Chapter Eight

 

<><> Miriam <><>

 

A gentle knock at the back sliding door brings my daydreaming to a halt. I slide my chair back and tiptoe down the hall, careful not to wake my mom. I see Chris at the glass waiting patiently. He’s holding his hat in his hands. The gesture is polite and I notice. It’s the little things.

I take a quick breath, staying calm and giving myself a pep talk not to appear too eager before sliding back the door a little. “Hi. All done for the day?”

“Almost. The other guys have already left,” Chris says. “Is your mom available?”

“She’s resting right now, sorry.”

“That’s okay. Do you mind if I walk you though a few ideas out back?”

“Sure.” I slide my sandals on and follow him out, going from the peaceful sanctuary of our house to the war zone out back. Chris leads the charge through mounds of gravel.

“Watch your step, that stuff isn’t level. Here,” he reaches out a hand, “take it.”

I meet his eyes, unable to hide my sudden apprehension.

“I won’t bite you. I just want to help.”

I place my hand in his, the act really chivalrous and unexpected as Chris guides me over a huge mountain of gravel like a prince escorting a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself, but a small part of me views the gesture as over-the-top romantic.

On the other side, I drop his hand and shove mine into my pockets, making them unavailable for future rescues.

“Just over here,” Chris says as I follow closely, placing each footstep in the one he has just made. “I want to tweak part of the plan and I’m wondering if your mom will approve. I do this sometimes, change my mind I mean.” He glances over his shoulder as he’s walking and smiles. Coming to a stop at the far right corner, he puts his hands on his hips and looks around, staying quiet. I stand beside him, waiting.

“This spot is perfect for the pond. On the plans, I have it over there, but this area is better acoustically. The sound will be soothing, especially if you guys have a dinner party out here on the back patio. It’s a great way to drown out the noise from the nearby freeway. I’ve seen people fill ponds with Koi fish and lily pads.”

“That sounds really nice. But shouldn’t you do all the messy work and then all the building? A pond should be near the end, right?”

“Thanks for the advice,” he winks. No one has ever winked at me before and Chris has already done it on more than one occasion. This guy’s a charmer. “My guys are full of good intentions, but don’t worry, we’ll stick with your mom’s original plan. Count on it. And yes, the mess happens first, but we have to map out each project as we go.”

“Okay.” I realize how naive I sound. Maybe I should leave this up to the professionals.

“Your mom mentioned a gazebo and garden shed. She wants us to lay a cement foundation and build the structure to meet her needs rather than buy one of those flimsy pre-made structures from the hardware store.”

“Yes, she wants proper storage space for all the patio furniture in the winter and a place to pot flowers.”

“A planting table?”

“And a workbench. She thinks whoever lives in this house after us will appreciate that.”

“Is she planning on selling?”

I hesitate, wondering what I should say. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Chris stares at me, obviously confused, but he stays quiet and I appreciate that. Whether it’s deliberate or not is another story. He can’t exactly save my feelings if he doesn’t know what’s wrong with my mom in the first place.

“I’ve drawn up a rough outline with the measurements. I have them in the truck.” He looks me over as if assessing me. “You’re about what, five eight?”

“Five ten. Not exactly petite.” Not exactly little and sexy like Donna Dividi.

“Wow, that’s tall. You’re my height in five inch heels.”

I look at him for a second, wondering if he envisions all girls wearing five inch heels all the time. Whoever invented heels should be erased from history.

“I’ll make the gazebo around seven and a half feet to give everyone enough headway without the beams intruding on the view beyond. Don’t want to lose that ravine vista.”

“Do we need a permit for that?”

“At that size, yeah. Better safe than sorry.”

“Where do I get one of those?”

“City Hall.”

“Okay. I have an exam tomorrow afternoon, but my morning is free. I’ll go then.”

“Exams, huh? I remember those stressful days.”

“I’ll be happy when they’re over.”

“How many more do you have?”

“Four.”

“Hmm. Should you be studying in the morning?” Chris asks.

“Um, no. I think I’m ready.”

“Actually, it’s probably best if we go down to City Hall for that permit together. I’ve dealt with the city department plenty of times before. They can be difficult. Want me to drive?”

