“Do you think he’s dyslexic?”
“I think maybe a little, but like I said, it’s hard to tell until his vision is corrected. I’m going to talk to my friend today about some activities to do with him. Meanwhile, you should talk to the school.”
“Okay, I will.” The lump in my throat was gone, and I could breathe again. I couldn’t see through my tears, though she couldn’t know that. “Thanks, Becca.”
“You’re welcome. Well, have a good day at work.” The relief in her voice was palpable.
“Wait?” I didn’t hear her hang up, so I plunged on. “The garden show. It’s the last week, isn’t it? Are you going?” So help me, if Dante hadn’t spoken to her, I was going to kidnap her and take her to Saint George myself.
“It’s still on next week. Dante and I did decide to go then. Well, provided there are no ward emergencies.”
“That’s wonderful. Good for you! I can watch Lauren and Allia, if you want.” I knew there was no way she’d let the boys stay with me. Even if they weren’t ultraconservative Mormons, having a teenage boy stay in a house with a thirteen-year-old who imagines herself in love with him wasn’t the best idea. “James would be thrilled to have Lauren.”
Dead silence. “Uh, I already arranged things with my sister. But thanks anyway.”
“Oh, I see. Well, maybe Lauren could come over this weekend and play. Give you a break.”
Another hesitation. Too long. “I don’t mind. I like to have her close. I’m kind of paranoid that way.”
I knew then that no matter how much she liked James and let him play with Lauren at her house, she was never going to leave Lauren in my care. Probably not Allia, either. Not that I blamed Becca, exactly. She probably thought I was a recovering drug addict—which I was, though the recovery had taken place years ago. Funny how my Church upbringing had made me understand the dangers of alcohol and cigarette smoking, both of which I’d rarely touched, but somehow I hadn’t managed to avoid falling into the despair of drugs. But I was clean now, and no one was better than I was with young children.
I’d known a lot of parents like Becca when Kyle was small, and I’d never let it bother me because I knew I was eons ahead of them in the fun department. Let them have their stuffy tea parties in their scratchy, expensive dresses. Let them drive their new SUVs and keep their noses in the air. My children would dig in the dirt, bake their own cookies using their own recipes, and sleep outside under the stars.
Yet this time it was different because Becca was part of the plan. To hide the hurt I felt at the discovery of her mistrust, I said brightly, “Well, maybe when you know me better.” If there would be enough time for that to happen. “Thanks for calling, and if something happens and Dante can’t go with you, I’m so ready for a road trip. Just give me a call.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks. See you later.” The line went silent.
Probably she’d call—if I was the last person on earth. Oh, well, at least she was loosening up, taking that first step. Dante had listened to me. He always had, except that last time, and he’d been right then.
I’d stopped inside the hall and was frowning at my phone, so I didn’t see Quinn coming. When he tapped me on the shoulder, I started. “Oh.” My eyes flew to his. He looked good today in dress slacks and a green polo that set off his tan and complemented his eyes. I didn’t like polos as a rule, but for him I was willing to change my mind. “Hi.”
“Bad news? You were staring at that thing like you wanted to smash it.” He gestured at my phone with a hand that held a large soft drink cup.
“No way. Then I’d have to find money for a new one.”
He laughed, and as we walked toward the elevator together, he asked, “So, how was the movie?”
“Okay—I think. Don’t tell my son, but I fell asleep in the middle.”
“That good, huh?”
“We don’t have any couches. What do you expect when you put a working mother on a pile of blankets and pillows?”
He laughed again, a nice sound. “You really don’t have a couch?”
“Our old one wasn’t worth bringing, and I haven’t had time to find anything else. I’ll pick up something second-hand eventually.” I didn’t actually believe I’d be here long enough to worry about a couch, but maybe that would encourage his lesson on changing the oil. That was overdue.
“They have great couches for sale on KSL all the time.”
“KSL? Isn’t that a TV station?”
“Yeah, but they have this whole online website with free classifieds ads and the like. Much easier to find what you’re looking for than in the newspaper.”
“I don’t have a computer set up yet.” I’d had one but it shut down a few months ago, and I hadn’t bothered bringing it. If we needed a computer, there was always the library.
“Check it on your lunch break or something.”
“It’ll have to wait. First, I need to worry about school clothes and buying a dryer.” The last occupant of my parents’ house had actually left an ancient washer in a corner of the basement, which seemed to work fine once the kids and I wrested it into place and figured out how to hook it up. No dryer, though, and hanging clothes over the line I’d nailed into the tree and the side of the house was going to get old fast in the winter. Then again, come Christmas, I might be long out of here, depending on how things went.
That thought made me want to throw my phone at Quinn, who, poor thing, was doing nothing more than making conversation.
“Hmm.” He beat me to pushing the button on the elevator—probably because my fists were clenched at my sides. “KSL has a free section, too, and I’m always surprised at what people are offering.”
“Free? You gotta be kidding.” Free was my kind of deal, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
“No, I’m not.” He smiled, and for no reason I could explain, the tension flowed from my body. “People haven’t been able to sell something, or they simply want to get rid of it. Whatever. Usually you have to pick it up.”
