I lay down on the bed with the distinct feeling I was somehow intruding.
***
“Want to talk about it?”
Tim looked up at his mom from his position on the bed, his ankles crossed over each other. “Sure.”
“Is it Taylor? I like her.” She settled on the corner.
Folding his arms behind his head, he smiled. “Me too.”
A lot.
However, his smile soon faded. “But no, that’s not it. It’s Justin.”
He and his mom never talked about his little brother. It was still too painful, but something about Southern’s apology stabbed at his brain. He regretted his mom’s expression before he spoke.
“We have to do this project,” he said, “Southern and I. We’re supposed to talk to each other and write what we’d change or keep about the other person.”
“That bothers you?”
He sighed. “Yes and no. Writing about her. No.”
His mom’s eyes softened.
“Telling her about me. Yes. She said I didn’t have to talk, but I feel like I do because what happened to him changed me. Is that wrong?”
Silence stretched between them and growing uncomfortable with it, he rolled over.
She ran a hand down his back. “You have to tell her whatever you think God wants you to.”
“How do I know what that is?”
She tugged at his shoulder, and he flattened on the bed. “When the time comes, you’ll know.” She bent over and kissed his cheek. “I love you.” She smelled nice.
“Love you too,” he said.
She stood to her feet. “What’s the story with the swimsuit?”
He stifled a laugh, but couldn’t do the same for his smile. “We made a deal.”
Her face straightened. “Do I want to know?”
“Let’s just say she owes me a swim.”
His mom shook her head. “No, I don’t want to know. Night, Son.”
“Night, Mom.”
His gaze wandered to the ceiling and around the walls, past posters and trophies, and other odds and ends. A room like his brother’s. Same size. Same shape. Similar collection of stuff. Only Justin never had the chance to grow up in his.
Shutting his eyes, he pictured him, but the image wavered. He couldn’t even remember his brother’s face? He opened the drawer of the bedside table and felt around inside. His fingers closed over the smooth wood of a small picture frame. Extracting it, he looked into eyes not at all like his.
Because Justin had taken after their father. Brown hair. Brown eyes. And that tiny cleft in his chin. Yet in some ways they’d been so alike. Cereal. They’d liked the same cereal, and they’d hated raisins. They’d preferred peanut butter without jelly. And they’d both wanted to follow in their dad’s footsteps someday.
He traced the oval of his brother’s face with his thumbs. It wasn’t fair. Not fair that he didn’t get to go to school, attend summer camp, make plans for his future. Not fair that he couldn’t meet a girl like Southern, maybe fall in love.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” he said.
His brother gazed back, unspeaking, unblinking. Flipping out the stand, he set the picture on the table. He then reached for his cell. Calling up the screen, he tapped in Southern’s number. You awake?
It was several minutes before he received a response.
Yes. Thought we said goodnight.
He grinned. Was thinking abt our deal.
Goodnight, Tim.
CHAPTER 6
All conscious thought left his brain with a whoosh. Taylor Lawton stood in his kitchen in a nightgown.
She balanced herself on the crutches. “You’re burning your eggs.”
Shoot. He scooted the pan from the burner, in his haste burning his palm. He sucked in his breath.
“Here,” she said. Hobbling over, she took hold of his hand and moved him to the sink, all the while hopping on her good leg.
The cold water soothed the fire now pulsating on his skin. Or did it?
She raised her face and their gazes met. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.
But she had no idea how startling she had looked standing there. His mom might have meant well buying the gown, but she’d never been a teenage boy. Short of Taylor wearing a burkha, he saw what was underneath.
“It’s okay,” he said, which sounded lame given the red patch now shining on the palm of his hand. He tapped the faucet off and wrapped his hand in a dish towel. “You should sit down. I’ll fix breakfast.”
She nodded, the motion sending her slightly-mussed hair wafting around her face.
Hot.
The crutches clunked against the counter as she climbed onto a stool. Rotating the seat, she lifted her leg to the adjacent cushion.
“I hope you’re not serving me burnt eggs.”
He smiled and jabbed a fork into the mess in the pan. “No, I’ll eat those.” They weren’t that burnt, and he hated waste. He slid the eggs onto an empty plate and retrieved two more eggs from the refrigerator.
“Where’s your mom?” she asked.
He wiped out the pan with a paper towel. “Asleep. She was up late talking to my dad on Skype.” He coated the pan with nonstick spray and replaced it on the burner.
“He’s overseas?”
The eggs gave a satisfying sizzle as they hit the hot pan. “Afghanistan. It’s his second tour.”
“He ever get to come home?”
“Sometimes, but only for a few days. He’s not schedule to return this time until close to Thanksgiving. Then we’ll miss him at Christmas.” He stirred the eggs around and searched in the cabinet for a plate.
“That must be hard.”
He smiled at her. “This part of the project?” He handed her the plate with a fork. “Orange juice?”
She nodded. “Maybe. But only if you want to talk about it.”
However, they didn’t talk for a few minutes as she ate her eggs.
“I always want to talk about my dad. Here …” Crossing the room, he lifted a photo from a display case and set it on the counter. “My dad and my mom.”
