Roadside Assistance

by Amy Clipston

  Maybe I’ll try to call Megan. She knows what Dad and I went through with your illness. She would understand how I’m feeling right now and help me sort through it all.

  I set the journal on the bedside table and grabbed the phone. After dialing Megan’s number, I flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling fan. When Megan’s recorded voice filled my ear, I groaned and hung up.

  Rolling to my side, I picked up Chelsea’s number and stared at it again. Closing my eyes, I thumped myself on the forehead.

  Don’t be stupid, Emily. Call Chelsea. She likes you. She’s your friend.

  My stomach clenched as I dialed her number.

  “Hello?” she asked.

  “Hey, Chelsea,” I said, sounding a little too cheery. “It’s Emily.”

  “Oh,” Chelsea said, her voice the opposite of mine. “Hi, Emily.”

  I tried to ignore the frost as I pushed on. “What are you up to tonight?”

  “Not much,” she said. “Just sitting here watching TV.”

  “How are your brothers feeling?” I asked.

  “Better, thanks.” Chelsea paused. “How’s the pool party?” Her usually sweet and upbeat voice seeped with hurt.

  Way to get right to the point, Chels.

  I swallowed. Now was the time to fix this. “I didn’t go. I’ve been up in my room most of the night.”

  “Right,” she said. “Look, I’ve got to go. I think I hear my brother cry —”

  “Wait!” I cut in. “Don’t hang up. Let me explain.”

  “Fine,” she said with an I-mean-business-tone. “Just level with me. And I want the truth.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Do you even like me?” Chelsea asked.

  “Yes.” I nodded with emphasis even though she couldn’t see me through the phone.

  “So explain why you didn’t tell me you were living at Whitney’s.” Her voice pleaded with me.

  “I was embarrassed to tell you the truth.”

  “Why?” Chelsea voice softened.

  I shook my head and blew out a sigh. “I didn’t want to admit my dad and I moved here to get a new start. We lost everything when his business failed.”

  “Emily, no one would think badly of you for that.” I could feel the warmth and compassion through the phone.

  I frowned. “I don’t want pity either. I want someone to like me for me, not because I’m a charity case or because I’m Whitney Richards’ cousin.”

  “I’m not into pity or using someone to get popular. I just want a good friend.”

  I smiled. “Me too.”

  “So why didn’t you want to invite me to that pool party?”

  “Because, honestly, I didn’t want to go. I don’t fit in with Whitney and her friends, and I didn’t think you would want to either.” I grabbed my water bottle and took a sip. “Look, I should’ve been up front with you, but honestly, I’m not good at friendships. I’m not good at relationships, period.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m sure you had friends back in Philly.”

  “I had a few but not many.” I looked down at my lap and took a deep breath. For a split second I considered telling her about Tyler, but then thought better of it. “Look, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you everything from the beginning.”

  “You’re right,” she said, her voice bright again. “You should’ve told me the truth, but it’s okay. I understand now.” She paused for a moment. “Can I ask you one question? It’s a personal one.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Where is your mom? Did your parents get divorced?”

  “My mom died last year,” I said softly. “Cancer.”

  She gasped. “I’m so sorry. That has to be hard. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here to listen. I mean that.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled, thankful.

  “Listen, what are you doing right now besides avoiding the pool party?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Why don’t we go to a movie? There’s that new romantic comedy that just came out with the cute blond guy.”

  “Oh.” I grinned. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

  “So, what do you think?” she asked. “I can pick you up in twenty minutes. It starts in about an hour. I checked the times because I was thinking of going by myself.”

  “Going to the movies by yourself?” I asked. “That’s no fun.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” she said. “Who’s going to share the big bucket of popcorn with me? That’s why I’m glad you called.”

  I could hear the smile in her voice, and it caused my smile to widen.

  “How about this?” I asked. “I’ll pay for the tickets and you pay for the popcorn?”

  “Hey! No fair!” Chelsea said with a laugh. “The tickets are cheaper!”

  I chuckled as I crossed the room and grabbed my purse. “I know! That’s why I said it.”

  “Pick you up in twenty minutes?” she asked.

  “I’ll be out in the driveway.” I hung up the phone and trotted down the hall to my dad’s room. I knocked on the door, and then pushed it open, finding him staring at the computer screen where his résumé was displayed.

  He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “What’s up, Em?”

  “Can I go to the movies?” I asked.

  He raised his eyebrows. “With who?”

  “My friend Chelsea,” I said. “She’s going to pick me up in twenty minutes. We’re going to see that new romantic comedy.”

  “No problem. Just come home right after.” He yanked his wallet from his back pocket and started to open it.

  “Oh, thanks, but I have money.” I held up my purse as I backed out the door. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Don’t bring home any guys,” he joked with a wink.

  I groaned and shook my head on my way to the stairs.

  I found Logan in the kitchen, sitting at the bar while studying his handheld video game, which tweeted and beeped.

  “Where’s your friend who was supposed to sleep over?” I asked, plucking a fresh bottle of water from the refrigerator.

  “His mom called and said he has the stomach flu,” Logan said without looking up from his game.

