by Jaime Reed
“Shut up, tons of fun!” I yelled and retied the scarf on my head.
Chubs McGrub did a giggly dance in the sand as he chanted, “Hatchet face! Hatchet face!”
I shot to my feet, but Liam pulled me back down.
“Just let it go,” he said softly.
“You know what? I’m going home. I can’t do this.” I sprang off the bench.
“Come on, don’t let that kid get to you.” Liam tried to reason, but I wasn’t having it.
“It’s not him. I’m just not ready for all this yet.”
With his head low, Liam muttered, “If you keep being afraid of stuff, you’ll never be ready.”
“Maybe. But I’m not going to get any studying done here. Thanks for hanging out.” I was about to turn away when he glanced up at me with a look so broken and lonely that I couldn’t take another step.
In a voice full of eleventh-hour despair, he asked, “If I found another place to study, would you stay?”
What a simple request for such a sad face. It revealed the toll our separation had taken on him. My conscience wouldn’t allow me to leave him hanging like that. And if we were ever going to find some common ground, I had to be open to communication.
“Sure. What do you have in mind?”
Oh. Good. Lord! That smile could melt ice caps! He may well be the cause of global warming. Was there anything non-hot about this guy? No wonder I jumped at the chance to ask him out. Literally.
“Well, come on then. Stop making googly eyes at me and let’s go.” I went to my bike before I made a bigger fool of myself. There was something about him that made me feel comfortable and nervous at the same time.
“Ooh, what? You gonna go home and cry now?” the kid taunted in the distance. “Look at the big baby. Wah! Wah! Wa—” His mocking wails were cut off by a loud clunk.
I turned around. The boy lay in the sandbox, covering his head. “He hit me! He hit me!” he cried as a red ball rolled to a stop beside him.
Liam was standing by the bench, glaring triumphantly down at the boy.
Wow. He’d never get a babysitting job in this town.
Liam joined me on the curb and untied his black ten-speed from the bike rack. When he hopped on, he said with a sigh, “I now appreciate being an only child.”
“Me too.” I slid on my backpack, hopped on my bike, and rode away with my helmet tucked in the front basket. No point in wearing it now. The damage was done and it was nowhere near as bad as I’d thought.
I had no intentions of taking Ellia to a new spot today. Her re-induction into society needed to occur gradually. I knew that much. I also knew that she probably shouldn’t operate moving machinery such as a bike, but she steered hers like a pro, circling around me with broad dips and turns, hands and no hands. There were some actions you just didn’t forget and were able to perform on instinct. Like when I’d kissed her in the hospital.
Now I tried to focus on the road as we pedaled the two miles to Wade’s house.
Everything in Quintero was within biking distance. Tourists and vendors crowded the main artery of Cape Street all year round. Palm trees lined the sidewalks like lights on a runway, pointing us toward the roundabout where a bronze statue of our county’s namesake stood in the center. The junction served as the city’s compass, dividing east from west, residential from commercial. With the ocean at our backs, we navigated through the long strip of boutiques, bistros, and brick storefronts covered in bad folk art.
“Okay, when you said you wanted to take me somewhere, I didn’t know you meant someone’s house,” Ellia commented as we stopped at the crosswalk. It could’ve been the ride uphill or the shirtless guy singing behind us with flowers and Christmas lights in his beard, but she looked annoyed. I couldn’t blame her either way.
“Not just any someone. Technically, it’s Wade’s house,” I said. “My—my uncle,” I added awkwardly. “My grandpa left it to Wade when he died, but he only stays there when his mom comes to town. I doubt he’d mind us hanging out. I have to return his bike anyway.”
“His mom?” she asked, frowning. “Wouldn’t that make her your grandmother?”
“Step-grandmother, yes, but she’s the same age as my dad. Her son, Wade, is sixteen and goes to León with us. Well, with me.” I braced myself for the impending questions. There was no way to get around them.
Ellia lifted her scarred eyebrow. The words “you gotta be kidding me” were written all over her face. “So you’re older than your uncle? What kind of Jerry Springer mess is that?”
