I stood at one of the carriage house’s open windows and experimented with breathing. Inhale, exhale. Inhale…
Hey, not bad. Three deep breaths before I felt like coughing. A big improvement over the hack-a-lung episodes I’d had earlier in the week. Helped that the air was moist and warm today. And sweet. The grass was beginning to go from April blah to May hoorah and the smell of awakening earth and fresh growing things was a fine cure for my ails.
It was a gorgeous Saturday afternoon and the denizens of Fenton were enjoying the sun and the air too. A couple of ’em were slapping burgers and dogs around on a Weber the size of the mother ship in Close Encounters. Smoke wafted over the sloping lawn where a dozen of their fellow brothers played ultimate Frisbee. Mmm. Grilled meat. Laughing shirtless guys.
Wyatt was missing from the scene. Too bad. All those half-naked, ripped boys were gonna have to go without my ogling. I was sure they’d weep if they knew. My lips twitched as I turned away from the window and went back to the grilled cheese I was frying up on a new-to-me pan.
I was debating whether I should use a plate or take my chances with burned fingertips and snarf right over the pan, when I heard (and felt) the clump-clump-clump that meant someone was coming up the carriage house stairs.
My heart performed a joyful leap and I rolled my eyes at its antics. It had only been two days since I’d seen Wyatt. We’d texted heaps in those forty-eight hours, yet I was having Earp-withdrawal symptoms. At the end of the week, I’d had to work three double shifts in a row because Dottie had been battling an ugly flu bug. Then I’d come down with the flu because no good deed goes unpunished. Continuing the good-deed theme, Lisa, my manager at the diner, brought me soup so it was likely she’d end up with the dread disease next.
I’d made Wyatt stay away because he had a crap load of work to turn in and even though he seemed to thrive on challenges, I didn’t think the challenge of coping with his schedule while deathly ill was one he oughta meet.
I turned off the range, wiped my hands on my jeans. The clumping noises had stopped but now I heard something that sounded like stifled giggles. Maybe it wasn’t Wyatt at the door…
“You in there, Ray? I’ve got a surprise.”
Yep. It was him. I walked toward the door, smiling. “Um, I’m not sure I’m here. Depends on what the surprise is.”
“A good one,” came the response amidst more shushed giggling.
Hey. I recognized that giggle. My smile widened. The second I unlocked the door it swung open. Next second, Dave was in my arms.
I bolstered my bare feet on the slick floor. “Whoa!” I laugh-gasped as my ribs got squeezed. “Hey there, Goomba.”
“Surprise!” he hooted. He pulled back to look up into my face. “It’s a good one, right? It was Wyatt’s idea. Can’t believe I didn’t think of this before…”
I met Wyatt’s eyes. Hard to know what was making my heart boogie harder—Wyatt’s grin or Dave’s laughter.
With a typical brain bounce, Dave pulled away from me and bounded into the center of the room.
“Wow!” He spun, taking in the space with wide eyes, his sneakers squeaking. “This is so cool. I love it! Where’s the furniture?”
“Uh…still in the store,” I said.
“Ray’s too cool for the stuff the big house has in storage,” Wyatt said with fake-sounding regret.
“Right.” I nodded. “It’s all about coolness. Nothing to do with filth.”
“No big. All you really need is a bed, right?” Dave kicked off his sneaks and bounced onto the futon mattress beneath the open window. “Can use ’em for eating and sleeping and sitting and all kinds of crap.” He leaned out over the windowsill, easily conquering the deep breathing exercises I’d been attempting earlier.
“Yep.” Wyatt slanted me an evil glance. “All kinds of crap.”
I conquered his evil glance by giving his long body a good once-over.
Dave rose to the balls of his feet, testing the mattress’s give like the bed-bouncing connoisseur that he was. “You could get a couch like couch-thing. That would be cool.”
“It would,” I agreed. I hadn’t given much thought to furniture other than that I needed to upgrade my sleeping bag nest to a softer place to pass out every night.
I’d saved three hundred bucks in tips the last two weeks and I’d splurged on the hundred-dollar futon mattress that had come with free delivery. I’d slept on it for three nights, and right now it was the only thing taking up space on the still proudly shiny floor.
“Better view than from my old basement digs?” I joined Dave at the window.
