I Love You Like That

by Heather Cumiskey

  She felt ugly for being so selfish. How could she think about herself now, when her family was writhing in utter turmoil? Especially Kerry. She was so young. What was our messed up family going to do to her?

  “Oh, Kerry,” she whispered, covering her nose and mouth with her hands. “Little girls need a mother. I know . . . because I need one, too.”

  July 1985

  CHAPTER 30

  darien, Connecticut

  HANNAH LEANED HER BU TT AGAINST THE DISPLAY CASE with her back to the mall traffic. It had been especially slow that day; she knew she wasn’t snubbing anyone. Her manager, Howie, always wanted them to stay busy refilling candy trays and making sure the bays were cleaned and straightened. He still hadn’t forgiven her for using Fantastik on the glass. Seriously, who knew there was a difference between glass versus all-purpose cleaner?

  The morning droned on as she restocked shelves and adjusted the temperature in the refrigerated case. The warmer the day, the more the chocolate formed little lady-bug-sized water droplets. She eyed the torn cuticle she desperately wanted to rip off and noticed a residual of her morning’s work under her left middle finger. She sighed.

  She was licking the last bit of chocolate off her nail when a deep, melodic voice interrupted her: “Excuse me?”

  Hannah’s head swung around, her hair falling into her eyes. With her finger embarrassingly still in her mouth, she froze at seeing the striking boy with the deep-set eyes standing before her. He looked about the same age as her. She’d never seen him before. His pretty face unsteadied her right away. His smooth cheekbones melted into chiseled hollows as if he was sucking them in, down to his GQ chin. She forgot to breathe.

  “Hi, can I help you?” she sputtered and reached for a piece of tissue paper, ready to retrieve his request. Her day had finally gotten interesting.

  “Are you guys hiring?”

  “Sure, let me get an application.” Hannah smiled, dropping the tissue, and walked around the bay to find the form. She passed him the paperwork, along with a pen from the register. “We’ll need your driver’s license.”

  She pretended to refill the same tray of chocolate caramel turtles that she had an hour ago. Its location provided the best angle from which to study the boy further.

  He wore a slightly wrinkled white button-down shirt and khaki pants with a denim jacket tucked under his arm. Preppy, but not over the top. Something about his attire told her he was filling out applications all over the mall.

  Rarely did a cute boy approach the candy counter. Most of her customers were harried parents with whiny kids or teenage girls traveling in packs. She dreaded the latter more. The stuck-up ones she recognized from school pretended not to know her, even the girls she’d met through Deacon. For fun, she liked to address one by name, which seemed to make everyone in the pack uncomfortable. Wait, you’re friends with her? they’d whisper loudly, if they were especially obnoxious. On cue, the girl would shake her head vehemently and rearrange her face to convey: Like that could be possible.

  Hannah saw it all: queen bees arm in arm with their fawning sidekicks, usually trailed by the weaker members of the clique. Each worked harder than the next to stay in the pack and avoid expulsion from the group. It amused her how they dressed alike in their Limited Express clothes—boxy, colorful cut-out T-shirts over a matching tank, paired with jean shorts or a miniskirt with white Keds and slouchy socks. They styled their hair the same, too—feathered away from their face, and usually in full imitation of the queen bee, who always wore it best.

  Last summer it would have bothered Hannah how they treated her. How they couldn’t stand up to their friends and acknowledge a fellow classmate, regardless of her social standing. All she saw now was a “girl prison,” one she no longer envied. Pa-the-tic, Hannah thought.

  The cute boy looked over his application for a moment. Then he came around to the other side of the shop to find her. He was handsome.

  Hannah grinned. “All done?”

  He handed her the application and his driver’s license. She wrote his license number on the form and handed back his ID. Bryan Summers, nice name.

