“You called the police?” Talk about overreacting. Next he would have had my photo on a milk carton. “Why would you do that?”
“I thought something terrible happened. I thought you were dead.” His voice reminded me of my mother at her most irrational.
“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I wasn’t dead. I was just out on a date.” I knew as soon as I said it that it was the wrong response. I saw the look on Hubert’s face and knew I’d been too flippant, but there was no turning back. He threw up his hands and walked out of the room. Stormed out, actually, his shoes making more noise than necessary on the hardwood floor. I didn’t miss his point.
“Well,” Brother Jasper said, addressing the others, “since Lola is safe and sound, I guess we can all return home.” He smiled in my direction. “I’m very glad you’re back and it was just a false alarm.” Then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Hubert was sick with worry. He really cares about you.”
I nodded. Like a flight attendant, I stood by the doorway while the group shuffled out. “Thanks for your concern,” I said to Myra, who just grunted. Brother Jasper and Ben Cho each gave me a smile as they passed. “I’m sorry for the mix-up,” I said as Belinda passed over the threshold. She stopped to hand me a sock, one of my own. From the dirty laundry hamper, judging by the smell of it.
“We were going to have Roger try to track you if you weren’t back by midnight. I really think he could have done it, too. Did you see how he shot right over to you as soon as you came in the door? I was so impressed. He’s got some bloodhound in him, I’m sure of it.”
I smiled weakly. “Thanks for coming, Belinda.” I didn’t really mean it, but it came out automatically, like putting a napkin on my lap at dinnertime.
“Oh,” she said, “my pleasure. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
I closed the door and locked it, and then I clicked the dead-bolt for extra protection. I pulled the curtain back and found the open window, and then I closed that as well. What was Hubert thinking, letting them all in? And why had he gone so berserk? I knew my message on the answering machine sounded odd, but really—the police? And even if he was worried, I didn’t understand the advantage of having the neighbors over. Their butts sitting on my couch didn’t speed up my homecoming. If anyone should be irritated, it was me.
I’d heard him go upstairs, and even now I could hear him walking around in his room. Later, after he’d cooled down, I’d apologize and we could sort it out. I suspected he was still reeling from his breakup with Kelly and this was just a symptom.
I went to straighten up the newspapers and magazines on my coffee table and came across two photos from my distant past. Hubert’s—they had to be. One was my senior picture from high school; the other was a four-by-six of Piper, Hubert, and me taken the year we all graduated from college. Well, actually Piper had graduated a semester early, but it was the summer after our graduations, anyway. Piper and I were on either side of a Hubert sandwich—he had an arm around each of our shoulders. All three of us were grinning. My hair was really shiny that day, I noticed. I looked on the back side of the pictures; neither one was dated. The group shot had our names printed neatly on the other side. On the back of my senior photo I’d written, “To Hubert, the best friend anyone could ever have. Love, Lola.” My handwriting hadn’t improved since then.
I glanced down at the coffee table again and spotted an index card on top of the magazine pile. I picked it up and turned it over to see this: “Lola Jane Watson, Height 5’5”, Weight 118 pounds, brown hair, hazel eyes,” in Hubert’s handwriting. Oh. He’d really thought I was missing and cared enough to write down my description.
I was touched by his concern. I was also touched by the fact that he gave me an extra inch and lopped off twelve pounds.
But mostly I was moved that Hubert had gone to so much trouble. He’d really been worried that I’d been abducted or killed. My own parents hadn’t been alarmed, but Hubert, old buddy Hubert, had knocked on doors and driven the streets searching for me. I thought back to what Ryan had said in the restaurant: Having people look out for you, that’s a gift. He was right—it was a gift, especially when I thought of the alternative, which was having no one care at all.
I went upstairs to apologize, but Hubert’s door was closed and all was quiet. I whispered, “Hubert?” but there was no response. I stood outside his door for a few minutes, giving him a chance to answer, before I gave up.
Later, after taking a shower and climbing into bed, I regarded the whole situation in a better light. Hubert was just being Hubert, looking out for me like he always used to. That’s how we met, in fact, when we were in seventh grade. Three older girls had been harassing me every day on the way home from school. They taunted me, threw pebbles at my back, and just generally made my life miserable. Why me? I never knew. Maybe it was simply because I was a grade younger, or smaller, or walked home in their direction. Who knows what sets off bullies? I tried taking different routes, hanging out at school a little longer, or dashing out the moment the bell rang. It didn’t seem to matter—they always found me. And by trying to avoid them, I made it a game.
One day they moved in for the kill, cornering me in the back of the school by the dumpsters. They didn’t seem to want anything—just to see me squirm.
“You think you’re so great,” the leader of the group said, pushing me so hard that my head slammed against the brick wall. Christina Olson was her name. All the girls in seventh grade knew to avoid her.
One of her friends said, “We saw you giving us the bird, you little bitch. We’re gonna teach you a lesson. Your ass will be grass.”
