Deepest Scars: A Being Me Stand-Alone Companion Novel

by Tricia Copeland

  “From the bowling balls to the goofballs, eh?”

  “Don’t say that.” She slaps my arm.

  “Hey, that burned.”

  “It did not.”

  “You’re right. It didn’t.”

  As she talks about her career path and wondering whether she should get a master’s degree, the rain slows.

  I look to the clouds. “Looks like it’s letting up. You’re burning your gas.”

  “Oh, right.” She switches off the engine. “It was good to see you.”

  “Definitely. I’m looking forward to Tuesday.” I slide out of the truck and make my way to the back. The humidity from the rain surrounds me, and my breath catches in my lungs for a second. “Wow, it’s like a sauna out here now.”

  “That’s bang on.” Meeting me at her bike, her arm rakes across her forehead.

  “Sorry?”

  “Oh, sorry, again. Irish for right on. Don’t get your hopes up too high for the line dancing thing. I’m not the most coordinated person.”

  “That’s such a lie.”

  “You haven’t seen me dance.”

  “But you said you liked to, right?”

  “Liking something and being good at it are two different things.”

  “Well, at least our date will have comedic value if nothing else.”

  “Hey.” She slaps me again.

  “Hey.” I catch her hand. “What’s with the slapping?” When I pull her to me, our faces are inches apart. She tilts back, extending our arms between us, and wriggles her hand from mine.

  “Sorry. I don’t know.” Her face turns red.

  “I’m kidding.” I shoot bug eyes at her and rake my hand down her face.

  “What was that about?”

  “I don’t know. It’s kind of my thing.”

  “I think we both need blood-glucose enhancement.”

  “Nurse much? You’re probably right? It’s that or the heat.” I point to the sky.

  “Either of those excuses work for me. Okay, I’m going before this humidity makes bags of my hair.”

  I squint my eyes. “Bags?”

  “See, proof I need food.”

  “Okay, see you Tuesday.” I’m dying to kiss her, but I spin and walk to my car.

  Tuesday night, I get to her apartment with a few minutes to spare and sit in the parking lot till six fifty-seven. We’ve sent a couple of texts back and forth the last day and a half, so I feel pretty good about the date. At her door, I look at my phone, wondering if it’s okay to be early.

  An over-muscled guy wearing only swim trunks exits an apartment across from hers. He stops as he passes me. “You must be Zack.” Hand extended, he waits for me to take it. “I’m Brad, the neighbor, obviously.” He rolls his eyes.

  I slide my hand in his, giving it a firm-gripped shake. “Oh right, yeah, I’m Zack.” I like that I’m guessing she told him about me. Of course, it could have been to get a police friend to do a background check on me.

  “Got a good grip there. You work out?”

  “Some, yeah. Hey, I don’t want…” I point at Liz’s door.

  “No, man, don’t be late.” He winks and walks away.

  As I raise my hand to knock, the door opens. “Hi.” I smile and take in her face. Her blue eyes sparkle under light lashes, and her white skin looks like milk compared to the red locks. She’s wearing a pink sleeveless top that fits her form and fitted jeans that curve over her hips.

  “Did I do okay?” She spins.

  I focus on her face. “Definitely.” I nod. “You look amazing.” I juggle flowers and a bag behind my back and produce the bouquet.

  “Daisies? How did you get wild daisies? Steal them from someone’s lawn?”

  “What? No. I have connections.”

  “You must.” She steps back. “Come in.”

  “Thanks.” I step into her living room.

  She turns and walks to the kitchen. “I’m going to get some water for these. Did I hear Brad’s voice?”

  “Oh, yeah, he was leaving and introduced himself.” I follow her to the kitchen.

  “Yeah, he’s a good guy.” She continues to the sink.

  My eyes pan the room. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about the futon, were you?”

  “Why would I lie? I think PTs are a pay grade above nurses.”

  On tiptoes, she reaches for a vase on the top shelf. Filling the vase with water, she produces scissors from a drawer, cuts the stems, and arranges the blooms on the counter. She presses her nose into the center and takes a deep breath.