  Howie, her manager, appeared out of nowhere just then, clearing his throat behind her. He was a cranky, hungry-looking man with a slight build and a long, thin nose that held up chunky glasses. His breath and body odor smelled of pickles. It was so pronounced that Hannah and the rest of the staff kept conversations with him to a minimum to avoid the rancid cloud that followed him.

  Howie coughed again and she didn’t bother to turn around.

  She glanced at the application. “Oh, you go to Trinity. I’m at Darien.”

  Bryan flashed a polite smile, and Hannah immediately felt herself get swallowed up by the whiteness of his teeth and the deep dimple that creased his chin. The moment lasted only a millisecond, to her dismay; then he averted his eyes and turned away, taking his radiant smile with him.

  She watched him walk away, wishing she could think of something else to ask him. Then his application got ripped from her hand—and a strong dill odor invaded her space.

  She turned to see Howie ripping the paper in half.

  “Why are you doing that? she demanded. “He seemed nice.”

  “We don’t hire that type,” Howie said, wrinkling his nose.

  “Why, because he’s black?” Hannah asked, already knowing his answer.

  “Get back to work.”

  At the end of her shift, Hannah spotted Bryan walking down one of the mall corridors. She grabbed her LeSportsac from under the candy counter and walked quickly after him. She began fumbling with the zipper on her purse as she passed him, hoping he’d notice her going by and say something, but when she looked up, he was studying something in a store window.

  “Any luck today?” she asked, making sure he heard her.

  “What?” he turned, a blank look on his face.

  “You know, with getting hired?”

  He looked perplexed. Then his face lit up. His wide smile reached his eyes and made them brighter. His GQ dimple also returned. “I must have applied at a zillion places,” he said, raising his brows. His animated face immediately put her at ease.

  “It’s kind of late in the season. They usually hire in the spring for summer jobs.”

  “Yeah, figures.”

  “Where else are you looking?”

  “Bennigan’s.”

  “Ever been a waiter before?”

  “Nope,” he said with an exaggerated, robotic nod “yes.” The corners of Hannah’s mouth curled up. She liked his attitude.

  “They said that the best I could get without experience was seating host. Meaning no tips. I’m Bryan, by the way,” he said extending his hand. His fingers felt cooler to the touch than hers, and smoother, too.

  “Hannah.”

  “Want to get something to eat?”

  They sat across from one another at a booth in the food court. He got a McDonald’s meal with a Big Mac and large fries. Hannah’s stomach was still churning from the zoo of gummies she’d eaten that day. She decided on a strawberry shake when he offered to pay for her. The additional sugar didn’t help, but at least it was cold.

  “So,” Bryan said, “you go to Darien. Do you know Steve McGuiness?”

  “No,” she said quietly. She hated questions that started with “do you know,” because she usually never did. It made her seem like a loser; how could she possibly not know the person they were talking about? Everybody knows so-and-so, he’s the funniest, best guy ever. What? Don’t you have a pulse? “It’s a big place,” she added.

  “He just graduated,” Bryan said.

  “Oh . . . I’m a junior.” See, not even in the same grade.

  “Me too.” He smiled. “Got to start earning some cash if I’m going to drive to school this year.”

  “At least you have a car. So, where do you live?”

  Their conversation flowed effortlessly. She couldn’t believe they’d just met. He was funny, too, in a self-depr
ecating way, which she hadn’t expected. Someone as good-looking as him could definitely be stuck up, she said to herself. Then she realized she was doing what she found annoying in other people— making quick judgments before getting to know someone.

  Just when she thought they’d run out of things to say, he came up with more questions for her. “So, what kind of movies do you like?”

  “Comedies mostly . . . romantic ones too.” She laughed and pulled at the ends of her hair. She tucked her clammy palms under her legs to stop her urge to twirl it. “Guess that sounds pretty lame.”

  “Not at all. Those are good.” He smiled, watching her face, and took a sip of his soda. She wondered what he was thinking. “So no slasher or action movies for you?” he said.

