Saturday morning, we all rose early.
Dad loved saying early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. He also frequently quoted Proverbs, reminding us that a sck hand causes poverty, but the hand of the diligent makes rich. He thought idleness was a terrible character trait and didn't hesitate to repeat this to us over the years. Mom was more forgiving on that front, encouraging us to rest, saying God also believed in relieving the weary and the burdened. Typically, I lifeguarded three days a week: one weekday shift (Tuesday or Wednesday) and two on the weekends. Early Saturday morning and Sunday after church. But in my st semester of high school, I'd successfully reduced this to only one day a week. Marty, Casey, Rob and I wanted to go out with a metaphorical (maybe literal) bang and were trying to fit in as much partying as possible without parents noticing or grades slipping.
I pulled on my sneakers and stretched my hamstrings, getting ready for an early jog. I passed Talon's house in the darkness. As usual, Stephen's truck was parked out front—faded burgundy, a few small dents and rusty streaks along the driver's side—but it took on a different look now, somehow more sinister despite being the same vehicle he'd owned my entire life. I went over Talon's predicament in my mind—could he handle the situation, like he said when he was sober? Or was it worse, like he'd indicated while drunk?—and ran and mulled this over and ran some more until my lungs burned and my quads ached.
By the time I got back from my jog, Mom had breakfast ready for me: baked oatmeal with walnuts and peanut butter, still warm from the oven, and toast smothered with butter and jam. I scarfed it down and packed my bag for the day: change of clothes, textbooks for ter, fshcards, highlighters, English novel. Dad was already at the church. Mom drove me to the pool and Rachel to the SPCA, where she volunteered a couple times a month with a friend from school. Rachel didn't work yet. When I fought Dad to get my lifeguarding shifts down to once a week I used Rachel as an example, saying she didn't even have a job, that I started at her age, at fifteen. But Dad pushed back, saying it was my duty as the older sibling, as the brother, to set an example for Rachel. But what good was an example if she didn't follow it? I didn't say that part out loud.
Fortunately, my four-hour shift went by without incident. I was on hot tub and sauna, which could go either way. I eyed a group of older men huddled in the hot tub—angina was a real threat and needed to be treated promptly—but they got out thirty minutes ter, red but unfazed.
On break, I opened my phone, going to text Talon when I remembered: Lily. Right. I shot her a text to give her my number, and then added a follow-up text asking if she was busy tomorrow. I mean, we were going to prom together, right? Getting to know each other seemed like a logical step. Maybe a group hang. Was Talon pnning on going? I remembered Rachel begging to ask him and rolled my eyes.
Mom texted to say she could pick me up since she'd been out running errands, so I took her up on the offer and asked her to drop me off on Talon's side of the road.
"I think it's nice that you two are reconnecting," she said, pulling up to the curb. "But no drinking this time, right?"
Dad had caught us when we were fifteen with a single beer each. Okay, yeah, we were a bit drunk (at least, I was) but since then, Dad considered Talon a Bad Influence.
"We're studying, Mom," I said. "Thanks for the rides. And breakfast. I'll see you tonight."
First, I circled over to the side of the Michaels' house, peering in Talon's window. Usually, I'd tap our code—two-one-two—to get his attention but he wasn't there. Bed, digital piano, guitar, books. No Talon. So I went to the font door and knocked.
Stephen answered.
"Hey, Mr. Michaels," I said, forcing myself to keep my gaze and voice steady. "Is Talon home?"
Stephen's dark hair was damp, as though he'd just showered. He wore a grey Carhartt shirt and smelled faintly of alcohol. He seemed rexed but his eyes were sharp, prodding. Stephen looked at me for a long moment and then behind him, as though double-checking.
"He's home," Stephen said.
"Can he come hang and study with us? Since he's missed so much school," I said pointedly, "and isn't doing so great in biology."
Stephen ran a hand along his jaw. He pulled the door back; in his hand not on the frame, he held a Budweiser. "Come in."
