Prettyboy

8: I, a Phantom (Pt. I)

If something was screaming 'fishy' to Lana, it might as well have been my fault entirely. It was obvious from the start that that pig-tailed friend of Gerard's, Clara, was ratting him out because she was overly resentful and wanted Gerard all to her self—who wouldn't, honestly. Now, you might wonder why I didn't point this out to my wife at an instant, but let me make myself clear. From the fair number of times—and scary, when you think about it—I have quarreled with Lana, I noticed that she is extremely conservative, and unwilling to change her mind or admit to it, if the other person is clearly right. She will bicker until things look up for her or the other person submits and let things be. Meaning that if I were to point out the obvious to her, which was that Clara was utterly infatuated with Gerard and because Gerard did not reciprocate those feelings, Clara was bitter, Lana would not have it because she had already made up her mind, that Gerard was somehow turning out to be perverted. 

Now if I persevered, it would be like I was trying to conceal something. Which I was.

I could not let Lana be suspicious of me, but at the same time, I had to suppress myself. Until I found the right time, I could not even afford to glance at Gerard, lest my staring gave me away. Thus, as he was beginning to notice the pattern, he began disappearing again and returning at unspeakable hours, which eventually Lana gave him a hard time for. 

My only hope to let my eyes enjoy his sight was the first weekend of February which was drawing closer and closer. 

Michael wound up leaving for D.C. with his school on Wednesday, the 30th of January, and Lana was beginning to pack her things for Friday. Meanwhile, she was giving me a lecture on thrashing out what ought to have been thrashed out by the time she would return. She obviously didn't want to have anything to do with it; she treated the matter like an elephant in a room, using the words 'you know what' whenever she referred to it. But then again, I did the same. 

I was mortified and had absolutely no desire to speak of what had been troubling Lana for the past week with Gerard. I was utterly afraid of letting him know that he'd been ratted out. He would be shocked and resistant to try to repudiate everything, as would I, had I been in his shoes. It was a violent process that I did not want him nor myself to go through. It made the air I breathed feel stagnant every time I raised the thought of it in the din of my mind. God knows what it would bring for him. God knows what it would bring for me.

He had stayed home from school that day and helped his mother settle in the car of his grandfather, who was parsimoniously throwing me glares from the garden of the house, sipping his tea sparingly or not at all. When he headed to the car and I went to pick up his cup and plate from the deck, I noticed he'd barely drank it, the cheapskate. And when I was saying my goodbyes with Lana, he was still looking at me, while I wondered why he felt the need to come and pick his forty-year-old daughter up.

Only when their car engine had made an incongruous noise had I began looking around for Gerard, who I finally noticed was offhandedly leaning on a column of our shoddy veranda, hands folded over his chest. And he was looking at me as if I had something to react to. 

"What time do you have to be in Springfield?" I asked once he'd come inside and closed the front door. He walked languorously toward me and shook his head.

"We're not going to Springfield," he announced calmly.

"What? But Lana called them about—"

"I called off the meeting last night. I didn't want to go anyway, I just thought I could fix things if I could get us to be together, all alone." I observed him taking a seat opposite me on the kitchen table, lifting his shoulders sluggishly. "And anyway, I figured you had business to tend to."