Perfectly Ridiculous

by Kristin Billerbeck

  “So you’ll find Max? Here’s my cell number. Give it to him and tell him I’ll pay him whatever his time is worth.”

  “You don’t think that’s . . . I don’t know, kind of weird?”

  “Weird? Why? He’s from here. You know him. You won’t vouch for me that my story is true?”

  “Of course I will, but Max dumped me. At least I think he dumped me, I’m not exactly sure. What makes you think he’d want to do me a favor?”

  “Leave that to me. He didn’t dump you. He isn’t reliable, right?”

  “Well, I thought we had a romance and apparently we didn’t, and he could have had the courtesy to tell me on Skype, but he waited and just ditched me one night in Argentina. I think.”

  “So he’s an idiot. He can still drive and he knows where the mission is. Two things in my favor. And if he thinks he’s still your boyfriend, I’ll set him straight on that account too. See? It’s all good.”

  “I don’t know how to reach him,” I point out. “He never gave me his cell phone number.”

  “Claire can email him on her smartphone. I’ll bet she has a way to find him.”

  “You have an answer for everything.”

  “I know, isn’t it great?” J.C. grins. “I’ve been waiting around all day. I had nothing to do but think, and this is the plan I came up with. A taxi would have to take me back to the mission. If one of you leaves the mission, it will only raise Libby’s suspicions, and like I said, she’s better off ignorant all the way around.”

  “I was sort of hoping the stepfather was innocent.”

  “Me too. Wait a minute, why?”

  “Because he looked like a child abuser. I was thinking that made it too easy, the fact that he looked like what I pictured a child abuser to be.”

  “I don’t know if they have a version of our cop shows down here, but I guess TV gets it right sometimes. Though I know from my mother’s practice, abusers come in all packages.”

  “What if I can’t find Max?”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to do it. At least bring my stuff here. Then I could catch a car to Buenos Aires, but I really don’t want to take the chance, Daisy. If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

  I nod.

  “You’d better get back. Libby will be looking for you.”

  Instinctively my body pulls closer to J.C.’s. It doesn’t want to move. For the first time in my life, I think romance doesn’t have to be so hard. Sometimes it blossoms out of a natural friendship and an inexplicable bond.

  “You have to go, Daisy.”

  I stare into his one good eye and still can’t explain how I got here. How I feel such a loss after two days. He leans in toward me and gently presses his lips to mine. I kiss him back gently so as not to split his lip again and stand awkwardly. “How will I know you’re okay?”

  “I’ll find a way to let you know. Do you have a pen?”

  I dig through the drawer beside him and find a golf pencil, then write down his information. His cell phone, his home phone, his address, his Facebook name, his Skype account. Basically, any way he can possibly be tracked down, I now have it.

  “There’s a reason all this happened.”

  I nod, unable to talk for fear I’ll blubber.

  “Call me the minute you get stateside.”

  I press my lips to his one last time and suddenly feel nothing has ever been wrong in the world and never will be again. This is what it feels like to be loved back. I hope, because it’s fantastic and sans drama.

  My Life: Stop—July 8 and 9

  Random factoid: Nice guys don’t always finish last.

  I was numb to the fear of entering Libby’s lair. I felt no pain as I relived J.C.’s gentle kiss and heard his soft words again in my memory. But it was none of those things that made me believe J.C. is special. It was his actions, pure and simple. He stepped up to the plate when he had every reason not to. He overlooked the humiliation of calling Max because it was better for everyone if Max found his way back to the mission and kept Libby in the dark as to the dangers lurking just outside the compound.

  I was dancing a waltz from a 1950s musical by the time I got to the mission’s door. Holding on to J.C.’s secret has made me feel special and important, as if I’m a special agent on assignment. Anything I can do to steer clear of my reality is a bonus at this point. So important, in fact, that I didn’t even want to tell Claire what I was up to, but that proved impossible since I had to reach Max, and she had the international cell phone that made emailing him possible. Because Claire has everything that makes life easier. I’d say, on average, her life has to be a good 99.8 percent easier than mine.

