Blind Man's Bluff

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

CHAPTER

"I'm coming with you if that's cool."  Jake spoke from across the table, his voice muffled around a mouthful of either the pancakes, or eggs that he had ordered.  

Everyone had waked a few minutes prior to the bus pulling into the hotel parking lot, eager to have a real bed and a free day.  They had begun that day of freedom by sprinting next door to the IHOP in the adjoining lot.  

"You don't have to."  Chris put his fingers out searching for the syrup although he had no pancakes, waffles, or french toast.

"Up a little more, and to the left."  Lanie contributed to his quest.  Following her instructions, he soon had the syrup tipping into his plate and set it away when she indicated that he had poured plenty with a simple "Whoa."  Then sweetly, she teased, "Still dunking your bacon in syrup, weirdo?"

..."So that's what I was thinking anyway."  Jake wound up whatever he was saying, and his fork clattered to the plate.

Chris shook himself from Lanie's words, some of them taking him back to an entirely different time, an entirely different context.  "Sure.  Sounds good if you are up to it.  I hate to screw up your day off though."

"Dude, I'm here for you.  Anything you need, and that includes flying with you to..."  Jake didn't say funeral, services or anything, he just tapered off.

It was much the same through the airport, and the flight.  His friend would begin relaying plans, times, and find himself on the brink of that awful word.  

Chris was on his  way home to pay his respects to Lanie's family on the day of her burial, a concept that he could not seem to wrap his mind around.  It was no wonder that he was finding reality hard to accept when all through the trip, she randomly contributed to the conversation.

A lot of the time, she remained quiet letting Jake to the talking, and sometimes during the lapses, she would insert some wry remark.  By the time they disembarked the plane in their hometown, she began "seeing" for him.  

"Small step across...Left...Stop! Little old woman with cane...Why don't you use one of those canes? The ones with the white tip? Never mind tell me later...Jake is slowing in front of a shop..."

"Dude, I need some shades.  I'm going to run in this place for a second.  You need anything?"

Pushing his own shades higher on the bridge of his nose, Chris stepped back when Lanie gently prompted that he was blocking the doorway.  "Um, do they have candles?"

"Candles?"  Jake and Lanie were unanimous, and both rang with the, 'have you lost your mind' inflection.

"My mom's birthday was last week, and I forgot about it until two days later..."  When they were on the road, the calendar blurred.  Heck, he did not even know the day of the week half of the time, much less the date.

Jake agreed to do a quick gift scan, and his steps faded into the airport shop.  Chris had a sudden craving for a cigarette although he rarely smoked.  The bustle of the concourse hummed with potential  hazards, and hearing the high pitched beep of an electric cart, he put out a hesitant hand to make sure he was near the wall.  

Just as he was wondering if Lanie had followed Jake, or if she was hovering quietly around him, she spoke, "He's getting your mom green, and she loves blue."

"She does?"

"Yeah.  She redid the family room in navy and denim."

"You've been at the house?"

"Not really. I mean, after this happened I didn't know where to be.  My house was so depressing, and so I went to yours.  Your room.  I felt better there."

Now that the shock of having her around was wearing off, he had so many questions for her, but someone was always in hearing distance, and this moment was no exception.

"Kay dude.  Got your mom some kind of candle thing. And me these rad shades.  What do you think?"  Jake clowned.  It was part of the greatness of having him along, as much as it was annoying at times.

“What color candle?”

“I dunno, uh green I think.”

“Did they have blue?”

“They did.”  Jake sounded understandably perturbed.  “Look if you had a color preference, why didn't you say so already?”  After a few insults exchanged between them, Chris apologized, and Jake fetched the blue gift.  At the end of his tolerance, he returned and pushed the bag into Chris' hand. Then, already over his aggravation, he humorously prompted, “So you never said what you think of my new shades?”

"You look like a pussy."

"I would be insulted if you could actually see."

"I don't have to actually see you to know that."

"Screw you."

Following Jake’s voice, Chris carefully made his way.  That was another great part about Jake.  He understood the little things—like that a constant flow of words was as good as a guide dog.