  I leaned over the island in the center of the kitchen. “So you’re going to sit here by yourself and play your game all night?”

  “Probably.” His eyes stayed fixed on the screen. He frowned, smacking his hand on the counter and muttering something about Darth Maul and light sabers.

  I shook my head. I had never understood the appeal of video games. Must be a boy thing.

  “Are you going to swim?” he asked, his eyes trained on the miniature screen.

  “Nope.” I turned toward the sliding glass doors leading to the deck.

  A few soaking-wet guys stood by the railing while holding cans of soda and talking. I recognized two of them from Whitney’s lunch table.

  “Do you know how to swim?” he asked.

  “I do.” I opened the bottle and took a drink of water.

  “But you don’t like to swim.”

  Three of Whitney’s friends pranced by the edge of the pool. They reminded me of those contestants on Miss America, arching their backs and smiling. I could never compete with their curves.

  “I don’t like putting on a bathing suit in front of strangers,” I said.

  “Oh.” He shrugged. “Must be a girl thing. I wouldn’t care who sees me in my swim trunks.”

  “You’re a boy and not in high school.”

  “I’m sure you look just as good as those other girls.”

  Smiling, I mussed his hair. “You’re sweet. I’m actually going to the movies with my friend Chelsea. She’s going to pick me up in a little bit.”

  “Oh.” He looked up. “Are you going to church with us tomorrow?”

  My hand fluttered to my cross and my mouth dried. Since Mom had died, the thought of stepping into a church made me feel uneas
y. “I guess. I haven’t asked my dad about it.”

  “You should come. Pastor Keith and Jenna are cool.”

  I fingered the cross. “Who’s Jenna?”

  “The youth director. She’s really nice.” His eyes moved back to the screen while his fingers moved about the keys.

  A woot! sounded, and I faced the sliding glass doors just as a male body in black swim trunks ran across the patio, flew through the air, and landed in the pool with a tremendous splash, soaking Whitney and Chad, who were sitting with their feet dangling in the water. Screeches and shouts followed.

  Grinning, Logan moved to the door. “Who was that?”

  The boy bobbed up in the center of the pool and then pulled himself up onto the patio. He smoothed back his hair and I immediately recognized the culprit.

  “Zander!” Logan laughed.

  I was drawn to Zander’s wiry and muscular chest and his wide, lopsided grin. My stomach fluttered and my pulse skittered at the sight of him. Why did he always have that effect on me?

  Two of the guys moved over to him and pushed him back into the water while the crowd surrounding the pool cheered. Zander bobbed up to the surface of the pool and splashed everyone within the water’s reach.

  “He’s so funny,” Logan said, snapping his game shut and placing it on the counter. He laid his hand on the door handle and looked back at me. “I’m going to go say hi to him. You coming?”

  “In a minute.” I held up the bottle of water. “I’m going to finish this before Chelsea gets here.”

  He rushed out the sliding glass doors, and I stood by them while I drank the water.

  Logan approached the crowd, and Zander emerged from the pool, his tan skin sparkling with beads of water. Around his neck, a gold chain glittered in the dim lights surrounding the pool. Whitney grabbed Logan’s arm and Zander took the other one before they dragged him kicking and screaming with delight over to the side of the pool. Zander motioned like he was going to throw Logan in and then let him go. Logan jogged back toward the deck, unscathed and still dry.

  The group laughed in response.

  A flash of headlights glowed in the driveway, and I tossed the bottle into the recycling bin and then stepped out onto the deck.

  “Hey!” Whitney called. “Where are you going?”

  “To the movies,” I said, my cheeks heating as the group of kids focused on me.

  “Oh,” Whitney said with a smile. “Have fun.”

  Zander grinned and nodded at me, and I gave him a weak smile before trotting off to Chelsea’s car, with my face on fire and my stomach in knots.

  chapter five

  For the first time in probably six months, I found myself biting my nails. I didn’t realize I was doing it until the nail tore off between my teeth. Grimacing, I discreetly fished it out of my mouth and dropped it onto the ground while following my dad up the stone steps of Cameronville Community Church. I hadn’t been to a church in eight months.

  I jammed my hands in the pockets of my white sweater, which I’d pulled on over a green sundress I’d found stuffed in the back of my closet. Since I rarely bought or wore dresses, I felt gawky and awkward, like a little girl wearing panty hose and heels for the first time. I’d thrown my hair up in a French braid and brushed on a little bit of lip gloss. I’d hoped that my outfit would fend off Darlene’s criticism. Luckily, we were running late, so she barely gave me a once-over before we dashed to Darlene’s SUV and my dad’s Suburban.

  In comparison to me, Whitney looked confident and put together, clad in her gray designer skirt and satin camisole top and jacket. It must’ve taken her hours to form the perfect French twist at the back of her head and get her makeup just right. Whitney entered through the doors to the church first, followed by her parents and brother.

  My dad hung back and faced me, frowning. “You all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, examining the straps on my white sandals.

  “I just wanted to be sure.” He looped his arm around my shoulders and steered me up the stairs. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. Truthfully, I wasn’t even close to all right. Being at a church brought back memories I wasn’t ready to face.

