Love Like Crazy

by Megan Squires

  I grinned. I wanted to dive across the cab and make out with his face, but figured grinning was probably more appropriate for this time and space.

  “Just you wait, Sam. Linc’s got a horribly pitiful past that would even make the toughest of grown men weep. It’s really that atrocious.”

  Sam said something back to Dan, and Lincoln didn’t offer any retaliation, but just leaned closer into the gap between us. His brown hair curled into his eyes like a sheepdog’s when tilted.

  “I hope you’re not one to easily transfer your affections, because Dan’s right, his story has been known to make women swoon.”

  “And what about yours?” I laughed. My hand stayed put where it was.

  “Mine hasn’t quite had the same effect,” Lincoln admitted with a surrendering shrug.

  “Well,” I said. “Lucky for you, Dan hasn’t had quite the same effect on me as you have, either.”

  “You’re right,” Lincoln said, slipping just his fourth finger and pinky under mine. My skin lit up and I honestly wondered for a moment how many degrees above 98.6 I could get before a trip to the hospital was warranted. Was a ten-degree increase something I should be worried about? Twenty? Lincoln grinned as he spoke only to me, “That does make me the lucky one.”

  ELEVEN

  We’d been sitting at the coffeehouse long enough for me to figure that even my hair would carry the burnt coffee bean smell until the next washing. It was dark and cozy in Roast House, and the four of us were curled into a back corner half-booth—Sam on one side of the table, Dan next to her, while Lincoln and I shared the padded cushion opposite them. Though the place didn’t close for another hour, we were the only remaining patrons in the establishment, and I saw the baristas eyeing us every now and then, hoping for an early night off had we just gotten up and left already.

  But we hadn’t left already.

  I’d nursed my white mocha the whole time we were here. I’m sure the rest noticed, though no one made mention of my aversion to coffee. But about a half hour ago, Lincoln excused himself from our table and returned with a glass of water for me, a gesture that both Sam and Dan didn’t acknowledge, but one that still felt overwhelmingly significant. I’d always felt out of tune in this life, but even as off-tune as I was, Lincoln somehow matched it. We were in tune.

  “You’re not entirely out of the running,” Dan said. “But that story didn’t quite live up to the hype, Sam. Though I would have to say that you’re lack of parental involvement and subsequent involvement with a literal traveling circus one-ups Lincoln’s failed Army entry due to adolescent asthma.” Dan rubbed his chin contemplatively, the way old professors do in offices adorned in polished leather and mahogany. “Sorry, buddy, but she’s got you beat.”

  Lincoln sighed with more drama tacked on to the act than necessary. “Trapezes will outshine inhalers every day. It’s a sad reality.”

  “It is, bro, it is. Though the fact that you technically took steroids could be construed as mildly controversial, the truth of the matter is that Sam effectively ran away with the circus. The friggin’ circus!”

  I took a sip of my water, swishing the cool liquid in my mouth. I held it there before swallowing it down. “I’m confused. Are we ranking based on patheticness or outrageousness? Because there’s nothing pathetic about lions and tigers and bears.”

  “Oh my,” Lincoln played along. Again, in tune.

  “My vote is for outrageousness,” Sam piped up. She was sitting so close to Dan now, practically in his lap. The more excited she got, the closer she’d inch his direction. I didn’t think he minded much, though, because he’d also been sneakily rotating the wheels of his chair in quarter turns for the past half hour in a disguised effort to creep closer to Sam, too. Apparently, they were hitting it off. “Only because I’m sure to win if outrageousness is the measuring stick.”

  “Hush,” Dan silenced. He pressed a teasing index finger to her shiny purple lips. I think Sam actually blushed, though it was difficult to decipher under the muted lighting. But yes, pretty sure that was blushing. She pursed her mouth briefly before he removed his finger from it. “Do you not recall how I just told you that I had my legs blown off in enemy territory? What’s more outrageous than that? Exploding bodies? Enemy fire?”

