Chapter Sixteen
I managed to avoid further Jesus discussions with JohnScott, but I couldn’t help noticing Emily Sanders had stopped ignoring me, an action I found extremely suspicious.
After school one afternoon, she entered the office, took a half step in my direction, then paused like a cornered cottontail. I raised my eyebrows questioningly, but she only gazed at the floor without speaking.
“Hey, Emily.”
The girl relaxed and took a baby step. “What are you doing?”
“Spider Solitaire.”
“I do Facebook a lot, but my mom said it’s off limits because of one of my test grades.” She twisted a strand of hair around a finger, examining the split ends. “She hired a math tutor, but I wish she hadn’t. It’s just more homework.”
I clicked a few playing cards on the screen, and a full stack fluttered to the discard pile. “I don’t know. If it helps, right?”
“Yeah, that’s what Mom said.” She eased forward and slipped into a chair near my desk. “Are you going to the game on Friday?”
For years little Emily had followed the church’s example and given me a cold shoulder because of my mother’s presumed sin. Why make small talk now? “I go to all the games.”
She hugged her books against her chest. “My mom’s late. She runs errands and loses track of time.”
I glanced into the parking lot, scoping for Emily’s mother but discovered Mrs. Blaylock instead. Emily followed my gaze and jerked to her feet as one of her books fell to the floor with a thump.
Most people had the same reaction as Emily when they came upon Fawn’s mother unexpectedly—as if they’d been caught in a petty crime and would soon be punished—but not me. I simply couldn’t stand her. I’d always referred to her as Mrs. Blaylock even though I called every other Trapp female by her first name. The Mrs. seemed to echo the distance she kept from Momma and me, but even when Fawn and I had been friends, her mother was formal and aloof.
Normally Mrs. Blaylock’s presence at the high school didn’t alarm me. She reigned as Trapp’s unofficial civic-duty queen, volunteering her services all over town—good grief, the football stadium was named after her father—but since the new preacher’s arrival, her visits charged me with apprehension. The Cunninghams sparked a certain level of static electricity, not only in the Blaylocks, but in other churchgoers as well. Whenever any of them came close, I’d feel a tiny shock, like when my socks just came out of the dryer. As I speculated about Fawn and Emily working a twisted plan, Mrs. Blaylock’s entrance confirmed my suspicions and set off an electric current akin to a dry-lightning storm.
She peered down her nose at Emily before leveling her gaze six inches above my head. “I’m here to meet the principal. For a meeting about the Halloween Carnival?”
Emily coughed. “He might still be in Mrs. Morales’s room. They were talking about the carnival after last period.”
Mrs. Blaylock tilted her head toward Emily. “Show me?”
Good gravy, they were both obnoxious. I opted to wait for JohnScott outside.
The low brick wall west of the building was a convenient spot to meet JohnScott when he exited the side door. I sat on the wall and tipped my head back, enjoying the sun’s warmth and the momentary escape from my overcast life.
JohnScott had changed, and it made me lonely. We hadn’t discussed my college plans in a month, and I hadn’t mentioned the scholarship rejection I’d received the week before. I could tell he wished I liked the Cunninghams, but I felt no urgent need to befriend them, especially now that I had discovered the Debate Club’s main topic of discussion. JohnScott should have known his friendship with Dodd Cunningham was a time bomb set to explode … because of me. And I almost wished it would go ahead and detonate.
At least then I’d have my cousin back.
“Why are you out here by yourself?”
At the sound of Clyde Felton’s low-pitched threat, every muscle in my body turned to granite. He leaned against the corner of the building, and I shifted on the wall, turning my back on him as I calculated whether or not I could make it back inside. “I could ask you the same thing,” I said.
The odor of alcohol signaled his approach. “Your mom’s Lynda Turner, ain’t she?”
Now he stood between me and the door. “Maybe.”
“You look just like her.”
