“Why not? It’s not as if I’ll die of lung cancer.”
“It doesn’t look ladylike. It’s a stinking habit.”
“You should talk. Who do you think I steal them from?”
“Just ’cause I smoke don’t mean you should.”
“You worry too much, Charlie.”
Lisa shivered. The light in the window blinked off. She should never have had coffee, or sat and talked to Nathan, or allowed him to put his arms around her waist and press his body against her back. Stupid of her.
She turned on the cycle’s engine and the noise splintered the quiet night. Dogs barked. Lisa roared off, determined to put this night behind her—as well as the guileless, blue-eyed boy who wrote country music and made her feel so totally alive.
“How was the game?” Karen Malone asked the next morning at breakfast. “We lost.” Nathan sat hunched over his cereal bowl, desperately wishing he was upstairs in bed instead of getting ready to go outside for a morning of yard work with his father, who was already waiting for him in the garage.
“I saw that much in today’s paper. I’m asking if you had a good time.”
“Mom, it was a football game. I sat in the stands with Skeet. We cheered. We lost. We came home.”
“Really?” Her eyes narrowed. “Then why do the clothes you stuffed in the laundry hamper smell like stale beer?”
Nathan went hot all over. “You smelled my clothes?”
“And the inside of your car smells like beer too.”
“Aw, come on—”
“You come on.” She stood at the counter looking furious. “Did you drink last night? Tell me the truth.”
“No, I didn’t drink. And thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Did Skeet?”
Nathan slammed his spoon down on the table. “We weren’t drinking. If you have to know, the beer got spilled on us.”
“I don’t want you hanging around with kids who drink.”
Nathan knew she was on a roll and he didn’t want to hear it. He stood up, headed for the garage. “I need to get started. Skeet’s coming over later. Grill him if you don’t believe me.”
“Don’t walk away from me while we’re talking.”
“You’re talking. I’m not supposed to speak, right? I told you we weren’t drinking. I made curfew. And I’ll wash my own laundry so the smell of beer won’t touch anything sacred.” He slammed out of the kitchen.
His father looked up from shaking a bag of grass seed into the dispenser for overseeding the lawn, something he did every fall. “Storm over?”
“It’s never over with her. She doesn’t trust me.”
“She’s scared, that’s all.” Craig paused. “Were you drinking last night?”
Nathan threw up his hands. “I can’t believe you asked me that! No, I wasn’t drinking.” He saw no reason to confess that he would have if Roddy hadn’t shown up.
“All right. Cool down. I believe you.”
Nathan shoved his feet into old gardening sneakers. He stomped over to the push aerator, a piece of equipment with a large heavy drum and spikes for making holes in the lawn. It would leave the hard Georgia clay more pliable and ready to accept the new grass seed his father would scatter. The job was long and difficult, but suddenly Nathan felt like taking his frustration out on the earth. “What’s she going to do when I move away next fall? Follow me to college?”
“Don’t burn your bridges, son. You may have to take a HOPE Scholarship.”
“What! And live at home?” The HOPE Scholarship was money from the state lottery given to students with a B average, and it paid for tuition as long as the student maintained good grades. However, it was only available for students to attend state schools, which would mean Nathan couldn’t go away to college, but would have to remain in state, and most likely at home.
“Business is down. We may not be able to afford to send you away.”
“That’s just great. You know college is my only hope of getting away from her.”
“Don’t talk as if your mother’s trying to ruin your life. College is a privilege, not a right.”
“She won’t let go, Dad. You know that’s true. I thought the twins would mellow her out. I thought going to Crestwater would get her to step back, but no, she’s still dogging me.” He kept thinking of Lisa and the extraordinary freedom she had to come and go, to not have a curfew.
“Your mother’s been through a lot. This whole family’s been through a lot.”
“Old news,” Nathan said stubbornly. “No one can change the past and I shouldn’t be the one to pay because Mom’s afraid.”
“They’re my fears too,” his father said quietly, but quickly added, “Listen, she will get involved with the twins, especially as they get older. She’s tapped out right now, tired all the time. Cut her some slack, okay?”
