The moment Ferris awoke, he wished he hadn\u2019t. Lead seemed to fill his skull \u2014 dull, heavy. His temples throbbed as he tried to remember what he\u2019d done to deserve this, and how he had ended up fully clothed in bed. His shirt smelled like gasoline. No, it was grappa. He remembered a piano, with one hand playing clumsily over the keys. Demos\u2019 hand. Ferris had said something \u2014 something stupid. What had he said?<\/p>\n
\u201cFer!\u201d The voice hit him like a wall. It was Seamus, somewhere in the kitchen.<\/p>\n
Ferris rubbed his aching forehead. \u201cNot so loud, Seamus.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, you\u2019re awake. Finally.\u201d The door cracked open, revealing his offensively bright-eyed roommate.<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you just been yelling my name all morning?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe, maybe not.\u201d Seamus tapped his own head. \u201cHow\u2019s that hangover?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s great, thanks. Er, how did you know I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAfter the state you were in last night, I figured.\u201d<\/p>\n
Seamus slipped into the room, bumping him over to sit on the bed. Before Ferris could protest, he was handed a glass of water. It was smooth against his skin, beads of perspiration wetting his palms. His mouth felt suddenly dry and before he could stop himself, he had emptied the entire glass. He could feel it run down his throat, filling his empty, aching stomach. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet.<\/p>\n
Ferris exhaled. \u201cLast night? What happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour boy called me to help you home. I\u2019m sure he\u2019d have done it himself if he weren\u2019t tiny and frail. Then he ran off somewhere with a knife.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA knife. You\u2019re saying he\u2014\u201c Ferris paused, sniffing the air. \u201cWait, what\u2019s that smell?\u201d<\/p>\n
Seamus grinned. \u201cI know you told me to stay out of the kitchen, but\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, god. Did you cook something?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell.<\/i>\u201d Seamus said. \u201cHaven\u2019t had a proper fry-up in ages. That butcher shop two blocks over had back bacon, you know, real bacon. So I thought to myself, I\u2019ll have a proper breakfast for my mate, that\u2019s you, and I\u2019ll make it myself. Managed to fry some eggs and then some bubble and squeak with those leftovers from your mum\u2019s\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cStop.\u201d Ferris held up a hand. \u201cJust stop. You\u2019re cooking and being British and\u2014 and we talked about this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you know I don\u2019t eat bacon.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou haven\u2019t lived.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d Ferris closed his eyes, fighting his headache as it attempted to burst free from his brain cavity. \u201cI think I\u2019ve lived too much.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, grappa will do that to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris swallowed. He wished he had more water. As his eyes trailed from his empty glass to his friend, he recognized the pattern on his shirt. It was a dress shirt, one with buttons. Seamus never wore dress shirts.<\/p>\n
\u201cWait, is that my shirt?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it? I found it in your closet, so I suppose so. Ah, reminds me. I\u2019ve got to get going.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGoing? Where are you going?\u201d<\/p>\n
The only place Ferris could imagine Seamus going in a dress shirt was a date or a court room. Neither would likely end well.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll see. It\u2019s a surprise, very important.\u201d He rose from the bed, straightening his clothes with a few casual sweeps of his hands. \u201cHow do I look?\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris squinted. There wasn\u2019t much to see without his glasses. \u201cVaguely presentable.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou sound like Demos.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris cringed. \u201cAgh. Don\u2019t say that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, before I forget.\u201d Seamus tossed Ferris his own phone, which he scrambled with before catching properly. \u201cYou slept through some calls.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris looked down at the screen. Sure enough, there were three missed calls from his mother.<\/p>\n
\u201cGreat, thanks. And good luck with your trial. I hope they give you a light sentence.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShut up and call your mum,\u201d was the last thing Seamus said before the door drifted shut behind him. Ferris sighed. If it were any other person, three calls in a row would have worried him. His mother, however, had a tendency to make repeated calls over plights such as \u2018Turn on Channel 8, they\u2019re playing Ben-Hur. Remember Ben-Hur? Oh, Charlton Heston looks amazing.\u2019 and \u2018I want to talk to Stanley. Give Stan the phone.\u2019 Whatever this was, perhaps it could wait until his headache subsided.<\/p>\n
It only took a moment, however, of measuring the pain of guilt against the pain of his hangover. Ruth always won.<\/p>\n
The phone rang twice before his mother answered.<\/p>\n