  “They don’t smell a lot.”

  “They’re really pretty.” She spins to face me. “So, look at you, all cowboyed out. Nice boots.” Her eyes train to my feet.

  “I borrowed them.” I produce the bag from behind me. “And these round out the outfits.” Pulling the hats out, I hand one to her.

  “Wow, these are amazing. Aren’t these expensive! You didn’t buy them, did you?” She sets the hat on her head.

  “No, they’re Beth Anne’s and Cody’s. Cody lent me the boots too.”

  “You look totally Western. How do I look?”

  Like an angel, I think. “Like the cutest cowgirl this side of the Mississippi.” I run my finger down her nose, wanting to kiss her more than ever.

  “We should get a picture.” She produces her phone from her backpack and leans towards me. “Say hillbilly.”

  I smile as she takes a couple of close-ups.

  “I’m so excited.” She slides her phone in her pocket. “Do I need anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay.” She crosses to the living room and grabs a bag from the futon. “I’m ready, then.”

  “Awesome.” I trail her out the door.

  We walk down the stairs and across the lot to my car. I open her door and loop around to my side. “So.” I wait before I back out. “We have a couple of decisions. I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat, so I have a list.” I pull my phone out and show her a Mexican place, Chinese place, and Italian place. I’d picked them because they’re small and nice but not too pricey or stuffy.

  “We can’t do Chinese or Italian. It’s not in theme. What happened to peanut shells on the floor and a huge steak?” She laughs.

  “Oh, the Texas place? I thought it would be too crowded and loud.”

  “Okay, then.” She bites her lip. “You like Mexican?”

  “Yes, I do. I pretty much eat anything. Do you?”

  “Yes, let’s do that then.”

  “Great.” I check the rearview mirror and back out.

  On the drive, she asks what I would normally wear on a first date, and I must admit to not having a first date in a year. She doesn’t volunteer her dating history, so I defer to a related topic.

  “So, does Brad have a girlfriend or boyfriend?”

  She laughs. “It would be a girlfriend, but no one serious. He hasn’t hit on me, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t think he wants to mess things up with the neighbor who waters his plants and feeds his cat when he’s on duty. Anyway, he’s not really my type.”

  “Yeah, that over-muscled thing doesn’t really do anything for me either. He has a cat?”

  “I guess someone left some kittens at the station.”

  I ask about her day, and she follows suit. Pulling into the restaurant, I wind around the truck and open her door for her.

  “This is kind of funny,” she comments. “We’ve known each other for almost two months, and this is the first time we’ve seen each other in normal clothes.”

  “Normal?” I tip my cowboy hat as I pull the door open, waving her in.

  “Well, semi-normal.” She takes off her hat and fluffs her hair as we wait for the hostess to choose a table. After sitting, we place our hats at the end of table. I like that it feels like we’ve created a barrier between us and the world, like we’re in our own private spot.

  “Would you like a beer?” I ask as the waitress approaches.

  She defer
s till later, orders water, and reads the menu. Line dancing doesn’t start till nine, so we have plenty of time. She asks me about physical therapy school and how I got my job with the team. We talk about Greek life during undergrad, and she admits she missed out on a lot by living at home. The waitress comes and brings chips and then we order. The conversation drifts to how our big moves make us feel like we’re more on our own. I ask about her missing friends and family, and she says she talks to her sister and best friend a lot.

  “Well…” She shrugs. “I wouldn’t say a lot. I call, and she sends quick text responses. She got married last month, so she’s focused on that.”

  Confused, I squint. “The sister or friend?”

  “Best friend, since freshman year. Sort of like you and Doug I guess.”

  “Is that the first of your friends to get married?”

  “Yeah, a month out of undergrad. Seems crazy to think about being married at twenty-one.” She taps her fingers on the table.”

  “Do I get names, so I’m not lost in the future, or is there a first-date rule?”