  I emailed Max, and within an hour he emailed me back. (Go figure. Maybe he’s feeling guilty.) He’s picking up J.C.’s stuff and then J.C. Why now? Why does Max come through for me when it’s the most awkward situation for me?

  Guys. I will never understand them!

  Libby’s calling, gotta run.

  So now it’s morning. It doesn’t seem like J.C.’s presence is missed by anyone but me, and since Libby is not all that interested in me, she never asked about J.C. But considering he was my only company in the cold cave, I miss him more than I could have imagined. And not in a romantic, pathetic way either. Just in an “I’m lonely and no one here likes me” way.

  Claire and Libby seem to be besties for reasons I can’t fathom. I actually hear Libby giggling at Claire’s jokes and it’s like a slap in the face. I know that’s totally immature, like Claire can’t be friends with her and friends with me, but hello! The woman has totally threatened my college education unless I meet her exacting standards.

  Incidentally, I do realize that it’s stupid to call my journal a travel journal. I could be anywhere. Coming through the beautiful but crowded center of Buenos Aires and passing the water and palm trees was the extent of the travel portion of my first international trip.

  My fortunes do not change. Trouble follows me, and if I’ve learned anything about traveling, it’s that I bring my luck with me. Which is a good lesson, I figure. It’s going to save me a lot of money in the future, as I won’t be traveling. I can just stay at home. I know it’s not scriptural to believe in luck, and technically I don’t, but I sure seem to have this thing I don’t believe in and a lot of it.

  I just heard a car! Max must be here! My heart is pounding at the thought, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m anxious to see Max or I’m anxious that he’s going to see J.C., or all of the above. But I don’t have time to think about it now.

  Climbing down the ladder’s rungs, I gather up J.C.’s bags near the sofa and head toward the door. It’s open a crack when I reach it, and Max is standing outside in jeans and a plaid cotton shirt, his fist poised to knock.

  “Hi,” I say to him with just a bit of a chill in my voice, but his deep, espresso eyes melt me every time. I wish I wasn’t so shallow, but looking at their depth, I want to know everything stirring behind them. Though he’s probably thinking nothing more than, What is wrong with that girl?

  “Hi,” he says briskly—just a few degrees colder than the greeting I gave him. “I’m here for that guy’s stuff.”

  “Yeah. It’s right here.” I hand him the backpack and bedroll. “Max . . .” I linger on his name, willing him to look at me. He finally does. “I really appreciate this. You have no idea how much this is helping me.”

  “Whatever.” His terse answer ticks me off.

  “Are you mad at me? Because you’re sort of the one who failed to show up and do what you promised. Not that I’m not grateful you’re here now and all, but you did promise me dinner and then with no explanation—” Oh my goodness, I sound like a nagging wife!

  He shakes his head. “I’m not mad at you, and you know if I could have been here, I would have been. I’m mad at me.”

  “You are?”

  “You like this J.C.?”

  “It’s not about that, Max. We need your help. Both of us. I don’t
have time to explain now, but I will.” I keep looking over his shoulder, hoping that Libby won’t come out and accuse me of setting up a dating service—or worse—in her kitchen. “Is your mother all right? I thought of her immediately when you didn’t show.”

  He hikes the backpack over his shoulder. “She’s fine. She has bad days and good. Right now she’s good.”

  “I’m so glad!” But he still doesn’t tell me what’s wrong with her. I suppose it’s none of my business anyway.

  “I guess we’ll have to trust each other then. You have your reasons, I have mine.” He tucks the bedroll under his arm. “I have to go.”

  “That’s it?” I ask him, while at the same time checking the schoolroom frantically for any sign of class being over. I follow him to his car.

  He lifts the trunk and shoves J.C.’s stuff into the small compartment. He slams the trunk, and I let my breath out, thankful that he’s around the corner and out of sight from the classroom and Libby’s prying eyes. I pad after him and try to decipher what he really thinks of my asking him this favor.

