Chapter Thirty-Three

Tuesday, March 8th

Second day of spring break

“Do you have any money?” Gabby asks me almost the minute she gets out of the cab.

“I’m tapped,” I tell her. “I’m not sure how I’ll get back to the airport.”

“Maybe I’ll take a bus back,” she says.

“When is your dad expecting you?” My folks think I took the bus to Boston to see Tim.

“He thinks I’ll be back at the hotel by nine p.m.” I look at my watch. It’s three-forty-five p.m. I’ve been here all afternoon, mostly sitting on the grass near the parking lot. Other than a few drunks asking for change, or a guy looking to sell me weed, everybody’s left me alone.

“Gabby, I’m sorry I got you into this.”

“I want to be here,” she says, grabbing my hand. It’s almost shaking. She looks ashamed and more than a little afraid as men go in and out of the Excalibur show club. Never in a million years or two million alternate realities would I have ever imagined this scene—skinny white boy Carson Banks standing with his tall black girlfriend in the parking lot of a titty bar, waiting to meet his tattooed, pierced, stripper-nude model-porno actress sister.

Every car that turns into the parking lot, I will to be Caitlin’s red Eclipse. I need the magic power to change colors, makes and models. I know it does no good, but sometimes I even pray. Pray for my sister to arrive at a strip club. That’s how fucked up my life has become.

Gabby answers questions about colleges in her future while I wait to confront my past.

“That’s her car,” I whisper to Gabby, then point when the red Eclipse parks. Caitlin gets out of the car. Before the door even clicks shut, I’m running toward it, but stumble on the way.

“Caitlin,” I call out, but she doesn’t hear me. I see the buds in her ears, so I yell louder still. She’s only a few feet from the back door, but she might as well be miles away. I pick myself up and run. Gabby, however, rushes past me. I wonder what Caitlin’s eyes look like beneath those sunglasses when she sees this stranger grabbing her arm. I hope she’s not carrying. There’s a second of commotion, then Gabby turns to point at me. I’m out of breath by the time I reach them. Caitlin’s sunglasses are off. Her hand is on her hip and she looks pissed.

“Carson, what are you doing here?” she spits out. “And who is this chick?”

“This is my girlfriend, Gabby,” I say. Caitlin just looks confused as she stares at Gabby.

“Wow, does Dad know about this?” she asks.

“No,” I answer. A look of sadness and shock consumes Gabby’s face.

“Carson, what do you want?” Caitlin asks.

“I want a second chance,” I say.

“At what?” Caitlin asks, almost spitting out both words.

“To convince you to come home with me,” I plead. “You don’t have to live like this.”

“You don’t know how I live.” She says this like it should cut off the discussion.

“Prove to me you’re really happy here and I’ll leave you alone. We could go inside or…”

“You got a stack of bills?” she asks me, then turns to Gabby. “How about you?”

Gabby shrugs her powerful shoulders.

“No, I didn’t think so,” Caitlin says. “Well, if you don’t have money, then nobody wants you inside. You’d just be taking up space for paying customers,” Caitlin says.

“Fine,” I say. “I flew all this way. Why can’t you listen to what I have to say?”

“Fine,” she replies. She turns her back on us and makes a call. A couple of ‘fuck you, Larry’s’ later, and she says, “Let’s go, Carson. I got things to do.”

Caitlin turns on her high heels and starts toward the car. Gabby and I follow. Caitlin unlocks the car, and I hold the door for Gabby. “Where is she going?” Caitlin asks me.

“She’s coming with us,” I say. I drop my hand to my side. Gabby holds it tight.

“Why?” Caitlin asks.

I look at Gabby, then back at Caitlin. “Because I said so.”

“Wow, big brother, you grew a sac,” she says, then laughs. “Get in.”

