True Images Series
Sing To Me
By Michelle Pennington
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My mom had come up with some really awful jobs, but as I stared down at a collection of crispy bugs, I decided that this was by far the grossest. If I hadn’t wanted to go to prom so bad, there’s no way I would be doing this. How did so many bugs die in a light fixture anyway? Gross!
But Brian Gibbons was totally worth it. He was one of the hottest guys at school with his wavy blond hair, gleaming blue eyes, and the best sense of fashion to ever hit Haskins High. I’d been crushing on him for months, so it was a little surreal that he’d actually asked me to prom. It had taken a lot of hardcore strategy to catch his interest, but I’d done it. As it turned out though, getting my dream date was easier than getting my dream dress.
It really wasn’t fair. All my friends’ moms just took them shopping and swiped their credit cards. Did my mom? No. I had to earn the money for my dress. And if I wanted shoes, jewelry, a manicure? You guessed it - I had to earn the money for that too. Unfortunately, with all of my extracurricular activities, I didn’t have time for a job so I was at my mother’s mercy. But it was my senior prom so I was willing to deal with it – no matter how awful the job. Unfortunately, most of them involved insects in some way or another.
Today I was cleaning out all the light fixtures in the house. Yesterday I’d washed windows and wiped out the window sills – which I’d decided were pretty much just graveyards for flies. Last week, I’d cleaned out all the closets and found way too many crumpled up remains of spiders on their dusty webs. At least they were dead though. The spider I’d found cleaning out the pantry had not been. My parents were seriously being ripped off by their pest control company.
I dumped all the dried up moth and fly carcasses out of the globe from the kitchen light into the trash and took it over to the sink to wash. I was still wrist deep in hot, sudsy water when my mom got home. She came in to the kitchen from the garage and smiled at me as she hung up her keys and tossed her purse on the counter. Her cheerfulness made me even grumpier.
“Hey there, sweetie! Did you have a nice day?”
“It wasn’t too bad until I had to come home and work on this. Oh, and that guy that’s been bugging me in choir - you know, Colby? Well, he was at it again today. He thinks he’s so funny, always warning me not to “Butcher” my solo. I wish he had a last name that could be twisted around like that. There’s not much you can do with Adams though.”
“Adams, huh? That’s funny. I was just about to tell you about a conversation I had with Marcy Adams at work today – you know, the new loan officer they hired a few months ago? You met her when you came to see me at the bank last week.”
“You mean the pretty one who was spazzing because someone left their coffee on her desk?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s the one. And she wasn’t spazzing. She was just upset because it left a coffee ring on some of her loan applications.”
“Yeah, well, she looked like she was going to bust a blood vessel over it. So, what were you and Miss Anal-Retentive talking about?”
“She wants you to babysit her little girl.”
That came out of nowhere. “What? Why?”
“She and her husband want to start having date nights now that Abby’s two, but she’s really picky about trusting people. She thought you seemed really mature, and she feels she can trust you because she knows me, so um….I told her you would.”
“You told her what?”
“Tonight.”
My eyes bugged out. “What if I have plans?”
Mom looked at my sweatpants and the dish scrubber I was waving around for emphasis. “I told her you hardly ever go out, so it wouldn’t be a problem. She wants you every Friday night, but she’ll be flexible if you have a choir concert or something.”
“Great. Now somebody I barely know thinks I’m a social loser.”
“No she doesn’t, Rylie. So, will you do it? She pays better than I do,” my mom said, using her most persuasive tone of voice.
“But what if I do something wrong and she goes all crazy over it?”
“You’ll be fine. I doubt the two year old will give you any problems, and after watching your nieces and nephews, this should be a breeze.”
I still hesitated.
“Prom is only a few weeks away,” she reminded me.
I thought about my current job and decided I’d take a two year old over bugs any day. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
An hour later, I was ringing the doorbell at Marcy’s house. They lived on a cul-de-sac of newly built brick homes on the edge of town. They were big and expensive but looked like they’d all been built from the same blueprint. My dad would have called them cookie cutter houses. The only way I could tell the Adam’s house apart from the others was by the numbers over the garage and a giant sign with their surname over the doorbell I’d just rung.
I stared down at the monogrammed door mat under my feet and wondered how my mom had talked me into this. I didn’t even know these people - or so I thought.
Until Colby Adams opened the door.
He looked as surprised as I was. “Rylie? You’re the girl they got to babysit Abby?”
“Yeah. My mom works with Marcy.” My eyebrows drew together as I tried to figure things out. Maybe the last name should have clued me in, but how would it have? From what I remembered of Marcy, she was way too young to be Colby’s mom.
Colby narrowed his eyes at me. “Don’t sprain something trying to figure it out. Marcy’s my stepmom.”
“Oh. Ok. That makes sense.”
“Yeah, if your dad marrying someone almost twenty years younger than he is makes sense. Well, are you going to come in?”
“I’m kind of scared to. I mean, do I really want to meet the rest of the Adams family? Do I need to watch out for creepy butlers or trap doors to your basement dungeons?”
“Funny,” he said, scowling as he stepped back from the doorway.
“Besides, you never invited me in.”