  “Preventing an impeding elephant stampede on opening night, thus saving the lives of hundreds of well-dressed attendees out for a traditional—if not slightly animal-cruelty supporting—family outing under the big top. In a fuchsia sequined leotard, at that.”

  Dan wasn’t letting up that easily, no sir. He swirled his coffee mug in circular motions, the contents inside slushing up and over the lipped rim as he readied his comeback. Then he fired out, “Hundreds of attendees? Oh, please. My gallant efforts likely saved the lives of millions of Americans, not to mention the freedoms of generations to come. I’m a future-focused life saver and freedom preserver. Beat that!”

  “That’s a bit unfair to cast such a wide net with that assumption. I don’t think you can measure things based on assumed lives impacted. We need more concrete statistics here to fully make an informed decision as to who wins this little contest of yours, Danny.”

  This was their version of flirting, I figured. It was beyond quirky, though I wouldn’t expect anything less from Sam. She excelled at quirk.

  But I still hadn’t quite figured out Dan. I’d never met someone who had been in a war—at least not someone so close in age to me. Sure, I had an uncle that fought in the Gulf War back before I was even born, but I’d never known anyone who was in such close proximity to the memories they held and their actual occurrences. Dan said that he was twenty-one, so I figured he could only be a year removed from battle, at the very most.

  Which did sort of explain the flippant manner in which he spoke of his brief time in the military. I couldn’t imagine that years from now, with the full advantage of hindsight, he’d be dismissing his experiences so easily, going so far as to toss them into the ring of a game that was completely made up and entirely politically incorrect on every level possible. He’d hold them closer, I was sure.

  At least that what I’d been doing.

  Then, out of nowhere, Sam stammered, “Eppie tried to kill herself in the third grade. How’s that for outrageous?”

  The water in my glass was about as bland as drinks came, but the liquid sliding down my throat burned like acid. I was eating fire. I couldn’t look up to see their reaction. I held my gaze, my composure, and my fingers so tightly that self-combustion seemed inevitable. Ka-boom! I could hear it already. But I supposed that’s what I wanted to happen. To suddenly just disappear from this table and these people and these stories. It had been one thing talking about, examining, and dissecting each of theirs. It was different now it was my life that was suddenly thrust under the microscope.

  “Eppie?” Lincoln’s amber eyes fell wide open.

  “Failed spelling bee,” I joked, attempting to laugh it off in the way that Dan had so casually dismissed his own tragic near death experience just moments prior to this one. “I took it pretty hard.”

  Lincoln’s eyes didn’t falter. “Hey,” he said in a soft voice.

  “Who would’ve thought the word ambidextrous could lead to such ghastly outcomes?”

  “Hey,” he said again.

  “It’s a tricky word,” Sam played along. Dan nodded in agreement, just for effect, I figured. He rotated one more quarter turn into Sam.

  “I just couldn’t make up my mind on how to spell it,” I elaborated, never missing a beat. The story fabricated and tumbled from my lips, lies fresh and ready on my tongue. “It felt like it could be spelled one way, but then it seemed equally plausible that it could be spelled another. I just kept going back and forth.”

  The slight lift in the corners of Lincoln’s mouth at least hinted at an appreciation for my efforts, though I knew he wasn’t buying one second of it. He was pained.

  Then he leaned closer. His mouth brushed into my hair. He parted his
lips and the heat that fell from his breath skimmed along my neckline. “Let’s go,” he whispered. “I’m done with this. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  I nodded my agreement, thankful for an out.

  “Guys, I think Eppie and I are going to head out,” he said, jingling his keys in his palm. “Sam, can I drive you home?”

  “Nah. I literally live three blocks from here. I can hoof it.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” Dan asked Sam. He swung his head to look at her.

  Sam beamed. “I’d be offended if you didn’t,” she smiled, her chin tucked into her shoulder.

  I slipped out of the booth and stood up, Lincoln following me.

  Both Sam and Dan peered up and gave us twin smiles. It must’ve been code for “Go on and get out of here, we have some making out to do,” because Lincoln and I weren’t even out the door and I could already hear the slurping of lips mashing against one another and saliva exchanging living spaces. I wanted to turn around and see, just to witness the act that made my own cheeks flush and heat up. But I didn’t, and instead led Lincoln out of Roast House and into the parking lot.

