by Amity Hope
…
“Well,” Meg said as she glanced around, “this is kind of remote.”
We stood in a weed-infested parking lot. The pavement was cracked, missing chunks in places. We were on the backside of a brick building with boarded windows. It stood in the center of what was now an overgrown field.
Cars periodically whizzed by on the road out front. I chose this place because I could park in back and no one could see us.
“It’s an old factory. It went bankrupt in the nineties. Now it’s just sitting here because it’s full of asbestos. Clean up would cost more than what the land is worth.”
Her arms were crossed over her chest. Her eyebrows were scrunched as she nodded. “Fascinating. That does not explain why we’re here.”
“I thought maybe you’d want to mess around.” I started toward my SUV.
“I don’t know, Luke.” She skipped along beside me, tapping the bill of my ball cap, making it sit cockeyed. “This place doesn’t exactly scream romance. It kind of screams bodies buried in the basement.”
I gave her a look. “That’s not what I meant. I meant mess around with these.” I reached into the open window of my backseat and pulled out a box.
She gave me a quizzical look before taking it. “Sidewalk chalk?”
“I know you said you were done with the graffiti. I also know you miss it. I get that this isn’t really the same. No one will see it back here, but I also saw your face the night you sprayed the tower.” She enjoyed the process. I had no doubt about that. “You were totally lost in your work. I could tell you were thinking of your sister, and it made you happy.”
I don’t think she realized it, but she doodled on everything. Napkins, scraps of paper, the sand, black marker over her black boots. The notebook with our rules was full of her quick sketches. I’d been driving around with the chalk for awhile, waiting for some free time and some decent weather. When I spotted the stack of napkins, I thought why not offer her a building? I was familiar with this one. Dad had been part of a few of the asbestos related lawsuits the company faced.
“Is it lame? It is.” I winced.
She set the chalk on the hood and pulled me in for a kiss. Her fingers dipped into my back pockets. She tugged me closer. I returned the favor, wrapping my arms around her, pressing her body into mine as the kiss deepened.
Oh, yeah. My heart had definitely been hijacked.
“I love this.” She eyed up the building when she moved away. “It’s like a magical canvas. When it rains, the chalk will wash away. Poof. Gone. I can start all over again.”
I gave her a nudge. “Hop to it.”
“Oh, no. I’m not doing this alone.” She grabbed my hand and towed me along.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked. “I was kinda looking forward to sitting back so I could watch you in action again.”
“I’ll take this side,” she moved to the left. “You take that side.”
A door split the two sides down the middle.
She set the chalk in front of the door, selecting the red chunk before moving to her side of the building.
“Nutmeg,” I grumped. “What am I supposed to draw? I’m not artistic.”
She was not sympathetic. “Pick up the chalk and draw from your heart.”
“Sure thing.” I grabbed a piece of chalk and stood back. I watched as she got busy.
She caught me admiring. With a stern look she pointed at my blank wall. “Get to work, mister.”
I moved forward, feeling like a kid, and began to scribble.
Eventually Meg sidled up next to me. She patted the top of my head. “I knew you could do it.”
“Ha,” I said. “Ha ha.”
Her eyes sparkled. I loved to see her happy. She picked up the box of chalk, and we moved back to my Navigator. From this vantage point we could see both drawings.
Hers was detailed, the contouring of the angel wings making them look multi-dimensional.
Mine? It looked like a toddler drew it. But I have to say, I got the appeal. Sketching something out like that? It was relaxing. Now I understood why half the teachers at school had those adult coloring books.
“It looks good,” I told her.
“So does yours. The baseball bat? Very realistic. And the ball is in perfect proportion.” Her tone was mock-serious as she continued to critique. “I’d give it at least a six. Maybe a six plus. You should’ve thrown in a glove, might’ve jacked you up to a perfect ten.”
Her phone chimed in her back pocket saving me from trying to defend myself.
She dug it out. “It’s Francesca.”
“Aren’t you going to answer?”
“I’ll call her later.”
“Good. Because there’s something I think we should talk about.”
She propped a hip against my driver’s door and waited.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “So. I was thinking maybe we could…maybe we should…”
I faltered. I hadn’t really thought through what I was going to say. Meg had said she didn’t want anything serious. She did have a lot going on in her life. That hadn’t changed. In some ways, it seemed to be getting worse. Her parents were constantly on her mind. I didn’t want to push her. I readjusted my cap and kicked a piece of chipped asphalt. It skittered across the lot.
“This conversation is extraordinarily exciting,” she teased.
Her phone rang again. She frowned. “She usually texts. Maybe it’s important.”
She wandered away to take the call. When she twisted around and headed my way again, I knew instantly something was wrong. Her face was white. Her expression anxious. She disconnected and let the phone dangle from her hand.
“Nutmeg?”
“Francesca just saw a copy of this morning’s paper. The water tower is on the front page. They’re offering a reward in addition to the one offered through the school.”
Front page of the Sunday paper?
