After the Crash Page 2

  But today’s phone call was different.

  It left Marshall glowing.

  With all the rhythm of a pasty white beanpole from the Midwest, Marshall danced—in other words, spastically wiggled—into the kitchen, where a bottle of champagne was waiting on the counter. This morning had been the result of years of hard work, and he was ready to celebrate with a little day drinking.

  For the first time in almost a decade, he was free.

  “Get your drink on,” Marshall sang under his breath as he struggled to pull the cork. It came as a surprise to no one that he was not Missy Elliott. “Getchur-getchur-getchur-getchur-getchur drink o—”

  The cork shot out of the bottle with such force that Marshall shrieked and leapt back from the counter. His flailing luckily failed to knock the bottle, but it did put a stop to what would have been the hottest remix of 2019. When his heart came back from orbit, he approached the bottle and poked it, just to be sure it wasn’t packing any other surprises, then poured himself a glass. In the silence that followed, he whispered an apology to the gods of early 2000s music, grabbed a box of Lucky Charms from the pantry, then slunk into the living room and lay on the couch. Now that the last pesky phone call was out of the way, he could enjoy something he hadn’t been able to do in years.

  Nothing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  It was going to be glorious.

  Marshall fished his wireless mouse and keyboard from the bottom shelf of his coffee table and streamed the first decent-looking movie he found on Netflix, then yawned and settled in with the intention of zoning out. With the box of Lucky Charms between his thighs and his champagne in hand, he had everything he needed. There wasn’t a cork in the world that could harsh his mellow. Not with the plans he had.

  One marshmallow at a time, Marshall picked all the fun out of his cereal. When there were no colorful bits left on the top layer, he took a sip of his champagne, glanced furtively across the room to make sure Missy Elliott wasn’t watching, then downed the glass and set it aside. The buzz did away with the last of Marshall’s worry, and he spent the rest of the movie sifting through cereal to find the pieces that mattered.

  By the time the credits were rolling, Marshall had come to two conclusions—the first was that, despite the low alcohol content, the bubbles had definitely gotten to his head; the second was that doing nothing was dull as shit. He’d been moving mountains since graduating high school, doing anything and everything he could to establish himself as a force to be reckoned with in Silicon Valley’s tech industry, and now that he’d succeeded, time off felt… empty.

  At least, emptier than he’d expected.

  What was it that people did when they weren’t working? Television wasn’t going to cut it. A glass or two of champagne would be fun, but Marshall hadn’t gone through the logistical nightmare that was taking a year off from his business so he could become an alcoholic. When he’d imagined what life would be like after making it, he’d never pictured the bottom of a bottle… but he’d never pictured anything more substantial than “freedom,” either.

  Wrinkling his nose, Marshall shook his Lucky Charms to farm for any remaining marshmallows, then unlocked his phone as he snacked on his harvest. Phone calls might have been fifth or sixth on the bane-o-meter, but he could text all day long and not feel like he was one more awkward silence away from shriveling up and dying. Better yet, he had exciting news to share with the most important person in his life—his mom.

  Marshall: Brace yourself for the biggest news of 2019

  Momzilla: omg! Ready!

  Marshall: But first, tell me what’s new with you

  Momzilla: that’s not fair!!

  Momzilla: Okay, okay

  Momzilla: I’ve got “groundbreaking” news

  Momzilla: I’m in the middle of preparing the flower beds for planting!

  Marshall: I love you

  Marshall: I’m literally laughing out loud.

  It was true.

  Momzilla: Good :) then my job is done

  Momzilla: Tell me about your news!!

  Marshall: Well…

  This was it—the moment he’d been waiting for. Marshall bit his lip and held back a laugh that had nothing to do with his mom’s play on words. It’d been a long time coming, but all the details had finally fallen into place.

  Marshall: I’m stepping down

  Momzilla: NO!!!

  Momzilla: OMG!!

  Momzilla: Are you serious???