“As long as it’s not too far away. My truck eats gas like my kids guzzle pop.”
“Haven’t you heard that’s not good for them?”
“Life’s too short to worry about those things.”
“I agree. I drink way too much soda myself.” To underscore the point, he sipped at the end of his straw as we entered the elevator. His green eyes watched me as he drank, and it was a strangely intimate moment, one that brought a rush of . . . something to my heart.
The spell was broken as a man’s hand stopped the elevator doors from shutting. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his gaze never straying from the newspaper folded in his hands.
“No problem,” Quinn said.
No problem at all. In fact, I was glad the man had shown up. I liked Quinn. He seemed like a nice man, but I was through with men. Forever.
My stop came first. As I hurried from the elevator, Quinn’s voice followed me. “Tell you what. Give me a few days, and I’ll see what’s out there. You’ll be staying awake during movies before you know it.”
My turn to laugh. Because the hint was that I could invite him to share one of those movies. “Right. Well, you know that some problems aren’t worth solving.”
“I can do it.” He squared his already broad shoulders.
“We’ll see.” Let him be a Boy Scout. It couldn’t hurt.
I didn’t stop to watch the elevator shut, and I could feel his eyes on me. Checking my phone, I saw I had just enough time to look up a few eye doctors and make an appointment for James.
Chapter Twenty
Kyle
Thursday, the day of my free dance class, finally arrived. Though it hadn’t exactly been torture watching the other girls dance all week, I was dying to step out on the floor myself. First I had to drop off James and get Allia’s bike. I was
worried Allia would change her mind about the bike because no matter what, I couldn’t be late today.
“Is Allia here?” I blurted the second her mom opened the door.
“She had to stay after school for a project, but she said you could use her bike. Come on in for a minute, and I’ll open the garage.”
I followed her into the kitchen where small plastic bags of homemade saltwater dough sat on the table. The house smelled wonderful, as usual, and for a fleeting second I was tempted to stay if she offered me a snack, especially if Travis appeared. Maybe I could still be on time. No, better not to risk it. Hurry, I thought to Allia’s mom. Or Sister Rushton, I guess. That’s what James called her—and everyone else at that stupid church.
James couldn’t take his eyes off the dough. “What’s that for?”
“A game we’re going to play.”
Lauren frowned. “I thought we were going to teach James to read.”
“This is a reading game. It’ll be fun.”
“Mom took me to the eye doctor this morning,” James said. “She got off work and got me at school. The doctor did lots of stuff to my eyes. I didn’t like it.”
“So do you have to get glasses?” Lauren reached toward the bags of dough but hovered over them indecisively.
“Yeah. But they’re not ready yet.” He grimaced. “I can’t see up close or far way. The doctor said I need more tests.”
Sister Rushton looked at me as if asking for an explanation, but I shrugged. The fewer words the better. I edged toward the door leading to the garage.
“I’m sure everything will be a lot easier once you get glasses,” Sister Rushton told James. “Did your mom talk to your teachers at school?”
“Yeah, about tests.” He gave me a glum look. “I hate tests.”
I felt sorry for him, so I said, “It’s just to help them figure out how to help you read.”
“Oh. That’s okay, I guess.”
Sister Rushton looked thoughtful, and I wondered if she was surprised that Mom had taken James to the doctor and talked to his teachers so quickly. She did have a tendency to put things off. But she loves us. I felt a little sliver of resentment toward Sister Rushton. She shouldn’t judge my mom without knowing her. She probably judged me, too, which made me feel a little sad since I thought she was probably more beautiful than the mothers of any of my friends in California.
“Which color dough should I take, Mom?” Lauren asked.
“Whichever you want.”
Lauren pushed her dark hair from her eyes. “What do you want, James?”
“Blue. No, green.”
Lauren gave him the green and placed the blue and pink in front of her. “I’ll use one of these, but I don’t know which.”
James opened his bag and began rolling out a snake. “What are we doing with this?”
“We’re going to make some words and sound them out, that’s what,” Sister Rushton said. “Why don’t you make an A? As big as you want. Lauren, you make an S and I’ll make a T. Do them nice and big now so James can see them. Then we’ll make more letters so we can learn more words. James, do you remember what sound an A makes?”
“I can’t decide what color to use,” moaned Lauren.
“Blue,” James said.
Lauren took the pink instead. Whatever. That kid was a little funny.
Sister Rushton looked relieved that Lauren had made a decision. She gave a little start. “Oh, sorry, Kyle. I forgot about the bike. Come on.”
Finally. The two minutes I’d been there felt like ten. I followed her into the garage and went for Allia’s bike as the door lifted. “Watch for cars, okay?” Sister Rushton called after me. I didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed, but when she added, “And be back in an hour,” I opted for annoyed.
No. Freaking. Way.