\u201cFerris!\u201d she said, as if he had just come back from war.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi, Mom. You called?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, I called, because you never call.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris pinched the bridge of his nose. \u201cI\u2019m calling you right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen I prayed for my son to be smart, I didn\u2019t mean for him to be smart with his own mother.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou must have been praying to the wrong god.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ruth laughed. \u201cWell, it\u2019s a good thing you caught me. Your Aunt Esther is selling her car and it\u2019s right in your price range. Why you have such a low price range is beyond me. You do get a regular paycheck, why don\u2019t you buy a new one? Something nice you could drive Alex around in?\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris chewed his lower lip. It was strange, the numbness that had so quickly crept over his insides. He could tell her later.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh? Which car was it?\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a pause. \u201cWell, the good news is, it\u2019s a Bentley.\u201d<\/p>\n
A British car \u2014 Seamus would be happy. Demos wouldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the bad news?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s about as old as you are, bubele. And you\u2019ll have to decide today, or she\u2019s going to sell it to her neighbor, Ms. Scheinker. Remember her? She was there that one time we went to Long Island for Passover and Esther had everyone over. Well, they say the more the merrier, but I wouldn\u2019t want to host that many\u2014 ah, well, anyway. Why don\u2019t you come over? I\u2019ve got a picture of it here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou could just email it to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t want to see your mother, then? You\u2019re too busy to come home for two seconds, to look at a picture?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, no.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood. Be here at noon. I\u2019ll make you some pasta.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I don\u2019t\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cLove you, bubele. Bye!\u201d<\/p>\n
The call ended. He slumped onto his back, wishing the bed would simply swallow him whole. He could still smell bacon from the kitchen.<\/p>\n
#<\/p>\n
Once Ferris saw the photo, he could see why his mother hadn\u2019t wanted to email it to him. It was still in an album. The page had creaked against the binding, faded paper sealed with a clear sheet. His aunt was standing in front of the car and, beside her, his parents. He lingered on his father\u2019s face, momentarily forgetting there was a car behind him at all. There he was, in a gray suit and a campy smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell?\u201d Ruth said. \u201cWhat do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris kept his eyes on the page. \u201cIt\u2019s an old photo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t you worry, that car hasn\u2019t changed a bit. She kept it in the garage most of the time.\u201d<\/p>\n
That was right \u2014 the car. It was a Bentley Eight, traditional and angular. Ferris didn\u2019t deserve a luxury car. He could never have paid for it if it were new, but now, nineteen years later, it had somehow fallen right into his budget. There was something charming about the old thing, its finish a dark, gunmetal gray. It was the same color as his father\u2019s suit.<\/p>\n
Ferris closed the album. \u201cTell her I\u2019ll take it.\u201d<\/p>\n
He felt marginally better after lunch. Despite his lack of appetite, Ruth\u2019s cooking always seemed to calm the various pains knocking around in his shell. She made food the same way Demos did \u2014 with art, and with love. His hands were still damp from washing dishes when he made his way upstairs. His bedroom door opened with a faint creak \u2014 it hadn\u2019t been used much in the last few years. Even so, everything remained how he\u2019d left it. There were old coats in the closet and a few books he had left behind. He slipped one off the shelf, a copy of Moby Dick<\/i> he had bought to replace the one Demos hadn\u2019t returned. All this time, he\u2019d thought the original had never been read, that Demos had abandoned it under a pile of fashion magazines. Yet, just last night, he\u2019d quoted it, reciting the line as if he\u2019d read it a hundred times.<\/p>\n
The Ghost was always full of surprises. Ferris wondered what else he didn\u2019t know, what other truths had been left unsaid.<\/p>\n
He sat on the bed, letting the book fall open on his lap. Six hundred pages on one fucking whale.<\/i><\/p>\n
Ferris rubbed his forehead, wishing he could remember more of the previous night. It had all blurred together, a with a sheen of white ivory and the burning scent of grappa dominating his memory. Everything had grown so complicated.<\/p>\n
Glancing up, he tried to think back to when things were simple. All he could recall was snow, that black Lincoln Towncar and the bloated body in its trunk. He saw flame, ash, burnt out cigarette butts and blood streaked down a passenger window. There was the sound of money churning through a bill counter, the smell of horses, of gasoline. Ferris\u2019 eyes screwed shut, trying to think back further. Further than that. He remembered his father in the living room, the hushed voices of three men and the clink of scotch glasses. Then there was Demos, thin, white, like a boy who had already died. He\u2019d smiled at him.<\/p>\n