His dad wore his dress uniform, his hair cut short. An American flag was raised behind them. His mom had on a white skirt and navy blue blouse with a red pin-striped scarf around her neck.
“He’s handsome. Must run in the family,” she said.
He stared at her. Was that a compliment? Then again, he’d seen her looking at him often enough in school. Why hadn’t he talked to her before now? The timing just never seemed right, always something got in the way. This could be destiny – her being here like this instead of how it normally would be.
“What about your dad?” he asked. “What’s he do?”
She pushed aside her empty plate. “Sales. Dad could sell ice to an Eskimo. He had to attend some conference in Reno. Mom went along for the ride.”
“I thought she worked two jobs.”
“She does.” Taylor pushed her hair off of her neck. “But her boss at one job is also her best friend, so all she has to do is ask and they replace her. Her boss at the other can usually be persuaded.”
He dragged his gaze from her neck to her face. “You don’t care that they leave you alone?”
“I care, but …” She chewed on her lower lip. “I’ve learned to deal with it.”
Deal with it. She shouldn’t have to deal with it.
“They always call and check on me.”
He smiled. They’d definitely done that, but still that sounded like an excuse. “And your Grandma?” he asked.
“She calls too, but she mostly wants to know if I have clean under …” She coughed. “Clean clothes.”
Too late. She might have switched words, but his brain filled in the blanks. At this rate, it would be a long week.
“We should get dressed,” he said, at last, not making any effort to move.
She didn’t appear eager to jump up either. “Tim?”
“Yeah?”
“How
am I going to get my books to class?”
Her question broke the spell they were under. “I’ll carry them.”
“How will that look? You following me around all day.”
He set their plates in the sink and ran water over them. “How do you think it’ll look?”
“Hmmm ….” She drew out the sound.
He turned around and leaned back on the counter, the sharp granite edge pressing into his back.
“Let’s see. We slept in the same house. We arrive in the same car. And you’re carrying my stuff. That’ll look like we’re … you know, an item.”
A grin worked its way onto his face. “You object to that?”
She tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Me and Timothy Cooper an item.” She slid her leg from the stool and reached for the crutches. “Nope. I don’t object to that at all.”
He stood there frozen as she limped away, more than a little entranced by her walk … and the blasted nightgown. Then with a laugh headed for his room. This would be a very interesting school day.
***
The whispers started the minute we climbed from his car. I grilled him about his automobile on the way there. Being the typical girl, I didn’t know beans about engines or half of what he told me. But I figured his transportation was the envy of half the boys at school and it interested him, so it was worth it. Plus, there was the project, and the more info I had, the more I could decide to write about.
He came around the car and helped me stand, then took my books like he’d said he would. The girls all stared at me, envious. Timothy Cooper was quite a catch. The boys all seemed proud of him, as if he’d accomplished something. That was a little bizarre to my thinking. Ultimately, I was just me – boring old Taylor Lawton. Too well-rounded for my age and not that friendly.
I say not that friendly, but I did speak to people. Yet in all the years living in town, no one had bothered to make good friends with me. I grew used to it eventually and functioned basically on my own, sitting on the outskirts at events and making conversation only where it was required. But now, with Timothy Cooper carrying my books, I was the center of attention.
And he, the cad, was enjoying himself. He made a production of it, deliberately pacing himself at my side, helping me in the doorways to my classes, and sitting my books on my desk with a flourish. He even opened my locker and retrieved things for me. When I shed myself of him in third period, Lisa Maiton, the same girl who’d thrown a wad of paper at Mrs. Walker’s butt, leaned over to get the scoop.
“So tell me,” she purred, “What’re you and Mr. Yummy doing together?”
Mr. Yummy. He was that.
“It’s a long story,” I said.
She tapped her fingers in rapid succession on the top of her desk. “Do tell.”
I debated on what to say. She wasn’t my friend-friend, just an acquaintance, so I didn’t know what rumors she’d start. On the other hand, Tim was spreading his own. I’d seen more than one high five exchanged when he thought I wasn’t looking.
“Well, I sprained my ankle, and he was driving by at the time.” That part was true and harmless. “He gave me a lift to his house. His mom is a nurse.” Also factual.
“You met his mom?”
This must have seemed like quite an accomplishment to her because she appeared to be in awe. Our conversation had by now drawn in two other girls from nearby desks – Maria Sanchez and Chondra Price.
“She was nice,” I said, “She said I sprained it and wouldn’t let me leave.”
“Go on,” Lisa said.
I debated again about how much to tell. “Well, so I stayed.”
“But Macy said she saw you get out of his car this morning, and he was like all … over you.”
He wasn’t all over me in the sense she said it. He was all over me in the sense I couldn’t stand up. But I didn’t make an issue with her about it.
“That’s true. I did ride to school with him.”
“You are killing me.” This remark came from Maria Sanchez. “Tell us.”
“What is there to tell? My parents are out of town on business and so his mom wouldn’t let me go home.”
