nowhere

by Marysue Hobika

  “I made you a couple of tuna fish sandwiches,” my mom answered, smiling. “They’re in the container with the blue lid on the top shelf.”

  “Thanks, mom.” I pulled it out and joined my dad at the table.

  I wasn’t going to be the one to break the ice. I didn’t mind eating my lunch in silence; I preferred it. I kept my eyes down on my plate, hoping to avoid another confrontation.

  “How was practice today, honey?” my mom asked.

  Great, here we go. “Good,” I answered, saying as little as possible.

  “What does that mean?” my dad asked speaking to me for the first time in days.

  “It means that practice was good.”

  “Did Coach finally smarten up and put you back in the game?”

  I didn’t like it when he spoke poorly of Coach. He was only doing what he thought was right. “No.”

  “Well, why the hell not?”

  No matter what I said, it would be the wrong thing. Choosing my words carefully, I said, “He did see Tyler and me working on our passing game before practice today.”

  “What do you mean, your passing game?”

  “We’ve been working every day before practice to perfect some new plays this season. We want to throw the ball, not just run it like all the other high school teams around here. Tyler has a strong arm and I’m able to catch anything. We want to show Coach that we can take the team to a whole new level.” I didn’t know why I told him all that, but I guess on some level I was still looking for my old man’s approval.

  “Tell me more,” my dad said, leaning in closer. “Can you catch the ball even when you got a man blocking you?” I nodded. “I hope I won’t see any interceptions or fumbles this year.”

  “I’m not going to fumble the ball,” I said with anger. I was a better player than that. I hadn’t fumbled once since playing varsity.

  “That’s my boy. Keep it up and Coach will have no choice but to play you.” This was the most praise I’d receive from my dad. He wasn’t one to hand out compliments.

  “That’s the plan,” I confirmed.

  ““Now, Martha, get me another piece, would you? All this football talk has made me hungry. Give the boy a piece too, to keep his strength up.”

  My mom gladly placed a piece of pie in front of each of us. I knew it made her happy that my dad and I actually were talking again and even managed to have a civil conversation. The pie tasted great, practically melting in my mouth. “This is really good, Mom.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled.

  I quickly finished eating and placed the dirty plate in the sink. I had plans with Mikayla. With my stomach full, I was ready to leave. I grabbed my keys off the hook hanging by the back door. Looking over my shoulder I said, “Bye. I’ll see you guys later. Thanks for the lunch, Mom. And the pie.” I was anxious to leave while everyone was in a good mood.

  “Hey, where you off to, son? More football practice? Do you and your buddies have plans to watch the videos from last year of the other teams?” my dad questioned, hopefully.

  “No,” I replied. It wasn’t the answer he was looking for, so I didn’t tell him where I was headed. I was trying to avoid him getting pissed off again.

  I felt his eyes studying me. “Ah, I see.” A look dawned across his face. “It’s a girl. Well, you better watch out,” he warned, his face turning dark.

  “Watch out for what?”

  “Really? Are you that stupid, boy? Girls are nothing but trouble. The last thing you need right now is some tease throwing herself at you and then tricking you by getting pregnant. If that happens, you can kiss your scholarship goodbye.”

  My mom dropped the plate she was drying. It shattered on the old hardwood floor. “That’s not how it happened.”

  It wasn’t a secret that my parents got married because my mom was pregnant with my older sister. Although I doubted she tricked him. He wasn’t the only one who had to change his plans regarding the future. He never remembered that part. He only ever thought about the fact that he was forced to give up a scholarship to play football, which he’d regretted ever since. But that was his story, not mine. I’d never do anything to hurt Mikayla, like get her pregnant. We hadn’t even had sex yet. If and when we did, I’d be smart enough to wear a condom.

  “Jesus, Martha, be more careful. Do you think that dishes grow on trees?” my dad shouted, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “It was an accident,” she said, her voice cracking.

