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Chapter Twenty-Three
Point of View: Nick


I had been sitting in the car for a good ten minutes at the curb outside the mall. The radio was on and I was tapping the wheel to the beat of the music - though only half heartedly at this point - and leaning, hunched over, to look out the passenger side window at the mall entrance.

"Jesus," I muttered, "How the frig long does it take to take a pee..." I glanced at Hewbie, who was buckled into the backseat - yes, I buckled in a stuffed penguin; it's cute, not crazy - "Mommy's takin' freakin' forever," I said to it. I stared at it. I imagined it asked me why. "Because," I answered the imaginary question the stuffed penguin asked me, "She has to sit to whiz."

Suddenly the door burst open and Krystal came trotting out of the mall. Her cheeks were flushed. She climbed into the front seat and pulled the door shut behind her. She was still struggling with her seat buckle when she gasped, "Yay, let's go home."

"Taking a piss is like a work out for you, or something?" I asked, putting the car into gear.

"I had to use the toilet at the far other end of the mall and I felt bad taking so long so I ran," she answered. "That's a fucking huge mall."

Now I felt bad. "You didn't hafta run," I said.

Krystal shrugged, "I knew you were waiting."

"Well I was fine, it was Hewbie... Hewbie got a lil worried about where you were, but I told him about how women hafta take longer to pee 'cos they hafta sit."

Krystal stared at me. "But Hewbie's a girl," she said in a slightly offended tone.

I glanced back at the penguin, then at Krystal, then back to the road. "Seriously? With a name like Hewbie?"

"Yes," Krystal said.

"Shit," I said, "Well, Hewbie probably wants to know why I stand up to pee now."

Krystal rolled her eyes, "The birds and the bees talk - at her age! Oy vey!" She threw her hands in the air, "What in the hell am I going to do with you?" she asked.

I didn't realize I was doing 84 MPH until I saw the blue lights in my rear view mirror.

Krystal reacted before I did. "Fuck!" she wailed.

I looked at my spedometer. "Aw god-dammit," I murmured. I pulled over.

Krystal hunched in her seat, gnawing on her fingernails.

The cop took his time getting out, adjusted his belt and spit before walking to my window. He raised a hairy-knuckled hand and tapped on my window, which I unrolled. "License and registration, please?" I pointed at the glove box over Krystal's knees and she opened it, hands shaking, and pulled out the little plastic case with my registration in it. I reached into my pocket and got out my wallet and folded it over so my license displayed and handed both to the cop. I peered up at him. "Do you know how fast you were going just now, Mr. Carter?" He stared down at my license.

"I noticed the second your lights turned on," I said truthfully.

The cop bent down and looked at Krystal. He studied her a moment. I glanced over at her. She looked pale and her lip was still slightly swollen and a bruise discolored her temple on this side. She was staring at her hands, pressed against the passenger side door.

"You alright there, miss?" he demanded.

Krystal nodded numbly.

The cop stared at her, then looked at me, his eyes dark. "Any particular reason you were doing 80 in a 55 zone?" he asked.

"I was... distracted," I said, honestly. I sighed, "I'm sorry."

The cop eyed me. He looked back at Krystal. The radio on his holster hissed. "10-68 Officer Herring?"

He sighed and grabbed his radio, "10-4," he muttered. His eyes never left Krystal.

"10-99 at the University Mall."

He sighed again. "10-6." The officer glanced again at my license and handed it back to me. "I'm gonna let you go for today, but in the future, please watch your speed..." he leaned down a little further and eyed Krystal again. "Have a good day, miss," he said.

Krystal nodded.

The cop clicked his radio and started muttering into it again as he strode back to his car and I rolled up my window. I leaned back into the seats and closed my eyes. I ran my hand through my hair.

After the cop had pulled a quick U-turn out from behind me, I put on my directional and merged into traffic. My fingers clutched the wheel and my senses were heightened to oblivion. I stared at the speedometer, not going even one tick over 55 now.

Krystal stayed silent the entire way home.



When we got back to the house, I started unloading everything, which Krystal carried Hewbie and the blankets and crap up to the bedroom. When I got in there, she was standing in the middle of the empty room, clutching Hewbie to her chest. I'd gone in that morning and moved all the random crap into the attic.

"Excited?" I asked.

"I love painting, you know that," she answered.

I ripped open the packaging on the roll of plastic drop cloths and kicked the roller tray onto them once I'd laid them down. Krystal knelt down and pried the lid off the can of paint and stirred the mixer. Within a couple minutes, we faced each other, each armed with a roller and a look of determination.

"Ready?" I asked.

Krystal smiled and nodded. "Ready," she answered.

"Let's do this thing."

And we attacked the wall.