Yeah. We were screwed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Meg
The following week Francesca didn’t freeze me out completely, but I definitely felt an unprecedented chill factor emanating from her. She had warned me; I hadn’t listened. I was constantly catching Kylie watching me with what looked like pity.
She thought I was going to get caught.
I probably deserved to.
I had spent days trying to come up with a way to make things right.
I took a risk and righted one of my wrongs the only way I knew how.
Dad’s store sold paint. We also had access to industrial strength paint remover. Donning work gloves, goggles, and a safety mask, I had crept back onto school property at night, undoing the damage I had done.
Unlike the blissful calm I had felt all the nights I’d painted the murals, last night as I stripped the wall bare, my heart pounded painfully hard. It felt a little bit like I was scrubbing away the memory of my sister.
With the help of his coach, Luke had spent the week creating a video of his game highlights. He was trying to make connections with college coaches. He and Adam decided some off-season conditioning wouldn’t hurt. They’d either gone to the batting cages or the weight room every night after school.
I think he knew I was in a petulant mood and needed some space.
By the time the weekend rolled around, we’d hardly seen each other.
I was feeling better today. The school was scrubbed clean. No one had come forward, despite the reward in the paper. I’d managed to come up with an idea that felt like a retribution of sorts.
As I pressed Luke’s doorbell, I told myself I was there because I wanted to share my plan with him. My heart told me that wasn’t the only reason.
I missed him.
He frowned when he opened the door. “Meg. What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
I understood his concern. I’d never just shown up at his house before.
“Not really,” I said. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.�
��
“Come on in.” We traipsed up the stairs. He was obviously doing homework. He was wearing a pair of LHS sweats and a well-worn baseball jersey. His hair was rumpled and his feet were bare.
I followed him to his sofa and sat down next to him. In front of us, notebooks, pens, and textbooks were strewn about.
“You look busy.”
“Yeah. Dad’s on my case about my grades again. At first I was pissed, but then I realized that might not be such a bad thing.” I arched an eyebrow in question. “My grades are good. I’ve made the honor roll every semester. You got me thinking… A while ago you mentioned other options for college. It never occurred to me before, but I might be eligible for something other than a baseball scholarship. Maybe an academic scholarship? Or maybe both?”
“You really want out from under your family, don’t you?”
“Yes, but you already know that.” He shifted so he was sitting sideways facing me. “You’ve kind of been a stranger this week. What’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking. I realized I needed to undo some of the damage I’ve done.” I told him what I’d done to correct my mistake at the school.
He winced. “It would’ve been ironic if you got caught cleaning graffiti.”
“I know. It was nerve-wracking. I’ll get to the overpass eventually. The water tower…” I winced. “That’s another story. I thought about climbing it again, whiting the whole thing out.”
“That would be stupid,” he said. “You’d be caught for sure. I’m betting police are still patrolling the area.”
“Right.”
“You’re not going to turn yourself in.” It was a command, not a question.
“I probably should…but I’m not.” No matter how wrong I’d been, I was a coward. I couldn’t bear the thought of paying the full consequence for my actions. I hoped my own personal penance would be enough.
“This week I joined the Ecology Club at school. They clean the city parks, pick up garbage out of ditches, whatever needs doing. I know it won’t undo the damage, but at least I feel like I’m trying. I know it’s not the same, but I hope it counts for something.”
“Maybe I should join with you,” he offered.
“You’ve got enough going on. You were already really busy this week with Adam.” I motioned to his stack of homework. “If your dad is on your case about grades, I think the Ecology Club can get along without you.”
He didn’t look terribly disappointed by my refusal. I couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t going to be nearly as much fun as tossing around a baseball.
“Oh.” A wayward thought crept into my head. “I have something for you.”
“You have something for me?” He leaned forward like a little kid and waited.
I rummaged around in my messenger bag. I pulled out a book.
“I know it’s not much. I saw you flipping through my copy of The Outsiders the other day.” It was the latest required reading for my American Lit class. “I thought maybe you wanted to read it. I bought you your own copy.”
“Thanks.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “It’s been on my reading list for a while. I can’t wait to cross it off.”
“You have an actual list?”
The tips of his ears turned pink. “Did I say that out loud?”
“You did.” I laughed. “Want to hear something funny? Kylie’s in AP English. She said The Handmaid’s Tale isn’t on the reading list this year.”
“Um…” His face scrunched.
I patted his knee. “It’s okay. I find it absolutely adorable.”
“Adorable? I don’t think anyone has called me that since kindergarten.” His hand slid across the cushion. His fingers tangled around mine.
The threat of blackmail had fizzled the day we were in the hot tub, probably way before then. I wasn’t sure what was going on with us anymore. The rules of our relationship had blurred a long time ago. I had thought I didn’t want anything serious. But spending time apart this past week had made me realize something.
“I missed you,” I blurted.
His other hand slid up to my cheek. “I missed you, too.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lips. I backed away before it got too intense.
“Remember when we used the sidewalk chalk?”
“Nutmeg, it was last weekend.”