There’s no conversation in the car. The rap music’s up all the way up while the windows are all the way down. After we get off another of these endless expressways, my images of junkie-lined streets vanish under the palm trees. We pass through nice neighborhoods, then some scary ones. Near the end of the trip, the sun is blinding us coming in. We’re headed due west, straight for the ocean. We pass by ugly apartments overlooking a strip mall parking lot. It reminds me a lot of where Carol lives. Then, we pull in on a beach road where Carol’s sister, the stripper, drives into the parking lot of a tall, window-filled building near the ocean.

We’re still not talking as we take the elevator up to the third floor, then head inside. The apartment is nicer than Carol’s place, but messy just like Caitlin’s room was back in Fenton. Every table overflows with celebrity magazines, every wall contains at least one mirror.

“This is nice,” I say as I sit down. Most of the furniture is white, not Caitlin’s usual red.

“It’s okay,” Caitlin says. “Once we get some real money, we’re splitting up.”

“We?” I ask. My ‘we’, Gabby, sits next to me on a big white sofa.

“One day, I’ll be able to afford a place like this on my own, but for now I share it with two other girls,” Caitlin continues. “They’re away on a shoot this week.”

I don’t need to ask what kind of shoot. I wonder if the two friends are the same two girls I’ve seen in pictures with Caitlin—I mean Callie. Or are they the same person? I still don’t know.

“You want some wine?” she asks as she walks into the kitchen. “Do you drink or what?”

“No, thanks,” I say.

“How about you?” Caitlin says. “What’s your name again?”

“Gabrielle,” Gabby almost whispers.

“The Great Gabby!” I say in my sports announcer voice. Gabby looks embarrassed.

“What does that mean?” Caitlin opens a bottle of white wine. As she pours herself a tall glass, I testify to Gabby’s exploits. Caitlin doesn’t seem impressed or even interested.

“That’s all well and good, but I got one thing to ask you,” Caitlin says.

“What’s that?” Gabby asks.

Caitlin walks back in the room, sits. “You treating Carson right?” she asks. Gabby smiles.

“She’s being very nice to me.” Our fingers are intertwined.

“Good, he deserves it,” Caitlin says, then sips her wine. “He’s a good kid. Not like me.”

“Don’t say that, Caitlin,” I say. I know her secrets, but she doesn’t know mine

“Why not? It’s true,” Caitlin says. “The problem with our family was all the lies. Mom lying to herself about some new career. Dad lying to himself that he was happy with his failed life. Carol’s whole fucking goody two shoes perfect life was a lie. She was everything but nice.”

“No, that’s only part of it,” Gabby says firmly. Caitlin shoots her a dirty look.

“Gabby, it’s okay,” I tell her.

“No, let the girl talk,” Caitlin says. “You think you know something about me, about my life? You don’t know shit about me.”

“You’re right, Caitlin, I don’t,” Gabby says, leaning in, looming larger. “I know about my life. I know about mistakes I made and how they almost cost me everything I wanted in life. But I got a second chance, and now I’m happier than I ever dreamed, thanks to your brother.”

“I burned up all my second chances with my parents. I’m out of second chances.”

“How about yourself?” Gabby asks. “Have you given yourself a second chance?”

“What are you talking about?” Another gulp.

“I got pregnant at fourteen,” Gabby starts, then tells Caitlin her story, ending it with, “But I gave myself a second chance and now I make better choices. You could do that, Caitlin.”

Caitlin gulps the rest of the wine. She’s drinking at Dad’s old pace. She sits the glass on a table, walks over to a desk and pulls out a big brown envelope, but still says nothing.

“Carson, I have a graduation present for you,” Caitlin says finally, breaking her silence.

“What?” I ask as she stands in front of me, almost casting a shadow.

“This is for you.” She pulls a pile of cash from the envelope and hands it to me. “One-k.”

“Caitlin, I can’t take this,” I say, staring down at the wad of bills.

“Why? Because of how I earned it?” she says, looking hurt, not angry.

“No, that’s not it,” I say, not sure if I’m lying or not.

“Look, you flew out here to see me and I treated you like shit,” she says. “And now you did it again. That must have set you back some bills. Let me do this for you.”