  I grabbed the broom from the closet to sweep up the small pieces while she picked up the big ones. It seemed like I was always cleaning up one mess or another around here. I couldn’t wait to move on.

  I had my hand on the back door handle, when suddenly my dad was in my face. “Jimmy, remember—football is all that matters.” I nodded, hoping to placate him. I was anxious to leave. “I better not hear that you’re fooling around with some slut, or you’ll be sorry. Keep your dick in your pants. You got that?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I hear you loud and clear.” I wiped his spit off my face with the back of my hand. Usually it was easiest to agree with him.

  “Good.” He stepped out of the way, allowing me to leave.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mike

  “Paige, hi,” I said into my phone. “It’s me, Mike.” I was sitting on the porch, killing time before James arrived.

  “Mike, is that really you? I barely recognize your voice anymore. You haven’t called me all week.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You should be. I was beginning to worry that something happened to you. I thought maybe you fell into an old boarded-up water well, like Carrie did on ‘Little House on the Prairie.’ Do you remember that episode?”

  “Yes, of course.” My mom made us sit through re-runs of the show one summer just because they were her favorite books growing up.

  “Is there one of those on your grandfather’s property? If there is, then please stay away from it.”

  “Don’t worry. There isn’t one.” I laughed. It was so like my best friend to be pessimistic. I missed her. “I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

  “Huh? Busy doing what? You said yourself there’s nothing to do in Nowhere.” She sounded genuinely bewildered. I had complained to her many times how boring this place was.

  “Trust me, Pops finds plenty for me to do. I swear we’re the only two who do any work around here.” I looked toward the vegetable stand and grinned proudly. “My mom’s always at school and Emma’s always hanging with her new cheerleading friends,” I grumbled. I didn’t want anyone to know that I enjoyed working around the farm with Pops. For an old guy, he was pretty cool. He was irritable, ornery, and sarcastic. We got along great.

  “Like what? Plowing fields?” Paige wanted to know.

  “No.” I chuckled. “Pops doesn’t farm crops anymore. He rents out the fields to another farmer. He’s retired, except for the vegetable stand he operates, based on the honor system, at the side of the road. He sells surplus vegetables from his garden, and plants and flowers from the greenhouse. As a matter of fact, I just painted a new sign for it,” I bragged, forgetting that I didn’t want anyone to know that I liked it here.

  “Holy crap. Who are you? And what have you done with my best friend? The day she’s excited about a vegetable stand sign she painted, I know something’s wrong.”

  I laughed heartily. “It does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

  We laughed for a good five minutes. Abruptly Paige stopped and said, “Oh my God, it’s the boy, isn’t it? You’re in love.”

  There was no use trying to deny it. We’d been friends for too long. Plus I was dying to talk about it. I’d told her all about the hike we went on, and other bits and pieces about James, but I hadn’t told her how much he was beginning to mean to me. “Yeah, I am. He’s amazing. It’s all happening so fast, but it feels right.”

  “I can hear it in your voice. You sound happy.”

  “I am happy,” I declared. “I’m beginning
to think moving here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know, right? Wait until you meet him next week. Then you’ll understand.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Me either,” I said, getting excited about Paige coming to visit for my eighteenth birthday. We’d been planning this since the day I left California. It had seemed such a long time to wait. I was surprised by how quickly time had passed.

  “Tell me more about your cowboy?”

  “Can’t. He just pulled in. I gotta go,” I said in a rush, watching as James hopped out of his truck wearing a button-down shirt, ripped jeans, and cowboy boots. I sighed.

  “You go, girl. I’ll call you when I get to the airport on Wednesday.”

  “Okay.” I closed my phone as James bounded up the porch steps, two at a time. He sat down next to me, not even saying hello before kissing me fiercely on the lips.

  “It’s nice to see you too.” I laughed.

  “Was it too much?” He blushed.

  “Never.” I gently touched his face. James was so handsome—I still wasn’t used to it.

