by Kim Holden
I gesture to the gun on his hip and answer with a question. “Do you always have that on you?”
“Only when I work late. Never thought I’d need it.” He’s making fists with his hands, looking like he wants to kill someone.
Clayton is visibly shaking. I wrap him delicately in a hug, careful not to hurt him, “Oh Clay. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”
He pulls back and looks me in the eye. “Katherine, if you hadn’t been here I might not be breathing right now. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. You scared the daylights out of me jumping on that barbarian’s back. And when he threw you down, my heart stopped. Are you hurt? Did you bump your head? Maybe you need to go to the hospital.”
My back is sore and my head is throbbing, but I lie. “I’m fine, sweetie.” I kiss him on the forehead before I stand and help him up. The hospital is the last place I want to go, especially when doctors start asking questions.
Clayton looks to Morris. “I probably should head home. I have a History test in a few hours.”
Morris is back at his side and his face softens as he strokes Clayton’s cheek. “What can I do for ya?” He’s quietly pleading. “What can I do?”
Clayton smiles sweetly. “You can kiss me and tell me you love me and you can walk me to Katherine’s car.”
He does all three.
When we arrive back at the dorms I help Clayton to the men’s restroom where I finish cleaning up his face. I check both his eyes and mine for dilation or any other signs of concussion. Nothing. Normal.
Next I help him to his room. Despite trying to be as quiet as we can, we wake Pete. He looks alarmed when he sees us both. I don’t blame him; we’re a mess. While I help Clayton change into his pajamas, because his ribs are so sore he can’t lift his arms over his head, Pete gets some ice from their mini refrigerator and wraps it in a washcloth. He offers it to me with questioning eyes, but doesn’t say a word. I tell him to go back to bed and promise to tell him what happened tomorrow. Pete nods sadly and returns to his bed. He gets back under the covers but never takes his worried eyes off of us. Clayton winces when I gently press the icepack to his lips and cheek, but exhales as the cold provides some relief.
Bending over him, I kiss his forehead. “Good night, Clay.” I’m mentally and physically exhausted. I need to get to bed.
Clayton’s whisper stops me at the door. “Katherine?”
I whisper back, “Yeah?”
“Thank you. No one’s ever stood up for me before.”
My heart tightens. “Anytime.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now get some rest.”
Tuesday, October 18
(Kate)
When I arrive at work the bell on Three Petunias door tinkles lightly and I’m met by two sets of eyes taking me in with what can only be described as extreme concern. They’re laser-focused on the bruise that bloomed down the left side of my face while I slept last night. It doesn’t hurt as bad as it did when I woke up this morning, but it looks angry from temple to jawbone. What really hurts is the rest of my body … all of it. If I could put ibuprofen in a drip and mainline it, I would. Though my body did agree to let me sleep for almost four hours, it was unhappy with me on a whole new level when I dragged it out of bed for class. Needless to say, my body and I aren’t on speaking terms today. I hope we can be friends again someday.
Clay’s face crumples and tears pool in his eyes. “Oh Katherine, I’m so sorry. Look at your face.”
I haven’t seen Clay yet today. He was still sleeping when I left for class this morning and he wasn’t in his room when I stopped around noon to check on him. “Clay, how are you doing today?” I don’t want to talk about me.
“I feel like I got run over by a steamroller and left on the side of the road to die.”
I can relate.
“Well, no offense, but you look like you got run over by a steamroller, sweetie.” The cuts on his face aren’t as bad as they were last night, but his bottom lip and right cheek are puffy and unnatural shades of red and purple.
He smiles a little. “I just wanted to say thank you again for everything you did last night.”
“That’s not necessary, Clay.”
He kisses me on my good cheek. “It is. You’re the first real friend I’ve ever had, Katherine. And I’m quite certain that when I’m sitting in a rocking chair somewhere as an impeccably-dressed elderly gentleman, I’ll look back on my fabulously successful life and know without a shadow of a doubt that I could not have been blessed with a better friend than you.”