“Take it, Carson,” Gabby whispers in my ear. “She wants—no, she needs you to do it.”

“Okay, thanks,” I say, then stuff the cash in my pockets.

Caitlin then seals the brown envelope and hands it to me. “Give this to Mom and Dad.”

I take it from her, it feels heavy. “How much is in here?”

“Five-k,” she says.

“What for?”

“To pay them back for using Grandma’s credit cards.”

“Should I tell them it came from you?” I ask.

“No, you will never ever tell them about any of this, understood?”

“How do I explain suddenly having five thousand dollars?”

“Carson’s a great writer. He’ll think of something,” Gabby says. I don’t correct her.

“Are you going to college to write?” She points at me with her empty glass.

“I don’t know anymore.”

“Let’s say you become an engineer like Dad wants, okay?”

“Okay.”

She’s headed back toward the kitchen. “So how is that different than what I’m doing?”

“Are you serious?”

“You’re just using what you’ve got—your brain—to make it. You’ll still be working for people you don’t like, not making as much money as you want. How is that different than me?”

“Because I’d have my clothes on,” I say. “Something everyone would be grateful for.”

I see Gabby try not to laugh

“Funny, Carson, but my point is everybody’s got different things they’re good at, different things they want out of life,” Caitlin says. “I wanted money and to be famous. I got some money, and one day I’ll be a huge star. One day some Hollywood big shot is going come in the club, see me dancing on stage, put me on TV, and I’ll be famous, just like I told everyone.” Caitlin still dreams big, which makes me happy, but also a little bit sad.

Caitlin returns to her chair, glass refilled. “Gabby, what are your dreams for your life?”

“I don’t know, maybe play professional basketball,” Gabby says.

“You’re going to use your body to make it. Why is how she uses her body, right?” she asks. We don’t answer. “And why is how I use my body so wrong? Just answer me that.”

I ponder as I look at Gabby, at the floor, then finally at Caitlin. Caitlin’s got a point, but it’s not the same and I bet she knows it. She’s taking something that should be private and beautiful, like it is with Gabby and me, and making it public and ugly. I don’t want Caitlin in this life but there’s nothing I can do or say to change her mind about her body.

“Well, Carson?” Caitlin asks. I turn away, unable to face her until I can answer.

I stare at the white carpet as dark thoughts overwhelm me. My brain bounces like a tennis ball back and forth between feeling thankful but just as much regretful that I clicked on that image of Callie—not Caitlin, but Callie—back in October. I start to speak, but neither words wisdom materialize.

“How is it different?” Caitlin’s transformed from stripper to inquisitor.

I lift my head, sigh, force a sad smile, then say softly, “It just is, Caitlin. It just is.”

“You should go!” she snaps. “I don’t judge your dreams or your life. Don’t judge me.”

“Caitlin, I’m not judging you. I’m judging me,” I say softly. “Can we get a ride?”

“Call a cab. You’ve got a thousand dollars. Unless it drives you home, you’ll get where you’re going.”

“Before I go, can I ask you one thing?” I ask as we get up to leave.

“Fine, but that’s it. After this, I’m a ghost. You wanna talk with me, you hire a psychic or a ghost whisperer. But don’t call me and don’t expect to hear from me. Understand?”

I nod, then stare her down as I ask, “On Christmas morning, what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about that, it is private!”

“You dance in front of strangers naked but you tell me this is private?” I ask. “I was there at the top of the stairs. I heard it, but I need to know the details. I need that chapter of the story to be closed. Maybe if I understood why you left I could have—”

“Enough, Carson, enough,” Caitlin says, the first ‘enough’ hard like’s she’s angry, the second one soft as if exhausted.

For the first time, Caitlin looks ready to cry. For some reason, from the sniffing sounds coming from Gabby, she’s beaten Caitlin to it. I continue, “So, I heard what Dad said. I heard you say ‘I hate you’. I heard a pistol click, and then you were gone. Who was the gun aimed at? Who pulled the trigger?”