Randomly, Chris' mind detoured, even as he listened to Jake ramble, to the day he had been offered a seeing eye dog while still in rehab. Wanting to keep his condition a secret, it was something he had not even considered at the time. However, lately, he had been thinking of a non-obvious dog to help. The public would just write him off as another eccentric star who kept a dog with them twenty-four-seven.  

Today, with Lanie holding one of his arms, he had not had a mishap.

No baggage had been checked, so they went straight for the rental gallery.  The small town that he and Alaine had grown up in was a half hour drive away from this bigger city that hosted the area airport.  

 Upon reaching their destination, Jake coasted into the first stoplight and asked, "Should we go to the hotel first?"

Chris was lost in the images of his mind remembering every building that would be there on the outskirts of town at that particular traffic light. At Jake’s words, he came out of his reverie with an amused smile.   "Motel."

"Yeah.  I was asking if you want to check in and rest first, or what?"  

Randy had reserved a room at the only local motel, but Chris knew he himself would be staying in his childhood home.  Although his mother would welcome Jake, during this time of sadness, it would be awkward, and Jake would want some space anyway.

Again, he teased his friend.  "You said hotel.  It's a motel."

"Whatever."

"That's what you think."  Chris let his thoughts drift to the Piney Ridge Motel, and although it had some of his best memories ever, it bordered on ghetto.  "Yes, though.” he answered his friend’s question. Let's get you checked in, and I would like to clean up."  Planes always made him feel like he needed a shower.

The tires bumped into a drive, and Jake's dry two word exclamation wasn't long in coming.  "Motel.  Understood."  Obviously, he was looking at the neon sign that would flash around burned out tubes when dark fell, the faded paint on the one story layout of rooms, and the dry pit where a pool should be.

Chris hid a grin as the driver's door slammed, but let it curve when Lanie softly sighed.  

Her memories of this place were easily as strong as his and mostly were of one room.  Room 17.  Their room.

Jake returned, and the car rolled into gear, within seconds, angling into a space.  They piled out, and Jake passed a bag to Chris. By weight and the feel of the strap, he easily recognized it as his own and shouldered it while acutely listening to his friend’s footsteps.  

When Jake headed away from the car, Chris carefully followed, slightly shuffling each foot in search of the curb.  Jake was as unhelpful as he was helpful, seeming to know to maintain a balance that kept Chris from feeling like such an invalid.  

The door made a slight sound as it swung open, and Chris stepped over the threshold.  The smell was probably stronger to him than to Jake, and for a second, he wondered if Lanie could smell the scent of cleaner mixed with a musty smell.

"What room is this?"  Chris injected a casual tone into the inquiry while letting his bag drop to the bed his knee had found.  

"Does it matter?"  Jake wryly questioned, above running water.

"You never know."  Chris retorted, careful to keep his voice neutral.

"Not seventeen."

"Twenty."  

Both Lanie and Jake simultaneously answered in that way they seemed to do.

Chris had dropped to the edge of the bed, and now, he shot a smile for Lanie's benefit, then lay back closing his eyes.  He would never understand the phenomena of being worn out after sitting around in some mode of travel all day.  A few paces away, he heard the rustle of a mattress, and Jake said, "Tell me when you are ready.  Until then I'm going to nap."

"Sounds like a plan, but I'm going to grab a shower."

Unzipping his bag, he felt around, pulling out his jeans, then touched the hem of each shirt until he found the one he wanted.  

For people with permanent blindness, there were special tags that could be attached to clothing, and even a machine that read it, or braille tags.  Chris' method, so far, was one or two safety pens at various places on the inside of the hem of his tees.  The button up shirts he could easily identify by texture or some abnormality from the others.

In the tiny bathroom, he felt around getting his bearings, finding the towels, throwing the terry mat onto the tile floor, adjusting the shower curtain, and then the water.  Ducking out of his shirt, he rolled it and settled it onto the back of the toilet. Just as he wondered about Lanie, she spoke.

"Did those scars come from the wreck?"

Ignoring her inquiry about the road rash skin on his shoulder blade, he hissed a whisper, "You shouldn't be in here."  His fingers hovered at the fly of his jeans, then fell away when she argued.