He looked good—same old Dave with his crazy elf grin. I probably should’ve asked him what he planned on telling his dad if he asked how he’d spent his afternoon…and I probably should have asked Wyatt if he was aware that Dave hanging with me was a big no-no. But seeing Dave felt as good as feeling the sun on my face. Why would I throw Tom-shade at this unexpected goodness? I wanted to hug Dave, to make him sit down and tell me shit, to ask him how the hell he’d been doing. Tom had given him permission to text with me for a few minutes last week. He’d told me he was seeing a counselor with Tom twice a week now and I figured he had enough adults prodding at him with questions.
“Way better.” Dave turned to me and grinned. “And way more action too. Do they have teams?”
“Teams?”
“Yeah. For ultimate. Looks like a blast.”
“Sometimes they have teams, but right now it’s just a pick-up game.” Wyatt joined us on the bed. He’d kicked off his size thirteens at the door. His big body was pumping guy-vibes into every corner of the room, bombarding the space with all kinds of shit that buzzed my senses. His sport-fresh scent. The brightness of his smile. The easy-familiar sound of his breathing.
His shoulder brushed mine as we stood at the window. He looked down at me at the same moment I looked up. He winked. “Hey, Ray.” A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. His red T-shirt was tight. Faded jeans were playing a lovely game of loosey-goosey on his hips.
My features were not obeying my brain’s request to be still. I could feel some kind of twisted thing happening between my mouth and my cheekbones. A smile, no doubt.
“Hey,” I responded in brilliant fashion.
“Hungry for some lunch?”
I glanced over at the grilled cheese congealing on the range. “I could eat.” Before I had time to wonder if I had enough supplies for more sandwiches, Dave boinged off the mattress.
“I almost forgot!” he hooted as he headed to the door. “We stopped at the Sub Shop.” He unzipped a backpack I hadn’t noticed in the joy of seeing him again and retrieved a bulging white sack. “Triple cheese with the works for Wy and meatballs for me and you.” He opened the pack and handed a paper-wrapped bundle to Wyatt. “I told Wy how we always go for the big balls.” His goofball chuckle had both Wyatt and me snickering.
“Awesome.” I gestured at the floor. “Have a seat at my new table.”
My appetite wasn’t quite up to snuff because of getting over the flu. I only managed about a third of the sandwich. Wyatt and Dave were still snarfing and, after setting my sandwich aside, I stretched out on the floor and listened to them discuss basketball strategy.
The noontime sun and happy voices were making me drowsy when the topic drifted to video games.
“Hey, Ray,” Dave chirped.
“Hey, what?”
“Dad finally agreed to let me download Minecraft for PC and guess who’s an expert at playing?”
“Um…”
“Wyatt! His skills are so sick. His brothers play all the time and he knows all kinds of sick tricks.”
“Sick,” I said, raising a brow at Wyatt.
He smiled. “Renaissance man, here.”
I closed my eyes as the convo drifted into the finer art of creating shit in the Minecraft world. My brain whirred through details of possible scenarios wherein Wyatt would be at Tom’s house hanging out with Dave. For long enough to download and play computer games. Before I could drift into any feelings of jealousy or woe, I made myself sit up. I gathered the sandwich garbage and stuffed it into the white bag.
It was good that Dave had a new friend. It was good that Wyatt had been spending time with him. Wyatt was a good guy. A much more reasonable guy-influence for Dave than Tom. Or me. A snort escaped me and Wyatt stopped talking to Dave. Our eyes met.
He smiled. Friendly, warm, caring. Yeah. A very good guy. A good friend. All that stuff.
His gaze traveled across the freshly painted walls. “You’ve made some progress with painting, I see.”
“Yup.” I cleared my throat. The last time we’d spoken I’d been all flu-floppy and he’d made me promise to leave off painting or let him help. Guess I broke that promise.
“I think you should’ve gone for something other than white,” Dave said.
“Like what?” I asked.
“Purple. Or electric blue.” Dave’s gaze cruised the wide, tall walls. “Black woulda been cool too.”
I laughed and Wyatt said, “Nah, I really like the white. It’s a classic. Suits Ray.”
“Right.” I laughed some more. “Cuz I’m such a classic.”