Colby dipped into a low bow and said, “Would you please come in?”
“Since you asked so sweetly, yes.”
I stepped past him into the house and looked around the small, tiled foyer. To my left, a staircase rose and wound around a corner, inviting further exploration. My eyes followed it curiously, but not being able to see much, I turned to the living room on my right. My first impression was that I’d stepped into a photo shoot for a home décor magazine. I just couldn’t believe that the perfection in front of me was real – that people could actually maintain it in real life.
But then again, it made sense that Marcy would have fresh flowers, spotless white sofas, and perfectly placed accent pillows. I just didn’t know how she managed it with a two year old in the house. Where were the toys and the sippy cups and the random shoes?
The only evidence that a child lived here was a grouping of framed photos on the wall. They were all of a little blond girl in various stages since her birth. They were professional, artistic, and perfectly in keeping with the style of the rest of the room.
When my searching eyes finally found the little girl herself, however, I couldn’t help noticing that she looked out of place in all this grown-up perfection.
She was sitting on the floor in front of the enormous flat screen television, watching a cartoon. I could only see the back of her head, but I was immediately impressed by the blond spiral curls that covered it. I would kill to have even a hint of curl to my hair. My hair was as blond as hers, maybe even lighter, but it was hopelessly straight.
I stood awkwardly near the couch, afraid to touch anything, while Colby went over to Abby and crouched down next to her. “Abby, someone is here to meet you.” As he picke
d her up, she was smiling and excited, but when her big blue eyes saw me, she put a strangle hold on his neck.
Great. She was shy.
“Come on. Don’t be afraid of Rylie. She’s really nice.”
He thought I was nice? Since when? At school he seemed to tolerate being around me only slightly better than the big sweaty guy in the bass section who never wore deodorant. Of course, he was only saying I was nice for Abby’s benefit, but I kind of resented it. It wasn’t her fault that her brother annoyed the heck out of me though, so I stepped closer to them.
“Hello, Abby. You sure are a pretty girl,” I said, hoping I sounded friendly.
Abby wasn’t impressed. She dug her face into Colby’s chest and stayed there. He rubbed her back and tried to reassure her. “It’s ok, Abby. Don’t be shy.”
It was weird hearing such a tender tone in his voice because it was so different from the way he always talked to me. I never would have suspected he had a softer side if I wasn’t seeing it with my own eyes. Of course, an adorable baby sister was one thing. I was just some girl he knew – a girl he clearly thought was a loser. Otherwise, why would he always give me such a hard time? I mean, I’d barely ever even talked to him.
I wasn’t popular or anything, but I had a lot of friends. I tried to be nice to everyone, and I rarely had problems with anyone else. Maybe that was why it was so hard for me to deal with his teasing and sarcasm. It hurt, and I couldn’t figure out where it came from. So, I’d decided he was a punk I should just ignore - a shame since he was actually pretty cute.
I liked the deep brown of his eyes, though it was really unfair that a boy should have such long lashes. His nose was a little on the thin side, but it made him look kind of… I don’t know, aristocratic. It wasn’t really his looks that made him attractive though.
A magnetic intensity radiated from him, hinting at tempests beneath the surface. It drew you to him, made you curious to know what drove the storms in his eyes.
He seemed different with his sister, though. A sense of calm and belonging clung to him as tightly as Abby’s fingers on his sleeve. They didn’t look much like brother and sister, since his hair was as dark as hers was light and he had olive skin while hers was fair, but it was clear they were close. I guessed that he didn’t much like having a stepmom, especially one so close to his own age, but it was clear that his hang-ups with her didn’t affect his feelings for Abby.
The front door opened behind me and a man came in who I assumed to be Colby and Abby’s dad. He was the same height as Colby, still looking young and fit for a man old enough to have a son about to graduate from high school. He was dressed casually, but something about him screamed C.E.O. Maybe it was his stiff posture and sharp eyes. I smiled and tried to look confident. No parent would want to leave their little girl with a nervous teenager – especially this one.
He came towards me with a hand held out. “Hello there. I’m Gerry Adams. Are you the babysitter or Colby’s date?”
I shook his hand, but was so surprised by the question that I had a hard time answering. This man’s personality compelled an answer, however, so I opened my mouth to give him one. Who knows how long I would have stood there looking like a goldfish if Colby hadn’t answered for me.
“This is Rylie Butcher, Dad. She’s the babysitter.”
I nodded and forced a smile, but a second later, my eyebrows pulled together as I tried to figure out why his answer bothered me.
“Well,” Mr. Adams said, “Too bad, but that’s what I thought. Colby doesn’t usually bring his girlfriends around for us to meet. Makes me wonder about his taste in girls.” Completely unaware of the awkwardness he’d plunged us all into, he reached for his daughter and said, “Come here, baby girl. Let’s go see if Mommy is ready to go.”
As he left with her, I glanced sideways at Colby and saw that there was a slight tightness to his jaw. When he saw me looking at him, he shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Well, I’ve gotta get going. Have fun. Hopefully you can manage babysitting better than singing a solo.”