Things had never been simple.<\/p>\n
The door opened once more. He could feel his mother sit down next to him, then her hand as she straightened his collar.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou feeling all right?\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris closed the book. \u201cI\u2019m not seeing Alex anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ruth\u2019s hand went still on his collar. \u201cOh, bubele. What happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe found out.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a silence between them. There wasn\u2019t anything more he needed to say, any further explanation for Ruth to understand. Gently, she released his shirt.<\/p>\n
Ferris took in a breath before he spoke again. \u201cCan I ask you something?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat made you stay with Dad? When you found out?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I loved him.\u201d Ruth quickly caught herself. \u201cBut that doesn\u2019t mean\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cShe didn\u2019t love me. She didn\u2019t have a chance to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFerris, honey. Listen to me.\u201d His mother straightened her glasses, her lips tight as she collected her thoughts. \u201cAlex was a good girl. I wasn\u2019t. I liked the nice house, the nice car. I thought it was all worth it, for our family, to have everything we\u2019d ever need. It bothered me a little, at first. But deep down, I was just a selfish, crazy girl. I\u2019m not without blame. I\u2019ve let the most terrible things happen in my own home, and I never said a word.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris looked down at his hands, his knuckles wrung together like cords.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you want to be with a good person,\u201d Ruth said, \u201cyou\u2019ll have to be good, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think I can.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you\u2019ll just have to look somewhere else.\u201d<\/p>\n
He shook his head. \u201cI\u2019m tired of looking. I don\u2019t want to look anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, that\u2019s fine bubele. But you still owe me grandchildren, one way or another.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris managed a crooked smile. \u201cCan I just get you a bunch of cats?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll consider puppies, but that\u2019ll only tide me over for a year or two.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I\u2014\u201c A buzz from his side interrupted his thought. It was his phone. With an awkward shift of his weight, he fished it from his pocket to read the text.<\/p>\n
Seamus Aston – 1:16pm: hey m8 come to th crafty crook on 9<\/i>th<\/sup><\/i><\/span>, ive got that surprise 4 u<\/i><\/p>\n The Crafty Crook was a bar. Whatever surprise Seamus wanted to show him at a bar in the middle of the day could probably wait.<\/p>\n Ruth, however, seemed to think differently. \u201cOh, you go on and see your English friend. We can talk more later.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMom, you\u2019re reading my texts.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou look at your phone in front of your mother and expect me not to read it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSilly me.\u201d Ferris stood, laying the book aside on his desk. \u201cAll right, Mom. I\u2019ll call you later.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure, you will.\u201d<\/p>\n #<\/p>\n The Crafty Crook was surprisingly lively, considering the time of day. Ferris had walked past the brick facade on many occasions, but had never actually stepped inside. It held the typical atmosphere of a pub, with dim lighting and slick wooden surfaces. There were rows of kegs and taps, most for English ales he hadn\u2019t even heard of. Several of the tables were occupied, yet Seamus was nowhere in sight. Ferris glanced at his watch, wondering if his friend would be late for his own \u2018surprise.\u2019<\/p>\n \u201cYou gonna have a drink, or are you just going to loiter in the entrance?\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris glanced back in relief. It was Seamus. \u201cOh, I thought you weren\u2019t\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n It took a moment to click. Seamus wasn\u2019t standing at<\/i> the bar; he was standing behind it.<\/p>\n Ferris stared. \u201cWho let you back there?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMe.\u201d Seamus\u2019 brow lifted. \u201cI work here, mate. That\u2019s the surprise. Thought I\u2019d show you myself since you probably wouldn\u2019t have believed me.\u201d<\/p>\n At first, Ferris didn\u2019t respond. There he was, leaning on the counter, the sleeves of his button-up rolled to the elbows \u2014 a bartender.<\/p>\n \u201cHoly shit.\u201d Ferris still hadn\u2019t moved. \u201cYou have a job.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI have a job! Why don\u2019t you sit down? You look like a nutcase standing there.\u201d<\/p>\n Hesitantly, Ferris took a stool at the counter. He wondered if he should clean his glasses, if he were seeing things \u2014 hearing things. Without a word, he watched as Seamus poured two whiskies, sliding one across to his friend.<\/p>\n \u201cHave one on me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t believe this.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know it\u2019s a lot to take in,\u201d Seamus said as he lifted his glass, \u201cbut you inspired me, Fer.