by Andrea Ring
I’m stunned. Then furious.
“Baby T?” I say as I round the corner. “Oh, thank God! I need girl talk.”
I grab her arm and hustle her into the bathroom before Raz can make a move.
I lead her to the chaise lounge in the waiting area and crouch in front of her.
“Are you okay?”
Tears spill down her cheeks. “You heard that?”
I nod.
“It’s not what you think. Raz is drunk and—”
“And that makes it okay?”
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” she says, not meeting my eyes.
“And that makes it okay?” I repeat.
She gets up and grabs a tissue from the box on the counter. She leans into the mirror and starts swiping at her ruined face.
“You’re not going back out there,” I say.
“I have to,” she says. “It’ll be fine. He blows up and then it’s over.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A few months. It’s stress. He’s freaked out about getting into school, his parents give him tons of shit about his grades. Things have been really hard for him lately.”
“Stop making excuses for him, Tiana!” I yell.
She flops back onto the chaise as I stand.
“You don’t understand.”
“Explain it to me.”
“He needs me.”
“Like he needs a punching bag.”
She glares at me, and I take it. I don’t give her anger back; instead, I let every ounce of sympathy and friendship I have for her show in my eyes.
“Not here,” she says, putting her face in her hands. “Please don’t do this here.”
“Then when? If he’s that drunk, you shouldn’t drive with him. We’ll take you home.”
“I can’t go home. It’s 9:30! My parents will wonder.”
“Tell them you broke up.”
“I can’t.”
I take a deep breath. “You mean you won’t.”
“I…I’ll talk to him, Leni. I promise. I’m sure he feels bad. He always feels bad.”
“Please don’t go home with him, T,” I beg.
I watch Baby T stand, smooth out her dress, and take one last look in the mirror.
She looks completely shattered.
She gives me a stiff hug, and I feel her chest convulse.
“Love you, Leni.”
I tighten my arms. “Love you, too. I’ll go home tonight. You probably need to be alone.”
She nods and kisses my cheek.
I let her go.
I use the restroom and wash my hands. Raz and Baby T have disappeared completely by the time I return to the table.
That table is full. Clark is chatting with Johnny, or so I think, until the entire table laughs at something he says. I put my hand on his shoulder and he smiles up at me. I can’t find it in me to smile back.
“How about another dance?” I ask him.
“Sure.” He stands and addresses the table. “Duty calls.”
Everyone laughs.
Clark leads me to the dance floor, and it’s not a slow song, but I plaster myself against him and lay my head on his chest.
“Leni?”
“Hmmm?”
He tilts my chin up so he can see me.
“What’s wrong?”
I want to blurt it out. A burden shared lightens.
“How do you help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?”
His hands stroke down my back.
“Are we talking about someone specific?”
I nod.
“Baby T?”
My mouth falls open. “How did you know?”
“Just a guess.”
“No, she’s my best friend and they’ve dated two years and I had no idea. You’ve known them two hours.”
Clark rocks me back and forth.
“I’ve lived it, remember? You can’t help her. She has to want out.”
“I could tell someone. Her parents.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Maybe? I have to do something. Raz hurt her—I heard it. And he called her names, awful names she didn’t deserve.”
Clark clenches his jaw. “Maybe I should talk to him.”
“Bad idea.”
“I would, though, if you asked.”
“I’m not asking. No way am I dragging you into this.”
“I saw them leave,” he says. “There’s nothing else you can do tonight.”
“He was drunk. He shouldn’t be driving.”
“He drove her here,” Clark points out. “Why didn’t you stop them before we left?”
“I didn’t know he was drunk,” I say through my teeth.
“Kinda hard to miss.”
“It’s not something I’m around very often,” I say. “I mean, my friends drink, but they don’t get wasted. Why didn’t you say something?”
He shrugs. “I thought it was normal for you guys.”
I stop swaying and take a step back. “You think I get wasted like that?”
“I have no idea,” he says reasonably. “We’ve never talked about it.”
“I don’t,” I say. “I don’t drink. And I especially wouldn’t drink around you.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You’re…” I pause, searching for the right word, “recovering. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Clark steps forward and pulls me back against him.
“Why are we arguing?” he asks.
“Because I’m scared. I get angry when I’m scared.”
“I thought you didn’t feel anything.”
I look into Clark’s eyes, those gorgeous black-lashed jewels, and I know he’s wrong.
“You make it okay to feel. You make me feel safe.”
I kiss him, soft, and he gives me those pillowy lips and his gentle sigh of breath, and I want to feel with Clark.
Everything.
“Let’s go home,” I say.
We walk hand in hand off the dance floor.
Clark glances back a couple of times and quickens our steps.
“What’s up?” I ask him.
“The giant’s giving us the evil eye.”
“Ignore him,” I say.
When we’re finally out in the crisp winter air, Clark takes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. He hugs me close, and I feel warmer instantly.
