Body Copy - Michael Craven [73]
Back in the Cutlass, Tremaine, enjoying the salt and the sun on his skin, drove back to the trailer, Nina next to him, 228
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silent and tired. There was a light breeze in the car and Tremaine looked over at Nina, the wind moving her wet hair just a little.
Nina said, “Why’d you quit the tour?”
He looked at her sideways, still driving, feeling pressure in his chest. Then he started talking.
“It was the year after I won the title. The tour was starting, in Australia. I was in love with a girl named Mandy Rice. I can’t describe to you how I felt about her without sounding like a character in a bad romance novel.”
Nina nodded.
“She wanted to come to Australia. She wanted to come watch the first event, watch me start the defense of my title.”
There was that feeling again. Tremaine could feel it in his chest and feel heat behind his face. He started to sweat a little, moisture appearing on his forehead. But he didn’t wipe it off, he just let it happen, let it ride.
Nina said, “You don’t have to tell me.”
Tremaine continued, “I told her she couldn’t come. As much as I loved her, as much as it almost made me feel insane to be around her, I said no. I felt I had to go it alone.
I had to be the guy who showed up alone, the gunslinger, to kick everybody’s ass.”
Nina’s eyes widened. She knew there was more to the story.
“So I went. And on the first day of the competition, I got a call, from Mandy’s mother. Mandy had gone to a 7 Eleven to get a pack of smokes. When she was leaving, some guys came in and held the place up. The guy behind the counter pulled a gun, the fuckers who came in to rob 229
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the place started firing, and Mandy got shot in the back.
Shot in the spine.”
Nina looked at Tremaine, sympathy and shock in her eyes.
“She was brought to the hospital—she went into a coma.
I flew back immediately, but by the time I got to the hospital, she was gone. Dead. I never returned to the tour.”
“Donald . . .”
Tremaine knew what she was going to say. It’s not your fault, you were young, pursuing your dreams, things like this happen, it’s not your fault. But no soothing remarks, no it’s-not-your-fault-think-about-it-sentiments, nothing rational, could put an end to the three things Tremaine lived with.
Guilt. Pain. Fear.
Guilt for being selfish, for putting himself before someone he loved, for being macho, preening, while she was back home getting killed. Pain that comes with losing someone you loved, forever. And fear. Fear that if you get close again, you’ll get stabbed in the gut twice as hard. Is that why he’d never gotten close enough to Susan? Of course.
He knew it was ironic—he had pushed Mandy away and that’s when she got killed. So wouldn’t it make sense to try to get close to someone so that wouldn’t happen again?
Nah, life doesn’t work that way. Just the opposite, in fact.
Tremaine said, meaning it, “It’s all right Nina, you don’t have to say anything.”
Back at the Old Colony Trailer Park, Nina sat in her car, ready to leave.
She said, “Thanks for telling me that, Tremaine.”
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“I’ll talk to you soon, Nina.”
Nina said, “I came to you because I wanted to do something good. Is that why you became a P.I.? Because after Mandy, you wanted to do something good?”
Tremaine said, “I became a P.I. because I needed a job.
After Mandy, I didn’t do much for a while. Like, years.
Finally, John Lopez came to me and started giving me work.”
But he thought, doing something good, maybe that is why.
Nina said, “John had to know you could handle intense situations.”
“Yeah, I guess. And he trusted me. That, for us, for me and John, is what life is all about. And because he’s a friend, he knew doing something, anything, would help me. Anyway, I got into it, and here we are.”
“Here we are,” she said.
Then she said, “Come here.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
He leaned over and she kissed him on the cheek.
“Thanks for taking me out. That was fun,” she said.
Tremaine stood there, right