Beyond the kitchen was their living room. A television set high up on the wall, their ratty leather couches (torn in spots, duct-taped in others), the red patterned rug that I'd spent countless hours pying on with Talon, Griffin, and Dean when we were only kids. The television was on low, showing something trashy—one of those staged reality shows involving a quirky business—and Stephen seemed agitated. He walked around the small kitchen, putting things away: a pot that still looked dirty, some utensils, a box of macaroni and cheese.
Talon sat on the couch, headphones in. He had a knee to his chest, the other leg outstretched. Banced on the one bent knee was a bowl of ramen, and he was absently slurping at it, flicking through on his phone as he did. There were two open bottles of beer next to him on the coffee table. One empty, the other half full. His hair was wet, too.
"Hey, Tal," I said, sitting down on the arm of the couch.
Talon yanked his earphones out and almost spilled his bowl of soup. "Ry?" he said. "Hey. Uh. Hey, what's going on?"
He looked armed to see me in his house, which used to be a regur occurrence, but not so much in the st couple of years. Next to the TV was an old picture of Griffin, Dean, and Talon: they must have been about ten, nine, and two. Somewhere around there. Talon was tiny in that photo. They were all holding identical fluffy teddy bears embzoned with their first initial: G, R, T.
I slid down so I was sitting on the couch cushion. I could smell the beer on Talon's breath. It wasn't even twelve-thirty in the afternoon.
"I'm meeting the guys at Beans," I said. "Come study with us. We can grab food or whatever, too."
Talon gnced behind me, where I knew Stephen still was. "Uh," he said, furrowing his brows. "I'm not sure—"
I gnced over my shoulder. Stephen stood there, nursing his beer.
"But you can't fail bio," I said.
"You're failing?" Stephen said to Talon.
Talon looked at him for a long time. He swallowed. "Um," he said. "I don't know. No, not rea—"
"We talked about this, right?" Stephen said. He leaned against the wall.
"I know," Talon said, "I'm working on it."
"You're going to school?" Stephen said.
Talon gnawed on his thumbnail, a new habit. "Yeah."
"Every day?"
Talon looked away. "Most of the time."
"You make sure you pass," Stephen said. "That's important. Talon, hey, look at me. You understand?"
Talon looked at him, big brown eyes looking remarkably empty as he did so. "Yeah," he said.
I nudged Talon. "Come on, then. Grab your stuff."
Stephen returned to tidying the kitchen while Talon went to his room. Something was strange about the situation, but I couldn't pinpoint precisely what it was. Stephen came and collected Talon's beer bottles; he put the empty one into a rge bck garbage bag and the clink when he did so told me it was stuffed full of other bottles. He pced the bottle with leftover beer in it on the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him. I couldn't imagine his hands—rge, calloused—striking Talon. Or touching him. Or—
It wasn't only that it was disgusting and made my stomach hurt. It was that I truly couldn't imagine this man—this father—that I'd known for so long doing any of that. How? Talon was his son. Stephen was supposed to care for him, make sure he was safe and protected. Dad and I disagreed on a lot, but I didn't feel unsafe at home.
Stephen came back to lean against the corner of the wall. "Which school did you get into again, Ryan?"
"Berkeley. In California."
Stephen nodded slowly. "Wow. Big shot, huh?"
"Well, no," I said, my pride souring, "but I am excited about it."
Talon returned, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He shrugged on his bck zip-up.
Stephen leaned over and connected the zipper. Talon had that faraway look in his eyes again. His dad slowly zipped it up to just above his sternum. When Stephen spoke again, he left his fingers on the zipper.
"Talon's going to stick around and work with the old man," he said, "isn't he?"
But Talon wanted to go to Vancouver, wanted to join a band.
Talon looked down at the floor, away from Stephen's face.
"Let's go," I said, standing up.
Stephen let go of the zipper and cpped Talon on the shoulder. "See you tonight," he said. "Have fun."
Once Talon and I had walked a few blocks, Talon turned to me.
"Don't come to my house unannounced like that," Talon said.
"What?" I said, thrown off. I used to come over all the time.
"It's embarrassing," he said.
"What do you mean? I don't—"
"It's messy, and—and weird, just me and him in there, and—I'll just hang at your pce. Okay?"
"I don't care about any of that stuff."
"But I care," he said.