***
My parents think I’m spending the night at Baby T’s, and I hadn’t lied to them. That had been the original plan. I could go home, but I want more time with Clark. I know my parents won’t check up on me.
Clark has rented a small two-bedroom house in the heart of Old Towne. It’s all stained woods, elaborate moldings, and 1950s appliances.
I pictured him in a loft.
He pours us each a Coke and puts on some music, old Depeche Mode. He was telling the truth about that.
We settle on the couch and I lay my head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry your night was ruined,” he says.
“Not ruined,” I say. “I got to waltz with you. And I’m here with you now.”
“You wanna talk about Raz and Baby T and get it out of the way?”
“Not really,” I say. “I already made up my mind. If she won’t break up with Raz, I’ll go to her parents.”
“Just like that.”
“Yep.” I snuggle close to him. “Just like that.”
Clark puts a hand on the back of my neck and massages gently.
“You’ve got your whole moral code figured out, huh?”
I sigh. “I wish. But in this case, I can’t do nothing and live with myself. So I have to tell, even if she hates me.”
“She won’t hate you.”
“You didn’t see her in the bathroom. Protecting Raz is her number one priority.” I shake my head. “Enough. Decision’s made. Moving on.”
“To what?” he asks.
“Us.” I slip off my shoes and tuc
k my legs under me. “I can’t believe you took dance lessons.”
“Am taking dance lessons,” he corrects me. “I want to be able to keep up with you.”
“Clark, I don’t even know what to say. Nobody’s ever cared about me that much.”
“You deserve it.”
I don’t feel like I deserve it. I don’t feel like I deserve any of it. All of this is so momentous, so…permanent. I mean, he’s learning a new skill. For me. “What do you want from me, Clark?”
“Whatever you want to give.”
“Too easy.”
He laughs nervously. “Leni, you don’t know what it means to me to just have you here, talking to me.”
“Tell me.”
He shoves a hand through his hair, but it catches on his ponytail. He tears the rubberband out and throws it across the room.
“I’m the best version of myself when I’m with you. I’m exactly the guy I’ve always wanted to be. I want that to last.”
I put a hand on his knee. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Why not?” he asks with a laugh. “Any sane person would tell you to run. I’m an addict. I have a record.”
“The past doesn’t define you. I only care who you are now.”
“And who is that?”
I reach up and brush his hair away from his face. “A guy who is smart but knows he doesn’t have all the answers. A guy who is confident but not arrogant. A guy so impossibly gorgeous, I can’t stand not to touch him.”
Clark rubs his knuckles along my cheek. “I’ve never had sex sober before,” he whispers.
“In two years?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“I can’t have sex with you, Clark.”
Clark is silent.
“I want to. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more, but I don’t want to mess this up.”
He shifts slightly away from me. “Are you telling me you just want to be friends?”
“God, no,” I say, kissing him full on the mouth. “I just want to wait. You’re too important to me.”
Clark hugs me close and kisses the top of my head.
“Then we’ll wait. I can be patient when I try.”
I laugh and kiss him again.
“But I’m sure there are other things we can do to pass the time.”
“Television?” he asks.
I give him my best smoldering gaze.
“I think you’ll be too distracted to watch television.”
Chapter Twenty-One
In the morning, I wake up stiff on the couch and it’s barely light out. I wrap myself in a blanket and find Clark in black jeans and nothing else, fresh out of the shower, toweling his long hair dry in the bathroom.
I smile at the sight, and Clark grins at me in the mirror.
“It’s Sunday,” I say, leaning against the doorjamb. “How are you up and around so early?”
He throws the towel on the counter and reaches for me.
I pull back. “I need to brush my teeth.”
He settles for kissing my cheek.
“Church.”
“You go to church?”
“When I can.”
“Huh.”
He points to my backpack, which is sitting beside the toilet.
“I brought your stuff in from the car, if you want to take a shower. You can come with me.”
“To church?” I squeak.
“You don’t have to,” he says, pulling on a black t-shirt. “No pressure. Hold down the fort and I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Church,” I say again.
“Have you ever been?”
“Not for a while.” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s great that you go.”
“But?”
“No buts. It’s great.”
“But not for you,” he says.
“It’s just…I haven’t been since I got sick. I’d feel like a hypocrite.”
“Why a hypocrite?”
“Not a hypocrite,” I say. “A fraud.”
Clark puts his hands on my waist, and I concentrate on the strip of skin I can see between his t-shirt and his low-riding jeans.
“It’s not a prerequisite to believe before you go to church, Leni. Sometimes going can help us believe.”
I raise my eyes to his. “I believe. That’s not the problem. I just…I’m not ready to be forgiven.”
Clark’s eyes soften. “Guilt will eat at you. Trust me, I know. You deserve to be forgiven.”