Wyatt leaned back on one elbow, deliberately scrutinizing me. My gaze shifted downward, following his. I’d done some painting after the breakfast shift at the diner. My most tattered jeans graced my legs—black stovepipes that had faded to dove gray. A few years back I’d patched the ass and one knee with fabric from a tartan flannel shirt, a shirt very similar to the one I was wearing over a raggedy-edged Sid Vicious tee. The shirts, the jeans and pretty much every other part of me was covered with white paint spatters. Yep. I was a classic, all right. Jackson Pollock-esque.
“How you feeling?” Wyatt asked.
“Better.” My betraying body decided to launch a cough into my throat at that very moment. My eyes watered as I fought back.
“Do I need to go on a cig hunt?” Dave asked me. “You been holding out?”
I rolled my eyes. “No.”
“I throw ’em away whenever I find ’em,” Dave told Wyatt with a triumphant glance.
Wyatt leaned over and high-fived him. “Good job, man.”
“Yeah, great,” I muttered. Let’s make Ray even more broke by throwing away perfectly good smokes! I tossed the Sub Shop bag in the trash and walked over to the window and shut it. Wyatt was still checking me out and goose bumps were rising on my skin.
A phone chirped. It wasn’t mine. I’d bought a cheap pay-as-you-go deal and I had it set on vibrate because I didn’t wanna bother with its cheesy settings.
Wyatt pulled his iPhone from his pocket. He scowled at it before putting it back. “Hate to break up the party, Dave, but your dad is waiting for us at his office.”
“Ugh,” Dave groaned. “I was hoping we could head home. If we go to the office there’s a chance I’ll have to talk to Lauren and maybe see Taylor.” He said the name in a singsongy tone that ended in a gagging sound. It was the same noise he made when he had to watch Barbie commercials on Cartoon Network.
“Who are Lauren and Taylor?” I asked.
“Lauren’s some new person who works with Dad. Taylor’s her daughter.”
“Girlfriend material?” I raised my brows at him.
“Eew! C’mon, Ray, really? God, she’s in, like, the fourth grade!” His hands came up to his throat, his fingers clenching in a strangling motion. Gurgling, gagging noises and bulging eyes added pop to the impressive display of disgust.
“Oh, right, a whole year younger than you.” I laughed. “I was talking Lauren and your dad, doofus.”
“Oh.” His elfin cheeks went rosy. “Yeah. Probably.”
“Hmm. You okay with that?”
“Yeah. I guess. Lauren seems all right. And she seems to take Dad’s mind off of my shit. Which is definitely all right.”
I cast a furtive glance at Dave’s arms and hands. Healthy pink. His eyes were clear, no ugly caverns or sinkholes surrounding them. Good signs he probably was okay with Tom’s new love interest. Tom was one of those guys who, despite all his failed marriages and affairs, still believed in twu wuv. He was always happy to scrounge around for his old rose-colored glasses so he could polish ’em up and try them out on a new lady.
If he was in the throes of the giddy first phase of gettin’ it awwwn with a new gal, that could mean more flexible rules for Dave. And me, maybe, if I wanted to re-open lines of communication. I ran my tongue over the inside of my cheek. Should I ask Dave if he wanted me to see if I could wheedle Tom into letting him see me more often? Or would that mess things up for Davey? Like make things more complicated if he was getting used to dealing with Tom’s crap without me?
Wyatt stood and walked to the door. “C’mon, bud. We gotta get a move on.” He stepped into his shoes and gestured at Dave to follow suit. Dave obeyed, no protest, no eye-rolling.
Interesting. My eyes followed his movements as he tied his shoes neatly and picked up his backpack. He was a mirror image of his much taller buddy who was going through the same motions next to him. The way he grinned up at Wyatt and the way Wyatt ruffled his hair made a lump rise in my throat.
“Okay, then,” I said. “Thanks for coming by.” My voice—and the words—sounded weirdly formal. “It was fun.” I tried to crack a smile. See? I was happy. Normal. Good.
“You should come with us,” Wyatt said. “I’ve got to run a few errands after. You could keep me company.”
“Um, that’s probably not—”
“Yeah!” Dave chirped. “You gotta. You can tell Dad about your new living scene. You haven’t told him yet, have you?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Nope,” I said.