I glared at him as he left, but he never turned around to see it. Hurt twisted me up inside, and I already felt a little sick to my stomach because I was nervous about being left in charge of a little girl who didn’t know me and whose parents were both a little overwhelming. All at once, this seemed like a bigger deal than it had before.
Ten minutes later, Mr. Adams handed Abby over to me and she immediately began to scream and reach for him. Meanwhile, Marcy was giving me last minute instructions about dinner, bedtime, and emergency numbers. I tried desperately to hear her over Abby’s wailing, but I knew I was missing stuff.
“Don’t worry,” Marcy said. “I left a detailed list of information and her schedule in the kitchen on the counter. Give Mommy hugs, baby girl!”
She leaned in to hug her while I still held her, brushing her hair in my face and wafting her expensive perfume in my nose. I was relieved when she stepped back, even though it made Abby wail even louder.
Mrs. Adams looked like she was about to cry too. “Oh, I just hate leaving her like this.”
I could have sworn that Colby’s dad rolled his eyes before putting a firm hand on her arm and pulling her out the door.
“Call us if you have any questions,” she called back to me.
When the door shut behind them, Abby was struggling so hard to run after them I was afraid I would drop her. I sat her down, and she ran to the door and pounded it with her little fists, screaming, “Momma! Momma! Momma!” She was terrified and so was I.
Maybe bugs weren’t so bad after all.
*****
I’d given up on “Hush Little Baby” because I didn’t know all the words. There were only so many times you could sing “Rock-a-By-Baby.” I started singing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” in a soft voice, my breath stirring Abby’s curls where they lay under my chin. Her sweet little face, still wet with tears, was tucked into my neck. There had been a short time after her parents left when I’d doubted her sweetness, but once I’d calmed her down and made friends with her, she really was a darling. We’d had a good time until I’d tried to put her to bed.
Marcy had assured me that all I had to do was put her jammies and sleeping diaper on and she would settle right down. She’d even said that she usually cried for little while but to just let her cry. When she’d screamed for fifteen minutes though, I hadn’t been able to take it anymore. I’d gathered her up with her blankie and settled into the rocking chair with her. For a while, she’d shuddered with the aftermath of her screaming, but she’d calmed down when I’d started singing and rubbing her back.
Unfortunately, every time I’d thought she was asleep and stopped singing, she’d sat up and looked at me with wide-awake, accusing eyes. I’d completely lost track of how long I’d been trying to put her to sleep.
I was singing “like a diamond in the sky” when I heard the front door open downstairs. I was both relieved that her parents were finally home and extremely frustrated that I hadn’t been able to get Abby asleep before they got here. I had a feeling they would be peeved about the mess in the perfect living room.
I was afraid to stop singing, so I started the song again as I waited for Marcy to find us. However, it was Colby that leaned in through the doorway to my left and peeked in at us. His eyes assessed the situation, and a brief smile glanced across his lips before he left again.
I felt like throwing something – preferably at him. Of course Colby had to come home and hear me singing lullabies. I could already hear him teasing me over it. I desperately wanted to stop, but I knew Abby would scream the place down if I did. So, I kept rocking and singing, telling myself that I didn’t need to be ashamed of my voice, whatever Colby said about it.
Needing to focus on something so I could calm down, my eyes drifted to the moonlight streaming through the blinds on the wall opposite to me. I’d opened them a little to let in enough light that I wouldn’t trip getting Abby in her bed but not so much tha
t she wouldn’t go to sleep.
I didn’t know Colby had come back until I heard a whisper of a chord being strummed on a guitar. I looked over at him, surprise halting my song, and Abby popped up to stare at him as well.
“Keep singing,” he murmured as he sat on an ottoman nearby. “Abby loves when I play for her.”
I started over, thrilled at the gentle tone of Colby’s guitar. His fingers barely brushed the strings, giving what was really just a hint of the sound they could make. It was perfect for the lullaby. When we came to the end, he whispered, “Again.” This time he joined in, perfectly harmonizing with the melody I was singing. It was crazy that Colby was voluntarily singing a duet with me, and even crazier that our voices blended so well.
“Do you know Moon River?” he asked when we were done, his soft voice barely reaching me from where he sat. I nodded. We’d sung it for a choir concert last year and I’d loved the haunting song so much that I still remembered all the words.
As much as I’d loved it before, I’d never gotten to sing it to the original guitar accompaniment. It was beautiful, and when Colby sang harmony on the verse that began “Two drifters off to see the world…,” I completely forgot that we were trying to put Abby to sleep. I got lost in the song and the thrill of blending my voice with Colby’s deeper one.
When the last strains of the song died away, we sat quietly, looking at each other in the near darkness. I couldn’t see his features well because his back was to the window, but I could feel a ribbon of connection flowing between us. And it just didn’t make sense. I tried to reconcile what I knew of Colby and the way I was feeling, but it was impossible.
“You know what’s funny?” He asked in a whisper, interrupting my silent debate.
“What?”
“Your hair is like a river of moonlight falling over your shoulder.”
I glanced down at it, but quickly looked up again to stare at him. I knew I looked confused, but that’s because I was. Just not for the reason he thought.
“You know… the song.” he explained.
Sing to Me Page 1