If I open my mouth to let words out, tears will come with them. I don’t cry. I nod instead.
Clayton turns and wiggles his fingers at Shelly. “Toodle-loo dancing queen,” he says as he walks away.
Shelly doesn’t even have a smartass comeback. She just looks sad.
I know by the way Shelly’s watching me that Clay told her what happened. Everything. I’d rather no one knew, but at least I don’t have to re-hash it. “Shelly, I’m fine. Can we talk about something else this afternoon?” I smile so she knows I’m not trying to be a bitch. “Let’s get to work.”
She nods and I know it’s killing her not to say anything, but I love her for it. “I need to make a few deliveries this afternoon. Can you handle this place on your own today?”
“Absolutely.” As she’s walking out the door I add, “Please don’t tell Keller about this,” gesturing to my face. “I’ve been barraged with pity glances all day.” I hesitate, then add, “Like you’re doing right now.” She looks away. “And it makes me uncomfortable. I hate pity. It drains the life out of me.” It really does.
She exhales loudly. She sounds more defeated than irritated. After a few beats she nods agreement and walks out the door.
I settle into my work. I’m slower than usual given the fact that I’m moving at the pace of a 90-year-old recovering from double hip replacement surgery.
The bell rings; customer alert. My back is to the door and my hands are temporarily held hostage by the ribbon I’m trying to fashion into a bow around a vase of roses. “I’ll be with you in just a sec,” I call over my shoulder.
“So, you didn’t come to see me this morning. What gives? Do I need to resort to blackmail or bribery?” It’s Keller. What’s he doing here?
I keep my back to him as I respond. “Dude, my addiction is strong, but can also be sated with free, though considerably less tasty, coffee from the cafeteria. Besides, I was running late.” Bow in place, I turn to face him and brace for the shock. “What’s up?”
He sucks in a breath. “Christ, Katie, what happened to you?”
I’m thankful the bruises on my stomach and hip, which are yellowing spectacularly, are hidden beneath my clothing and not on full display or he’d really freak out. “Would you believe me if I told you I fell down a flight of stairs?”
His lips are pressed together so tightly that they become a thin, white line; there’s both fear and rage in his eyes. He shakes his head.
“Took up bull riding?”
“Nope.”
“Underground fight club?”
“We’re getting warmer. Who’s the bastard that did this to you?”
Why is it that when a woman has bruises, especially on her face, people assume they were put there through domestic violence? I’m guilty of jumping to the same conclusions myself. It’s a societal assumption unfortunately born out of too frequent reality. “It’s not what you think.” I let out a huff of exasperation. “There was a disgusting mixture of ignorance, hatred, and alcohol unleashed on my friend Clayton very early this morning.” I point to my face. “This was a little spillover. I’m fine, Keller.”
The fear and anger has vanished from his eyes and protectiveness floods in. At least it’s not pity. “This is not fine.” I look down and see that his hands are gripping the edge of the counter so tight his knuckles are white.
I reach across the counter and rub my palms over his
clenched hands. “Hey, relax. I’m okay. Really.”
He shakes his head and pulls off his wool knit hat and his hair sticks up in all directions. I’m distracted. Even hat hair looks good on him. I can’t help but smile.
“What are you smiling at?” he asks, head tilted.
My smile widens. “Your hair. You have great hair.”
He reaches up and runs his fingers through it, trying unsuccessfully to tame it down. Still, I think his hair is one of the most attractive things about him. He clears his throat and his cheeks flush.
“What can I help you with, Keller?” Now that the whole bruise unveiling is out of the way I can’t deny that I’m happy to see him.
He bites his cheek like he’s not sure how to answer or maybe he’s just not done with the previous topic. “You sure you’re okay? Because I hurt just standing here looking at that bruise.”
I put it to bed. “I’m okay.”