The fact Clyde Felton knew Momma alarmed me, but paralysis glued me to the wall. “What do you want?”
“Thought I’d be sociable, that’s all.” His words ran together, and the sonorous bass of his voice created a rolling echo not unlike thunder.
I bit the inside of my lip and didn’t answer.
“I bet you’re waiting for your coach-cousin.” He sat down on the wall next to me.
“Yes, and he’ll be here any minute.”
Clyde grunted. “Not for a few minutes yet, unless today’s different from every other day.”
He had been watching me.
When I scooted away from him, he mumbled, “Everybody in this town’s too good for me.”
“I didn’t say that.” I glanced at his arms, which were possibly larger than my thighs. If I screamed, someone in the building would probably hear me, but if I screamed, Clyde might simply snap my neck in two.
He leaned toward me, and the stench of beer filled my nose. “What’s your mom up to?”
I frowned.
“She live close?”
“Why do you want to know?”
He curled his lips, exposing yellow teeth, and my legs involuntarily jerked me to my feet, putting distance between us.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know you, and as far as I know, neither does my mother.” I needed to get back in the building with Fawn’s mother and Emily. Ironic.
I tried to step around him, but Clyde gripped my wrist, his fingers tightening like handcuffs. “Wait a minute.” He spoke slowly, concentrating through the alcoholic fog. “I didn’t do nothing.”
I twisted my arm, trying to break free.
“Tell me about your momma.”
“Leave me alone. Please.” I leaned away from him as my heart raced. The west side of the building—perfect for avoiding Mrs. Blaylock and Emily—was also perfect for shielding Clyde’s actions from anyone who might drive past the school. His fist remained wrapped around my right wrist, and with his free hand, he grabbed my other arm. I noticed a tattoo peeking out from under the wristband of his shirt, but then he squeezed my arm so tightly, I soon lost sensation below my elbow.
A scream formed behind my diaphragm, and I felt it pushing its way up to my throat, but Clyde’s silence unnerved me. His body language said pit-bull attack, but his eyes drooped in what could only be described as disappointment. I didn’t know if drunkenness or some type of post-incarceration problem caused the inconsistency, but either way, it rattled me, and I whimpered involuntarily as I wrestled to free myself.
He held his ground with little effort, but his eyes flickered away from mine, and he glowered at something, or someone, behind me. My heart leaped. JohnScott? I twisted to look over my shoulder, but Clyde released my arms, and I fell to the ground, landing hard on one hip.
He spat. “I should’ve known you’d be around.” He started to say something else but stopped. “Aw, forget it.” Then he trudged away, cursing.
Using the wall as a support, I pulled myself up on shaky legs, ready to run to the safety of my cousin. But when I turned, it was Dodd. His arms were folded across his chest, and the tendons in his neck twitched angrily.
Instinctively I moved behind him.
The convict glanced back one last time before stumbling toward the football field, where he zigzagged across the grass and disappeared behind the concession stand. Only then did Dodd relax. He unfolded his arms and looked down at me. “Are you all right?”
The compassion
on his face pulled a sob from my throat, so I pressed my knuckles to my mouth and looked away. I would not become emotional in front of him.
“Ruthie?”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“You okay?”
A chuckle came from somewhere near my lungs, and I felt the urge to hug him. Or let him hug me. Let his strong arms ease my fears like my daddy’s used to do when I was afraid.
But how ridiculous.
I inhaled deeply—sucking air all the way down to my ankles—and as I forced my breath back out, I allowed the oxygen to cleanse my fear-induced instincts. “I am now.”
He studied the empty field. “Clyde’s a little unpredictable.”
“Unpredictable?” That wasn’t the word I’d use to describe the beast.
“Has he bothered you before?”
“Not really.” I chose not to admit my foolish decision to walk home alone. “I didn’t know he even knew my name.” Or my mother.
“Most likely he’s upset JohnScott and I interfered that night at the elevator.”
