“All I remember is that we ate popcorn, and she kept giving us art projects to do.”
Christy laughed. “I remember the popcorn too.”
They walked to the truck, and Matt drove to their junior high as they continued to reminisce.
“I didn’t like junior high very much,” Christy confessed. “I was so self-conscious all the time.”
“Everybody is self-conscious in junior high,” Matt said. “All I remember is playing baseball in seventh grade and our city league won the play-offs.”
“Do you still play baseball?”
“Every chance I get.”
“Let’s go to the park,” Christy suggested, cutting their visit to the junior high short. “I want to see where you play ball.”
Matt drove, talking all the way about his long list of sports accomplishments. Christy took it all in, recognizing the names of a lot of the other players Matt talked about. It was almost as if he were catching her up on an era of life she had missed out on when she moved. And to hear him tell it, Christy actually felt sorry she hadn’t been there for some of the hometown events. The blizzards, the class picnics, the parades, and the football games all sounded so appealing. Nothing like that had been part of her high school years in Escondido.
Matt conducted a tour of the baseball field and the new soccer field before driving her to the back side of the high school. He parked the truck and challenged her to a race to the top of the bleachers that overlooked the football field. Matt won.
Christy reached the top, laughing and yelling, “No fair! You had a head start in the parking lot. And you’ve probably done this before, right?” She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, trying to catch her breath.
“A time or two,” Matt said, only slightly out of breath.
Christy turned to survey the football field. “I suppose you have some great stories about victories you’ve won on this field in the past few years.”
“No,” Matt said. “I spent most of my time warming the bench. We had some really good players this year. Do you remember Kevin Johnson? He won a scholarship to Michigan State.”
“You’re kidding. That’s awesome.” As soon as Christy said “awesome,” she thought of Doug. “Awesome” was Doug’s favorite word. Why did she feel funny thinking about him when she was with Matt? Wasn’t it normal, even a good thing, to have lots of guys as friends?
If she had been alone, Christy would have sat down on the bleachers in the coolness of the early July evening in peaceful Brightwater. She would have drawn in the familiar fragrances in the air: the cut grass, the hint of a dairy farm to the south, and the faint scent of the metal bleachers cooling after baking all day in the summer sunshine.
It would have been a perfect opportunity for her to do some soul-searching and to discover why she had spent the last few years experiencing such yo-yo emotions over guys, especially Todd. She knew she didn’t want to go with Doug simply because Todd was gone, but she didn’t have a plan. Her responses to guys always had been based on what came to her at the moment. Christy realized she had never determined ahead of time what she wanted in her relationships.
And how did she feel about Matt? How did he feel about her? Why had he sought her out? He seemed to have bounced back from the comment she had made earlier about how he should tell her the details of his dating life since he knew hers. But he hadn’t answered her question about Melissa, which led Christy to believe they had gone together in the past.
Unfortunately, that was all the soul-searching she was able to do as she stood at the top of the bleachers, because she wasn’t alone. Matt already was heading back to the truck, promising her one more surprise on his tour.
He drove through Brightwater, heading north until he came to Ollie’s Peewee Golf, where he pulled into the parking lot and stopped the truck. With a smile he turned to Christy and said, “Does this bring back any memories?”
Christy held her hand to her forehead and lowered her head. “I’ve been trying to forget,” she said with a laugh.
“Your birthday party,” Matt prompted her.
Christy looked up and shook her head. “That was in fifth grade. My aunt Marti came for my birthday that July and insisted I invite everyone from my class so it would be my first boy-girl party. How can you still remember that?”
“Easy,” Matthew said, opening his door and getting out. “That was the first time Paula told me you liked me.”
8
s soon as his declaration was made, he shut the door, leaving Christy to open her own door. Her heart pounded as she squeezed the door handle. Now what do I say?
Christy hesitated before joining Matt at the gate that led to the miniature golf course. He was pulling some money from his pocket and paying the girl at the front ticket booth.