Caitlin stares at the floor, but it doesn’t open and swallow her when she says, “I did.”

“Who were you pointing the gun at?” Mom’s and Dad’s faces flash before my eyes.

Caitlin bites her bright red bottom lip. “I thought the gun was loaded. I was so angry at them. I wanted to punish them. I put the gun against my head and pulled the trigger.”

Gabby cries hard and wet, like a soaking spring shower. I hold her hand tight. It helps keep my own hand from shaking.

“I’d fucked up so bad, stealing from Grandma. While they might have forgiven me, they’d never forget that. Nor would I.” She pauses, takes a drink, and continues, “I’d dug a hole so deep I couldn’t think of another way out. I put the gun to my head and I pulled the trigger. I thought it was loaded. I wanted to die. I was talking about myself when I shouted ‘I hate you’.”

“But you didn’t die,” I say. “You’re still alive, which means you could—”

“But I did, Carson. That’s what you don’t understand. That’s what you need to understand,” Caitlin says. “Your sister died that morning. I’m not Caitlin Banks anymore.”

“You gave yourself a second chance by becoming a different person,” Gabby says softly.

“I fuck for money, but that doesn’t mean I’m fucking up my life,” Caitlin says in a tone that tells us that’s the last word. She sets down the again empty wine glass and walks us to the door. There are no hugs, tears or smiles. Caitlin shuts, not slams, the door behind us, making my life metaphor rich.

Gabby and I stay silent as we walk almost woundedly down the hall and as the elevator descends.

We’re still silent as we start toward the exit. “What do you think?” Gabby finally asks.

“About what?” I start us walking—not toward the road, but out to the beach.

“About your sister?” She clutches my hand.

As we step out into the bright sunlight, I’m not just thinking about my sister. I’m also thinking about the past half-year and the ride home. Looking at Gabby, I think how in just six months one of my dreams has come true, while so many others have not. “So?” Gabby asks.

“This all started at homecoming,” I say, then repeat the word. “Homecoming.”

“She’s not coming home. You know that,” she says.

“I can still dream she’ll come home. There’s no harm in that,” I admit, then fall into a void of silence and thought. If I follow Dad’s goal for me and become an engineer, I know my first project. I will design a machine that separates the things you want into big black and white boxes labeled goals, promises, prayers, plans, dreams, delusions, ambitions and illusions. My machine won’t run on electricity, but on the fuel of life—experience, loss and maybe redemption.

“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to keep all my promises,” I tell Gabby.

“What promises?” she asks.

“Well, the promise of the words ‘I love you’ I intend on keeping as long as I can, as much as I can, however I can,” I say. “No, I’m talking about the other promise that I made to you.”

“Other promise?” she asks.

“That Autumn’s story would have a happy ending,” I say as we reach the beach.

“Maybe you can’t have a happy ending without a fresh start.” Gabby points at the ocean. For all the ugliness of the last minutes, it’s too beautiful not to notice. We share the silence.

There are no words left, just Gabby’s dream moment and one memory—not the sound of Caitlin’s words when she left home or the sight of Gabby’s face when we are together. Not the sour envy smell of Josh Brown’s genius or the sweet taste of Gabby’s lips. No, the memory that lingers on my tongue this California twilight comes from a gray fall day. It’s Dad and me working in a garage in Fenton, Michigan. He’s teaching me about snowblowers. He’s teaching me about life. He said, “The work is good, and the parts fit together perfectly. Too loose, no click. Too tight, no click, just lots of grinding. But that clicking sound means it is just right.”

Soon, we’ll move toward the street to find a taxi to start our journeys home. I can’t help but think about the journey that Caitlin-Callie-Autumn is still on. Maybe it’s not to find her way home, but just to find her way. One day—like a finger pressing a camera, like thumbs texting on a cell, like high heels on a hard floor, or like an empty chamber of a pistol—everything’s going to click into place for Caitlin and be just right.