  “Oh, sorry. Jenna, and Buck is her husband. Marie is my closest sister, then Sara, and Madelynn, and”—she clears her throat and takes a sip of water—“then Jacob.” She swallows. “My dad is Luis, and Mom is Elizabeth.”

  “You were named after your mom?”

  “Yeah, sort of.” Her eyes cut to the table. “So, how about you? Weddings galore yet? Isn’t like twenty-five the most popular age to get married.”

  I tell her about my parents, and siblings, my brother’s wife, Rebecca, their wedding, and being best man. “It was weird.” Finished with my meal, I relax onto the back of my seat.

  “Yeah, I was maid of honor at Jenna’s wedding. But it wasn’t bad. It gave me something to do.”

  “Aren’t weddings like that? They’re all socially awkward. I wondered if it would be different with friends, but no, eh?”

  “Probably college drama in our case.” She raises her glass and takes a long swig of water.

  “Are you finished?” I point at her plate.

  “Yeah, I’m full enough for dancing.”

  “Onward then.” I gaze around and catch a waiter’s eye. When the check comes, she doesn’t try to pay, which I think is cool. We retire to the restrooms before leaving. Outside, it’s cloudy, but the pavement is dry. “It didn’t rain.” I point to the sky. “First day in a week. Must be good luck.”

  “No, rain is good luck.”

  “Really? Oh, well. We have to reschedule.” We reach the car, and I open the door for her. “I’ll take you home, and we can have a redo next week.”

  “What?” Laughing, she grazes my arm with her fingers. “No. I curled my hair for this.”

  “You think I’ll do okay without luck?”

  “I don’t know how bad your luck usually is, but you’re doing good, so far.” She winks and slides in her seat.

  Rounding to the other side of the car, I’m glad she seems happy. I felt like I pressed her for the names, and it was too much. It’s a twenty-minute drive to the western bar, and she asks about other things I’ve done in Arizona. I have to admit to none but tell her I’m saving up for more trips.

  “So, you ready?” I ask as I pull into a parking space at the far end of the lot.

  “This is a huge place.”

  “Supposed to be the best in Phoenix.” I jog around the back of the vehicle and open her door.

  We grab our hats and head to the entrance. Entering through wooden barn doors, they check our IDs. Past the line, I spin to face her. Her hat is crooked, and I straighten it.

  “Beer now?”

  “Definitely.” She grins.

  “That’s what I was thinking.” I grab her hand, and we wind through the tables to find an empty one.

  A girl in short shorts, a low-cut tank top, and cowboy hat approaches and takes our order.

  “Okay.” Liz rolls her eyes.

  I clear my throat. “That was a lot of skin.”

  Halfway through our beers, they announce that the line-dance lessons are starting.

  “That’s us.” Liz pats my arm.

  “Let’s go.” I rub my hands together and push my hat down on my head. She takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. Even though there are monitors showing the instructors, she winds through the crowd to the very front. People fill in behind us until the dance floor is packed. I scan the hall. With large wooden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a wooden railing ringing the dance floor, it looks exactly as pictured on the website, and I wonder if it’s changed at all in forty years.

  “Did you study up on your country music?” Liz yells in my ear.

  I place my hand in the middle of her back. “No, was I supposed to? You didn’t learn the dances from YouTube, did you? Because, that would be cheating.”

  “No, and you better not have either.” She wags her finger at me.

  “No, ma’am, this outing is above-board all the way.” I use my best Western voice.

  “What is that?”

  “What is that? What is bang on and bags?”

  “Oh, my goodness.” She slings her head back. “I’m so embarrassed.” Her hands go to her face. “Low blood glucose levels had me going retro. Bang on, right on, obviously.” She rolls her eyes. “And bags is a mess.”

  Leaning over, I whisper in her ear. “Like making a mess of something?”

  “Exactly.”

  A smile as I look down at her. Someone announces over the loud speaker that the line dancing is beginning, and a cowboy wearing a headset positions himself a few feet in front of us. A woman in tight jeans and a lacey top joins him. They spin to face the crowd, and the chatter of the group fades.

