night, promising warmer ones to come.

  Réal pulled into the liquor-store parking lot. The trick to buying underage was to never hesitate, never look unsure. Also, to not buy like an amateur. Amateurs always bought stupid shit because they didn’t know any better. Flavored schnapps or cheap hard liquor. Dead giveaway.

  He went straight for the beer. Tall boys, same domestic brand every time, so when the girl rang him through, she treated him like an old regular and never guessed she should have been asking for ID for the last two years—and for the next six months, too, until he was actually legal.

  When he got back to the car, Evie was on her cell phone, blue light shining up into her face as she tapped the screen with her thumbs. He got into the car and put the paper bag down between them.

  “So is anyone else coming?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” she said absently. He heard the whoosh of a text being sent. She looked up from the phone. “Sunny says she has a thing, but she’ll come later, with Alex.”

  “All right,” he said, throwing the car into drive. “When’s later?”

  “I dunno, she didn’t say.”

  Réal chewed his lip. It wasn’t that he minded being alone with Evie. It was that Sunny operated on a schedule that took only one person into account. They could be out there for hours before she got there, and she might not even turn up at all. And he barely knew Evie. What the hell would
they talk about until the circus finally arrived?

  Réal leaned over and flicked on the radio. It scratched and whispered till he found a station. They took the same highway the girls had taken that afternoon. The horizon ahead glowed bright cobalt, darker in the east, with just the faintest starlight poking through. He sat back in his seat and whistled tunelessly with the radio.

  Fifteen minutes up the road, he took a right off the highway onto a dirt track that wound through a thick wall of trees, high beams casting wild shadows into the dark. They bounced over familiar ruts and eventually came out onto a wide patch of sandy grass. There were two other cars parked there, but neither was Sunny’s.

  They got out of the Buick, and Réal put the bag with the beer on the roof of the car. He pulled a folded old blanket from the trunk and tossed it to Evie.

  As they picked their way down to the beach, soft voices lifted in the dark. The fire pit was a rusted, burned-out cage of cast iron surrounded by lake rocks. It was full of ash and garbage. He went to it and kicked around. There didn’t seem to be fuel, and they hadn’t brought any. Probably the same reason no one else on the beach had lit it first. “Whatever,” he said, turning away.

  Evie shook the blanket out, and they sat on it, a few feet apart. He pulled a tall boy from the bag, crisp sound bouncing out over the water as he cracked it open.

  She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them, and asked, “Do you think Shaun was murdered?”

  Réal coughed into his beer.

  He ran a sleeve over his mouth and looked at her, wide-eyed.

  “If it’s true, I mean,” she continued, ignoring his look. “What Alex said about him being all messed up. Who would have done that? And why?”

  “It’s true,” Réal said quietly, remembering the edge of blue light in the grass. “I saw him.”

  Evie finally turned to look at him. “So you think he was murdered?”

  Réal didn’t answer. He sat with his knees drawn up, elbows resting on them, beer dangling in his hands. He looked out at the water, though he couldn’t see it in the dark. Maybe tonight isn’t gonna be so Fun after all.