I did not, in fact, know exactly what they meant by the bird. I also wasn’t sure how my ass could actually become grass, but I thought it was safest to say nothing. They had me blocked in now. The three of them pressed against me while I had my back against the school building. I looked around, hoping the janitor might bring out some trash and I’d be saved. Near my feet was a small pile of refuse that had missed the dumpster, a rotting banana and some wadded-up wax paper.
The third girl noticed the way my eyes darted toward the school door and said, “Don’t bother looking for help.” She dug her fingernails into my shoulder, and I cried out in pain. “No one is going to come.”
She was wrong, though, because suddenly the new kid in school was standing behind them saying, “Stop it,” in a clear, loud voice. He was in one of my classes, but all I knew about him was that his name was Hubert. The three girls turned their attention away from me to look at him.
Christina sized him up and decided he wasn’t a threat. “Just go away, you,” she said, making a shooing motion. “This is none of your business.” The one who’d squeezed my shoulder made a derisive snort.
“No,” he said, standing like he wasn’t going anywhere. “Just leave her alone.”
“Look,” Christina said impatiently, “this is between us girls. It has nothing to do with you. Just go away and let us settle this.”
“No, you’re the ones who need to go. Leave her alone.”
Christina drew herself up to her full height and took a step toward him. She was older, but Hubert was a good six inches taller. Even from my spot in the lion’s mouth I thought her brave. “And who’s going to make us? There’s three of us and only one of you.”
I heard the click before I saw the glint of metal. Christina took a step back—she was as shocked as I was by the switchblade in Hubert’s hand. He held it up like it was a sword. All wrong, I knew. I’d seen West Side Story and knew switchblades were supposed to be aimed directly at a person like you’re going to carve your initials on their gut. Christina and her friends didn’t seem to notice his handling faux pas, though. One of the girls let out a gasp.
Christina recovered quickly. She shrugged and said, “Come on, girls, let’s go.” She pointed at me like aiming a gun. “She’s not worth our time.” Once they rounded the corner of the building, I exhaled in relief. Hubert s
napped his switchblade shut and offered to walk me home. On the way to my house, he told me the story of the switchblade. Over the summer he’d mowed a neighbor’s lawn just to be nice, and in return the old man gave him an old toolbox filled with odds and ends. The switchblade had been among the wrenches and needle-nose pliers. Hubert liked carrying it with him. “But I never thought I’d use it to save someone’s life,” he said. “That’s way cool!” He sounded so tickled I resisted the urge to remind him they were only a group of girls. And he hadn’t actually used it.
After that, Hubert walked me home every day. Christina and company eventually found another target, a boy with a lisp. His nightmare ended only when his mother started driving him home from school. I’m not sure who they picked on after that, but I know it wasn’t me.
For a long time the smell of rotting bananas reminded me of a switchblade and Hubert standing tall, but I hadn’t thought about that day for a long time now. I could clearly remember the determined look on his face when he said, “Leave her alone.” Seventeen years had passed, and we’d had a few disagreements since then, but I’d never seen Hubert really angry with anyone, let alone me. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me.
Thinking about this now, I shifted beneath my comforter, waiting for the pull of sleep to move me to unconsciousness, but it was no use. I was wide awake.
I got up and padded down the dark hallway to Hubert’s room. The door was still closed. I rapped on it lightly. “Hubert?” Again, this time louder. “Hubert?” No answer. I debated going back to bed and talking to him in the morning, but we both had work, and there was the pesky matter of my car still parked at Sardino’s. And more importantly, I couldn’t sleep knowing he was still angry with me.
I opened the door and peered into the room. The venetian blinds on the opposite window let in slits of light from the street lamp below. Once my eyes adjusted, I could see his form on the bed, a blanket covering his body. He was face up, like a mummy in a sarcophagus. I tried again. “Hubert?”
“Yes, Lola.” He let out an exasperated sigh.
He was awake—and still upset with me. I sat on the edge of the bed like a parent about to tell a bedtime story. He’d been at my house for three days, and his bedding still smelled like fabric softener. “I couldn’t sleep. I hate that you’re mad at me.”
He didn’t say anything, just sighed again and pulled his hands out from under the covers. I thought he might touch me, but instead he folded his hands as if in prayer. “You have no idea how worried I was,” he said. “I was out of my mind thinking something terrible happened to you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It didn’t help that you came waltzing in from your date with a buzz on, not even caring how I felt.”
“I do care. I just—”
“I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you, Lola.”
“You mean, because of Kelly.”
He lifted his head to look at me. “What would Kelly have to do with it?”
“I just thought…” I knew I had to phrase this carefully. “Since you two aren’t together anymore, maybe your friends are more important now.”
“How can you say that? You’ve always been important to me. That didn’t change when I moved in with Kelly.” He rested his head back against the pillow.
“No offense, Hubert, but until recently I hadn’t even seen you for months. I kind of wondered if we were even still friends.”
“Well, of course we’re still friends,” he said indignantly. “We’ll always be friends. I just didn’t see you much because, well frankly, Kelly had something against you. I’m not sure what. She hated when we talked on the phone and she heard me laughing. She hated all our joking around—she said you were trying to make her feel like an outsider. Kelly didn’t really understand how it is with old friends, so I tried to keep things separate. It didn’t help that my mom was always asking about you.”