I swallow hard. “Clark, you don’t even know what I’ve done.”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me when you’re ready. In the mean time, come with me. It’s just an hour. An hour of peace.”
Clark gives me privacy while I take a shower.
We get ready together, me toweling my hair dry while Clark spikes his into a mohawk. I apply mascara while he inserts his piercings, including a thin bull-like ring through the cartilage in the middle of his nose.
“Didn’t that hurt?” I ask him. “Going through the cartilage like that?”
“It’s not through the cartilage,” he says, pulling on the nose ring so I can get a good look. “It’s a septum piercing, and it goes through the tissue in front of it. They call that the ‘sweet spot.’”
I examine the inside of his nostril. I’m in total awe that he doesn’t mind me doing this. There’s no way I would let him look inside mine. What if I had bats in the cave?
“So it didn’t hurt?” I ask again.
He shrugs. “Some of my ear piercings hurt worse. But it made my eyes water and my nose tingle. I sneezed right in the guy’s face.”
I smile. “Must be an occupational hazard.”
“And it bled off and on for three weeks. Every time my nose itched, I re-opened the wound.”
I grimace. “And you thought this piercing was a good idea because?”
Clark has moved on to his left ear. He has about ten different piercings, some like barbells that go crosswise across the top of his ear, some like black darts that stick out in a point, some hoops. His movements are practiced as he smoothly inserts one after the other.
“The pain. I like the pain. It makes me feel, and it’s something I’m comfortable with.”
Clark watches me in the mirror. I fight to keep my face blank.
“I don’t like pain,” I say. “Not even a little bit. If something hurts me, I automatically move away from it.”
“‘Cause you don’t like to feel.”
“I guess.”
“It’s two sides of the same coin,” he says. “You avoid it altogether, so you don’t feel the negative stuff. I choose the pain first, before the pleasure can be taken away.”
“Is that how it’s gonna be with us?” I ask him. “Are you going to choose the pain before the pleasure can be taken away?”
He cocks a hip on the counter and studies me. I can’t believe I’m here with someone so far out of my comfort zone.
But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.
“I could ask you the same question. Are you gonna run from something that could cause you pain?”
“I’d never hurt you,” I say honestly.
He laughs and leans in for a kiss.
“Let’s not borrow trouble. No promises we can’t keep. It’s good now. Let’s hope it lasts.”
And my pulse quickens and my stomach churns as I realize that hope may be the only thing keeping me from another broken heart.
***
We drive to Clark’s church, the local Presbyterian. I hold my head up and squint my eyes, preparing to stare down anyone who gives Clark a funny look. But no one does. Maybe he’s such a fixture here that they’re used to him by now.
I didn’t expect this kind of church, where little old ladies still wear floral dresses, hats, and stockings. I thought maybe we’d be going to some new-age-y, born-again Christian place where mass is said in the back of a strip mall and the congregants all wear jeans and flip-flops.
<
br /> Clark sticks out, but there are no stink eyes in sight. A few people greet us, genuinely, and my training kicks in, and even though I wish we were back on the couch, I smile and shake hands and offer gracious thank yous for the warm welcome.
By the time we sit down, I’m even smiling for real.
“Thank you,” Clark whispers, taking my hand and squeezing it.
“For what?”
“Being you.”
But is this me? I came just for Clark and smiled just for Clark. I didn’t really want to be here. Did I?
The service is peaceful, as Clark promised it would be. I don’t really listen to the sermon, just sit back and think and be. And I realize that no matter what God thinks of me, he’s happy that I’ve made an effort.
We slip out when it’s over, and I glance back at the crowd gathering around the coffee pot and donut tables.
“Is that Dr. Jones?” I say, spotting her. “Should we say hi?”
“If you want. She usually lets me be at church. She knows it’s my private time.”
“Oh, we don’t have to, then,” I say.
“Nah, let’s. It’s different with you here.”
I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but Dr. Jones sees us, and I can’t change my mind now.
I see the thoughts flicker through her face as we approach. She knows we spent the night together. She wants to say something about it. She decides that conversation can wait.
“Leni. I can’t believe it,” she says, giving me a hug. “I thought you said you don’t attend church anymore.”
“Well, I didn’t,” I say, “but Clark is persuasive.”
“No, Aunt Lin,” he says with a smile. “We’re not here to atone for a night of sin.”
“Clark!” she says sharply.
I have to smile, too. “We’re just here to share a little peace. I’m so glad I came.”
They both smile at me.
“Peace is always good,” she says.
“We’re going,” Clark says. “Leni’s been through enough awkward stuff and it’s not even nine o’clock.”
“This isn’t awkward,” I say, and we all laugh.
“Have a good day,” Dr. Jones says. “Dinner at six, Clark.”
“I’ll be there.”
***
Clark asks me to join him and Dr. Jones for their weekly Sunday dinner, but I have to work.
I get home just before noon and find Dad feeding Bea cut-up grapes in her high chair.