“Are we actually going to play miniature golf?” Christy asked.
“Sure. Or don’t you do that anymore?” He didn’t appear interested in discussing his last statement about Paula. At least not now.
Christy wasn’t sure what to say.
“Come on,” Matt said, handing her a golf club and a bright blue golf ball. “It’ll be fun.”
Matt was right. Playing golf at Ollie’s was fun. She sunk a hole in one at the windmill and burst out laughing, holding her club high in the air as a victory salute.
The other miniature golfers watched Christy and Matt as they broke into a pretend argument in which Matt accused her of cheating.
“There is no way I could have cheated!” Christy exclaimed. “You saw the whole thing. I lined it up, just like you’ve been telling me, I hit it through the windmill, and it rolled right into the hole. You’re just worried because I might catch up with your score.”
“I’ve never seen anyone get a hole in one on the windmill,” Matt said. “And I’m not worried about your catching up. You would have to score a hole in one on the remaining five for that to happen.”
“Oh yeah?” Christy said playfully, pushing up her sweatshirt’s sleeves. “Then watch me.”
Matt followed her to the next green, where she put down her blue ball and carefully lined herself up with the zigzag obstacle course. She took extra time evaluating the direction her ball would most likely go.
“Anytime now,” Matt said.
Christy turned and glared at him. “Do you mind? I’m concentrating.”
Matt held up his hands and took two steps back, giving Christy her space and silence. With great flare she whacked her ball. It flew over the obstacles, past the hole, and onto the cement sidewalk that lined the course. She slowly turned to see Matt’s reaction. He had his hand over his mouth, but his brown eyes were laughing at her.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “That might have been a little too hard. I think I should get to do it over.”
“Nope,” Matt said, stepping up to the green. “You have to play the ball where it lands.”
“Oh, come on! This is peewee golf! Have you no mercy?”
“Not much. Would you mind stepping aside?”
Christy went after her ball, hoping she hadn’t had an audience for that last hit the way she had at the windmill. Glancing around, she noticed that she and Matt were the only high school or college-age students there. Aside from a few parents playing with younger children, the crowd was mostly grade school kids.
She smiled, remembering her eleventh birthday and how Aunt Marti had tried, with little success, to organize all twenty-three kids who showed up. Christy remembered clearly the moment Paula came up to Christy by the volcano on the fourth hole and whispered in her ear, “I told Matthew Kingsley that you like him and you want him to give you a birthday kiss.”
Christy remembered feeling paralyzed by Paula’s announcement yet thrilled enough to catch her breath and ask, “And what did he say?”
Paula’s response had been, “He’s such a brat. He said he would rather kiss a toad.”
Christy could remember feeling as if a grenade had landed in a previously undisturbed cor
ner of her heart, the corner where she hid her secret wishes and dreams. That corner was secluded, hidden from view so she could go deep within herself when she wanted to be alone. If she lingered there a moment or an hour, she always emerged with her lips turned up and her cheeks rosy with hope.
That fateful July 27, seven years ago, was the first time someone had broken through the wall of that secluded corner and destroyed one of her private dreams. And to think that someone had been Matthew Kingsley, with his merciless I’d-rather-kiss-a-toad statement.
Christy returned to the green with a scowl on her face and a strong feeling that she wanted to punch Matt in the stomach and see how he liked it. She played the last four holes with him quietly, smiling politely when he did a little dance at the last hole to celebrate his overwhelming victory. But inside she was simmering. Why couldn’t boys be taught to be nice to girls? Why did she go on liking him all those years after he said that?
As they turned in their clubs, Matt asked if she would like to get something else to eat.
“I don’t know what time it is,” Christy said. “I should probably get back.”
“You’re right,” Matt said. “It’s probably close to ten.”
He drove to her grandparents’ home, his silence matching hers. When they pulled into the driveway, Matt asked, “Are you okay, Christy? You turned kind of quiet.”