  Marshall: It’s just for a year

  Marshall: I needed a break before I burned out

  Momzilla: But what are you going to do with a whole year off? I know you. You can’t just take it easy

  Marshall: Well, that’s part of why I decided it was so important for me to take a break

  Marshall: I’ve been so focused on professional success that I’ve been ignoring who I am as a person

  Momzilla: Okay, so is that code for backpacking through Europe or what??

  Marshall: Interesting that you should ask…

  A grin cracked his face.

  Marshall: You know that old Victorian house off highway fifteen?

  Momzilla: MARSHALL LLOYD

  Momzilla: YOU DIDN’T

  Marshall: I did

  Marshall’s phone lit up with an incoming call—it was from his mom, who undoubtedly had decided that texting wasn’t enough, and that he needed his eardrums thoroughly shattered.

  “You did what!?” she gushed as soon as the call connected. “Marshall! Karen Winthrop has been telling everyone that some coal industry bigwig from Harrisburg is moving into that house. You’re telling me it’s actually you?”

  “Hi, Mom.” Marshall tried to resist a laugh, but it bled into his voice regardless. “Yep.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Dead serious.”

  “You’re not pulling my leg?”

  “Mom, it’s not a joke! I promise. I’m the one funding all the renovations, and I’m the one who’s going to be moving in. I spent the last ten years of my life focused on my career—it’s time I switched gears and focused on me. Part of that means spending more time with you. I miss you.”

  “Marshall.” It sounded like she was seconds away from sobbing. “Baby, I love you. I can’t believe you’re coming home.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help you?” She sniffled. “Do you need me to go over there and make sure the construction at the house is going okay? It’s so old and overgrown. Are you sure it’s going to be safe?”

  “It will be. By the time I move in, the house is going to be like new. The yard is another story, but it should be knocked back enough that I won’t need a machete to get inside.”

  “When are you coming?”

  “Friday.”

  The shriek of delight he earned in response for his answer almost broke his phone’s speaker. Marshall held it away from his ear and laughed while he waited for her to calm down. While she laughed her excitement away, he fished one last marshmallow from his box of Lucky Charms, then closed the flap and set it aside.

  “Do you need me to pick you up from the airport?” she asked as Marshall headed into the kitchen in search of more champagne. “What time does your flight arrive?”

  “It doesn’t. I’m driving.”

  “From Silicon Valley?”

  “It’s thirty hours. I’m going to take it slow and do it over three, maybe four days.” Glass in hand, Marshall leaned against the counter and watched the television screen from across the room. The credits had ended, and Netflix was aggressively trying to push another movie on him. “It’ll give the interior designer time to set up all the furniture and make sure everything that I order has been delivered and installed. Besides, I’m not in a rush. I’ve got time. It’ll be nice to see the world from the ground for once.”

  “I just… I can’t believe you’re coming home. I know I keep saying it, but I really can’t. I’m so happy you’re co
ming back, even if it’s just for a little while.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” Done with the kitchen, Marshall headed for the patio. The heavy glass door slid across its track with a satisfying whoosh, and he stepped through the open space onto the stone steps waiting on the other side. The heat they held soaked through the soles of his feet, hot, but not unpleasant. Still, by the time he made it to the closest patio chair, he was glad to be able to sit. Despite his honorary vampire status, the sun bolstered his resolve and improved his spirits. It was encouraging to hear his mom gush about his sudden return to home, but Marshall had mixed feelings about it.

  “I should plan you a party.” She hummed in thought. “Or maybe a nice dinner. I think that makes more sense. We could go for steak. I can make reservations. Are you planning on arriving Friday afternoon, or are you only going to be getting in late at night?”

  “I don’t know.” Marshall tipped his head back and watched the cloudless sky. Sunshine saturated his hair. The world remained unchanged no matter where he went, but the sky was always different. Would he miss it here? It was hard to say. “Why don’t we wait and see what happens with the move? I don’t think anywhere near Bulrush is going to be busy enough that we’ll need reservations, but I appreciate the thought.”