  It smelled like it was about to rain—thick, heavy air filled with the weight of moisture from clouds that felt like they’d come down to earth to wrap wetly around you. It wasn’t quite a hug, nor a blanket, but some almost-oppressive layering. It made everything smell and feel different, even the pavement.

  Taking longer strides than I was capable of making, Lincoln chased my steps and beat me to the passenger door first. His hand hung on the handle.

  “Hey,” he said again, this time louder now that we were alone. “I’m here, okay?”

  “I see that,” I laughed. “And I am here.”

  “No. I mean I’m here. However you need me, I’m here. You understand?”

  I paused. “I don’t really want to talk about what Sam brought up in there.” I leaned against the camper and let the words out on a sigh. The frame was cold and slick with beaded water from the humid air. My skin clammed up upon contact instantly, making me shiver.

  “So we won’t. We won’t talk about it.”

  “It’s just that there’s more to it than what she mentioned.” So much more that if I began expanding on it right now, it would be the beginning of next week before I’d covered the half of it. I knew it wasn’t fair to dangle that bit of information in front of him and then never give an explanation for it, but I just couldn’t. Not yet at least. Maybe never. Probably never.

  “Eppie, of course there’s more. There’s always more.” Suddenly, Lincoln was closer to me, his body leaned in. As his hips pressed forward, he gripped on to my hands. His thumbs stroked over the soft flesh on the backs of them, ever so lightly. Then he stooped down to drop his forehead on mine. I failed to breathe. “You think Dan doesn’t have more?” Lincoln’s eyes flicked back toward the coffeehouse. There were boxes of yellow light cut into the building and the glow from these windows illuminated the parking lot, illuminating him. “God, there’s so much more.” He pulled his face back just a bit. “And Sam? My guess is that there’s more there, too. We all have more, Eppie.”

  Right then, the first droplets of rain spilled from the sky, peppering down in a light mist across my face and arms. Lincoln’s thumb fumbled out of my hand and he lifted it to my cheek, hesitantly. He was looking directly into my eyes as he ran the pad of his finger across my skin, and he kept it there against my jaw for a moment—a moment that didn’t involve blinking, nor breathing, just staring. Just finding our tune again.

  “Eppie, hold on to your more for as long as you like. I haven’t earned my right to it just yet.” The gap between us lessened again as he pulled closer, hovering over me. His eyes tightened and he said, “But believe me when I say, I sure hope that someday I will.”

  TWELVE

  “You take this half of the list and I’ll take this one.” Dad ripped the paper in two, right down the middle, and shoved it my way, along with a red wire basket. There was an old price tag stuck to the bottom of it and it curled at the edges, making the barcode look wavy and swirly. “Meet me at check stand three in fifteen minutes. And don’t forget the waffles. I didn’t add those.”

  I skimmed over the list. Dad probably got the better one since mine was filled with veggies and beans and frozen dinners. The supermarket was nearly empty today, which made me happy. I didn’t want to run into any of my friends from school. I doubted their parents made them do the shopping. It would be so embarrassing for them to see me.

  With the list in my hand, I headed to the produce section. The music that played through the intercom was a wordless melody that repeated the same several beats over and over. The sound was hollow, and the speakers crackled at the high notes. This grocery store was really old, I figured.

  Bananas were the first thing to get. Mom liked them green, when they almost tasted sour and they were super hard to peel. Dad liked them really yellow with even a few brown dots on them. Those always looked like freckles to me. I didn’t like bananas much, but apparently lots of people did because the store’s display was running really low. Only a few bunches were left on the square stand in the middle of the department. I stood and analyzed each one, lifting them up and turning them around right in front of my eyes. The music flipped to another song as I continued to compare fruit, but there still weren’t any words in this one, either. I hummed along, making up the verses in my head.

  “You need some help?”

