Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part Three
Page 47

King nodded and we both just stood there, staring at the house as if we were waiting for it to chime in with an opinion. The day we moved in really was a great day. Neither one of us owned much so when we moved from the roach infested apartment we’d been renting previously it only took one trip. And then it was just the two of us in an empty house with an old boom box. We took turns choosing songs to play while swigging from the bottle of whiskey and snorting lines off the kitchen counter.
“We were just a couple of stupid kids back then,” I said. “It was so run down then.” I pointed to the fresh paint and new siding. “I like what you’ve done with the place. How you and Ray have fixed it all up. It looks more adult and less ‘hey lots of illegal shit going down inside.’”
King snickered. “It was a great house then and it’s a great house now. It’s just a different kind of great.” He cocked his head to the side. “You know that you can build out the rest of the garage if you guys want to stay here with the fam. There could be room for everyone. I mean, shit, you can build all the way to the seawall if you want. It’s your house too you know. Always has been.” King lowered his voice. “You don’t gotta live anywhere else.”
I put a hand on King’s shoulder. “I think that’s the most consecutive sentences I’ve ever heard you speak at one time,” I deadpanned.
King punched me in the arm and I rubbed it, pretending like he’d actually hurt me. Although in reality, it stung like a motherfucker, but I’d never let him know that.
“You know what I fucking mean, Prep,” King said. “I don’t want you to think you can’t be here. You know, ‘cause Ray wants you here.”
“Oh, RAY wants me here. Is that it?” I teased. “No one else.”
“Yup. Just her. I think you should get the fuck off my driveway,” King said, throwing me a side-glance, his shoulders shook as he silently laughed at his own joke.
I sighed. “It’s not like I’m on the other side of the moon. I’m only a few blocks away. I tell you what, when you get sad and lonely and need your Preppy fix you can come cuddle with me if you get tired of cuddling that fine ass woman of yours,” I said.
“I don’t see that happening,” King said with the kind of grin plastered on his face he didn’t even own before Ray showed up.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” I agreed.
King sighed. “Well, if you insist on leaving then I have something for you. Two things actually.” He shoved two paper sized yellow envelopes into my hands.
“What the fuck is this?” I asked, turning it over to inspect it. “Anthrax?”
“Yeah, Prep. Your moving out gifts are envelopes full of deadly poison,” King said flatly. “Just fucking open them.”
“Hey, you always gotta ask,” I said, opening the top and peering inside. “What the fuck is all this?” I pulled out one of the baseball sized rolls of cash among about a dozen other thick stacks of hundreds.
“I told you,” King said. “It’s always been our house. We bought it together. Put the same money, sweat, and elbow grease into the place.” He pointed to the cash. “You’re moving on, so that’s your half of what the place is worth.”
“I think you’re way over estimating the value,” I argued. “There’s way too much in here.”
Although to me it would always be priceless.
King pushed his hands in his back pockets. “That’s because it’s also your split of everything, from when you were gone. Besides, you’re about to be a dad again. You’re gonna need it.”
“Boss-Man,” I started. “You don’t have to.” I held out the envelope for him to take it. “I never expected you to do this. I don’t need you to give me any fucking money. I still got a shit ton of guilt money left anyway. And you’re right, this place has always been ours. Whichever of us lives in it doesn’t even matter to me. This...this never even crossed my fuckin’ mind.”
“I know it didn’t,” King said, refusing to take it back. “But it’s yours anyway. I ain’t taking it back.”
“Thanks, Boss-Man,” I said shoving the cash back in the envelope and tucking it under the crook of my arm.
“So what’s this one?” I asked, shaking the second envelope and listening for any tell tale signs of its contents shaking around.
“Anthrax,” King deadpanned.
“You’re getting funny in your old age.”
King glanced down at his phone. “I gotta go get the kids. Open that when you get home.” He held out his hand, but instead of bro hugging him like he was expecting, I pulled him in for the real deal. We stood there for a moment, below the steps of the house we bought together the second we could scrape up the cash, with neither one of us in a rush to let the other go.
When we pulled back we didn’t make eye contact, and it was totally because of the pollen in the air that was triggering my allergies making my eyes water. King must have had the exact same allergies, which was the reason why he was sniffling. “Thanks,” I said again, not knowing what else I could say to him. He’d already given me so much. More than he could ever know.
He defended me when no one else would.
He protected me when I couldn’t protect myself.
He became family when I didn’t have one.
King shrugged and cleared his throat. “You would have done the same for me,” he said, casually.
I smiled and finally met my friend’s watery gaze. “No. No, I fucking wouldn’t have.” We both burst out in an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
It was totally our laughter that triggered the allergy induced tears to stream down our faces as we hugged it out again before I finally turned and got in the car without looking back. And it was totally the laughter again that was the reason why I had to pull over on the side of the road less than a block away to spend ten minutes wiping my stupid leaking face so I could see well enough to drive the rest of the way home.
Fucking allergies.
Fucking laughter.
When I finally pulled back onto the road I glanced up into the rearview mirror and watched the house on stilts, the one King and I dreamed about owning as kids, the first real home I’d ever had, grow smaller and smaller behind me. I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my hand.