I returned the look with what I hoped communicated my extreme offense. “Not everyone has a picture-perfect family, El. I gotta work with what I got.”
“Trust me, my family isn’t perfect,” she replied.
“I know,” I said dryly. “But don’t let anyone tell them that.”
“Oh, you’re gonna talk smack about my parents?”
“Why not? They do it to me all the time,” I argued. “You’ve seen where I live. It’s not the ritziest neighborhood in town. My entire house can fit in the bottom floor of your house. My folks are divorced, my dad’s blue collar, and my grandfather married a younger woman and had a kid my age. As far as your family’s concerned, I’m poor white trash. Good for reality TV, but not a proper suitor for their daughter.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again. It was hard to contend with the truth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to judge you.”
I gave a curt nod and stared straight ahead. When the crosswalk sign turned green, I gestured for her to go first. I was annoyed, but I was still careful to monitor our surroundings and ride curbside to block her from traffic. In truth, I wasn’t mad at her, but at the tiny voice in my head that asked, Why would she want someone like me? This blaring alarm, this dripping faucet, nagged me with its ceaseless noise. It never really went away, it just lowered in volume.
I reached the end of the block as Ellia rolled next to me, her expression contrite. “I really am sorry, Liam.”
“I know. We all have our pressure points, El. That one’s mine.”
Another ten minutes of cruising brought us to Wade’s neighborhood, a terra-cotta suburb that reminded me of a soundstage from a 1950s TV show. I expected to see a paperboy on his bike route or a milkman delivering door-to-door. It was that quaint. It was that sickening.
The cherry-red Mustang parked in Wade’s driveway was a bit of an attention grabber, which was undoubtedly his mom’s intent.
We climbed off our bikes and rolled them the rest of the way to the porch. “Is this Uncle Wade person cool?” Ellia asked.
“Sometimes. You’ve known him almost as long as you’ve known me.”
“Okay.” The way her thumbs hooked into the straps of her backpack as she scanned the yard made her look like a shy new girl in school.
“Low-key, though? Meeting new people freaks me out,” she admitted. “Even when they’re not really new. And then it’s awkward because they know all this stuff about me that I don’t even know. Then you add more people to the mix and it’s like system overload.”
“I get it. Don’t worry. I’ll be here,” I assured her. “You have his number and a ton of pictures of him on your phone and you have my certified safety seal of approval. And I won’t leave your side for a second. I promise.”
“Does he know about me?” she asked as I knocked on the door.
“That you have amnesia? Not exactly. He knows you were hospitalized for head trauma, but he doesn’t know the full extent of the damage.” She was about to turn around, but I latched on to her shoulders and spun her back to the door. “Relax. He’s cool with it. He’s my best friend and family, and I had to talk to someone about it.”
Ellia nodded her understanding at the same time that the door flew open. My grandfather’s widow posed in the threshold in a black bikini and a sheer white robe. She had the face of every basic white girl on the coast: bronzed, airbrushed, augmented, and fresh off the assembly line. Batteries not inclu
ded. Originality sold separately. Neither the house, the sports car, nor her Botox came from hard-earned money, but from a gullible old man who forgot to update his will.
“Liam!” she squealed.
“Grandma!” I returned with fake cheer.
Her smile dropped, though the taut skin around her face held a permanent look of surprise. “I told you not to call me that.” Her dark eyes settled on Ellia. “And who do we have here?”
“This is my … ” I balked, unsure what we were exactly. “My friend, Ellia Dawson. Ellia, this is Wade’s mom, Jupiter.”
“It’s Juniper. Like the flower.” Her upper lip twitched in her effort to keep things classy in front of company. “It’s nice to meet you, Ellia. Please excuse my attire. I was heading to the beach to work on my tan. The entire state of Illinois is covered in eight feet of snow—I kid you not. And I thought, ‘Hey, you have a house in Cali. Why don’t you take a few days off and catch some rays?’ ”
“Or maybe hang out with your son,” I suggested dryly.