  A red-haired teenage boy stood across from me, transferring shiny green apples from a cart filled with boxes to the other side of the display. He was wearing an apron and had a pin on his shirt that said RICK. He also had tons of pimples; so many that I began to connect their dots in my head.

  “Need help reading what’s on your list?”

  “I can read,” I said, gripping the paper tighter between my fingers. Maybe some kids would have a hard time with it, but spelling was easy for me. I was really good at it, and sometimes I even found typos on my Dad’s lists. I never told him about them, though. I didn’t want to make him feel bad. He was usually a good speller. “I’m trying to pick out bananas.”

  “Not much to choose from today, unfortunately.” Rick stacked the apples like a pyramid. What if some little kid came and took one from that bottom row? Then they would all fall onto the floor and be wasted. It seemed like a better option to arrange them in a way that wouldn’t be so easy to ruin. “Our truck that brings the shipments overturned on the 80. Boxes everywhere, all over the highway.”

  “That’s bananas,” I said, deadpan.

  “Funny, kid.” He swiped his hands across the front of the apron and then went back to transferring the packaged apples from their original box. “Should have more here by Thursday, though.”

  That didn’t do me any good. I was supposed to meet Dad at the front in fifteen minutes, probably more like twelve by now. I surveyed the available bananas in front of me again. This was bad. How was I supposed to make a choice? If I chose the green ones, then Dad would have to wait days to eat them, if there were even any left once Mama had her share. If I picked the yellow, overripe ones, then Mama wouldn’t have a chance at all to have one.

  After deliberating for way too long, and cutting into a good portion of my remaining time to complete my shopping, I went with the green. Better to have to wait to enjoy something than to not even have the opportunity to begin with. Dad would be annoyed, I figured, but Mama would be so happy. I liked it when she was happy. Dad was annoyed most of the time, so I supposed this wouldn’t be any different. I was used to that.

  I crossed off the remaining items in record time, even remembering to grab the waffles before meeting Dad. As I was pulling the breakfast out of the frozen case, I heard him from one aisle over, his tired voice unmistakable. He was talking to someone—another voice that I recognized—but I couldn’t identify it right away. Slowly, I shut the freezer door and stood completely still, trying to eavesdrop through the row of potato chips
between us.

  “I saw Gloria at pick up yesterday,” the woman said over the cries of a baby that I figured had to be hers. The wheels of the cart scraped back and forth against the gritty checkered linoleum floor. I figured this was her way of rocking the child into calm. “Said Eponine’s still showing symptoms.”

  “Sometimes, yes.” Dad didn’t use many words. I wondered if he even liked words at all, unless he was shouting them. He definitely liked to shout his words more than talk them.

  “I just don’t know how you all do it. Gloria especially. The chair of the PTA with a full-time job and a chronically ill child. God bless you all.”

  “I’m not sure we feel very blessed by any of it. Eppie especially.”

  Dad’s tone was hard. There was a long pause from the woman, but the baby kept squealing and the cart kept squeaking.

  “I told Gloria that we added Eponine to the prayer chain at church. Lots of women praying for answers.”

  The newest song playing in the store still didn’t have any words, but I had been adding my own throughout my shopping trip to keep me busy as I gathered the items from the list. This particular one I’d composed was about a little girl and a pony named Blaze. It wasn’t as good as some of my other lyrics, but I liked the melody. I had tried writing a song once in my bedroom when I couldn’t sleep and Mama and Dad argued downstairs about whether it was trash pick up the next day or not. I’d had a hard time with that song. It was easier when the melody was already there. It was like the tune was just sitting there, waiting for the words to bring it to life.

  The woman continued. “I can’t imagine anything much worse than having a sick child. Lord keep you, Mark.”

  “Thank you,” Dad replied, but he didn’t sound thankful. He sounded frustrated, exhausted. “But there are many things worse,” he added. The baby had stopped crying as the song changed again. Maybe she hadn’t liked that last particular melody much. If only I’d been able to sing my words to her. Maybe then she would have liked it a little better. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been so sad. “Eppie might be sick, but she’s still with us. She’s still here. That’s not the case for every parent in our position.”