At first I’d been kind of excited about telling Tom about my Fenton adventures. Gray-area smash on your black-and-white world, bucko!
But then I’d started working on the place, spiffing things up, adding a few personal touches, making the space cool. And then Earp and I started to hang out a lot and so I got busy with stuff I was actually liking and…I don’t know. I wasn’t feeling like smashing a lot of worlds right now. In fact, I wanted things to stay like they were. Just ride this little wave of happiness while ducking any big family waves. I could do that for a couple of weeks, right? And then term would be over and things would change and I’d figure out next steps when absolutely necessary—
“It’ll be good, Ray,” Dave casually interrupted my life analysis. “I think Dad will be okay if he finds out I hung out with you. We just have to tell him Wyatt was hanging with us. I know it’ll score points with him when he figures out you and Wyatt are friends. Dad looooves Wyatt.”
Wyatt’s gaze shot to mine. He was a clever guy and, yeah, his big ears had to be perking up on the unspoken shit gurgling beneath what Dave had just said.
“Of course he loves Wyatt,” I said. “Wyatt’s da bomb. Way more lovable than I am.” My delivery was off. I’d wanted to drum up some lighthearted humor, but the air in the room got heavy with silence. “You guys go on,” I said. “I’ve got stuff I need to do here.” I took a step toward the paint cans. I could get started on the other wall while there was still good daylight. Because painting walls white was such a kick-butt way to spend a Saturday night.
Dave’s smile went slack as his gaze bounced between me and Wyatt.
“Nope.” Wyatt picked up my jacket and held it out to me. “You’re riding with us. I need your help with those errands.” He slanted a discreet glance at Dave before narrowing his eyes at me, like “what the fuck’s the problem?”
“Okay,” I breathed. “Let’s blow this joint.” I was capable of being reasonable. For maybe three minutes a month.
Dave shouldered his backpack and crossed the room to put his hand in mine. He laughed and pulled me toward the door.
On the ride over to the business building, I got Dave giggling when I told him some riddles I’d been saving up for him. One of his favorite books was The Hobbit and he took gleeful pleasure in making me reenact the scenes where Bilbo and Gollum exchange riddles (he played Bilbo, I played Gollum). I knew I’d jazz his mood if I used my very best Gollum voice to relate the riddles (my impression was truly precious…ha, ha). By the time we pulled up to the snazzy courtyard entry of Tom’s building, all three of us were giggling hard, filling the cab of the truck with rainbow-hued bubbles of hilarity. I didn’t want to open the door because I knew the bubbles would float away or pop.
Dave peered around me to look out the window. “There’s Dad.”
Yep. There he was. Sitting on a polished granite bench with a blonde. He was smiling, the breeze ruffling his dark, cropped hair.
“That’s Lauren,” Dave told me.
I nodded. She looked like a nerdy, older version of Cameron Diaz. Dimples. Flat-ironed hair. Lots of leg.
“Lauren Nowicky,” Wyatt said. “She’s an adjunct from Penn. Brilliant, if her publications are anything to go by.”
I wanted to say, “Well, she can’t be too brilliant if she’s hooking up with Tom,” but I restrained myself and said, “Ah.”
“Are you getting out, Ray?”
Getting out would be the right thing to do. Probably. Get out of the truck and have a reasonable conversation with Tom. Say hello and quit hiding—
Tom turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he looked into the truck’s cab. My stomach muscles contracted and I struggled to suck in oil-scented air.
Yeah, Tom, it’s me…are you going to be Daddy Jekyll or Professor Hyde today? Will I get sneers and a brush off? Will I get sorrowful looks of disappointment?
I swallowed a gulp of salty saliva, as I abruptly got caught in the undertow of one of those parental waves I’d been thinking I should avoid. When was the last time Tom had been kind to me? Proud of me? When I was ten?
“Ray?”
“Nah…” I hesitated.
He turned off the truck and handed me the keys. “Okay. Then can you keep an eye on the truck while I run in to get something from the TA’s office? Parking’s a bitch around here. You can move it if anyone gives you trouble.”
“Sure, I’ll keep an eye on her.” I took the keys, patted the seat. It was a good old truck. Comforting. Not Jekyll and Hyde-ish.
Dave grinned at me before picking up his backpack. “See ya, Ray!”