  “Thanks for doing this, Max.”

  He looks around me. “I’d better get out of here before your boss sees me. I assume you don’t want me seen.”

  “Yeah.” I look away when I answer, ashamed that I’m asking for a favor and wanting to hide him at the same time.

  Max looks at me with those intense, roasted-espresso eyes that seem to force truth out of me—not that I’m a liar. “It seems you feel strongly about getting this guy out of town.”

  “I do.”

  Max scratches the nape of his neck and seems to want to say something, but keeps stopping himself.

  “Just say it,” I tell him.

  “Say what?”

  “Whatever it is you need to say to me.”

  He grabs the back of his neck. “I’d rather not.”

  “I wish you’d just say it. Something stopped you from doing what you said you would, and I think it would be better to just spit it out than string me along while I’m down here.” As much as I don’t want to hear there’s someone else or that he’s just not into me, there’s also a deep need to understand.

  “I’d better get your friend before he misses his plane.”

  “Were we ever . . . you know . . . did I imagine we had a relationship when there wasn’t one?” I exhale audibly. “There, I said it.”

  “If we did, you seem to have gotten over it quickly enough. Already asking me to chauffeur your new boyfriend around. It’s like you didn’t even wait until the body was cold.”

  My mouth is open and there are sputtering sounds coming out, but I can’t quite come up with words. What I want to say is some movie quote I always hear from my dad: “What we have here is a failure to communicate.”

  “Me? You’re the one who ditched me without so much as a phone call, and now I know you could have reached Claire at any time.”

  “Claire. Not you. You didn’t have a phone.”

  “But you brought her here. You knew she was with me.”

  He ponders this for a minute, and I fill in the silence.

  “You’ve done everything you can to avoid me since the last day of school, from not having time to Skype to not answering emails. And when I came down here you were all warm and cozy until you ditched me without so much as a phone call. I just don’t get it. If you dumped me, I wish you’d had the guts to tell me so outright.”

  “I told you, I had something to do. You’re the one who got cozy with a guy you barely know, nursing him and taking care of his ride to the airport.”

  I step closer to him. “I’m sure you did have something to do, but you know what? It made me realize something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If I have a boyfriend, I think I should know it, not just guess all the time where I stand. I think that wouldn’t make for a very happy life.”

  “All you had to do was ask!” Max shouts.

  “I shouldn’t have to ask. Isn’t that the equivalent of begging?” What is it with passive guys who make girls do all the work? There has to be a guy out there who thinks I’m worth chasing. Asking for affection is beyond pathetic, and my daddy didn’t raise me to beg for a hero. If he’s a hero, he’ll chase me.

  “J.C. doesn’t make you beg, is that it? You know this guy, what, two days, and you know everything about him and think he’s never going to let you down? Maybe he doesn’t have a mother with hepatitis to take care of, did you ever think of that? That would lighten a guy’s load.”

  “You’re not going to make me feel guilty for asking. You’re jealous. That’s all this is about. Your ego is bruised.” I want to ask him how it feels, but that would feel far too good and then I’d have guilt.

  “Daisy!”

  I hear my name shouted, and my stomach clenches. “Go! It’s Libby,” I say to Max. “I’m right here,” I call out and rush around the corner only to run smack-dab into Libby.

  “Come here, young man,” she yells at Max, and I see him pause and look behind him at the car, as if he’s thinking whether he should make a run for it. He decides against it, and I hear my heart pounding in my ears.

  “Yes?” Max leans on the roof of his car with one elbow on the door.

  “What are you doing here? Did you come to pick up Daisy? Daisy, are you planning on leaving us without notice?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “What? No. She’s working for the week,” Max concurs.

  “I can’t use her here. I’ve already warned her about my rules, and it seems like she’s determined to play by a different set. Take her with you.” She waves her hand toward me as though I’m yesterday’s rubbish.