You could have heard a feather fall. It got that quiet. I had somehow, by the looks on their faces, achieved mythical status. I had not only entered the sanctum of Timothy Cooper’s home, I had not only met his mother, I had … gasp … stayed there all night. I wanted to laugh, really I did, but it seemed unfitting.
“Girl, you are so lucky,” Chondra Price said, breaking the silence.
And heads bobbed all around, now most of the class – at least the female portion of it – nodding in agreement.
“So what now … like he takes you home today, right?” Lisa said.
I couldn’t help it. I grinned. Maybe I’d picked that up from Tim. He was always grinning at me. I also couldn’t help but say what I said, hang the consequences as they say.
“Actually, no,” I replied openly, “I’m staying there for the week.”
CHAPTER 7
Tim looked behind him into the classroom, his neck stretched like a rubber band to an uncommon length. “Why did they look at me like that?” he asked.
I giggled. Giggling is so girly and should be reserved for children under five, but I was overcome by the whole thing. “Because you are a god and I have gained epic renown.”
An eyebrow shot up. “Care to explain?”
I swung myself along the corridor toward my next class. “Well, let’s say by the end of the day we’ll be married with two kids.”
And he burst out laughing. “Oh my God. What is up with this school?”
I would have shrugged but the crutches prevented it. “They like a story, so I gave them one.”
“Truthful, I hope,” he said.
“Absolutely.” I paused outside my next class.
Laughter danced in his eyes, and I stared for a bit. I liked that I made him laugh.
“Tell me,” I said. “What are the guys saying?”
He pulled back a smile. “If you are epic, then I am legendary.”
I shook my head. “I don’t get that. I’m just me. Kinda plain and way too normal.”
“You mean you don’t know?” he said.
I leaned myself against the wall. The bell was about to ring, and we’d both be late. But this conversation seemed way more important.
“Know what?”
He cleared his throat. “Gosh, Southern, you have to be the most humble person I know. Not a guy in this school wouldn’t go out with you.”
I almost choked. I steadied myself on my good leg, which was growing more and more tired by the minute, and coughed for a good sixty seconds. “Me?” I finally squeaked. “Why?”
And his grin returned as the bell rang. We neither one moved.
“For the answer to that, look in the mirror,” he said. He shifted my books to his other arm. “Now, if we stand her much longer, I’ll get a detention, so let me help you to your seat.”
We entered the room into the curious eyes of the kids in the classroom, who followed our movements down the aisle to my desk. I plopped down, and he set my books on top.
“See ya after,” he said, nonchalantly, and he did something that ruined me for the rest of the day. Bending over, he kissed me on the cheek.
I sat there, stunned, my hand on my face until he disappeared from view. Then the girl behind me, Gina Conroy, poked me between the shoulder blades. I turned around.
“Tell me,” she whispered, albeit loudly, “what’s he like?”
***
Mrs. Walker’s class, being the last class of the day, capped off the rumors swirling around us. Since Tim sat right beside me within hand-holding distance and since the entire school now thought we’d done things together we hadn’t, we both decided to milk it.
It all started when Mrs. Walker paused to watch him help me to my seat. “I see you’ve had an accident,” she said.
I nodded. “I sprained my ankle.”
“And Mr. Cooper has been of help to you today?”
I guess teachers are as nosy as students. Why else would she ask that?
“Well,” I said, casting a look at him, “He and I decided to take your project seriously. We’ve moved in together.”
He was laughing. The class was laughing. I really wanted to be laughing. But Mrs. Walker was not laughing.
“Taylor Lawton,” she said, “We will not be inappropriate in this classroom.”
Inappropriate. Her choice of words stuck with me. Was that what I’d done? Was spreading all those tales, though some of them were true, actually a bad thing to do? I’d only been having fun, but maybe now … maybe now I couldn’t get rid of the stigma.
I squirmed in my seat, and Timothy noticed my discomfort.
He rose to my defense. “It’s really not a big deal, Mrs. Walker. Her parents are out of town, and she had nowhere else to go.”
Mrs. Walker sniffed in disdain and returned to the front of the classroom.
What she said after that, I have no idea because I was swimming too deep in regret. What if my parents heard the stories? What if the entire town talked about them? Oh, I’d messed up and messed up big.
Class ended, Tim drove us home and made every attempt to get me to talk without actually bringing the subject up, but to no success.
His mom noticed my mood. She didn’t ask, but tried to lighten it, telling stories of him in his youth. Good fodder for the project. Problem was, I couldn’t have cared less about the project. It wasn’t until about ten p.m. in the middle of a CSI rerun that he’d apparently had enough.
“Southern, talk to me.”
His mom had left the room, so we were quite alone.
“About what?”
Yeah, about what. I knew what he wanted, but I couldn’t say it.
“Scoot.”
I looked up to find him standing over me. I adjusted my position on the couch, and he slipped in beside me. Then drawing me to his side, he pressed my head to his chest. He smelled great.
“What’s bugging you?” he asked.
I sighed, the sound long and deep. “I blew it.”
He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “How did you blow it?”
Me & Timothy Cooper Page 3