Again I gulp, trying to hide my shock. Being stuck in a car with him sounds beyond my wildest dreams, yet stressful. Still, I can’t exactly say no. Besides, I don’t really want to say no. I debate telling him how my mom happens to know everyone who works at City Hall since she’s employed there. Chris looks at me with his head tilted to the side as if waiting, squinting from the glaring afternoon sun. His eyes are all crinkly. The way he’s standing, with hands on his hips wearing worn cargo shorts all covered in dust, tanned legs and work boots, I’m beside myself with giddy nerves. His tee shirt is covered in dirt, yet it still looks amazing as it hugs the curves of his built chest.

“Miriam? Did you hear me?”

“Oh, um, sure. That sounds fine.”

“Good. I’ll be here bright and early. Just flag me down when you’re ready to go. They open at nine. It might be best to be the first ones down there.”

“Okay.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The next morning, Chris and his crew are in my backyard as the sun comes up. They do quiet work that early, like digging with the shovels and planning, saving the heavy machinery and hammering for after nine. It’s considerate and helps to keep neighborly peace, which we appreciate since my mom has always been considerate of others.

At ten to nine, I close my study notes and check myself in the mirror. I’ve already showered, blow-dried my hair, picked out my favorite shirt and shorts, and debated over three different pairs of sandals. With the swipe of some lipstick, I’m ready for my confinement with Chris. One-on-one, just the two of us. I say goodbye to Mom and stand on the back patio, signifying my readiness. Chris glances over, hollers something to one of the guys who nods, and then he saunters over in my direction. As he draws near, he holds his arms out.

“Does it matter to you that I look like I haven’t showered in years?”

I laugh. “That’s fine. Makes you look legit.”

“Like a real landscaper.”

 

 

The drive in Chris's Bronco is a silent one – well, aside from the revving motor and noisy muffler. It's not the smoothest ride I’ve been on.

“Sorry about the noise,” Chris smiles as we cruise downtown, passing luxury cars all gleaming in the morning sunshine. “Simon and I actually changed the muffler not that long ago if you can believe it. This truck is getting old, that’s all. Won’t be long before it dies.”

I internally cringe at the word ‘dies’, but I hide my anxiety. Lately, I’m overwhelmed by the prospect of death since my mom is facing it head-on. Saying this out loud seems too invasive on her privacy, so I stay quiet. The early heat of the summer surrounds me, smothering out all my comfort. I prefer neutral weather, or wind storms. I can’t wait for fall for several reasons. One, chilly temperatures so I can hide behind chunky sweaters and scarves; two, I’ll be starting my undergraduate degree in education at The University of Buffalo; and three, Mom’s second round of chemo will be over.

“Mind if I roll down the window?”

“Sure. Sorry my air-co doesn’t work. Never did.”

“That’s okay.” I roll it down and the wind catches my hair and makes it shoot straight up and takes my breath away. I look over and Chris is looking at me with this weird look of amazement or something. I roll it back up and leave just a crack.

“So, are you graduating?” he asks.

“Yes. I start the Concurrent Education Program in the fall.”

“You got into Teacher’s College? Wow, that’s tough.”

Yep, I worked my butt off. “It was challenging.”

“Is it far away?”

“Well, I got into a few that were really far away, but in the end I decided to accept Buffalo State to be closer to my mom.”

“That’s a good school. Two of my brother’s friends go there.”

“Yeah? Anyone I’d know?”

“Travis Walker and Brent Dillman.”

“Hmm, I’ve heard of Brent. Isn’t he friends with that guy who got hit by a car when he was dressed like a mascot?”

“Pico, yeah. They’re good friends. I’m friends with Pico too, poor guy.”

“What is Brent taking?”

“Engineering. I forget what Travis is taking. Maybe you’ll run into them, not that it matters.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, I just meant they’re not the nicest guys out there. I’m sure you’ll meet some other people you’ll have more in common with.”

He’s probably referring to preppy smart guys, thinking that’s my type. “What about you? Have you been to college?”

He pokes his chest. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not cut out for college.”

“Yes you are.”

“Uh, no. Don’t think so.”

“I disagree. I’ve watched you in the backyard. You totally take charge, assess what needs to be done, configure mathematical equations in your head on the fly, and you are inspiringly visual. I can’t visualize anything to save my life. You have a real talent for spatial dimensions and where things should be.” After I say this, I automatically hold my breath. Okay, so now he knows I’ve been spying on him. How else would I know these things?

“Wow, maybe you should major in assessing people rather than education.”

Despite my nervous anxiety, I laugh at his sarcasm. It’s refreshing. “Am I close?”