"Okay, yeah, no problem." I cleared my throat. "But hey, Tal, listen, I can't…" I stopped him on the sidewalk. The air was chilly and charged, much colder than usual for May. "I don't get what's going on."
"Nothing's going on," he said sharply.
"You came into my room and you said these—huge things."
"You just…" He clenched his jaw. "You don't understand."
"I know. I know I don't. But I want to. Can you talk to me?"
Talon exhaled sharply, blowing his hair up as he did so. "I said all that when I was wasted. And now, I'm telling you when I'm sober, that it's fine. Everything's all right."
"You had a beer and a half. It's not even one."
He waved his hand, irritated. "Well, whatever. Mostly sober." He shifted his backpack. "I want to focus on studying right now." He gnced at me and smiled. "I just want to hang."
Maybe he was telling the truth: maybe everything was all right. Or mostly all right. As all right as it could be. I was formuting a pn to ensure it stayed that way.
Talon and I were almost at Beans, deep in a conversation about Dune: Talon was telling me it had an environmental bent.
"It's sort of an allegory for ecological exploitation. About retionality and stuff."
"Can I borrow it? I only saw that old movie."
"Ry," he said, "we watched that together! And you completely forgot."
"I fell asleep," I said, grinning. "So I forgot the whole night."
"Unbelievable," he said, smiling sideways at me. "Yeah, I'll bring it to—"
"Holy shit, look who it is!" a voice said.
Talon and I gnced up.
Marty stood out front of Beans, fnked by Rob and Casey. They all had their bags with them: a pristine messenger bag for Casey; Rob had a backpack, loaded with enamel pins solely dedicated to videogame characters; Marty had both his backpack and textbooks under his arm. He was staring at Talon.
"Whoa," Marty said again. "It's like seeing a ghost."
Casey brightened. "Talon! Hey, man."
Rob gave Talon a quick look and looked down at his feet. "Hi."
Talon held up his hand.
"Long time no see," Casey said. "Where've you been?"
"Not school, apparently," Marty said. "You know we're graduating, right? This is our st semester together? What are you doing, fucking off all the time? Ooh. Hold on. Is it Georgia? Man, that chick loves you. Are you two banging?"
Talon tried to protest this. "No, no," he said. "I have a free block so—"
Marty grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "Yeah, yeah."
Inside Beans, Marty chatted up the pretty barista, Natalie. She was twenty. Ever since getting with Kat, Marty liked to flirt with everyone; it was like she instilled in him this idea that he possessed otherworldly charm. Kat was significantly more popur than the rest of us. We were all in awe when she approached him after he lost all that weight st year, after he swapped his gsses for contacts and went on Accutane. He turned from squat and round to what Kat called a short king. She usually hung around built jocks, so for her to ask Marty out sent his confidence soaring. (Not that he needed it.)
"Want an iced cappuccino?" I said to Talon.
He patted his back pocket and frowned. "Shit. I think I forgot my wallet."
"Don't worry, I'll grab it."
"It's okay, I—"
"Tal, it's nothing," I said, nudging him. "I have a job."
Once we all had drinks and doughnuts and cookies, we cmbered into the back room. We snagged it when it wasn't taken by group meetings or D&D games. The five of us unloaded our bags and books, chatting and ughing. Talon didn't strike me as tipsy, despite the beer, but he did look exhausted. I hoped the caffeine might help.
After we'd caught up a bit—Talon dodging any substantial questions about himself, I noticed; Casey ragging on Marty for not getting Natalie's number—I began outlining the session.
"Let's work on sciences first," I said. "Prioritize biology, move to chemistry—"
"Why biology?" Marty said. He gestured a hand between me and him. "It's us. We're the top of the css. You or me."
"Me, probably," I said.
"I think our st test bumped me up over you, dude," Marty said.
Rob slurped his cappuccino. "I can crunch the numbers. What'd you both get?"
Casey groaned. "This is the absolute worst kind of pissing contest. And, for the record, I'm third—"
This caused an uproar at the table because, as Marty and I argued, Casey had bombed the midterm (he got an eighty-four, which to our group, was a bomb) so there was no way he was third in the css, it was probably Aaliyah Williams or Mason Fournier.