He nods but he still looks torn. He proceeds anyway. “I’ve been sent on a romantic errand by Rome. He asked me to pick up an orchid for Dan. It’s their anniversary and he wants to take it home to him tonight. He was going to come down here at lunch, but he couldn’t get away. So, do you have anything like that?”
I come out from behind the counter and together we pick out a white orchid from the display shelves. After he pays for it, I fashion a thick tube of craft paper around it to help protect it from the cold.
He hesitates at the door. “So,” he clears his throat, “you should stop by Grounds tomorrow morning. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. You know, so you don’t have to drink that poison from the cafeteria two days in a row.”
I laugh. “I try to keep myself on a fairly strict rotation to avoid that. I’ll see you tomorrow. But, I’m paying. Besides, I still owe you for the Milwaukee trip—”
He interrupts. “No, you don’t.”
I smile. He doesn’t know me. Though he insists on not taking money, I’ll find a way to make it up to him. “Pretty soon I’ll be so indebted to you you’ll have to take me on as your personal slave to work it off.”
“Mmm.” His eyes brighten. “There’s a lot I could do with that.”
I smile. “Not so fast. I’d prefer to stick to a cash deal. I don’t have a lot of free time to do your dirty work.”
His smile goes crooked. “Dirty work? Even better.” He winks and opens the door.
I shake my head, but my insides have turned to mush. I know nothing can ever happen between the two of us, but God I love flirting with this boy.
“I need a haircut. Cut my hair and we’ll be even.” He offers from the door.
“I don’t know how to cut hair. A bad haircut would definitely not make us even.”
“I trust you.”
That makes me so happy to hear. Trust is important to me. “You do?”
“With my life … and my hair. You free Friday night?”
I nod. “Yup.”
“Eight o’clock?”
I nod again. “Sounds good.”
“Your place or mine?”
I know it’s not a date, but you don’t know how much I like Keller asking me that question. “Friday nights at casa de Kate and Sugar are unpredictable. So yours.”
He smiles. “Excellent. Bye Katie.”
“Bye Keller.”
Friday, October 21
(Kate)
It’s 8:12 when I knock on Keller’s door and butterflies start fluttering in my stomach. I’ve never been the stomach-butterfly-fluttering type of girl, so it feels strange. I’m stone sober, but it feels like I’ve had a few drinks and though my mind’s not convinced it’s buzzed yet, my body’s confessing the indulgence. I think I just fell in love with butterflies.
After Keller opens the door and I step inside he takes my coat. We don’t say anything. It’s a little awkward. Not uncomfortable, just awkward. So, I offer, “It’s not too late to back out, dude. You sure you still trust me now that you’ve had a few days to think about it?” This trust thing with him is a big deal for me. There are different degrees of trust and my general feeling is that most people are good, therefore I trust most people. Friendship is vital to me and trust is part of that. But on a deeper level, there’s trust. Trust is something I don’t toss around lightly. Very few people have ever earned it: Grace, Gus, and Audrey. That’s about it. It’s something that takes years to build. For some reason, I feel like Keller has already fallen into this deeper category. Which is good, but also a little scary because it happened so fast.
He smiles and with it the awkwardness disappears. “Implicitly.”
Good. Fucking. Answer. “Okay. Let’s get this party started.”
His bottom lip is sucked in under his upper lip when he smiles again. His eyes are amused. He wants to say something but he’s thinking better of it. Instead he grabs a folding chair from the closet and sets it up in the open space behind the loveseat. I’m watching him go through the motions but I’m not really watching; I’m daydreaming. I’m thinking about what his chest looks like under that shirt. I’m thinking about how warm his skin feels there, and the defined muscle underneath. I’m thinking about what he might look like under those—“
“Wet or dry?” He pauses when I don’t answer and points to his hair. “Do you want me to wet it?”
Oh. Right. His hair. That’s why we’re here. “Um, wet I think. Isn’t that how the pros do it?” Audrey’s always cut my hair. Twice a year in the Hawthorne kitchen whether I needed it or not. I’ve never been to a salon.