He nods, obviously impressed.

“I know what you’re doing,” I say.

“What?”

“You downplay your smarts. I can tell, and I get it. You’re probably a very deep thinker, but you talk all light and simple.”

“What you see is what you get, honest. No hidden genius here.”

“Hmm. I don’t think I believe that. You’re very smart, Chris.” I smile to put him at ease and let him know I’m serious. “The minute I saw your portfolio I knew you had hidden talents.”

“Okay, maybe I have skills in landscaping and I like to read and watch documentaries and stuff, but other than that, I’m pretty simple.”

“Reading, huh? That’s my favorite thing to do, other than hang out with my girlfriends. What’s your preferred genre?”

Chris looks a little perplexed. “Well, I’ve only started reading on a regular basis. I used to be a magazine kind of person 'cause my mind is always too restless, but now I don’t know, something’s just different. I read all kinds of stuff.”

“What are you reading now?”

“Uh, just a biography about one of the past Presidents.”

“Really? Which President?”

“John Adams.”

“I bet that’s an interesting read. He helped pave the way to abolish slavery, right?”

“Yes.” Chris grips the wheel and sits up taller, like the subject has him excited.

“Have you heard of the famous Landscape Architect Edward Law Olmsted?”

Chris shakes his head.

“You should get to know him. You’ll be inspired, since you’re a reader and a landscaper.”

He shoots me a flirty little smile. “Sounds good.”

 

 

At City Hall, I watch as Chris approaches the counter. A pretty lady in her mid-twenties asks if she can help and he proceeds to turn on the charm. Chris has height on his side. He’s slender with muscles in all the right places and proportion. His dirty blond hair is to his shoulders, though it’s usually tied back or pushed back under a baseball hat. Today, it’s in the hat and he’s looking all rugged and capable. I stay quiet, taking in his talents as he gets exactly what he wants from the lady without saying much at all. What he does say he says with authority, making it clear that he knows exactly what he’s talking about and what he wants to accomplish from this visit.

She stamps an approval on the permit papers and we’re on our way, and I haven’t said a word. Chris was victorious in record time.

“You have a natural ability to charm your way into anything, don’t you?” I ask as he holds the door for me.

“Huh?”

“You heard me. That was pretty smooth in there.”

He laughs lightly as we head for the Bronco. “Lets just say Al taught me that you catch more positivity with positivity, especially when it comes to municipal employees on a power trip.”

“Hmm. Good point.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The next day, I’m back in study mode. I think I aced yesterday’s exam, although there is still uncertainty until I get my final mark. The smell of motor oil, cedar, and lavender is overpowering after this morning’s delivery. I watched as a flatbed pulled into the driveway and unloaded tree after tree and endless lavender bushes in pots.

Dust from the churned up backyard covers every surface of the house. I’m constantly cleaning up because I don't want my mom doing it. With my study notes strewn all over my desk, I read over the same sentence five times, still not sure what I’ve just read. My final History exam is tomorrow and the pressure is on. Twirling my loose hair around a finger, I twirl and twirl until I realize what I’m doing and stop. It’s been a subconscious habit since I can remember, calming me down in times of stress. Exams coupled with a hot landscaper just outside my window will do that to a girl. How can I possibly concentrate when Chris Loman is in my backyard? After yesterday’s conversation in the Bronco, I’m more curious about him than ever before. And just when I think things can’t get any worse in the distraction department, my desk starts to shake slightly from the vibrations the backhoes and diggers are causing as they spring to life. The hum and whir of the machinery, not to mention the random shouts, whistles, and thuds, makes studying in my room virtually impossible. Going to the quiet confines of the public library are always an option, and yet I stay.

Why do I stay? For the scenery, that’s why. The guys in the backyard can’t see me through the shadows around the house and my blinds, so I watch them unabashedly. Spying soon becomes my study break indulgence. They are delicious eye-candy.

Staring at the open notebook and laptop on my desk, the refreshing summer breeze blows my drapes and beckons me outside. Walking over to the window, my eyes automatically veer toward one person in particular. There’s just something magnetic about Chris, something primal I’ve never experienced before. It’s thrilling and scary all mixed together. One of workers can’t be any older than sixteen. Makes me wonder why he’s not in school. The dark haired one, Nick I think they called him, seems older than Chris, but he’s the only one. And then there’s one who’s so good looking he’s like a model or something, yet scraggly with his long hair in a ponytail. Chris called him Cas or Cam or something. And of course, there’s Kyle Loman. I recognized him right away. He’s a really tall guy like Chris with shaggy black hair.