  “Only if Freddy Kreuger wasn’t so ugly and Arnold Schwarzenegger wasn’t as annoying.”

  “Who would win in a battle, Freddy or Arnold?”

  “Let’s see . . . both are pretty cranky . . . The Terminator does dress better . . . though Freddy does like his hats and horizontal stripes.”

  “That he does,” he nodded, chuckling.

  “Freddy can walk through walls and perform supernatural things on people in their sleep. Arnold just blows everyone away. He does have a great accent, though.”

  “Hmm . . . true, all true.”

  Hannah shrugged. “It’s a tie. Unless . . . Freddy is invisible and his powers work on machines. Then it’s all Freddy.”

  Bryan laughed. Hannah liked being able to make him do that. How funny it was that someone as handsome and as nice as he was could find her interesting when most of her male classmates ignored her. Why is that? she wondered. Once a loser, always a loser in their eyes. She wished some of those kids could see her now.

  “What do you like to do after work?” Bryan asked. “Let me guess . . . shop?”

  Hannah smirked, lifting one side of her mouth, “Yeah, especially at Chess King. Wish I had that employee discount.”

  “Hey, hey . . . not fair . . . I just applied there.” He laughed, raising his palms in defense.

  They were both smiling when Hannah noticed someone approaching her booth out of her peripheral vision.

  “Hey,” Peter said stiffly, unloading his attitude full-throttle in her direction.

  “H-hi,” she replied. Her eyes bounced between the two boys. “Ah, Peter, this is Bryan . . .”

  Without acknowledging him, Peter blurted out, “I was waiting outside for you.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know. I usually walk home.”

  “Yeah, well,” he said, looking away and shifting his weight from side to side.

  She felt caught, like she was doing something bad. But was she? She rose out of her seat and then remembered her shake. She turned to grab it—and that’s when she saw him, staring at her from several booths away. Oh. My. God. No way.

  Hannah glanced back at the table, feeling dizzy. “Nice meeting you, Bryan. And good luck with the job search.”

  “Thanks.” He nodded in the same polite manner he’d used applying at The Candy House.

  Hannah stopped Peter as he was opening his car door. “What was that all about?”

  He looked off to the side. “Are you dating him?”

  “What? No! I just met him. He applied for a job at my work.”

  “Now you’re working together?”

  “What in the world? I’ve never seen you act like this.”

  “It’s nothing. Forget it. Here, get in.”

  CHAPTER 31

  HANNAH DECIDED TO IGNORE PETER’S LITTLE OUTBURST when she got home. She’d come clean about how she felt about him. She didn’t need to explain herself. Now it was up to him to get over it. She dropped her purse in her room and was heading for the fridge when the phone rang. She already knew who it was.

  “It’s okay,” she said interrupting his stream of rationale.

  “It’s not like you can’t talk to another guy . . . I’m not saying that. I know that we’re on sort of a break. I was moving too fast. Man, I just can’t let you go right now. I’m trying, Hannah, I am. When I saw you with that guy, it just looked like you had already moved on—”

  “It wasn’t like that—”

  “It’s just that when you didn’t come outside after work, I got worried and went looking for you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to pick me up.”

  She heard him clear his throat and slip a smile into his voice. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Thanks, but—”

  “That okay? We’re still friends, right?”

  “Sure, but . . . you can’t act like that if I talk to a guy.”

  “You were smiling . . .”

  “Yeah . . . what, I can’t make friends at work?” Where is he going with this?

  “You’re friends now?”

  Yeah, Hannah Zandana has made a friend, stop the presses!

  “I thought you just met.”

  “We did . . . we were just talking, Peter. It doesn’t mean we’re going out.” She twirled the phone cord around her wrist, cutting off its circulation. A headache was already forming from her overdose of sugar at work. The McDonald’s shake definitely didn’t help.

  “Listen,” she said, “forget it. It’s over. I’m beat, though. We’ll talk later?”