  His sandy brown hair was tousled, like he hadn’t bothered to comb it when he got out of the shower. His face had two days worth of stubble, making him look rugged, in a good way.

  Jumping up. I said, “I just had an idea. Wait here. Don’t move.” I rushed inside, returning a few minutes later with one of my new sketchpads and several freshly sharpened pencils. I didn’t sit back down next to James; instead I pulled a chair over and sat down across from him.

  “Is it okay if I sketch you?” I asked, flipping to a clean page.

  “Sure,” he answered. “Am I supposed to do anything special?”

  “No, not really. Just relax.”

  “That sounds easy enough.” He settled into the swing, resting one arm along the back of it. He stretched out his long legs in from of him. “How is this, relaxed enough?” I nodded. “I feel strange sitting here without you next to me.” He smiled.

  “I know what you mean,” I said, blushing. “You’re doing great. Just stay still and be yourself.”

  I took my time. It wasn’t easy to capture how truly handsome he was with mere paper and pencil. Maybe next time I’d try clay. I concentrated on his eyes and his facial expression. Those said a lot about a person. I’d noticed that his eyes changed color based on his mood. Right now they were a true clear green, which meant he was happy. When his eyes turned cloudy with a mix of grey, he was angry. But my favorite shade was clear dark green, the color of his eyes when he’d just kissed me. Eyes only told part of the story. Drawing a portrait could be like looking into a person’s soul, when done right. I paid close attention to every detail. I was surprised to see that I’d only partially knocked down the wall that James built to protect himself. It was hard imagining a big tough guy like James needing a wall to feel safe. I wondered who’d hurt him. Was it an old girlfriend? I quickly rejected that idea because he claimed he’d never gotten emotionally attached to any girl until he met me. I thought I knew the real source. His father. He always got tense whenever his name was brought up. I couldn’t explain it, but something didn’t feel right.

  The only noises were my pencil scratching and the occasional bird chirping. It was a comfortable silence. I wasn’t sure how much time passed; I had a tendency to lose track when I was drawing. One hour could feel like five minutes.

  “Can I look at the drawing when you’re done?” James asked.

  “Sure, I’ll show you,” I answered tentatively. This was the only area in my life where I lacked confidence. I felt vulnerable and exposed. Every piece of artwork I created was personal. It was a part of me. What if James didn’t like it?

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that…if you don’t like it…Well, I don’t take criticism well,” I sputtered.

  “Are you serious?” I nodded affirmatively.

  “I’m going to love it,” he exclaimed.

  I still had my doubts, but I tried to sound positive, “Okay. I’m almost finished. Give me one more minute and then I’ll show you. ” I made several final strokes on the paper. Holding my breath, I handed him the sketchpad. I couldn’t watch his reaction, in case it was bad, so instead I kept myself busy cleaning up my supplies.

  He remained quiet, taking it all in, while my stomach was in knots. Why isn’t he saying anything? He must not like it.

  After several long minutes, he said, looking me in the eye, “I must confess, I don’t know a lot about art, but this is really good. I mean really good. You’re very talented.” He handed the sketchpad back to me. I knew he meant what he said because his eyes were clear green. Also, he wouldn’t have said that unless he meant it.

  I smiled. “Thanks, I’m glad you like it.” I said quietly. My face felt hot after hearing his compliment.

  “Do you have any self-portraits?” he asked.

  I thought for a minute. “No. At least not any recent ones.” The last one I’d done was years ago.

  “Would you draw one for me?” He used his foot to push the swing back and forth.

  “You want me to draw a self-portrait and give it to you?” I repeated, making sure I hadn’t misunderstood him.

  “Well, yeah. You have one of me.” He pointed at the sketchpad. “So it’s only fair that I have one of you.” He flashed me an irresistible smile.

  Not only then would he have a drawing of mine, but it would be of me too. That felt very personal. Slowly I answered, “Okay, sure.” His smile deepened. “I’ll draw one tomorrow and give it to you when I see you.”