“Can I get the sledge over here?” Nick yells.

“Coming,” hollers Chris.

Sneaking another peek, I marvel at the way his muscles bunch as he brings the sledgehammer down to break up the old concrete patio stones. The way his defined calf muscles lead up to well formed thighs that lead up to…really great things. Taking in the sight before me, my heart races with a giddy anticipation I don’t think I’ve ever experienced – ever. Sure, I’ve had crushes. Sure, I’ve gone all the way with a boy, in fact not too long ago. I’ll admit, losing my virginity was an act of curiosity, nothing more, and the lucky boy was a good friend. We’d been dating quite a while before he graduated and left for college. But all that pales in comparison to the way I feel about Chris. It’s lust.

Lying down on my bed and closing my eyes, I try to block out the clanging of heavy machinery and the roar-clank-thud of the bobcat as the walls of our house shake. This is something I’ll have to get used to, that’s all. I imagine myself standing in the backyard after the project is complete, envisioning myself surrounded by a peaceful oasis of vegetation, soothing water sounds, and fragrant flowers. And then my mind lets Chris wander into the scene. He pulls me close and kisses me softly, delicately, and my lips beg for more. His arm comes around my waist, yanking me against his solid chest as his soft kiss turns a little more forceful, claiming ownership, yet still as romantic as anything. And then his tongue...

“Miriam?”

Mom’s voice snaps me out of the Chris zone. I sit up fast, feeling caught in the act. “Yeah?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Be right there.”

I find Mom in the living room in her comfy chair mimicking me. She’s watching the guys out back as discretely as possible like they’re on a stage for our viewing pleasure. And why shouldn’t she watch? She’s paying them enough. “What can I get you?”

“Me? Oh, nothing, sweetie. It’s the workmen. Should we bring them a treat to show our appreciation for their hard work? Maybe the cookies we bought on Saturday?”

“I ate most of them while I was studying. Sorry.”

“Hmm. Maybe we can make them some. What do you think?”

“Make some?” This surprises me since my mom hasn’t baked in a really long time.

“It may be a fun way for you to take a break from studying and give us something to do together. What do you think?”

Looking into her hopeful eyes, how can I possibly say no to precious, invaluable time spent together? “Sounds like fun. I’ll get the cookbook.”

Rummaging through the kitchen bookshelf, I’m distracted by the activity unfolding outside the kitchen window. With the cookbook in hand, I stand and stare without concern for who sees me. Chris glances at his watch and then whistles and the noise around him instantly stops. “Break!” he hollers. It’s as if someone hit the off button to a power surge. They’re high-octane workers one second and easy-going loafers the next, lazily trudging over the piles of churned up soil to grab their lunch packs. Collapsing one by one around the back patio, they simultaneously stretch out and claim the space like it’s their own. In a way, I suppose our backyard is their domain until the project is done. Two guys pull out their phones and begin texting, one guy guzzles an entire thermos of water, and then my eyes settle on Chris. He unpacks his lunch and lays it all out on the cement step. It seems endless, one item after another. I wonder how someone as lean and muscular as he is can eat so much without gaining weight, but he probably burns it off in minutes with all the heavy lifting and running around.

“Miriam, did you find it?” Mom comes into the kitchen and I turn a one-eighty and pretend I wasn’t looking.

“Yep.”

 

 

Half an hour later, the first batch of chocolate cherry chunk cookies are cooling on the wire rack. Rather than hide or spy, I decide to open the window and push back the drapes so we can overtly watch the workers as we bake since they’re now finished their lunch and back at it. We hear the occasional comment float through the window, ‘Smells so good!’ and ‘Hope there’s extra!’, as the scrumptious aroma of freshly baking cookies wafts out. Their comments make us laugh.

“How about a glass of milk and a cookie for us? We should definitely test the merchandise,” says Mom.

I smile. “Make sure they’re not poisoned, I get it.” I pull back a chair at the kitchen island and sit with her.

“It’s been so long since I baked anything. You were just a little girl, do you remember?” She takes a bite of the oozing chocolatey confection. “Mmmm!”

I lick chocolate off my thumb. “You had some real disasters though, that’s what I remember most.”

