Darling by Brad Hodson Page B

looked around, confused. It reminded Dennis of Eileen’s cat whenever it heard a strange noise. “I don’t know.”
    “Well, it’s that or the floor, because you sure as hell ain’t sleeping with me.” He turned and headed toward his bedroom. “I’ll get you a pillow.”
    “And a blanket.”
    Dennis sighed. “And a blanket.”
    He pulled them out of a box labeled Bed Stuff and brought them over. He dropped the pillow on Mike’s face and tossed the blanket on top.
    “Hey!”
    “Good night. If you need anything…”
    “I know, I know. Night.”
    That kid never thanks me . He went back into his room and shut the door. He shed his clothes, threw them into his mother’s rocking chair, and changed into a pair of pajama pants. The room was hot and humid and he opened the window.
    It stuck an inch from the bottom. He yanked it, but nothing happened. He examined the frame and noticed an excessive amount of paint built up on it. Little bubbles had dried here and there and blocked the window.
    He grabbed his pocketknife from the dresser and scraped some of the paint away. He tried the window again and it slid right up.
    He paused, thinking he saw something flash from the corner of his eye, and stuck his head out into the night air. He scanned the field, expecting to see kids with flashlights wandering around the abandoned buildings. But the night was empty.
    It was almost like one of those parking lot lights flickered. Probably someone in another apartment turning a light on.
    A cool breeze settled into the room. He fell onto his bed and clicked the light off.
    Not long after, as he started to sink into sleep, he heard a soft sobbing from the living room. He almost went out to check, but stopped. That’s what Mike’s mother would do. Besides, it would embarrass him. What he’s got to work through, those tears are probably the best way to do it.
    Dennis ignored it and was soon asleep.
     

 
    PART TWO
    AUGUST
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    “All your renown is like the summer flower that blooms and dies; because the sun glow which brings it forth, soon slays with parching power.”
    —Dante
     
     
    The thick, oppressive heat of summer’s end had settled in to the Tennessee Valley. Nestled between the Appalachians on one side and the Cumberland Plateau on the other, the area trapped humidity like a barrel left out to collect rainwater. As July grew old, withered, and made way for August, the air grew heavier. To some it was like a coat wrapped around their shoulders, even when wearing nothing but swimming trunks. It made them tired, and made it hard to think, but this didn’t bother them much. Summer was not a time for introspection.
    To others, it pulsed with malignancy, digging sharp fingers into each and every pore and crawling down their throats, gradually filling their lungs with balmy fluid, threatening to drown them with every breath.
    Raynham Place itself lost a little color every summer. The sun leached a bit of vibrancy from its painted walls and the moisture gathering on its surface trickled ever downward, ripping bits of tint along with it, leaving pale streaks and deposits of rust behind. The inhabitants could always sense this change in weather the way a gambler senses that he’s been dealt a bad hand. They stayed inside more and more during the day, only venturing out to their jobs if they could avoid all else. They ran their air conditioners, roaring wall units crammed into windows with duct tape and rotted boards, and prayed for the days to give way to night.
    At night they swam in the pool (though never alone), or left for groceries or to sample the bars that were scattered along Emory Highway.
    In Apartment 112, Cody Tate was sprawled out on his bed. Melissa Sweikow lay perpendicular to him across the bottom. Their fingers danced against one another’s as they talked and laughed. They were naked and covered in sweat. They’d shower soon, but not yet. This was the part that they enjoyed