Shaking the Sugar Tree Part 32

"I fine!" Noah said, hurrying to join them.

The older boy laughed.

"What's your name?" the older boy asked.

"My name Noey!" Noah said.

"Noey, come on," the boy said, throwing the ball out as the game got underway once more.

I swam back to the deep end, climbed out of the pool, and let water drip to the deck. I sat in a deck chair next to Jackson.

"Who's your cute friend?" I asked.

Jackson smiled when he saw me staring in the direction of the young man who was sunbathing.

"That's Kenny," he said.

"That's interesting."

"Too much of a queen for my tastes."

"Screaming?"

"You could say that and you would not be wrong."

"Got something against screaming queens?"

"I'm more of a man's man kind of man. I don't want someone who calls me girlfriend and acts like his life is a reality show. And there's something to be said for facial hair."

Kenny rolled over and displayed his firm posterior.

"Do you know how to tell if your roommate is gay?" I asked.

"No."

"His d.i.c.k tastes like s.h.i.t."

"That is such a crude joke."

He laughed, despite himself.

"You liked it. You're laughing. Not too crude for the Jackster, eh?"

"You crack me up."

"How do you fit three gays on a bar stool?"

"I don't know."

"Turn it over, silly."

"Ouch!"

"What do you call a gay dentist?" I asked.

"Let me think for a minute...."

"Come on!"

"I'm thinking...."

"What do you call a gay dentist? It's easy."

"I don't know."

"The tooth fairy."

"That's lame."

Kenny rolled over, sat up, and looked in our direction.

Then he got to his feet.

"Oh s.h.i.t, he's coming in our direction," Jackson whispered.

He was a good-looking fellow, but prim and extremely clean. He would not have been out of place with a tiara on his brow.

"Is he yours?" Kenny asked in a drawl, glancing down the length of the pool at Noah.

"He's mine," I said.

"He's so cute! You just move in?"

"We're visiting," I said.

"Friends of Nurse Jackie?"

"Something like that."

"Nurse Jackie, girl, how are you?"

"Do you have to call me that?" Jackson asked.

"Whatever, Miss Closet!"

Kenny threw his towel over his shoulder and made a rather swishful exit.

We eventually took leave of the pool and went to his apartment, discovering that Jackson Ledbetter had a Jacuzzi in his bathroom, one of the benefits of paying more than thousand dollars a month in rent. He filled it with soapy warm water and we sat in it for almost an hour. Noah pretended it was a small swimming pool and splashed back and forth happily.

The grill was baptized, steaks were eaten, Xbox was played, and all was right with the world until I went to use Jackson's bathroom and snooped in his medicine cabinet where he kept a veritable drugstore of pharmaceutical a.s.sistance.

I had no clue what most of it was, but it was a lot, and it was a little scary, and it wasn't for a heart condition. I could tell because there were no prescription labels on any of the bottles.

I spent so much time looking at the bottles in a sort of daze that Jackson eventually wandered to the bathroom to see what had become of me.

"Would you mind explaining this?" I asked, trying hard not to look like a disappointed parent, though that's exactly how I felt.

"It's not what it looks like."

"It's exactly what it looks like. Is this why you came to Mississippi? Somebody up there found out? Or you got fired? Couldn't work up there anymore, so you came down here like a carpetbagger?"

He rubbed at his face nervously.

"I don't do drugs," I said. "I don't hang around people who do drugs and I certainly don't want them hanging around my kid. Been there, done that, and now I have to live with the consequences every single day of the rest of my life. Of all people, I would have thought you would have known that. I think I should go."

"I can explain."

"There's nothing to explain."

"You can't just leave."

"I can, and I will."

"You're breaking up with me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I just told you why."

"Because of this?" he asked in disbelief, waving a hand at his stash.

"I need to go."

"Don't go."

I turned away from him.

"Wiley, please! I love you."

I didn't answer. I went into the living room, collected Noah.

Jackson trailed after me, pleading, increasingly upset.

"You're just going to leave?" he asked, incredulous. "Just like that? Won't you give me a chance?"

I put my hands on Noah's shoulders and held him close to me, as if he were Exhibit A to explain the reason why I merely shook my head.

"Wiley, please!" he exclaimed.

"I'm sorry," I said.

Noah was confused as I steered him out the door.

45) Are you mad?

I WENT WENT to my room and shut the door. I felt humiliated, betrayed, and somewhere beneath that I felt foolish and stupid and far too trusting. I turned on the fan, opened the window, sat on the bed, feeling miserable, hot, ill at ease. to my room and shut the door. I felt humiliated, betrayed, and somewhere beneath that I felt foolish and stupid and far too trusting. I turned on the fan, opened the window, sat on the bed, feeling miserable, hot, ill at ease.

I began to cry.

My first boyfriend was an alcoholic, like my father. Exactly Exactly like my father. A kind man, usually, but when he got drunk, the s.h.i.t hit the fan.... like my father. A kind man, usually, but when he got drunk, the s.h.i.t hit the fan....

I had promised myself I would never become involved with another addict. Of course I had gone right on to Kayla and her madness the following year, allowing myself to be sucked in, to flirt with it myself, to try it, to sit around naked with Kayla while we smoked meth and got high and wasted our lives like the fools we were.

The lifestyle didn't suit me. I didn't like being high, being out of control, feeling like ants were crawling on my face. I didn't like coming down, being nauseated and dehydrated. I didn't like being dependent on some substance that was expensive and dangerous and could very well land me in jail.

But by then, it was too late. Kayla was pregnant. The damage was done.

I cried into my hands, trying to be quiet. Why, I didn't know. It wasn't like Noah could hear me.

He came to my room, biting his lower lip.

I rubbed at my eyes sheepishly, trying to stop crying.

He came over to me, and I pulled him close and kissed his hair and held him. I cried against his chest the way he so often cried against mine.

Eventually I pulled back.

Why are you crying? he asked. he asked.

I'm upset.

Are you mad at me?

No, sweetie.

Are you mad at J-a-c-k?

Yes.

Why?