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris blinked at his whisky. \u201cIsn\u2019t it a little early in the day for this?\u201d<\/p>\n Seamus grinned. \u201cI never left BST.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris knew this was a bad idea. He hadn\u2019t even recovered from the previous night and was already inhaling the fumes of another drink. This, however, was a special occasion. After years of pressure, of wandering from one couch to another, Seamus had finally found employment. Ferris picked up his glass.<\/p>\n There always seemed to be a special occasion.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m proud of you.\u201d Ferris couldn\u2019t help but smile. \u201cCheers.\u201d<\/p>\n It was a few hours later that he could barely remember his own time zone. Ferris had started paying for his drinks, not wanting his friend to lose his job on his first day. It seemed the dubious connections Seamus had made on the town had landed him with an opening at a pub he\u2019d frequented. He had done something right \u2014 something responsible. Ferris, on the other hand, was acting far from responsible.<\/p>\n \u201cYou trying to forget something, Fer?\u201d Seamus said as he slid another ale over the walnut counter. \u201cI\u2019m going to have to cut you off in a minute.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJesus, the sky must be falling.\u201d Ferris cradled his forehead. \u201cSeamus is telling me I\u2019m drinking too much.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOi, I\u2019m a proper adult now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s not get carried away.\u201d<\/p>\n Seamus did have a point. This wasn\u2019t like him. The last time they\u2019d gone to a bar together, he\u2019d been the designated driver. It was normally one drink \u2014 one paltry drink, if anything. What was he trying to forget? What was he trying to punish himself for?<\/p>\n His head was starting to pound again. The ale didn\u2019t even have a taste anymore.<\/p>\n \u201cUgh. I\u2019m going to have to get a cab,\u201d Ferris said.<\/p>\n Seamus offered his friend a smile. \u201cNo worries, we\u2019ve got them on speed dial.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris attempted to straighten himself, glancing down at the row of other patrons. The pub had grown considerably more crowded as the evening came, now reduced to standing room only. A couple two seats over had been kissing for quite some time \u2014 at least, he was pretty sure they were a couple. Even when he averted his attention, he could still hear it.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, Seamus.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve\u2014,\u201d Ferris locked his eyes on the rim of his glass. \u201cYou\u2019ve kissed Demos before, haven\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n Seamus didn\u2019t seem to be phased by the question, cracking open a bottle for a customer. \u201cSure, we fooled around back in school.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris wondered if his face had suddenly heated, or if it had been like that for a while. \u201cWhat\u2019s it like?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh?\u201d Seamus laughed. \u201cWhy do you ask?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBecause I\u2019m drunk.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt was nice \u2014 real nice,\u201d Seamus said, his hand pausing around a bottle of gin. \u201cBut I don\u2019t think he meant it.\u201d<\/p>\n For a second, there was only the bar, the chatter of a dozen conversations, of liquor and ice, glass bottles clicking on tabletops and stools scraping against the wooden floor. Seamus looked away, maintaining a wistful smile.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know,\u201d Seamus said. \u201cI don\u2019t know if he\u2019s ever meant it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris tried to think through the buzzing of the pub, of the ache in his head and the heat that had started burning from his chest up. This seemed important, whatever it was, whatever Seamus was saying. The more he dwelled on the thought, the muddier it got. His headache had intensified, screaming for attention beneath his temples. The words, the bar, this feeling \u2014 they were already slipping from him. He was only certain of one thing. By the time the sun rose, by the next time he looked at himself in a mirror, this, too, would be forgotten.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The moment Ferris awoke, he wished he hadn\u2019t. Lead seemed to fill his skull \u2014 dull, heavy. His temples throbbed as he tried to remember what he\u2019d done to deserve this, and how he had ended up fully clothed in bed. His shirt smelled like gasoline. No, it was grappa. He remembered a piano, with […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-404","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fishbones-book-02"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4oWx8-6w","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/404","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=404"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/404\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":570,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/404\/revisions\/570"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=404"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=404"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=404"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}