"I'm not fifth!" Casey said. "There's no way I'm fifth!"
"Okay, focus," I said, looking at Talon, who was ughing. "Obvious incentive for focusing on biology first: the exam's first."
(Of course, it was for Talon's sake; whatever subject we began with when we studied as a group tended to be what we did best on that day, so I didn't want to gamble.)
I set Talon up with my fshcards, expining how I'd color coded and organized them. He bit his lip, as best he could on the good side, and flicked through them. His eyes darted to mine. Panic swarmed his face.
"Okay, you and I will do this," I said to Talon. "You three focus on something else."
Marty saluted me.
I helped Talon with the nervous and endocrine systems and then moved to metabolic processes. I saw the frustration on his face, trying to understand the concepts and memorize definitions. Afterwards, we tackled chemistry as a group and then English.
"I can't finish this fucking book," Marty said, flipping through Great Expectations. "I've been using SparkNotes."
Talon, who had looked tortured by my fsh cards, perked up. "Man, I love that book. Do you want some help?"
Marty looked to Talon, surprised. "Dude, yes. Did you actually read it all?"
Talon said he did.
"Dude, get over here," Marty said, nudging Casey so that they'd swap seats. "The themes and shit. I don't know, I can't get past the first chapter."
"Yeah, it blows," Casey said. "I like all the historical stuff, learning about the Romantic and Victorian eras. The economy, all that. But the actual writing? Dickens is so dry. And we only have an hour to write an entire essay? It takes me an hour to come up with my thesis statement."
"Crime against humanity," Marty said.
Rob scoffed. "It's grade twelve English."
"AP," Marty and I said at the same time.
"They'll give you a few theses to pick from, remember," Talon said. "Which cuts down on time."
"But then you need textual evidence," Marty said. "I wish everything could just be math."
"Well, think of it like a formu, an algorithm," Talon said. "I'll show you."
"I'm sick of this," Casey said, "let's do something else."
It had been three hours. We were all tired and bored.
"Videogames at your pce?" Rob said. "Smash?"
"Sure—but you're banned from pying Samus," Casey said.
"Why?"
"Because you kick my ass as Samus."
"I call Kirby," Marty said.
"No!" we all shouted.
"Kirby's mechanics are complicated and effective if you're a good pyer," Rob said, grimacing, "but all you do is hang in the air and smash everyone."
"It's called smash bros, dude," Marty said.
We all groaned.
Casey's parents had the best basement and the test consoles, so we holed up there for a couple more hours. We pyed round after round of Super Smash Bros until our fingers ached. When Casey's parents went out for dinner and a movie ("their retionship is so disturbingly healthy," Marty remarked, "what's that like?"), Casey pulled out a joint. We went out back and huddled in a tight circle near his parents' shed in the te afternoon sun. From that angle, the neighbors wouldn't be able to see us. Talon took a big drag, and then a second.
"Dude, puff, pass," Marty said.
I took it from him and rolled my eyes. "Man, there's more. Calm down."
Casey ughed. "I mean, not that much more. My sister said this is the st time."
We took a few more drags each and stayed outside. I preferred weed to alcohol, honestly, although I didn't often partake in either. I preferred to feel sober and even keel but when I did indulge, I liked the way weed calmed me down, made me feel present in my body, disentangled my racing thoughts. Talon and I got high for the first time when we were in grade ten, but—was that right? What had he said again? He'd gotten the weed and the papers and showed me how to do it. It turned out I had a knack for it. But where'd he gotten it from?
Back inside, Casey ordered pizza. Meat lover's and a Hawaiian.
"Can we do a veggie, too?" Talon said, leaning into me on the couch. He seemed even more tired than he did earlier in the day. "I'll pay."
We were on our fourth slice each when I got a text. Marty, Casey, and Rob were pying another videogame now, one called Risk of Rain, but Talon and I were sitting on the loveseat, chatting. I pulled my phone out.
Lily: I'm free tomorrow, prom date! Coffee?
Talon leaned his head against my shoulder. After a pause, he tilted his head up to me. "Who's Lily?"
"You remember Lily Beaumont?"
"She got hot!" Marty shouted over his shoulder.
