Free Cesspool by Phil M. Williams Page B

some mushrooms tomorrow.” She stared out the window into the darkness. “After the rain.”
    “You okay?” he asked.
    She tucked her brown hair behind her ears. “I don’t usually remember ’em.”
    “The nightmares?”
    She nodded. “I just wake up stressed. The ones I remember make me glad that I don’t.”
    “Do you want to talk about it?”
    She shook her head. “Do you wanna talk about yours?”
    “I don’t remember them either.”
    “Can I ask you something?”
    James chuckled.
    She frowned. “What’s so funny?”
    “I used to say that to my wife before I asked her something important, and she would get mad at me and tell me to just ask the question. She said that she didn’t like it when I prefaced things.”
    “Sorry.”
    “No, don’t be. She was wrong. It’s polite to ask.”
    Brittany took a deep breath. “How come you’re here all by yourself? Don’t you have friends and family who wanna see you? People like Harold, live up here all by themselves ’cause nobody likes ’em.”
    He bit the inside of his cheek. “Lori was my wife’s name.”
    Brittany nodded, her blue eyes on him.
    “I wasn’t the best husband, and she went elsewhere. The day she died, I found out she was having an affair with her boss.”
    Brittany put her hand over her mouth.
    “I called her a lying, f-ing bitch. That was the last thing I said to her. They had been drinking. Her boss wrecked his car, killing her and him in the process. They ran into a telephone pole.” James rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Anyway, we had friends, but our friends were really her friends, and, when she died, I realized they weren’t my friends at all.”
    “What about your mom and dad? Brothers or sisters?”
    “They’re gone, and I’m an only child.”
    “I’m sorry.” She sucked in her plump lower lip and pushed it out.
    The teakettle whistled. James stood up and turned off the stove. “Is chamomile okay?” James held up a small box of herbal tea. “It doesn’t have caffeine.”
    “I never had that kind. I only ever had Lipton.”
    “You’re in for a treat then.”
    James placed the tea bags in two teacups and poured the hot water. He set the cups on the table with a plastic bear full of honey.
    “We should let them steep for a couple minutes.”
    “Were they nice, your parents?”
    James sighed. “Very nice. My mom would have loved you. She was into nature like you. My dad was stuffier, like me.”
    She giggled. “You’re not too stuffy.”
    “My turn. What do you want to do? You’re young, talented. You could do anything.”
    She tapped her lips with her index finger. “Anything?”
    “Sure. Why not?”
    “I wanna have a family of my own.” She paused. “And a job that helps people.”
    “Have you thought about college?”
    Her mouth turned down. “Don’t you have to finish high school?”
    He winced. “When did you drop out?”
    “Halfway through my junior year. I had to leave. That’s when I came here, and Harold found me.” She looked down. “I wasn’t that good at school anyway.”
    “Look at me, Brittany.”
    She looked up.
    “What you want—a family and a job helping people—that’s not a pie-in-the-sky dream. That’s very possible. We just need to get you moving in the right direction.”
    “How do we do that?”
    “You’ve been through a lot. You need help that I can’t give you.”
    Her eyes watered. “Are you gonna make me leave?”
    “No, I’m not. I just want you to talk to a nice lady who works at the counseling center on campus. She can help you.”
    She wiped her eyes with the side of her index finger. “I’m fine. I just get nightmares sometimes.”
    James had a lump in his throat. “I just … I’m just so sorry for what you had to go through. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard things have been for you.”
    Tears spilled down her cheeks. She shrugged, wiping her face with her sleeve. “It’s over now.”
    “That’s the problem, Brittany. Some things