“Wet it is. I’ll be right back.”
Keller disappears to the bathroom and reappears two minutes later wearing only his jeans. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. He looks fucking beautiful shirtless. My mind floods and I feel like he can see every x-rated thought. And now I’m all fluttery in the stomach again. What the hell is wrong with me?
He sits in the chair and I try to act casual. “What’s it gonna be, Mr. Banks? Trim? Buzz cut? I’m up for anything.” Goddamn, am I ever.
“I was going to say just a trim, but what do you think? You think I should try something different?”
“Nope. I like what you’ve got going on.” I do. So much.
“Trim it is then.”
And now I’m a whole different flavor of nervous because I don’t want to screw this up. “Keller, dude, is there some sort of backup plan if I jack this up?”
He laughs and shrugs, “It’s only hair Katie. If you jack it up, which you won’t, we shave it off.”
That didn’t help. “Ah, no pressure.”
He’s completely at ease. “None at all.”
Once I start cutting, every other thought, the nervous and the naughty, seems to fall away like pieces of hair. He really does have spectacular hair. It’s dark brown, almost black and there’s a slight wave to it that adds volume more than curl. It’s thick, there’s a ton of it, but the strands are baby fine and so soft and shiny. He wears it a little on the long side. It falls just below his ears on the sides and touches his collar in the back. And it’s always on the defiant side, which in my opinion is best. I don’t like it when guys try too hard with their hair. Naturally disheveled is sexy.
An hour later, I finish up. The conversation has been minimal. I’ve been focused on not turning Keller’s locks into a debacle, and he’s allowed me that focus by keeping quiet. After taking a look in the bathroom mirror he returns to me sweeping up the hair on the floor. I smile at him because I didn’t screw it up.
“Well, you’re certainly not fast, but you are thorough. Good job.”
I laugh. “Thorough’s my middle name. Or maybe I just wanted you to feel like you got your money’s worth.”
“Every penny. Thanks Katie. You want something to drink? I’ve got a few beers in the fridge. You earned it.”
I want to stay, but my conscience is nagging the hell out of me. He has a girlfriend. I’m sure of it. I shouldn’t be here alone with him, especially with the dirty thoughts that have started running themselves on a loop t
hrough my mind again. “No thanks. I probably better head back to the dorms.”
He glances at the ground and a look of disappointment flashes across his face before he looks back up at me and smiles. “Did you drive or walk?”
“I drove. It’s fucking freezing out there.”
He laughs. “Freezing.” He’s teasing me. He grabs his hoodie off the loveseat and slips it on. “I’ll walk you outside.”
We’re standing next to the driver’s door of my car and I can’t help but smile inside because I’ve never had a guy walk me to my car before. Again, my mind knows this isn’t a date but the gesture is chivalrous. I’m usually not into that type of thing, but tonight I guess I am.
“Thanks again, Katie.”
“You’re welcome. It feels good to be out from under the weight of debt and IOUs.”
We both laugh and then the laughter fades to silence. We’re just looking at each other now like we don’t know what to do next. This could go on all night, so I do what I would do if this were any of my other friends. I open up my arms. “Come here.”
He’s slow to react, but when he does and his arms wrap around me, I’m overcome. Some people excel in the art of hugging. They somehow manage to hug you with their whole being, not just their arms. Their warmth surrounds every inch of you. It makes you feel cherished and comforted.
Keller has mastered the art of hugging.
The dreamy hug lasts about twice as long as your average hug, but not nearly as long as I’d like it to. When we separate I feel the cold and instinctively reach for door handle to get in my car.
“Drive safe, Katie.”
“Always. Have a great weekend, dude.”
“Chicago in the morning. I’m back early Monday morning.” He’s smiling.
That is why I behaved myself. Chicago. His other life. His girlfriend. “Have fun. See you Monday.”
“Monday,” he repeats. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“Good night, Keller.”
He nods. “It was. Good night, Katie.”