"She's pretty tall, brown hair—it has highlights now—and good at English," I said. "Friends with Kat and Ana."
Talon nodded. "Oh yeah, yeah." He sat up.
"Are you going to prom with anyone?" I said. "I mean, even if you're not, it'll be fun to have the whole group together again."
"You gotta come," Casey said. "You and Rob can go together."
Rob and Talon shared an uncomfortable gnce. Rob ughed, cheeks pink.
"Prom's not really my thing," Talon said.
Casey and Marty shouted pyfully at him, saying how can something not be your thing if you haven't tried it? They wore him down a bit but I could see Talon was only pcating them. We hung out for a bit longer, waiting for the strongest part of our high to wear off. I liked sitting there with Talon, hanging in Casey's basement. Like old times, I thought, but then there was that pit in my stomach: except everything's different.
Talon and I decided to walk home. He said he was in the mood for fresh air. It was almost eight thirty and the sun was going down, casting a brilliant peach light over the road and rooftops and through the trees. Talon looked handsome in the dusk lighting. His dark eyeshes framed his eyes so nicely; would it be weird to tell him that?
Probably. But then I remembered two years ago when—
"It feels like a storm's coming," Talon said.
"Yeah, it's cold. Want my coat?" I was wearing my thrifted denim coat with the sherpa lining and I knew he liked that one.
"You need it."
I said I didn't but he kept pushing back. I put my right arm around his shoulder.
"There, now we can share," I said.
"Thanks," he said, smiling at me and winding his finger through my back left belt loop.
We passed the entrance to Craigflower Creek. If you crossed it in the right spot, there was a big, hidden clearing in the woods. We discovered this spot when we were young—eight, maybe. We built forts there; pyed games (dragon and dragon syer or dragon rider, depending on our mood that day); traded secrets; we'd even brought The Chronicles of Narnia books out there to read with an assortment of snacks. I asked Talon if he wanted to stop by.
"Not tonight," he said. "But I don't want to go home yet."
We stopped at one of the picnic tables out front the library. We settled shoulder to shoulder, huddled against the chill. The sun was nearly set now, crescent moon glowing against the navy sky.
"Tal," I said. "You know—all the stuff you told me about?"
He stiffened.
"The other day, when you said that you need to do what your dad wants… what did you mean by that?"
Talon thought about this.
"Don't lie," I said. "Please."
He shook his head. "He likes things to be a certain way. I didn't mean anything else by it."
"What things?"
He gave an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulder. "Just day-to-day things, I don't know. If I py by his rules for the next little while, save some money, I can head to Vancouver. Ry, please, let's not talk about this right now."
I thought of what Dad told me in his office. Under his wings you will find refuge. I pictured the shaggy dog and the shield. "If you didn't want me to help," I said gently, "why did you tell me?"
He put his head on my shoulder and sighed deeply. He was quiet for so long I wasn't sure if he was going to answer. "Sometimes I feel like I'm going to explode. Or drown. Or choke." He grabbed the edge of my jacket sleeve and fiddled with it. Then his fingers settled on mine. "I just wanted you to listen."
This wasn't the kind of problem that needed to be listened to, though. It required action.
"And it's okay now, really," he added, "my thoughts were all jumbled because of the booze. I told you, I figured it out. It's not like it was before."
If he had hidden the abuse all these years, then who was to say he wasn't hiding it right now? Maybe he'd gotten so good at hiding it, the story didn't even feel like a lie. Maybe he was two selves in constant tension: the one with Stephen, and the one with the rest of the world.
"Okay, here's the pn," I said. I moved my fingers from beneath his hand and put it on top of his; slowly, I interlocked our fingers. "Contact every day. Morning and night."
"What do you mean?"
"A text, a call. Something. A check in. You have to let me know you're safe."
He hesitated. "Okay, yeah. Fine."
"No missed school. Zero."
"Ry—"
"It's non-negotiable." In my mind, if he was at school, and I could physically see him, it meant everything was all right. "If I don't hear from you or you miss a single css—then I'm telling someone."
His fingers tightened around mine.
"Deal?" I said softly.
Talon considered this. Finally, he nodded. "Deal."