  “Hold on. The reason why I wanted to surprise you was because I got your birthday present already.”

  “Peter, you don’t—”

  “I know, but you’re going to be so psyched.”

  “What?”

  “I got Cure tickets. They’re playing at the Palace in New Haven. We can go before I have to leave for school.”

  “Oh, cool,” she said, ignoring the sinking feeling inside her chest. She pulled on the ends of her hair and wondered if she wished she were going with Deacon, or if something else was gnawing at her. “Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks. You’re right. I’m psyched.”

  “Awesome!” Peter said, back to his old self.

  “Okay, bye.”

  She could hear how happy he was and it made her feel guilty for agreeing to go. This was not going to help cool things between them. Then again, it was The Cure; how could she say no?

  She wandered into the living room and stopped short at the sight of Kerry sitting in front of the TV. She had the sound off and was busily coloring. Her little sister was so quiet these days, almost invisible. She’d probably heard her whole conversation with Peter.

  “Whatcha doing there, Kerry-girl?”

  Her little sister didn’t look up. She had four white sheets of paper lined up, each one with a different jagged figure with checkmarks for eyes and an “X” for the lips, sealing the mouth.

  Hannah changed the channel and plopped down next to her. Her sister’s fingers were white, curled around the crayon from gripping so hard. Suddenly, the paper she was working on ripped.

  “What’s wrong?” Hannah laid a light hand on Kerry’s back. “Tell me, what is it?”

  Kerry squinted like she was about to get a shot at the doctor’s; a wave of pain journeyed down her face and into her trembling lips. She sniffled and ran the back of her palm under her nose.

  Hannah reached for the tissue box off the coffee table. “Here you go.”

  “Mommy forgot me today . . . she left me in the car at the grocery store,” she spurted between hiccups.

  “What? How?”

  “I woke up and she was gone.”

  “For how long? Oh my God, Kerry, I’m so sorry.” Hannah tried to pull Kerry into her arms but her little body stiffened against her touch. “Does Dad know?”

  Kerry shook her head and blew into the tissue.

  “Want me to talk to Mom? Where is she?”

  “She’s out. Said she had to go to another store.”

  “Why didn’t you just go in and find her?”

  “People were in the parking lot . . .” Kerry’s eyes pooled before spilling down her cheeks. “I hid under the seat so no one would see me . . . it was so hot . . . me and Droge
were so thirsty.”

  “Why did you hide?”

  “If anyone saw me . . . they’d know I was left. I don’t want people thinking bad things about Mommy or get her in trouble. They could take me from her . . . or put Mommy away again.”

  “It’s not okay for her to leave you like that, you’re too little to be left alone. Her job is to protect you. Something could have happened—” Hannah stopped, not wanting to scare her.

  “I didn’t want Mommy to get mad . . . like last time. She said if I unlock the door, strangers could steal me . . . I don’t want to be stolen, Hannah!” She blubbered harder.

  “She’s done this before?”

  Kerry didn’t say anything. Hannah lifted her little sister’s chin.

  “Tell me. Has Mom left you . . . more than once?”

  Kerry shifted nervously, her face now pink. She stared past Hannah’s shoulder and sullenly nodded. Her chin dimpled before she collapsed into Hannah’s lap, her tiny arms reaching around her sister’s body.

  Now she’s ignoring Kerry, her little golden child?

  A familiar ache stabbed at Hannah’s chest and traveled down to her thumbs. Seeing Kerry crumble was like seeing herself at that age. She winced at the memories she’d buried —those times, too many to count, when she was little, her feet dangling off the car’s bench seat, being strapped under a seatbelt, and told not to move . . . as she waited for her mother to come back for her.

  She’d made up games to pass the time back then. Her favorite one had been playing a princess and deciding who could stay and who had to leave her kingdom. She’d sing herself a magical song, and then another one, burying her head over her lap so no one could steal her magic.