Mom laughs lightly. “Yes, but I kept trying until your father finally suggested I stop since I was eating them all and had an expanding waistline. That was when I was in my earth mother phase, making your clothes for pre-school, even canning and pickling and making jam. That got old really fast. When I went back to work I turned to everyday conveniences again.”

“I don’t blame you. Still, Dad should never have stopped you from eating baked goodies. He had no right.”

“You know your dad and his fitness. He’s so vain.” She scoffs and swats the air. “Wanted a skinny wife.” She looks down at her body, all skin and bones. “If he could see me now.”

My heart drops at her observation. “Here, have another one.” I slide the plate across and she takes one without hesitation.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

We eat in silence, completely enraptured by the chocolate goodness we’ve created. The best part about making and sharing the cookies is being together. This is a memory I’ll never forget.

The timer dings and I spring up to remove the fourth batch, placing them on the stove to cool before transferring them to the wire rack.

“Maybe it’s time we shared the wealth,” says Mom with a twinkle in her eye. “Or maybe eat them all ourselves?”

I giggle. “After all of those desperate comments through the window? That would be torture. I’ll bring them out. We can always make more.”

Mom’s face lights up at the prospect. “Lets make this a habit.”

“Agreed.”

I emerge from the back patio doors and instantly become the center of attention. All activity stops and a billow of dust settles in slow motion. “I’ve got cookies!” I announce and they literally run over.. Swarmed by the workmen, I suddenly feel claustrophobic and on display.

“Hey, guys, give her a minute to put the plate down. Vultures.” Chris laughs and the guys step back.

“Sorry,” says Nick, “but they smell so good!”

With a bit more room to breathe, I place the plate down on the patio table and step away so my hands aren’t eaten along with the cookies. Soil-crusted fingers dart in and take cookie after cookie until the plate is empty. Each guy mumbles a 'thank you' between bites as they stand stuffing their faces, laughing at inside jokes and elbowing each other. They seem to get along like brothers, or a gang, enjoying each other’s company in an easy-going way. They clear out as quickly as they’d zeroed in on my arrival. Chris is the only one who sticks around, though he keeps his distance.

“That was really sweet of you and your mom. Thanks.”

“No problem. How’s everything going out here?”

Chris looks back at the others at work. “Great. The guys are stoked about transforming this place. The energy and commitment’s pretty high.”

“As compared to other projects?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you made us cookies, why else?” He laughs this low rumble, catching me off guard. Even his laugh is sexy. “Sometimes we have homeowners screaming demands at us all day and changing their minds about stuff at the last minute or after we’ve already finished something. It’s annoying. Your mom seems laid back.”

“She is, sometimes a little too laid back. Maybe I’ll be the one screaming at you,” I say all serious, then I smile. “I promise I won’t scream at you.”

A grin tugs at the side of his mouth. “Sure, that’s cool.” He stays quiet and the silence is a little awkward. Just as I’m about to say goodbye and turn back for the house, he says, “Come on, I’ll show you what we found.”

As he walks away, I debate following since it means dodging boulders and dodging workmen. Both seem dangerous. Sensing my apprehension, Chris stops and pivots. “Coming?” His smile puts me at ease and I carefully follow, highly conscious of everyone’s eyes on me until we get to the area behind the garage. “Found these just over there. You’d be amazed at the stuff we’ve found in people’s backyards.” He picks something up from the lid of the old barbecue.

I stop a few feet away. “What is it?”

Turning, Chris steps in close and my anxiety level spikes from his proximity. “An old clay pipe. And look at this.” He brushes off a small round object with his thumb until I see vibrant red.

“A marble?”

“Yep. It’s really old.” Chris reaches out and drops them into my hand. “All yours.”

“Thanks.” I lean in to look at the clay pipe. It’s stark white and the stem is fragile, like a small animal bone all thin and brittle. “How old is this?”

“The pipe? Depends. Some date back to the late 1700s.”

Looking up, we lock eyes. “You mean this pipe is over two hundred years old and it’s in my backyard? Is it worth anything? Should I call a museum?”

His glance turns playful. “Not really. These pipes were considered disposable, like today’s cigarettes. We find them all the time.”

“You seem to know the history. Have you studied this kind of stuff before?”

“Me?” Chris laughs. “No. Al told me about them the first time I found one. I thought I’d be famous for finding something so special. Little did I know how common they are.”

“I can see finding something like this in Europe, but Buffalo?”