“Really? How’s your mom doing?” I’d always liked her. She was the type of mom who put a hand on your forehead when you looked peaked. When we hung out at Hubert’s house during our high school years, she always kept the rec room fridge stocked with Dr. Pepper and brought us homemade cookies on a silver tray. Mrs. Holmes was friendly to both Piper and me, but I always felt like I was her favorite. She still sent cards on my birthday.
“She’s good. Real good. Last time I saw her, she said to say hello.”
“Tell her I said hi back.”
“You could stop in and see my folks sometime, you know. They’d like that.”
“Maybe I will.” A nice thought, but I knew I wouldn’t do it. My place in the Holmes’ house was a thing of the past. I used to ride there on my bike and knew I was always welcome for dinner. But that was then. Visiting at this point in my life, without Hubert, would just be weird. “Anyway, Hubert, it’s late and we should probably both get some sleep. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”
He looked up at the ceiling. “So what’s the story with the guy you were out with? Anyone I know?”
“No, he’s someone Piper met at Mike’s work. A client. His name is Ryan Moriarty.”
He propped himself up on one elbow. “He’s a client of Mike’s firm? What are they having, some kind of deal—invest with us and get a date?”
It sounded like a joke, but there was something underneath the kidding. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. “No, he’s just a nice guy. Piper organized the whole thing. She thought he could be my date at Mindy’s wedding, so I wouldn’t have to show up alone and pathetic. I wasn’t so sure about the whole thing, but she practically begged me to go out with him. You know how she can be.”
“She’s persuasive, all right. But you know, Lola,” and here he stretched out my name like taffy, “I’d be glad to be your escort at the wedding. There’s no reason you’d have to go alone.”
“That’s good to know. I’ll keep it in mind.”
We were both silent for a minute, and he patted me absentmindedly on the leg. Self-consciously I shifted on the bed. “So are you still mad at me?” I asked.
“Well, a little,” he said. “For God’s sake, Lola, I was insane not being able to find you. Then all the neighbors came over, which was very nice of them. Monday is Myra’s favorite TV night, you know. She looks forward to it, but she gave it up when she thought you were in trouble. Then in you come, all loopy-doopy from your date and acting like I was making a big deal out of nothing.” He exhaled. “Yes, I am a little angry.”
Well, when he put it that way…
“I understand,” I said. “How about we make a deal? You forgive me for tonight, and I’ll forgive you for ignoring me during your Kelly period. Then we’ll be even and we can put it all behind us and start fresh tomorrow. No grudges.”
He considered it. “I can live with that. OK, it’s a deal. I forgive you.”
Relieved, I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I forgive you too. And I promise to let you know where I am from now on.” I stood up and looked down on him.
“That would be good.”
I made my way to the door and was about to leave when I had another thought. “Hubert, my car is still at the restaurant. Sardino’s, right off of the highway on Cedar Road. Do you think you could drop me off on your way to work tomorrow?”
“No problem. Good night, Lola. Sweet dreams.”
“Good night, Hubert.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As the week went on, Hubert and I fell into a morning routine. I was never sure what time he woke up, but by the time I came downstairs, coffee was made, breakfast was underway, and the daily newspaper was next to my place at the table. For my part, I gratefully ate whatever he prepared and took care of the dishes afterwards. A small price to pay.
The first time he did this, I marveled at all the trouble he’d gone to, making an omelet with sautéed onions and mushrooms, topped with a sprinkling of shredded cheese and chunky salsa. He’d toasted whole wheat bread and cut it into little triangle
s, artfully arranging them around the edges of the plate.
“Can’t run an engine without fuel,” he said, pouring my coffee with a flourish. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
I’d always heard that but never quite believed it. Previously, my engine had run just fine on cereal and milk. Still, I couldn’t deny his way seemed better. Especially since he was the one doing all the work.
At the office Mrs. Kinkaid asked me for details about Ryan on a daily basis, but I’d learned my lesson and wasn’t giving up much. Poor Drew had to hear the story of the vending machine more than once, how Ryan hit it with the side of his fist, disengaging the candy bar. Her version of the story made Ryan sound downright heroic. He was the man of the hour, a liberator of snack food. “And boy, was he easy on the eyes,” she exclaimed every time. Drew looked less than interested. He’d shown up for work on Tuesday, entirely forgetting he’d called in sick the day before. When Mrs. K. asked if he was feeling better, the question puzzled him. Later he let it slip that he’d been up north hiking with his girlfriend. After he realized his error, he changed the hiking story to a different day and dove into a fit of coughing to illustrate he wasn’t completely recovered. I gave him a cough drop.
On Thursday morning Piper called at her usual time—another new routine. She’d phoned me at the office every day since my outing with Ryan, always midmorning, when Brandon took what she called his mini-nap. It only lasted twenty to thirty minutes, but it was amazing, she said, how much a person could accomplish in that time. “I just hung a butt-load of laundry,” she said on one occasion. All this and she managed to talk to me too. I imagined her working with the phone wedged between her head and shoulder. Babies are the reason women are experts at multitasking. I’m sure of it.
Easily Amused Page 11