“Maybe.” I felt relieved by Dodd’s presence, but at the same time, his comfort alarmed me. “Thank you. I don’t know what he would’ve done—”
“You’re all right now.” He sounded as though he wanted to convince both of us.
“Well, I’ll be better when my legs stop shaking.”
“Here. Sit down.” He touched my elbow with his fingertips, then settled sideways on the wall, inspecting me as if I might collapse. “Do you want to call the police?”
“No.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, and the breeze gently blew my hair across my cheek. Dodd lifted his hand as though to brush the hair from my eyes, but he rubbed his palm against the back of his neck instead.
Already the attack seemed long ago. Such a difference in only a few minutes. I studied Dodd’s profile and noticed the curl behind his ear had been trimmed away with his recent haircut. “Clyde seemed intimidated by you.”
His shoulders fell a half inch. “I don’t know why. He could’ve beaten the tar out of me.”
My mind conjured a prison fight, and my heart raced again. “What would you have done if he hadn’t left?”
“I’m not sure.” He nudged a rock with the side of his athletic shoe. “But it might have involved running.”
I surprised myself by giggling.
“But I would’ve taken you with me,” he insisted. “Or maybe we could’ve double-teamed him.”
“Yeah, if you had tripped him, I could have hit him with my purse.” For once I was grateful for Dodd drawing me into a laid-back conversation. It calmed my nerves.
His laughter faded into a thoughtful lull, and he added as an afterthought, “Clyde must be crazy to pick on someone else’s girlfriend.”
Confusion jumbled my thoughts. “What did you say?”
“He’s an idiot to mess with another man’s girl, and if I understand this town at all, he’s particularly foolish to mess with the girlfriend of the head coach. He’s likely to have the whole team after him.” He reached for a pebble on the wall between us and scratched it against the bricks, leaving a white mark.
The intensity of my encounter with Clyde left my mind addled, and I gaped at Dodd in bewilderment. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He raised his eyes doubtfully. “But JohnScott—”
“JohnScott’s my cousin.”
Dodd froze, except for his eyebrows, which trembled once. “Cousin?”
We contemplated each other, equally perplexed, until Grady came out the door. “I’ve got to get home, big brother. My blasted calculus teacher gave me a truckload of homework, and I’ll be lucky to fin—” He saw me and stopped short. “Hey, Ruthie-the-checker-girl.” His voice held a tone of uncertainty, and it occurred to me how odd it must seem for Dodd and me to be sitting alone together.
“They’re cousins,” Dodd said.
“Who?”
Dodd pointed at me, and I mumbled, “JohnScott and me.”
“Seriously?”
The door clanked, and JohnScott finally emerged. “Hey, bullies, are you bothering my girl?”
The brothers said in unison, “Cousin.”
JohnScott put an elbow around my neck, flinching slightly from his still-sore ribs. “What’s that you say?”
“You’re cousins, Coach Pickett,” Grady informed him.
Dodd drifted around the corner of the building toward the parking lot, but I was still so shaken, I was having a difficult time following Grady’s conversation.
“Yeah, so?” JohnScott said.
Grady scrutinized him. “Are you distant cousins?”
“No, first cousins. You know, my mom, her mom, sisters.”
“I understand the basic concept of cousins.” Grady looked sick to his stomach. “But is it all right to date your cousin if you live in a small town?”
I gasped, and JohnScott took a step away from me. “We’re not dating,” he said. “She’s my cousin.” He grinned but dropped his gaze to the ground.
“Wow,” Grady said. “How could we know you so well, yet not know this nugget of information?”
“I guess it never came up,” JohnScott said. “But this is Trapp, for goodness’ sake. How could you not know?”
Grady beamed as though he had never seen us before. “Right.” He nodded as he turned to walk away, but he kept looking back at us. “My brother may need medical attention,” he said.
JohnScott looked at me and shrugged. “City folk are so quirky.”