  “Perfect,” he replied happily.

  Suddenly I felt restless. We’d been sitting still for such a long time. Knowing James was probably hungry, I suggested, “Come on, let’s go see what’s cooking in the kitchen,”

  James laughed heartily. His laugh was full and robust. It had lost its rough edge. “Are you sure you haven’t lived here your whole life? You’re beginning to sound like a local.”

  I laughed too. “It’s because I hang with Pops all the time. He’s starting to rub off on me.”

  Once inside, we raided the fridge. Finding ground beef, I quickly turned it into burgers. James went out to the garden and picked a zucchini and yellow squash to add to the grill. There was nothing better than a cookout.

  Pops was in the living room, watching baseball. I poked my head in. “Hey, Pops, James and I are making dinner. Are you in?” My mom and Emma weren’t home.

  “Absolutely. What are you making? Tomato sandwiches again?”

  “No. We’re cooking burgers on the grill.”

  “Even better.”

  “It should be ready in about ten minutes,” I informed him.

  “Okay. I’ll be right out.”

  Soon the three of us were seated on the front porch with our plates on our laps.

  “Great job grilling, son,” said Pops. “These burgers are nice and juicy.” As if to prove he was telling the truth, juice ran down his face when he took his next bite. He chuckled as he wiped it with a napkin.

  “Thank you,” James answered. I thought I saw his cheeks turn pink, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “I should have you guys cook for me all the time. I think I’ve gained about ten pounds since you all moved in.” Pops patted his stomach.

  “You look good, Pops.” I smiled. It was true; he seemed younger than he did that first day.

  We quickly finished everything on our plates. “That tasted awesome,” I declared.

  “It sure did. Thanks for asking me to join you young folk.” Pops’ eyes were bright with appreciation.

  “You’re welcome,” James and I said in unison, making us all laugh.

  I stood to clean up, reaching for Pop-Pop’s plate.

  “No, you don’t,” he said, swatting my hand away. “I’m doing the dishes.” James and I chuckled, because we were eating off of paper plates. Turning serious he added, “No, really. I got these.” He s
tood and we handed him our plates. He disappeared into the house.

  “I like your grandfather. He’s a cool dude.”

  “Yeah, he is.” I smiled. If we hadn’t moved here, I wouldn’t have had the chance to get to know Pops the way I knew him now. Once again, I was reminded that my mom had been right about moving to Nowhere.

  “Here’s some money,” said Pops, coming back out onto the porch. He held a ten-dollar bill in his hand. “Go down to Blondie’s and have a cone on me.”

  “Don’t you want to come?” I asked.

  “No, thanks. I’m full. The burger and vegetables hit the spot.” He patted his stomach.

  Slowly I took the money from his outstretched hand. “Thank you,” I said, choking up a little.

  “You’re welcome. Now go.” He practically shooed us off the porch. We were half way to James’ truck, when he yelled, “Don’t forget to bring me back the change.” We laughed. Pops was back to sounding like himself.

  Blondie’s had the best homemade custard and waffle cones around. It was a local hot spot, open from Memorial Day to Labor Day. James had to wait until a family left before we could find an empty parking spot. “It looks the same,” I commented, having been here many times on previous trips, I jumped down from his truck. James walked around and grabbed my hand. “I hope it tastes the same too.”

  “It does,” James reassured me.

  Now this was a scene I should draw, I thought to myself. It was the epitome of summer in Nowhere. Families relaxing on benches while enjoying a cone together. Kids who had ice cream dripping down their arms because they couldn’t lick them fast enough in the heat. Everyone talking and laughing. I tried to memorize it.

  We walked up to the window. I ordered a medium twist; I could never decide which flavor I liked more, vanilla or chocolate. A twist was the best of both worlds. On the other hand, James knew exactly what he wanted. He ordered a large chocolate in a waffle cone.

  Finding an empty picnic table, we sat across from each other.

  “Hmm, you were wrong,” I said, licking my cone.