  “Oh, I know. I’m just so excited to see you. Can it be Friday yet?”

  Marshall closed his eyes and focused on the way the sun kissed his cheeks and shone red through his eyelids. The concept of Friday was simultaneously a delight and a terror, but nothing in life worth doing was ever easy. “It’ll be here before you know it, Mom,” he promised. “I’ll be home soon.”

  2

  Fox

  The small house from Fox’s childhood was different. Too small. Too dark. Too cluttered. Trinkets he didn’t recognize clustered the mantle—dainty porcelain dolls with pretty faces and vacant eyes, pillar candles in varying sizes, and miniature Christmas trees whose bristle branches were tipped with artificial snow—and the old coffee table by the couch was stacked with magazines and used glasses with milky rings staining their insides.

  It was wrong.

  All of it.

  The mess swelled in Fox’s head like an ever-growing blob, swallowing everything in its path until there was nothing left to feast on but the air itself. Fox’s throat tightened. His lungs burned. The air was too thin, and he needed someplace safe to hide—someplace where the chaos wouldn’t follow. That someplace turned out to be his bedroom, where he hid for a whole day before finding the will within himself to venture out again. It was a short excursion—to the kitchen and back—but it was enough for him to know that things here were off.

  Or maybe, he realized as he lay in bed and watched shadows cross the ceiling, it was that he was off.

  There was no coming back from that.

  On the second day, when he felt composed enough to leave bed and head into town, he confirmed his suspicion. The downtown strip looked the same, but it was pocked by changes that made it wrong, like he’d stepped onto the plane coming home and landed in an alternate dimension. With his heart in his throat, he dodged the stares of people he knew and ducked back into his old truck, only to slam his fists against the top of his steering wheel in a fit of rage.

  Why did it have to be like this?

  Why did he have to be like this?

  It’d been too much, too soon.

  Bright and early the first Sunday morning of Fox’s return, there came three rhythmic knocks at his bedroom door that startled him out of his sleep. Heart pounding, he pushed himself against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut, cognizant that he was home, but scared shitless all the same. When he didn’t answer, Fox’s mother opened the door and stepped inside. “Good morning, Frederick.” She swept across the room and parted the curtains with enthusiasm. Light spilled across Fox’s bed, temporarily blinding him. With a grunt, he hooked his arm over his eyes and fell back into bed. “It’s time to get up and get ready for church. Pastor Barton is looking forward to seeing you.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “Frederick!”

  That name. Fuck, did he hate the way she said it. Fox let out a breath and pushed the thought aside. If he got off topic, she’d find a way to weasel him into doing what she wanted regardless of how it would affect him. “Tell Pastor Barton I say hi and that I’ll see him some other time.”

  With his eyes covered, Fox couldn’t see what she was doing, but he could imagine it. With her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pursed, she’d either glare hard enough that he’d get out of bed to do her bidding or she’d end up hospitalized from sudden corneal hemorrhaging. Fox hoped she’d reached her deductible, because he had no intention of cracking.

  As a teenager he’d bowed his head and done everything she’d asked, but he was a grown man now. The subservient son she knew was gone.

  Not that she’d cared to notice.

  When Fox didn’t budge, she cleared her throat angrily and shuffled her feet. At least the click of her kitten heels on the hardwood hadn’t changed—it wasn’t a comfort, but at least it was familiar. “You’ve been living in your room for almost a week. Don’t you think it’s time you go visit the people who’ve been waiting to see you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Frederick.”

  “Not. Yet.” Fox tried to keep his voice level, but failed. It came out growled, harsh enough that his mother gasped and took a few steps back. But not even that was enough to keep her from trying to get her way.

  “You have to come,” she insisted. “I wasn’t going to tell you because it was meant to be a surprise, but Jean and Scott Wilder are hosting a brunch in your honor. The whole congregation is going to attend.”