Chapter Seventeen
“It’s been too long since I treated you, little cousin.” JohnScott picked me up after work one afternoon in late October. “Let’s go to the Dairy Queen and get a chili dog.”
I settled into his pickup, glad to be off my feet. “If you wanted to treat me, you’d buy me ice cream.”
“But you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”
“Minor detail.”
In the past few weeks, JohnScott had taken the hint and avoided mentioning God, and I thought our relationship might get back to normal if only he would give up the Debate Club. He still considered Dodd Cunningham the best thing since Internet access, even though I insisted the infatuation wouldn’t last.
As we approached the Dairy Queen, I groaned. “Tell me you didn’t.” The parking lot held only two cars. Dodd’s El Camino and Fawn’s Mustang.
“Aw, come on.” He shut off the engine directly in front of the broad dining-room windows and raised a hand in greeting as four heads turned in our direction. “Humor me.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me in the first place?”
“You’d have said no.”
“For good reason.”
He opened the driver’s door. “Honestly, I had no idea Fawn and Emily would be here, but you have to admit, they’re getting better.”
“Well, that makes it all okay, doesn’t it?” My cousin was a twit.
“Fawn isn’t going to stop me from getting a chili dog, but you can stay out here if you want.” He shut the door, then grinned at me through the window.
I contemplated staying in the truck to prove he couldn’t push me around, but since he parked right by the windows, I’d look foolish. He had planned this strategically.
I caught up to him at the front door of the restaurant. “I hate you.”
“Cheese?”
“Onions, too, and a chocolate shake. You owe me.”
JohnScott scrunched his face. “I probably owe you fries, too.”
He ordered at the counter, and then I followed him to a booth where Dodd and Grady sat with Fawn and Emily. After JohnScott greeted them, we took an adjacent table, but he pulled his chair toward Emily when she asked him about a lesson he had assigned in history class.
The game of musical chairs continu
ed as Grady moved to the seat across from me and plopped his cardboard container of onion rings on the table. “Hey there, Ruthie-the-checker-girl. I’m surprised you’re not at work.”
“I got off early.”
“Of course.” He stuffed an onion ring in his mouth, chewed twice, then spoke. “You work at the store most days?”
“Evenings and weekends.”
“Doesn’t leave much free time.”
“I manage.”
We reached the natural end of the conversation, and an awkward silence followed. Awkward for me, at least. Grady didn’t appear uncomfortable at all. He kept munching onion rings—which smelled so good my stomach growled—while I focused on the menu behind him.
His silence finally drove me to small talk. “So how do you like West Texas?”
“I never knew land could be so flat. And barren.”
“It’s not barren.” I frowned.
“Mesquite trees and cactus don’t count.”
“Of course they do.”
“It’s your home.” His eyes were kind. “I miss the trees back in Fort Worth. We had a huge live oak with a tree swing. Pretty relaxing.”
“What’s relaxing?” Dodd joined us, turning a chair around to straddle it. His arm brushed mine, and I shifted away from him as a tingle shot to my ear.
“Our tree swing back home.”
“I liked the porch swing better.” Dodd’s eyes watched me.
Touching a crumb on the table, I rubbed it between my finger and thumb before flicking it to the floor. “Well, we may not have tree swings in Trapp, but we sure enough have porch swings.”
“You’ve got one at your house, don’t you?” Dodd seemed different tonight. Something about the way he talked.
I nodded and glanced at the next table, where Emily and JohnScott flipped through a history textbook. JohnScott said something about page fifty-four while Emily nodded, but she seemed distracted by Dodd or Grady—I couldn’t tell which.
Fawn squinted at Emily, which gave me the impression she was none too happy to have the teenager forcing her way into Fawn’s time with the Cunninghams. I smiled in a feeble attempt to make the best of a bad situation, but Fawn didn’t return the sentiment, only shifted her eyes to gaze at me with a bored expression until I looked away, embarrassed.
Jaded Page 10