"Why?"  Her tone was decidedly amused, and even goading.  The voice tone brought back memories of the Lanie that he had loved, had never stopped loving.  Now even as a ghost, she apparently still had that wry wit.

"Because,"  he huffed.  Maybe it was because he couldn't see anyone, existing or not, that made it so easy to imagine that she stood right before him. This prompted his return flirtatious answer.  "It's not fair."

"Fine."  she conceded on a playfully haughty breath.  "I wont look."

"And how, pray tell, would I know that you aren't?"

"I'm not, Chris.  Just get in."  Now she sounded sad which returned things into perspective, making him sad as well.  "I'll be back in a couple of minutes.  I need to ask you something."

The suds were streaming from his hair when she spoke again, her voice carrying through the shower curtain.  "Remember my little sister?"

"Cassandra."  His affirmation was as quiet as their earlier banter, so as not to carry through the door to Jake.

"Yeah."  The usual perkiness had not returned to her voice, and he soon understood the reason.  "The night this happened, me and Cass got into an argument over something stupid.  She had borrowed my skinny jeans and stretched them.  I told her she was fat..." The last word was hollow, sad.  "I don't know why I said that.  She's always been so sensitive about her weight."

Unsure what to say, Chris ran his fingers through his hair making sure it had rinsed clean as he conjured up an image of Alaine's pudgy tween sister, Cassandra, Cass, Cassie.  Lane had always been the sweet caring big sis, sometimes bringing her along on dates, and even changing some afternoon movie dates to something animated when her sister was in tow.  It was hard to imagine the type of fight being described. But he knew siblings were vicious, although with none of his own, he had no firsthand experience.

"This is what I was thinking," Lanie went on, her words becoming stronger with purpose.  "Can you tell her that we kept in touch, and that I mentioned the fight to you, how sorry I was?"

Did it make him a bad person to feel annoyance for a nanosecond before confusion and wariness prevailed?  Because the truth was that they hadn't kept in touch. And that had been her decision. 

Sympathy for what she was going through won out, yet he ventured, "I don't know, Lanie.  Won't she know?  Doesn't she know you—we—stopped talking?"

"I don't think I ever told her anything like that."

So it was unimportant. Not even a monumental decision to stop answering his calls and texts.  So insignificant that it had never come up with her sister.  

These thoughts cruelly soaked into his brain as the steamy water soaked into his skin.  

Pulling himself from this destructive line of reasoning, he tilted his head once more, letting the warm water sooth his scalp and hopefully his brain.  "You didn't know I was blind until recently.  How is that going to make any sense?  If we had been in touch...you would’ve known that."

"Chris, just make it work.  Please..."  she implored and softly added, "I know I don't have a right to ask you anything.  I'm just--I'm just taking for granted you are the same good guy you always were."

"Alright."  Relenting, he affirmed and clamped his hand on the faucet, shutting it off.  "Alright."

"Thanks."  Her humble, sweet gratitude appeased some of the unreasonable sting he felt.  

For some peculiar reason, his earlier modesty dissipated, and he dragged at the shower curtain.  Lanie, however, mumbled something about taking her exit.

“Wait!”  Letting the plastic fall, he stayed behind the shield as he made the dull inquiry. “Who is he?”  There was no need to elaborate the name he sought, and for a moment, he thought that she would refuse to name this douche that had wrecked the car. Had hit her.

“Nial. Don't start shit at the funeral.  Okay?”

“How am I supposed to start shit?!  Now he did rip open the curtain and swipe a towel from the holder.  In all the months that he had been sightless, this moment was the most regretful.  There was no way to fight some asshole that he couldn't see.  “And what do you care?” Jealousy flared.

“Because it is a funeral, Chris!”  

It was a funeral.  Her funeral.  Suddenly he just wanted to turn the water back on, stay in the shower, and cry.

~END CHAPTER 5~

Thanks for reading! Sorry so slow with updates. You guys rock. I wish I could clone myself to work on everything I need to be doing, including this! Because seriously,  this is one of my favorite projects. Have a wonderful week!