“Crazy, huh? Makes you realize how things used to be around here; the kinds of people we come from.” Chris reaches out and touches the pipe in my hand. His fingertip grazes my palm sending shivers down my entire body even though today is a scorcher. As he inspects it, I assess him peripherally. His shoulders are broad and the muscles in his arms seem even bigger up close, almost intimidating yet far from beefcake. His skin is already tanned from being outdoors all the time. I must look like a ghost beside him. All of these physical qualities are all fine and everything, but it’s his eyes. The pale blue-green color is almost animalistic. They’re without a doubt his physical highlight. Most of the people I know have brown eyes; my mom, my dad, me, Jacinta and her family, and most of my relatives. Aside from blue-eyed blond Bailey, there’s really no one else. Even my last boyfriend had brown eyes. That must be why Chris Loman’s eyes seem so mysterious and otherworldly to me.

“We’ve got another one!” Mr. Ponytail shouts, grabbing our attention.

“What’d you find, Cas?” Chris hollers over my head and the vibration of his deep voice rings in my ears.

“Come see!”

“Come on,” Chris says. He reminds me of a giddy kid as he bounds away in search of treasure. I follow willingly, though I know I should be studying. When I catch up, Chris steps away to make room for me as the other guys crowd around. “What have we got?”

“Half a plate.”

“China?” asks Nick.

“Yep,” smirks Cas, “and not the country either.”

“You mean you found old dinnerware in our backyard?” I look to Chris for answers. “Don’t tell me, this is common too, right?”

He nods and shrugs. “Sorry. Nothing of value, just a cool story to tell.”

Mr. Ponytail scrapes off the mud and hands it over. Inspecting it, I’m in awe of the detailing. This is fine bone china and yet our house isn’t all that old. It was built in the fifties. This proves that someone had lived on our land long before we ever arrived. “Thanks for this. I’d better show my mom.” As I turn to walk back to the house, I feel their eyes on me and everything is silent.

“Thanks again for the cookies,” Chris calls. I wave, but don’t turn around. Instead, I hobble as gracefully as possible over the uneven mounds of churned dirt and rocks now dominating the backyard. Get me to shelter and the secure confines of my house. Get me out of the boy shark-tank. Sliding back the glass patio door, I close it behind me and wander down the hall to my mom’s room. She’s sitting on the side of her bed getting ready to take a nap.

“I noticed a spark there,” Mom says as I enter.

“Pardon?”

“You know what I mean, Miriam. Chris likes you, I can tell by the way he looks at you. Had you met him before?”

“Yes,” I say, looking at the objects in my hands.

She gapes. “When?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“You mean you knew him when he first came to the house to talk about the backyard?”

“Yes, but not very well. His friend towed Jacinta’s car the night of my birthday.”

“Chris is a friend of the tow-truck driver?” Mom laughs. “Small world. See, things happen for a reason.”

“Mom, stop with all that 'meant to be' stuff. Not now.”

“I’m just saying it may not be a coincidence. What have you got there?” she asks, lying down.

I walk to the bed and sit beside her, opening my hand to show the goods and her breath catches. “Those were in the backyard?”

“The landscapers found them.”

“Amazing. Are they worth…”

“Nope. I already asked.”

“Too bad.” Mom touches the objects as Chris had. “We’re surrounded by the past, present, and future. Look around, Miriam, it’s everywhere.”

I ignore her tendency for philosophy. Since her diagnosis, she drops profound insights whenever possible. “I’ll put them here so you can take a better look when you get up.”

“Thanks, sweetie. Did the guys like our magical cookies?”

“They disappeared like magic.”

“Good, we’ll have to keep delivering the goods.”

“Same time tomorrow. It may be difficult with all the banging and noise out there, but try to get some rest now and call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” Mom yawns. “Thanks, sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Back in my room again, I charge into studying, but it’s a losing battle. As soon as my desk begins to shake, I’m back at the window sneaking peeks at Chris. His muscles strain in his efforts and sweat trickles down his temples. His tee shirt is so wet the back is practically see-through, the white turning flesh hued. Skin. All I see is his skin through the tee shirt and I experience something unmistakable. Yearning. No wonder girls are constantly throwing themselves at him. When I look at him, I feel both mature and ready while at the same time girlish. It’s probably safe to say he has been around and this assumption makes me feel even more naïve.