  “Here goes nothing,” Liz whispers and squeezes my hand.

  The instructors make a few opening remarks and then spin so their backs are to us. A tune starts at a slow tempo, and they go through the first set of moves. We copy their motions, and then they show us the second set. Proceeding to illustrate the third and fourth sections of the dance, we practice a few more times at the slow pace.

  “Okay, we’re ready for the real deal,” the male instructor announces as a regularly paced song begins.

  “You ready?” I ask Liz.

  “This is so much fun. I was born ready for this.” Liz’s smile spans her face.

  She’s right. The rhythm, the music, and swinging steps of the dance are intoxicating. I watch her as her body spins and her hair sways to the music. More than once I’m almost trampled because I’m focused on her. I remind myself to be in the moment and enjoy it for myself, instead of watching her. But seeing her let go is entertainment in itself. When the first song ends, they teach another line dance. Some of the turns and motions are the same, and the instruction part is shorter.

  After a normal-tempo song with the second dance, they move to a third. Then, they start a tune, repeating the first we did. Many from the crowd start to move from the dance floor, and I swing to face Liz. “You good? Want to keep going?”

  “Are you kidding? I could do this for hours.” Her eyes sparkle.

  People behind me prompt us to join in, and we fall in step. It’s a long song, and I start to get hot and thirsty. As I’m about to suggest we take a break, the music cuts to a slow song. Smile plastered on my face, I approach Liz.

  “A dance, my lady?” I dip my head and lift my hat.

  “I would love that.” The light glistens off the moisture forming on her face.

  I wrap my arm around her waist and spin her to the center of the dance floor. “I thought it was chilly in here before, but now I’m appreciating the air conditioning.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She exhales a long breath.

  “You okay?”

  She turns over her wrist, taps on her watch, and nods. “I’m great!” She tosses her head back, eyes on the ceiling for a few seconds.

  Keeping enough space between us for air flow and first-date protocol, I hold her hand. Her other ar
m is wrapped around my back, and I enjoy the feel of her touching my shoulder blade.

  “You were a natural out there,” she comments.

  “You looked like an expert. The only lessons I had were before my bar mitzvah. I’m not sure I paid attention well enough. Of course, all I cared about then was seeing breasts. But I’ve matured a little since then.” I twirl her away and pull her back into my chest.

  “Thankfully for all women, everywhere.”

  “Hey.” I point at her. “I’m nothing if not a gentleman. I promise you that.”

  Her face reddens, and she holds my gaze. “I believe you. Plus, I know karate.”

  The music fades. “Noted. Water?”

  “Yes, I’m dying.”

  The tables are occupied, so I lead her to the bar and hail the attendant. I set my hat on the bar. “I’m so hot.” Rubbing my fingers through my hair, my palm comes out wet.

  “Try to have this mop.” She lifts her hair off her shoulders.

  “It looks really pretty down like that.”

  “Thanks.” She smiles and sips her water.

  A live band starts a set, and we make our way to the dance floor. They intersperse the group dances with fast and slow songs. I wonder about my country dance moves, but there doesn’t seem to be one set style, and I relax. They finish the set with a slow song.

  “Dang.” She turns over her wrist as it beeps. “It’s eleven.”

  “Want to head out. It may be a brutal morning.”

  “No.” She smiles and shakes her head. “I’m having too much fun.”

  “I’m happy to hear that.”

  “Were you nervous?”

  “A little, you know…” I pan my eyes to the ceiling. “First date and all.”

  “At least it wasn’t a blind date.”

  “Yeah, I don’t do those.”

  “You’ve never been on a blind date.”

  I hold up an index finger. “Once. My mother set me up with her friend’s daughter.” I shiver.

  “That bad?”

  “Painful. We had nothing in common.”

  After asking what I did in high school, she tells me about running cross country and track.

  “Did you always want to be a nurse?” I ask as we find a table.

  “I wanted to do something to help people. How about you?”