Page 2 of Mr. Frosty Pants
God, he knew he shouldn’t complain. So many people struggled and did without, and he was lucky as hell his parents had money. It was his own fault he was lonely. Maybe he was just broken inside. Maybe he was justwrong, and all the therapy in the world wouldn’t fix him.
Maybe Joel was far better off without him.
Breathing against the ache in his chest, Casey braked by the stop sign where he’d shivered on cold mornings waiting for the school bus. He’d waited there with Joel, of course.
He sighed and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He was set to graduate from NYU in May. It’d been almost four years since he’d said goodbye to Joel. And yet he still couldn’t move on with his life. They’d never even been together! Joel had dated girls for fuck’s sake. Whatever Casey felt, it was his own burden to bear, and it was ludicrous.
Ann said he needed to either let the past go or confront it head on. When he’d told her he was taking up his parents on their invite, she’d replied, “If you insist on returning to the scene of the crime, now’s as good a time as any to be more transparent with the people in your life, Casey. Consider it.” He’d known she was talking about his folks, but when he considered being transparent with anyone, the only person he could think about was Joel.
He rounded the corner and entered Belmont Hills, the neighborhood behind Manor Crest, built twenty years before it. The houses there were smaller and more rundown, and the neighborhood amenities existed in a state of disrepair. The playground and tennis courts were overrun with weeds and punctuated with litter. The swing set had no swings to speak of, and the pool was roped off with yellow caution tape. Not much different than when Casey had last driven through four years ago.
He took a deep breath as he turned onto Elder Lane and passed a multicolored blizzard of over-the-top Christmas joy hosted by the house on the corner. He was almost there. Icicle lights dripped from the rooflines of the ranch style home next to Joel’s dad’s place.
One more driveway to go…
Casey pulled in front of the split-level house in need of a paint job. He gripped the wheel and swallowed hard, biting down on the inside of his cheek.
The garage door was open, exposing the place where Casey used to sit on the cold, hard concrete floor to watch Joel practice his bass guitar. But now the interior was packed with children’s toys: tricycles, bikes, balls, and scooters galore, as well as a big, pink toy kitchenette and a chalkboard. Holy shit, did Joel havekids? His heart clenched hard.
But then two lanky teenagers, a blond girl and boy, came bursting through the front door with unopened boxes of Christmas lights tucked under their arms and pouty expressions on their faces. A flustered woman followed with a stepladder, pointing at the porch roof and directing them with swooping motions of her arms.
After a few moments, she turned to stare curiously at Casey’s car lingering by the curb. When a man came out to join them, he kissed the woman, and she motioned at Casey. His heart lurched, and he swallowed against the lump in his throat, easing his foot off the brake.
It was clear. Joel didn’t live here anymore.
It’d been foolish to think he would still be in his father’s old house. Why would he be? It’d been nearly four years, and he was a grown man now. He’d probably gotten married or at least moved into a place of his own. But deep down, Casey had always assumed Charlie Vreeland, Joel’s dad, would still live in the house, that he’d be there forever as a tether to the days when Joel and Casey had hopped the fence between their backyards, violating their fathers’ common belief that Manor Crest boys and Belmont Hills boys shouldn’t play together.
Wiping at his face, annoyed by the sting of unwanted, stupid tears, Casey headed toward the corner of Belview Drive. There was just one more thing he wanted to see before he drove back to his parents’ house. He hoped it was still there. It had to be. It was the one thing in the world that had been theirs alone.
The bench.
But as he approached what used to be the empty lot he and Joel had claimed, his stomach dropped. Someone had cleared the trees to make way for a new house going up. And, from what he could see, the wood-and-iron bench—theirbench—on the formerly wooded lot was gone. His breath caught. The bench where they’d hung out to smoke Joel’s stolen cigarettes. The bench Joel had only ever shared with him. Their secret. Gone.
He’d never again sit on the garage floor and watch Joel play bass.
He’d never again sit beside him on their bench, as they smoked cigarettes and eyed each other.
He’d never again crawl through Joel’s window after his dad had gone to sleep and huddle with him in his twin-size bed listening to a Gaslight Anthem album and aching all over with unexpressed feelings.
Never ever. It was done. Over.
Gone.
Minutes passed. He straightened up and wiped again at his traitorous eyes. The snow came down harder, threatening to stick. He flipped on the radio, his chest tight and throat aching.
If he could change the past, he would. He’d do everything differently. Maybe Joel wouldn’t have ever cared for himthat way, but Casey could at least have had Joel in his life as a friend. And that would have been something, wouldn’t it? Better than the big, fat nothing he had now.
Leaving Belmont Hills and heading back toward his folks’ new place, he turned up the radio. A barrage of Christmas songs washed over him—bells and harps, familiar choruses and verses—but none of them touched him. He carefully stuffed his memories of Joel back into the box he’d built for them in his heart. But they didn’t seem to fit inside anymore. They poked out with sharp, rough edges.
As Casey crested the hill leading to his parents’ new house, he gazed at the hazy Smoky Mountains in the distance. He was “home” for the holidays. But he hadn’t been prepared for how much it hurt.
Chapter Two
“Did you knowthe Vreelands moved?”
Casey sat across from his mother on a stool at the wide, polished granite kitchen counter.
“Hmm?” She evaded his question by focusing on the pile of recipe cards she was sorting so that Heather, her new housekeeper, could come later that night to prepare the following week’s dinners in advance.