Oh, so now you’re Mr. Sensitivity, and you suddenly realize that girls have feelings?
She didn’t think she wanted to open up to him now, even if he might be understanding. After all, he was the reason the cloud of gloom had come over her—or rather, a much younger version of Matt was the one responsible for her problem. How fair was it to blame this Matt for that Matthew?
“I don’t know,” Christy finally said. “I have to think about a lot of stuff from the past and …” She didn’t know how to finish her thought.
Matt looked concerned. “Was it too much? Did I overdo the whole journey into the past?”
“No, it wasn’t you. I mean, it wasn’t that. It was.” Drawing in a breath, she decided to be honest. “It was at the peewee golf place. I was thinking back to my birthday party and when Paula told me that you said you would rather kiss a toad than kiss me.”
Matt looked shocked. The windows of his truck were open, and in the awkward silence all they heard was the loud symphony of night crickets.
“I was ten,” Matt said weakly in his defense. “Eleven, maybe.”
“I know,” Christy said.
“Are you still holding that against me?”
Christy looked down at her hands in her lap and felt foolish for bringing it up. “No, I guess not.”
“If it helps at all,” Matt said, reaching over and placing his hand on Christy’s shoulder, “I would never say that now. I’d rather kiss you than a frog any day.”
Christy felt her heart start to pound. I wasn’t hinting that I wanted him to kiss me! Or was I? Oh no! I can guess what he’s thinking. Should I pull away? Run inside? I don’t want to kiss him … or do I?
Matt gave her shoulder a little squeeze. He appeared as nervous at this moment as Christy felt. They both sat there, neither making the next move.
9
efore Christy or Matt had a chance to say anything more, the porch’s screen door squeaked open and then slammed shut. Matt pulled away his hand from Christy’s shoulder, and they both looked through the windshield to see Christy’s uncle coming toward them.
“My aunt and uncle are here,” Christy said.
“I better let you go,” Matt said. “I’ll be at the reception for your grandparents tomorrow. My parents are going early, I think. I’m coming after work so I’ll probably be late.”
“That’s okay,” Christy said, glancing at Matt and then at her uncle, who was headed for his rental car. She turned back to Matt, and with a more relaxed smile she said, “I really had a fun time, Matt. Thanks so much. I’m glad you’re coming tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”
“Okay,” Matt said.
Christy couldn’t tell if he looked nervous or relieved that she was getting out of the truck. She waved as he started up the engine, and she called out, “Thanks again!”
“How’s my favorite girl?” Uncle Bob asked, walking toward Christy with a smile.
“Good! How are you guys? How was your flight?”
“Not the best. A little bumpy coming into O’Hare. Marti has a headache so I’m getting her travel bag.” Motioning over his shoulder in the direction Matt’s truck had just turned, Uncle Bob added, “I hope I didn’t cut into anything important for you.”
Christy avoided the question. “That was Matt Kingsley. His mom is good friends with my mom.”
“Sure,” Bob said, reaching in the backseat of the luxury rental car and pulling out Aunt Marti’s small suitcase. “Jane Kingsley. I’ve met her. Nice folks.”
Bob had a casual, easygoing manner that Christy appreciated. He and Marti lived in a beautiful house at Newport Beach and had welcomed Christy and her family to California with open arms. Standing here in the heart of Wisconsin, wearing his knit polo shirt and khaki slacks, Uncle Bob seemed out of place to Christy. She could guess this visit was less than comfortable for Aunt Marti, who liked things always to go her way. She came off as sophisticated and stylish, and she didn’t like people knowing that she came from such a small midwestern community.
Christy’s hunch about Marti was right, she discovered, when she entered the house with Bob and found Marti at the kitchen table, holding a cold cloth on her forehead.
“Oh, Christy dear,” she cooed. “You will forgive me if I don’t get up. I’m afraid I have one of my migraines.”