Her response was an awkward laugh. Grandpa bought this house six years ago and moved Wade cross-country so that the entire McPherson clan lived in the same state. But the woman treated their family home like a friggin’ timeshare, and so did Wade.
“Anywho, if you’re looking for Wade, he’s out back doing something with the grill.” She sashayed back inside, her robe and brown hair floating behind her. The open door was as good of an invitation as we could expect, so I allowed Ellia to enter first.
Wait, had she said grill? Wade could burn a bowl of cereal with how few culinary skills he possessed. And where did he get a grill?
Juniper crossed the living room, pushed back the glass patio door, and stepped outside into the smoky yard. We followed her. Wade stood with his back to us, manning one of those wheeled charcoal kettle grills with a dome lid. Next to him sat a trash bag and a milk crate of miscellaneous items: a water hose, a fire extinguisher, lighter fluid, and cooking utensils.
“Wade, honey! Liam’s here!” Juniper called out to him, but he didn’t turn around. “WADE!” she called again to no avail. “Ugh! I can’t do this right now. He’s in one of his moods again. Maybe you can talk to him. I gotta run.” With a wave, she went back into the house.
“She seems nice,” Ellia said once we were alone.
“Yeah, like a Siberian tiger. Real nice,” I sighed as we strode across the grass toward Wade. I tapped his shoulder.
He spun around with a jolt, revealing a chef apron that said LICENSE TO GRILL on the front. He pulled the buds out of his ears. “Hey, Liam. You back already?”
“Yeah, I’m done with the bike, but we need access to the guesthouse.”
“We?” Wade wiped the smoke from his face then locked eyes on Ellia. “Hey, Ella-Bella. What’s up?” He scooped her up in his arms and squeezed. Ellia giggled at the unexpected flight.
He set her down and studied her face. “You sure you’re okay? You seem a little off.”
Ellia snuck a quick look to me before saying, “Nope. I couldn’t be better, Uncle Wade.” She gave him a playful punch on the arm. “How’ve you been, buddy?”
Okay, she was overdoing it. To ward off suspicion, I steered Wade’s attention to the inferno raging behind us. “What’s the story with the cookout?”
“Oh no!” Wade rushed to the grill and used a large spatula to poke at the charred mass inside.
I squinted at the grill, realizing it looked familiar. “Does Dad know you snatched his grill?”
“Define know,” he said with air quotes as he scraped off a blackened piece of plastic. “As for what I’m doing—I’m undergoing a personal cleanse, if you will. I blocked her from all my accounts, deleted all of her pictures from my phone, and melted the CD she made for me. I mean come on, who plays CDs anymore?” He showed us said CD, which was now a wad of tar bubbling on the gridiron.
Ellia leaned in and whispered, “Who’s ‘her’?”
“His ex, Natalie. She broke his heart months ago and he’s just now getting over it,” I explained quickly.
“And now the pièce de résistance.” Wade squatted down and pulled that ugly maroon sweater from the trash bag. It reeked of lighter fluid, which the flames devoured as soon as it hit the grill.
I let out a dramatic gasp, but the shock was genuine. “Oh wow. Not the hoodie!”
Wade flipped the sweatshirt over with the spatula and folded the sleeves for an even broil. “Yes, my friend. It is time. I have worn this shroud of heartache and shame for far too long. I have spent days with no sleep, no sunlight, or a decent shower.” At this point in the rant, Wade turned over the milk crate and stood on top of it. “I have eaten my weight in baked goods and shed rivers of tears watching those sad commercials for battered animals. But no more! Today, I stand against the oppression of the power ballad. Today, I cut the shackles of the adulterous she-beast. I am a strong, independent man. Hear me roar!”
I assumed more was coming, but Wade stood locked in a victory pose on the crate with the spatula pointed to the sky. Ellia seemed at a loss, too, then began a slow clap.
“So anyway, Ellia needs a quiet place to study. Can we use the guesthouse?” I asked.