Again, I attempt to study. Two hours pass and I’ve barely retained a thing. I stare at my phone and consider calling Jacinta to talk about nothing. Okay, maybe something — or someone.

A sharp whistle sounds and like a soldier brought to attention, I’m on my feet peering through the drapes toward the backyard.

“That’s it, boys. Call it a day,” Chris hollers and the yard goes still.

I watch as Chris talks to his work buddies and they begin a cleanup. Since it’s the end of the day, Chris pulls his filthy shirt off and balls it up in his hands. Tossing it into the empty cooler, he stands for a minute with a bare chest as he looks around admiring his day’s work. I reach up and touch my mouth to check that I’m not drooling. God, those abs are amazing! It’s pretty obvious he doesn’t know I’m staring because being shirtless doesn’t seem to bother him. He throws a clean shirt on and ends my private show. As he packs up his thermos and leaves, I feel a strange tug, as if I’m already connected to him through our earlier conversations and time together. Like the time we’ve invested in each other is filling a deep thirst. Do other teens feel this deeply? Do my friends? Is this love at first sight? I wish I knew how to deal with it all. Should I be thinking about a guy and how incredibly hot he is when my mom is going through what she’s going through? I feel guilty. Maybe Chris Loman is a subconscious distraction, nothing more. One thing’s for sure – I want to find out.

My phone bounces around my desk and I thank my lucky stars for yet another distraction. Bailey’s picture pops on the screen.

“Bay. What’s up?”

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes. You’re coming out with us tonight.”

“Where are you going and who do you mean by ‘us?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just be ready. See you soon.”

She hangs up without warning. I love Bailey’s spontaneity. I can always count on her to plan my social calendar.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Turns out, Bailey has swindled me into a double date with Halton and Ryan. She probably knew I would come up with an excuse earlier on the phone, hence the reason for her prompt hang up. Sneaky girl. I’m currently sitting in the passenger seat of Ryan’s sleek Mercedes…or should I say Ryan’s parents’ sleek Mercedes. I feel his eyes dart over to my bare legs every few minutes and it has me feeling self-conscious. Maybe a mini-skirt wasn’t the right attire since my legs are sticking to the leather despite the air-conditioning.

“I know this really great pizza place not far from here,” he says.

“Picorelli’s?” Bailey asks from the backseat.

“Yeah, you know it?”

“Carmine Picorelli went to my high school,” I say.

“The mascot guy?” Ryan asks. When I look at him, he smiles this flirtatious little grin. He’s really good looking. Too bad I’m not interested.

“The one and only,” Halton scoffs. I turn to see him throw an arm around Bailey and pull her close. “Didn’t he get hit by a car? I heard he died.”

“Miriam knows the story, right Miri?” Bailey spurs me on.

“Um, yeah, kind of. Carmine Picorelli dressed up as the school mascot and tried to pull some basketball player’s shorts down to humiliate him. Then the entire team jumped him. He ran out of the gym and got hit by a car. Something like that.”

“So he’s alive?”

“Of course!” Bailey shouts. I look back again and she rolls her eyes and smiles.

“He was pretty messed up though, wasn’t he?”

“Broke his leg and some ribs I think. Stitches in his head too,” I clarify, going by hearsay. Chris Loman on the way to City Hall in the front seat of his Bronco hearsay.

“So that’s why he limps. It all makes sense,” says Ryan.

“I don’t think he’ll ever walk normally again. Poor guy.”

“Poor dirtbag,” Halton pouts meanly. “Was he ever normal?”

“Play nice, Halton,” Bailey scolds.

“What? That guy’s an idiot. Total loser. Makes great ‘zza though.”

“Zza?” I ask.

“Yeah. Pizza.”

“I swear, Halton, all you think about is your stomach.”

“That’s not all I think about.”

I glance back and watch as Halton pulls Bailey’s head down toward his lap. She struggles and sits up in record time, slapping him in the arm. “Halton! Gross!”

“What?”

“Not funny.”

“Place is busy,” Ryan announces, pulling into the parking lot. Cruising down the aisle for a spot, my belly does a complete summersault when I notice a couple of Newton’s Landscaping trucks parked beside an old rusty Bronco. Chris Loman is here. The mere thought of his name has my palms sweating.

“It looks too busy. Probably a long wait and no tables. Want to go somewhere else?” I suggest, crossing my fingers in the process.

“It’s not that bad. Lets go in.”