My arm jerked and I almost reached for him. I wanted to hug him, tell him how awesome it had been to see him today. But he was already scrambling out of the cab, following Wyatt out of the driver’s side door.
Tom’s smile as he greeted Dave and Wyatt was wide and white, his crow’s feet crinkling in what appeared to be genuine good humor. Or maybe he was just putting on a show of professorial and parental splendor for his new gal, Lauren.
Tom’s gaze drifted toward the truck. He gave me a brief salute. I saluted back. Tom turned away. Quickly. His brown suede jacket pulled tight across his shoulders as he clapped a hand on Wyatt’s upper arm. Was that a snub? A dismissal? And if it was, should I care? Could be, as Tom had pointed out during our last discussion, I was just overly dramatic. Maybe I was reading too much into other people’s actions. I clenched the door handle, reconsidering my choice to stay in the Ford’s friendly confines. Before I could hop out, I saw Wyatt wave goodbye to Tom’s happy crew. He bounded up the building’s sparkly granite steps and through the impressive glass doors.
My hand dropped from the handle. Weird of me—and probably wimpy—but I didn’t want to deal with Tom without a Wyatt buffer. Without Wyatt there, Tom was likely to goad me about bullet points and ask why I hadn’t tackled them all yet. The last couple weeks I’d been feeling good about life for the first time in forever. It would suck to have those feelings shot down by a few deal-with-reality reminders.
As Tom, Dave and Lauren headed away from the building and toward the sidewalk where the truck was parked, I realized I had the perfect means of escape.
I sidled across the seat, situated myself beneath the steering wheel, buckled up and cranked the ignition. My legs weren’t as long as Wyatt’s and my boots did a slide-y-slip on the accelerator, but after that first violent lurch it was smooth sailing. Okay, so I almost creamed a guy in a Saab traveling the opposite direction, but I controlled the veer without overcompensating.
Dang! The V-8 under the hood was ready for some shittin’ and gittin’.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Tom, Dave and Lauren were standing on the sidewalk watching me drive away. Dave’s mouth was wide open—I could almost hear his hoot of laughter. Tom’s mouth was firmly closed. Lauren’s registered only as a coral-pink smear.
The toes on my right foot curled inside my boot. Pedal-to-the-metal was an almost uncontrollable urge. Almost.
I eased off the gas. The breath I’d been holding slowly left my lungs. This wasn’t my machine. It belonged to a guy I didn’t want to leave behind. This knowledge was strong. Stronger than the boot resting too heavily on the accelerator pedal. I guided the truck gently around the next corner.
The drive around the block wasn’t as rockin’ as I’d hoped. Too much traffic. Too many crosswalks. But I cranked the radio and put on the sheriff’s sunglasses and felt pretty good. As I approached the business building—rolling at a much more sedate pace—I was relieved to see Tom and company were gone, but Earp was back, hanging out with a girl I’d never seen before, standing on the curb, craning his neck, obviously looking for his missing truck.
I pulled up, hitting the brake a tad too hard. Tires squeaked on the pavement. Oops. Leaning across the seat, I rolled down the passenger window. “Climb in,” I hollered.
He looked startled. By my command? By the shit-eating grin on my face? By the sound of the rrrrrev-revving engine? By the tinny sound of the radio straining to do justice to the oldies station? (The Doors. Hello I Love You. Perfect poetry, really.)
He didn’t look alarmed for long. “You driving?”
“Yup.”
He shot into action, opening the passenger side door, tossing a canvas bag of books onto the seat. His moves were smooth, and he fastened his belt with a slick swish and click. He cast a glance my way, his mouth lopsided with a smirk-smile. “You look hot in my shades.”
“Of course,” I said.
Beyond his broad chest, through the open window, the girl he’d been talking to was watching us. The half-stunned look on her face twanged a discordant tune along my spine. In the interest of harmony—and turning her expression into something altogether different—I leaned into Wyatt, slid my fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and kissed him. For a good twenty seconds. Very good. There was tongue. And, eventually, heavy breathing.
When I opened my eyes, the girl was gone and Wyatt’s hands were cupping my face. Mission accomplished.
“Ready?” I asked, readjusting the seatbelt, shifting back behind the wheel.
“Hell yes.”