“Sure. Go ahead. The door’s unlocked.” Wade pointed to the small cottage at the edge of the backyard. “If you need help with anything, let me know.”
I thanked him and left him to his barbeque when Ellia let the words slip: “It was nice meeting you, Wade.”
I nudged her arm in warning of her error, and she quickly followed up with, “The new you, that is. It’s about time that you reinvent yourself. Find out who you are outside of that relationship.”
Wade nodded and returned to his work.
“Good save,” I whispered.
She smiled brightly as I led her to the guesthouse.
The cottage had white walls, a shag carpet, and not-so-modest décor. The showstopper was a mega plasma TV that covered the back wall of the house.
“Okay, so the bathroom is across the room and the kitchen is right behind you.” I didn’t need to move around to give the grand tour; a quick turn of the head captured the full vista of the guesthouse.
Ellia circled the room, gracing random items with timid fingers. She’d been in this room a thousand times, kicked off her shoes at the door, napped on the couch, and helped clean up after every party. Now she was a sightseer in what could be considered a second home.
I picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV. “Do you want to watch a movie while we work?”
“Sure,” she called back and wiped debris from the small dining table.
I scanned the movie menu. Wade had over a thousand movies in every genre. He even had an automatic setting so one movie would play after another. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Nothing too heavy; just something buzzing in the background.”
I selected an Adam Sandler movie, then joined her at the table. She had already unloaded her books and for all intents and purposes was determined to study. I pulled up a chair across from her.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” she asked.
I froze. “Huh?”
Her head tipped to her right toward the screen. “50 First Dates? Really?”
I wasn’t getting it. Then I remembered the plot. I shot to my feet and changed the movie to The Wedding Singer instead. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m not as sensitive about it as you might think. Let me stop lying—I am, but I’m getting better, I swear. And just so you know, that type of amnesia that Drew Barrymore has in the movie doesn’t apply to me. Now Cody, on the other hand … ” She bit her lip.
“Yeah. Cody.” I tried to keep the malice out of my voice, I honestly did. “You guys are getting along pretty well.”
“Uh-huh,” she hummed, not giving one inch of detail.
I was sure she could feel my knees bobbing under the table. “So, his memory is erased every day?”
“Ever
y hour or so,” she affirmed.
“Are you kidding?” I laughed out the words, but then snapped my lips shut at her unamused expression. “I’m sorry.”
“You say that a lot.”
“I’m hoping it’ll stick.”
She leaned forward and slid her hand across the table to hold mine. Staring into my eyes, she said, “Don’t make this weirder than it needs to be. We’re just friends, so you can let your inner caveman go back to sleep. Now let’s start with this absolute value business.” She let go of my hand and picked up her pencil.
I followed her lead and got to work. Within the hour, my chair had somehow migrated to her side of the table. I had to hand it to her, she was all business and she used the time to its full advantage. She was serious about learning, not just letting me do all the work like other kids who asked for my help. I watched her fingers dance across the page and found it cute how her brows furrowed and how her tongue stuck out the side of her mouth when she concentrated.
This might sound completely sappy, but I was an avid neck person. The delicate bone and the dip between the clavicle and the slope of the shoulder would give me chills every time I thought about it. Ellia had a beautiful neck, swan-like and thin, and I followed the path upward to the curve of her jaw.
My mind raced with memories. I remembered my hand cupping around her ear to whisper a secret, smelling her orange-scented shampoo. Each second within her vicinity made it harder to keep that promise not to kiss her. It was fine outside in the fresh air; however, with two people, four walls, one closed door—
“Biggity-bam!” Ellia cheered in triumph, shattering my trance. She dropped her pencil and turned the notebook around to show me her work. “Nailed it!”
Thankful for the reality check, I zipped through the problems and was surprised she only got two wrong. “Good job.”
She batted her lashes and fanned herself in false modesty. “I try.”
After three more practice drills, we decided to take a break in time to catch the tail end of the movie. All of the love and singing must’ve gotten to Ellia because she once again said, “Tell me about us.”