“I didn’t know you got migraines,” Christy said. Her mother gave her a look that communicated to Christy, “Don’t get her started.”
“Did you have a good time?” Mom asked.
“You’ll never guess what we did,” Christy said, pulling off her sweatshirt and leaning against the kitchen counter. “Matt took me on a little tour of my past. We visited the Dairy Queen and all the schools, and then we went miniature golfing at Ollie’s Peewee Golf.”
“No fair,” David moaned. “I wanted to go.”
Christy ignored his comment and turned to Aunt Marti. “Do you remember my eleventh birthday when you came here and the party was at Ollie’s?”
“Oh yes,” Marti said without looking up. “That beautiful, big birthday cake I ordered nearly melted, it was so hot.”
Christy didn’t remember a thing about the birthday cake melting.
“Perhaps we should go to the hotel, Robert. I’ll be better once I get some sleep. And I’m sure the air conditioning will help as well.”
“Did you want to take one of these before we go?” Bob asked, handing Marti a bottle of pills.
“Would you like a glass of water?” Christy asked. She was standing by the sink and thought it was the least she could do for her aunt.
“Oh yes, thank you. And add some ice, will you? The humidity here is awful,” Marti moaned.
Christy didn’t mind the humidity all that much. The climate was certainly different from that at the beach in Southern California, but it wasn’t uncomfortable in Christy’s estimation. Besides, Marti had grown up in this house. Was it so hard for her to accept things the way they were here?
Christy dropped two ice cubes into Marti’s glass and then slipped it under the shiny, new kitchen faucet. Christy lifted the handy-dandy handle Grandpa had installed and turned it to the right for cold water. Suddenly the handle came off in her hand and a spray of water shot straight up like a fountain, soaking Marti and herself.
“What did you do to it?” Grandpa kept yelling.
“Nothing!” Christy tried to keep a straight face, but she burst out laughing. “I didn’t do anything!” All she could do was stand there, using her hands as a shield from the jubilant spray of water.
“Turn off the water underneath,” Dad barked.
“I’ll get my too
ls,” Grandpa shouted above all the yelling and laughing. Marti was the one doing the yelling. Or perhaps shrieking was more like it. Christy was certain that if her aunt didn’t truly have a migraine before, she certainly had one now.
Christy moved aside and took the hand towel Grandma offered her. The broken handle was still in her hand. “Honest,” Christy said, looking to her mom for support. “All I did was turn the handle, and it came off.”
Grandpa appeared with some tools, which he handed to Dad, who was now on his back on the floor with his head under the sink.
As quickly as it had begun, the shooting water show was over, and all was quiet. Christy looked at her grandfather sheepishly and held out the broken handle. “Honest,” she said, “all I did was—”
“I know, I know,” Grandpa said. “I’ll fix it.” He mumbled something about how they don’t make hardware like they used to and wiped his wet face with his sleeve.
Christy turned to apologize to Aunt Marti, who was sopping wet. Christy’s mom and grandma were still chuckling softly at the mishap as they handed Marti dishtowels and tried to comfort her. Marti, however, would not be consoled.
“I’m so sorry, Aunt Marti.”
“It was an accident!” Marti kept shrieking, as if she were trying to convince herself more than excuse Christy. Marti rose from the table with her husband’s assistance, and the two of them left for their hotel.
10
ou and David should get to bed too,” Mom said. “You’re both upstairs in the bedroom on the left.”
Christy hid her disappointment. She had hoped she could be by herself wherever she ended up sleeping tonight. She had a lot of thinking to do and wanted to have a few things settled within herself before she saw Matt again the next day.
Once they were in their room, David convinced Christy to play a game of Monopoly with him. She wasn’t sure why she agreed. It could have been because she went miniature golfing and he didn’t. Or because, as the oldest, Christy often was allowed to go more places and do more things than David, and she was taking pity on him and realizing this was his vacation too.
Departures: Two Rediscovered Stories of Christy Miller and Sierra Jensen Page 4