  “No,” Max tells Libby in a pleading voice. “I came . . . I came to bring her sweets for the kids, but then I realized I left them in my van. I brought the wrong car.” He slaps his forehead, and it’s clear Libby doesn’t believe a word of his story. I suppose I can take solace in the fact that Max is a terrible liar. Maybe that’s why he’s said so little to me all along.

  “Daisy, why don’t you go and grab your stuff. I think I’ll handle the cooking from here.”

  “But I—”

  “You’d better get back to America if you plan to finish your scholarship experience. I’ve already had one of you go AWOL on me, so it’s not a surprise you’d both go. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful you brought me the best Queen Esther I’ve ever seen. I can’t find fault in your best friend.” She sings this as if she hasn’t just kicked me out of her home and forgotten the reason I was able to come to Buenos Aires in the first place. I’m too stunned to feel anything but desperation for her to change her mind.

  “Libby, you can’t send me away. I have nowhere to go! My parents are in Buenos Aires and—”

  “Someday you’re going to look back on this and see that it was all for the best. Don’t you remember how Saint Paul kicked Saint Mark off of the missionary tour and they doubled their coverage? God will use this. I’m certain of that much.”

  “Libby, why? I’ve done everything you asked of me and you know my mother!”

  “I can’t let that take my focus off the vision for the mission. We have enough help now, and I do think you’ll agree you and I don’t see eye to eye. I like things done a certain way and you don’t seem to honor that. Let’s part ways as friends, shall we? Friends who will meet again someday, God willing, in heaven.” She holds out her hand to me.

  “I’ll get my stuff.” I look at Max. “Will you wait?”

  His cheek flinches, but I’m without options. Uncomfortable or not, Max is my ticket back to the safety of my parents, which reminds me of my failure but makes me glad I have a place to run.

  “You expect Claire to stay then?” I ask Libby.

  “She has her whole life to vacation. Right now she’s doing God’s work. The work he created her to do. She’s a natural.” Libby pulls her straggling blonde hair back into a ponytail, and I marvel at how easily she takes control of people
around her.

  I shouldn’t feel betrayed by Claire, since Libby is answering for her, but I’m ashamed that I do. “I should talk with Claire before I leave, though. She might need a ride, or not expect to be here alone.”

  At this, Max shakes his head impatiently and Libby crosses her arms. I run into the small house to grab my things and see Claire’s upscale bags sitting beside them. I have to give her the choice, I think, as I gather up my stuff under one arm and climb down the ladder.

  As I exit the door, I look to my right. Libby and Max are both staring at me, but I can’t leave Claire without at least telling her I’m leaving. There’s no reason for her to be here, and regardless of how Libby feels, Claire needs to make the choice.

  I run across the field until I come to the classroom. Claire is in front of the children, dressed as Queen Esther with black kohl around her eyes and blood-red lipstick, in a costume that looks more Egyptian than biblical. She is speaking her lines in Spanish, and I can see she has the entire classroom mesmerized.

  I tap the doorjamb and try to wait patiently until her scene is finished, but it’s going on forever. “Pssst!” I try to grab her attention. “Pssst!”

  Claire continues her lines as if she’s on the London stage, and if she hears me, she makes no sign of it. Her theory that the show must go on is making me tense. But I wait until her line is finished and call out, “Claire!”

  She hikes up her long gown and sways toward me. “What is it?” she hisses.

  “Claire, Libby wants me to leave, and Max is outside waiting to take me back to Buenos Aires. Will you come?”

  “Right now?” She glances back at the children.

  “Max has to be back to town for something. Libby’s made it clear that the time is now.”

  Claire brushes back her black bob to reveal sparkling, fake-gold earrings. “Daisy . . . there are four more days to go. I’ve learned all the lines.”

  “I don’t have a choice, but you do. I’ll support you either way.”

  “I can’t leave yet. I promised Libby and the kids—” Claire motions toward the students. “What will they say if Esther doesn’t finish the story?”