  “Then you can give them all my regards. I’m not going.”

  “Why are you making this so difficult?” While Fox’s frustration was snarled, his mother’s was high-pitched and quivering—the kind of tone often accompanied by clenched, trembling fists and thin facial expressions. “Everyone loves you. Everyone is so happy to see you back, and you’re treating them like they don’t matter.”

  “So what?” Fox tore his arm away from his eyes and sat up, his temple twitching. It was wrong of him to lash out and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. If she would fucking listen it wouldn’t have to be so bad, but she wouldn’t. She never would. It had been that way since forever, and apparently coming back from war broken hadn’t changed that. “So I can show up so I can have a panic attack in front of all your friends? I’m sure Pastor Barton would love seeing me curl up under the pews during worship. Is Jean ready to serve brunch through the bathroom window? Because if you make me go and I break down, I’m going to be locking myself in there and you won’t be able to get me out.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” A cloud passed over the sun, stealing the light from the room. With it his mother had looked angelic—her blonde hair lit up from behind like a halo and her white floral dress a billowy dream—but without it, she lost her grace. All Fox saw was anger. “Why can’t you make an effort? All we’re trying to do is help you feel welcome. No one’s going to try to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

  Guilt. It wrapped itself around Fox’s stomach and squeezed, then curled upward until it found his lungs and heart. Fox placed a panicked hand firmly on his bare chest, but not even external pressure was enough to prove to his anxious mind that he was still breathing.

  All of this was his fault, wasn’t it?

  Everything.

  With one deep breath after another, Fox tried to override the crushing dread taking over his brain, but it wasn’t so easy to shake. His thoughts spiraled. A play-by-play of what he knew would happen unraveled behind his eyelids.

  Conversations. So many conversations. Painted faces and prying eyes. All of them would want to tell him the same thing—that he was a hero and that he was brave. Bullshit. All such bullshit. They’d build him into something he wasn’t, revere him like he was something he’d never be. None
of them would want to listen. None of them cared about the truth. The lies they believed were perfect and pretty, and they’d never let them go.

  While Fox struggled to calm himself, his mother went on the attack. “So are you going to get up and join us?”

  Pinpricks of pressure pushed against the inside of Fox’s eyes. The darkness in his head ballooned, then shrank.

  Twenty-eight years old.

  He was twenty-eight years old, yet she was still treating him like a child.

  One breath. Another. He urged the air to lift him out of the dark place his mind threatened to push him into, but all it did was prove how bottomless the void really was.

  “Frederick?”

  Fox opened his eyes. The sun had returned. His mother stood by the door, irritation pinching her lips and narrowing her eyes. If he said nothing, he’d topple into the dark place hidden inside of him, but if he replied, he worried the darkness would rise up and swallow him whole.

  “I’m not going to church today.” Fox let out a stale breath and drew another, coaxing himself away from the edge. “I know that disappoints you. I’m sorry. It’s just how it has to be.”

  “So what? You’re not going to go to the Wilder’s brunch, either? You’re just going to sit in your room all day doing nothing?”

  “No.” Fox closed his eyes. The darkness was receding, but he knew what a fickle thing it could be. “I’ll come to the brunch. I might not stay long, but I’ll show up at least long enough to thank the Wilders. Okay?”

  There was silence, which was an answer in itself. Then, after a long while where nothing was said, his mother sighed. “I wish you’d reconsider. I know with your… condition… that you’re not able to work, but it’s not like going to church is hard. All you need to do is sit there and listen. I don’t get why you can’t bring yourself to do it.”

  “I know you don’t.”

  “So?”

  “You wouldn’t understand no matter how many times I explained.” Fox looked out the window at the fenced backyard and the monster weeds that grew where the mower couldn’t reach. “I’ll see you at brunch, okay? Text me the time and the address and I’ll be there.”