When I arrived at the studio, there was still plenty of time, and I waited impatiently. Finally the class was over, and I went inside. Right away I wasn’t thrilled with the girls, who stared at me until I felt self-conscious. Since this was the nine to eleven class, they were all younger than I was, and I felt big and awkward, though I was small for my age.
“Don’t mind them,” a tall, slender girl with red hair told me when three of the girls burst into laughter as they eyed me from across the room where they were warming up. “It’s all about the dance. That’s all that matters.”
“Right.” I appreciated her comment, but I experienced a rare kind of jealousy at the strong and sure way she moved. Not the simple jealousy over a sweater or the kind of house someone lived in, but the jealousy of seeing someone do something you love so much and doing it better than maybe you will ever be capable of. That kind of jealousy bites deep and hard, and tears I couldn’t shed stung my eyes.
I felt this girl existed solely to dance her way through life. I could tell she came from a well-to-do family, from the name brand jeans she’d shimmied out of earlier to the sneakers that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Her parents could obviously buy her any teacher, and that she had talent made her comment to me more precious—and my jealousy that much more poignant.
I told myself nothing mattered but learning everything I could. I didn’t fool myself that the teacher would be so amazed at my talent, she’d give me lessons for free. That kind of thing didn’t happen to people like me.
Yet as we practiced moves, I forgot about everything but the dance. I was the dance. It was beautiful—the floor, the mirrors, the music, the movements. I loved the sturdy-looking teacher, loved how she ordered us about, loved how demanding she was—and I loved that I’d practiced enough all week on my own not to feel like a total idiot. I enjoyed the grudging acceptance of the younger girls, the genuine smile of approval from the redhead. Not that I did all that great—I couldn’t do great without real training—but I wasn’t so bad as to feel embarrassed if I was to run into these girls at school or in some other public place.
The class ended too soon. How could it be over? I wanted to throw myself on the ground and cry and refuse to leave. I wanted to plead with the teacher to let me into the class and when I was older, I’d repay her double.
Silly.
I nodded to the redhead and made my way to the changing area with the other girls, where I pulled on my jeans over the black tights without feet like those I’d seen the other girls wearing at other lessons. Not pink because this wasn’t ballet and with bare feet so we wouldn’t slip and the teacher could see what we were doing with our toes. Sometimes she’d have them put on their jazz shoes, but she hadn’t today, and I was glad because mine were a little tight.
I stayed to watch a bit of the older girls’ class, but I finally made myself leave to pick up James. I still didn’t arrive until after five-thirty. Sister Rushton wasn’t pleased at how late I was, but I couldn’t tell her why. She probably thought I was smoking pot out behind the school or something.
Let her think it. What do I care?
When James and I finally got home, I was carrying both him and my dance bag. It was nearly six, and I was afraid I wouldn’t beat my mother to the house, so I was trying to run. I sighed a breath of relief when she wasn’t there.
“Come on,” I said to James. “I’ll make you some mac and cheese.”
“Goody. I’m starving. I think I’m growing.”
“Good thing. You’re a guy. You don’t want to be short.” I made the noodles without really thinking, my mind still caught up in the dance. Maybe if I hurried and finished my homework, I could practice a few of the more difficult moves I’d learned today.
Mom came home before we’d finished eating, her face flushed and happy. She looked pretty, like she used to when she’d dress up to work at the restaurant. As usual, she smelled like a garden of flowers. I wished she smelled the way she had when I was younger. Less like flowers and mor
e like herself.
“Guess what?” she said in singsong. “We have a couch. Two of them actually.”
“A couch?” James leapt up from the table and followed Mom out the front door.
Sure enough, loaded into the back of our truck were a couch and a love seat. “Where’d you get that?” I asked.
Mom gave us a conspiratorial smile. “I mentioned to a guy at work that we hadn’t brought our old couch, and he found these online. Free to anyone who would pick them up.”
“Was that the guy we saw when we got the movie?” James asked.
“Yeah. He helped me load them in the truck.” She looked down the street. “He should be coming any minute now to help us get them inside.”
“We could call the bishop and his son,” I said. It would be the perfect opportunity to see Travis since he hadn’t been around when I’d been at the Rushtons’ today.
She laughed. “We three should be able to take care of it.”
“Four,” James said. “Don’t forget me.”
Mom bent down to kiss him. “I wasn’t. It was me I wasn’t counting. I’m a weakling.” James giggled at that, and even I smiled. Mom had her moments.
“There he is now,” Mom said as a dark green convertible turned down our street. It was a cool car, and I felt a thrill of excitement despite my disappointment about the dance classes. The man who emerged from the car looked a lot like the kind of men my mother usually dated, only taller, and the way he carried himself reminded me faintly of the bishop, though this man was decidedly broader, his muscles bulging in his snug shirt. His blond hair was also longer, and his eyes green instead of brown. Okay, he didn’t look at all like the bishop, except he had that clean air about him, which I liked. I knew at once that he wasn’t a smoker, and maybe he wasn’t a drinker, either. I liked him better for that already.
“This must be Kyle,” he said.
I nodded. “That’s me.”
Before I Say Goodbye Page 16