  We stepped through the doorway and into a large hallway crowded with families dressed in their Sunday best. A man who I’d guess was in his midthirties wearing a white robe with a colorful stole weaved through the knot of people, shaking hands and sharing pleasantries about the beautiful weather. The pastor approached my aunt, and she gestured toward my dad and me and then waved us over.

  “This is my brother, Brad, and my niece, Emily,” she said, with a proud smile.

  “Welcome,” the pastor said, shaking my dad’s hand. “I’m Pastor Keith. We’re so glad you’ve joined us today.” He turned to me. “It’s nice to see you, Emily. We have some youth programs you may enjoy. Whitney could tell you about them.”

  “Cool,” I said with a nod. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Whitney chatting with a group of high school girls.

  The pastor moved to another family, and the crowd in the hallway began to file through the large doors to the sanctuary.

  My aunt, uncle, and father followed the line of people, stopping to receive a bulletin from the usher, a friendly looking gentleman in a nice suit.

  I moved through the line and took a bulletin. Stepping through the doorway, my knees wobbled. I hung back, trying in vain to stop the images swimming to the surface of my mind.

  My eyes moved to the altar and I shuddered at the memory of the casket sitting up front at our church back home. The sanctuary had been packed with the hundreds of people who’d been touched in some way by my mother. The overwhelming crowd had spilled out into the hallway.

  During the service, the sound of sobs and sniffs had echoed in my ears, drowning out the pastor’s description of my mother’s short life. I’d sat numb between my dad and grandma, studying the poinsettias lining the altar behind the Christmas tree dotted in white decorations my mother had called Chrismons. The tree and flowers seemed to mock me with the ultimate irony — Christmas decorations on the altar at my mother’s memorial service.

  “Emily?” Logan asked, touching my arm. “You all right?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a nod.

  Logan pointed toward the middle of the sanctuary. “My parents and your dad are sitting over there.”

  I spotted my dad near the end of the pew. “Where’s Whitney?”

  He jerked his thumb toward the very back row. “With her friends over there. All of the girls sit together.”

  I turned and found her grinning and chatting with four girls.

  “Are you going to sit with them?” Logan asked.

  “No.” I walked down the aisle and slipped in next to my dad, who glanced up from his bulletin and smiled.

  His focus returned to the order of worship, and I studied his warm brown eyes, wondering if being back in a church was as painful for him as it was for me. His expression during my mother’s funeral was burned into my brain — the dark rings under his puffy red eyes, the tears that didn’t stop throughout the service. I was certain he’d wanted to be strong for me. He’d told me that morning that he and I would be an unstoppable force, despite losing Mom. We’d take care of each other, and he promised to be strong for me. Yet I was the one who’d held it together throughout the funeral. I’d grasped his hand and swallowed my tears until I was alone in the privacy of my room with my door locked later that evening after Tyler and Megan had gone home.

  I wasn’t disappointed in my dad. I was glad he could express his feelings for my mom, the love of his life, who he’d met and married shortly after they’d graduated from high school. I was simply surprised I’d managed to be so strong for both of us.

  Logan sank into the seat next to me and waved to someone across the aisle. “Zander’s here,” he said.

  Before I could stop myself, I found Zander sitting directly across from us and next to a well-dressed middle-ag
ed couple who I assumed were his parents. His mother was dressed in a deep navy, perfectly tailored suit with her short, dark hair styled in a precise bob.

  His father wore glasses, along with a black, expensive-looking suit and a bland gray tie. He was clean shaven, and his brown hair was all business, short and sensible.

  Zander seemed to represent his father’s alter ego. While he shared the same brown hair and blue eyes, his hair was almost messy, but stylish. He was clad in tan Dockers and a sky-blue collared shirt that made his eyes even bluer, if that were even possible. He gave Logan a cheesy grin that caused Logan to snicker.

  Zander met my gaze and his smile changed to warm and honest. My eyes locked with his. I tried to smile in return, but my lips were cemented in place. And then I felt my cheeks heat and wished I could crawl under the pew.

  But I knew that I really didn’t want to disappear. I wanted to know him, and I wanted him to know me. And that truth caused my heart to race even more.

  The pastor appeared at the altar and welcomed everyone, and I buried my eyes in the bulletin. The organ began to play, and the service commenced. I went through the motions, reciting the prayers and singing the hymns, but it all felt forced. Although I tried, I once again couldn’t feel the connection with God I’d enjoyed before I lost my mom. I felt eyes on me and glanced over to find Zander watching me a few times during the service, and I absently wondered if I had a hair out of place or if my slip was showing.

  During the sermon, I covered my cross with my hand and lost myself in memories, contemplating the Sundays my family and I had spent at our home church. My mother had a deep faith that had been ingrained in her as a child. She read her Bible and prayed every night, like it came easily to her. She never missed a service — until the week before she died.

  Some nights I would curl up in her arms while she held me and I cried to her, asking her why God had given her that wretched disease. She told me all things happen for a reason, and it was all part of his plan. She insisted that even though we don’t understand why God chooses certain people to be ill and others to be healthy, we have to trust him and believe he’ll take care of us.