There’s a long line of cars and trucks off the high side of the driveway, and Jessup does a K-turn before parking his truck so that he’s set up to head out when Deanne is ready to leave the party. He pulls the warning from the slot, looks at it again for a second, then returns it to the glove box and gets out of the truck. Before closing the door, he reaches behind the seat and touches the game ball. Wishes Deanne had seen her father hugging him like that. I’m proud of you, son.
It’s dark as shit where he is. The lights from the house don’t even come close to cutting through the darkness. He’s on the high side of the driveway and he takes a few seconds to look across and out, the way the grass runs down like a ski slope, steep into the woods, the view over the city, the water. The house is oriented to take advantage of the views, so most of the windows are turned away from the driveway, but the house is still a beacon on the hill.
He pulls out his phone to use it as a flashlight. The snow is rutted on the driveway and deep enough in the grass where he’s parked that his feet would have gotten wet if he wasn’t wearing his Timberlands. The boots are in rough shape, but he got them at the university yard sale at the beginning of last year for six bucks. Maybe now that David John is back, Jessup thinks. Save up his paycheck from the movie theater for a couple of weeks and buy a pair brand-new. What would that run him? One twenty? One fifty? A splurge. He walks to the back of the truck and looks at the shattered taillight. Forty bucks right there. Asshole. Before heading into the house, he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the passenger seat where his gloves are. Doesn’t bother locking the door. Could leave the keys in the ignition and nobody would steal the thing.
He’s cold by the time he gets to the house, the walk from his truck up the driveway a hundred yards, near darkness the whole way except for the light from his phone. Wishes he’d worn his coat. Inside, he stomps his boots clean in the entrance hall, a thicket of coats and bags on the floor. Bumps knuckles as he walks through, Mike Crean wrapping him up in a hug designed to pop your ribs. A lot of “atta boys” for the fumble recovery and touchdown. The front hall leads into a single, giant, open room. The kitchen is separated from the living space by a counter made of dark stone, and the appliances look they come from the future. Jessup bets the dishwasher costs more than his mom earns in two months. The dining area is simple, just a sideboard and a table that isn’t overbearing. Instead of a massive landscape for candelabras and two dozen guests, it’s a table that has chairs for eight, a sleek piece of glass and steel, the glass looking like it’s floating. Victoria has the table loaded up with bowls of pretzels, chips and salsa, cookies, a vegetable tray on a silver platter. Napkins fanned out like something from a magazine. Parroting the parties she’s seen her parents throw. The sitting area has a sectional and a couple of chairs, one of them leather and beat-up-enough-looking that Jessup wouldn’t have bothered stopping to pick up if it was free on the side of the road, but it’s evidently a piece of vintage furniture, cost five grand. The large, open room is easily twice as big as the double-wide trailer Jessup lives in, except that the ceiling jumps two stories high, and there’s floor-to-ceiling glass so that you can see the whole of Cortaca laid out below. Victoria lives in a castle.
There’s a keg out on the deck—somebody’s older brother came through— but he’s not a drinker. Ricky made him promise. Jessup might not remember much of his mother’s drinking, but Ricky does. Doesn’t bother Jessup to abstain. He’s taken sips of beer here and there. Tastes like dog piss. Wyatt tells him you grow to like it, but Jessup figures, what’s the point of learning to like something nasty? He steps out, takes a cup, but then brings it around the counter to the kitchen sink and fills it up with water. He likes having something in his hand.
He’s standing a few steps out of the kitchen area, looking around to see if Deanne is there yet, when he sees the gang of boys and an equal number of girls come through the door. The boys, five of them, are all wearing Kilton Valley jackets. Kevin Corson in the front.