“Right. But do you remember what you wanted to talk to me about? Before Francesca called?” I had been sure he wanted to talk about us.
A sharp, quick succession of knocks erupted from the other side of Luke’s door. Without waiting for a response from him, his mother swung the door open.
“Meg,” she said, “we’re having company this evening. I’m hosting a dinner party for several lawyers at the firm. I would appreciate if you would move your…motorcycle out of the driveway.”
She said the word as if it tasted bitter in her mouth. It was not a subtle hint. She wanted me to leave.
“The caterers will be arriving shortly. I don’t want you blocking their way.”
Luke didn’t let go of my hand as we crossed his room.
“I’ll see her out,” Lenore told him.
“Mom—”
“It’s fine,” I assured him.
“I’ll call you when the dinner is over so we can meet up.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “I think we really need to finish this conversation.”
“Conversation?” Lenore’s tone held an arctic chill. “Is this something your father and I should be aware of?”
“Nope,” Luke said, keeping his tone light.
Lenore motioned for me to get moving. She guided me down the hallway, down the stairs, through the foyer and out the front door without a single word. I didn’t care. Unless I was reading Luke all wrong, she’d be seeing a lot more of me whether she liked it or not.
…
“—not going to continue like this.” Dad shouted.
I winced and edged down the staircase. I’d been listening to music, trying to get ahead on homework while I waited for Luke to call. There had been a long lull between songs, and the fight had pierced the gap.
“What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” Mom shouted back.
Mom. Shouted.
It was an incongruous thought, like finding a parakeet on the kitchen table. The two didn’t mesh. Mom didn’t shout. Mom barely ever engaged. A chill ran through me because I realized this must be serious. I waffled in the hallway, wondering if I should interfere or hide out in my room. My curiosity pinned me in place. I felt trapped, curiously wanting to listen, but guilt telling me I should give them privacy.
“This has to stop now,” Dad bellowed.
“What do you want from me?” Mom asked tiredly.
“I need you to see a therapist. You need to get straightened out. If you won’t do it for me or Meg, do it for yourself. You’re in a downward spiral. You. Need. Help,” Dad’s tone was firm.
I edged into the living room. “What’s going on?”
Dad looked startled to see me but quickly recovered. “Your mother has been taking sleeping pills.”
“So?” That was nothing new.
“Not just the ones prescribed by her doctor. She’s managed to get additional prescriptions by going to doctors out of town.” He cast her a disappointed look over his shoulder. “She has an entire stash of them. She even has a few bottles of over-the-counter ones. She’s damn lucky she hasn’t overdosed.”
“Mom?” She shifted her attention to me. “Why would you do that?”
“I…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, “I didn’t want to feel anymore. They relaxed me.”
“They turned you into a zombie.” I thought it was depression that caused her to sleep her days away, to spend a worrisome amount of time in bed. But she’d been drugging herself. Even when she was awake she always seemed so out of it. “Dad’s right. Do you know how easily you could’ve overdosed?” A frantic thought took hold. “Is that what you want? To be with Sydney again? Are
you so desperate to see her again that you’re willing to leave us?”
“No, sweetie.” Mom squeezed past Dad and moved toward me. “That’s not it at all. Don’t ever think that.”
“What am I supposed to think?”
“You’re supposed to know that I love you,” Mom said, the patience I remembered from my childhood glimmering through.
“Then prove it. Get help. See someone. Talk to Miss Perez,” I begged.
“Marion,” Dad said, “what would a little bit of counseling hurt? Won’t you at least try?”
“I don’t see the point,” Mom argued. “It won’t bring Sydney back. It won’t change anything.”
I took another step back. “You can say you love me, but actions speak louder than words. You have done nothing to prove it since Sydney died. I miss you. You’re right here, and I miss you.” My voice cracked, and my dammed-up tears finally broke with it. “Sydney didn’t choose to leave us, but you,” I pointed an accusatory finger at her, “you choose every single day, you choose to distance yourself from your family. I get that you’re hurting and you don’t want to be. But none of us want things to be the way they are. Everything we do in life is a choice. If you won’t try to get better for yourself, I wish you would choose to get better for me. I need you. Both of you.”
I yanked the door open but paused for a moment as I cast a glance over my shoulder. “Sydney would hate this. Seeing what has happened to the two of you, to our family, it would break her heart.”
Mom put her hands over her face, and her entire body shuddered. Dad slouched in defeat.
I had nothing left to say. I grabbed my coat, slammed the door, and barreled out into the night. A light mist was coming down. Not enough to drench me, not enough to sway me from leaving.
I yanked my helmet out of the sidesaddle and pulled it over my head as I tossed my leg over my bike. For just a moment I sat there gripping the handlebars to tame the trembling in my fingers. I pulled in a deep breath, willing my tears away. I was so sure my parents would come after me. When they didn’t, my heart cracked just a little bit more. I stuck the key in the ignition and the Rebel roared to life. I looked back at my family’s house one last time as I pulled out of the driveway.