“Why do I have to be the one?”
“Because you’re the one who matters most.” His father looked resigned. “And because I’ve given my whole life to make things better for her. To make it up to her somehow.”
Nathan felt deflated. No matter how their history got discussed, it always came back to ground zero. He used to think that their family history was a vicious circle, but now that he was older he saw that it was more like a spiral, moving not round and round, but downward, ever downward.
Nathan was in his room picking on his guitar that afternoon when Skeet came by after finishing his shift at the grocery store. “Hey, man. I’m busting to know what happened last night.” Skeet tossed his wadded apron onto the bed and plopped on the floor in front of Nathan. “I know you rode off with Lisa. Where’d you go?”
“As far away from the field as we could get.” Nathan perked up. Talking about Lisa was a sure way to bring him out of his funk.
“Which would be …?”
Nathan grinned. “We ended up having coffee at some bookstore and talking. Then she brought me home.”
“Oh man, you lucky dog!”
“It was a wild ride. I don’t think the girl knows the meaning of fear.”
“And you got to hold her body? You actually put your arms around her?”
“I got to hang on to her for my life. You ever ride across a bumpy field on a Harley?”
“Not lately.” Skeet pulled a candy bar from his shirt pocket and offered half to Nathan, who refused it. “So now what?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He put down the guitar. “The girl’s got secrets, Skeet.”
“How do you know this? Did she say, ‘I’ve got a secret’?”
Nathan shook his head. “She didn’t have to. I just know it in my gut.”
“And you want to know her secrets.”
“I do.”
“Gee, most guys just want to get in her pants.”
Nathan scowled. “That’s crude.”
“And that thought’s never crossed your mind?”
“Knock it off, Skeet. Don’t talk about her like she’s some kind of sex prize.”
Skeet looked contrite. “Sorry, man. I just can’t believe you’re immune to that part. She’s beautiful, and every guy at school wants her. What makes you think you can score? And I don’t mean in a crude way. But score with her in a real way.”
“Maybe I can’t. But I won’t know if I don’t try.”
“Got a game plan?”
Nathan sat back down, picked up his guitar. “Maybe I’ll write a song for her.”
“Need my input?” Skeet wiggled his fingers.
“Not yet. I’ll let you know.” Nathan couldn’t concentrate with Skeet staring up at him, so after a few minutes he set down the instrument. “Want to shoot some hoops?”
“Great!”
They passed through the kitchen, where Nathan’s mother was busy creating supper. “Hey, Skeet.”
“What’s cooking, Mrs. M?”
“Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy.”
Nathan remained sullen. She knew he loved her special meatloaf,
and this was her way of saying she was sorry about their fight that morning.
“There’s plenty,” Karen said. “Want to stay?”
Skeet’s face broke into an eager smile. “You bet! Double my gravy portion.”
Nathan led the way out the door to the side of the house where the basketball hoop hung, not yet willing to accept her peace offering.
If Nathan thought he’d be able to have any kind of familiarity with Lisa on Monday, he was wrong. She didn’t come to school for two days, and when she did show up, she acted preoccupied and rushed out of Fuller’s class like a whirlwind. Nathan hardly had a chance to speak to her.
Fuller pulled a pop quiz on Thursday and passed back the results on Friday. Nathan had scored a ninety on the test, but attached to it was his first creative paper as 705, and it was a spiderweb of red ink. His stomach knotted as he read the teacher’s notes. Fuller had found the paper “pedantic, plodding and a rehash of old ideas.” He’d urged Nathan to try something “fresh and innovative” for his next effort. The teacher had added, “You write well-constructed sentences, so I know you have a command of grammar rules. But good writing isn’t always about rules. It’s also about feelings and emotions offered in an original format. Think outside the box.”
For some reason, Fuller’s criticism stung him like the tentacles of a jellyfish. Instead of impressing the teacher, he’d humiliated himself. He wondered what Fuller had written on Lisa’s paper, then remembered that she’d skipped that day. And how about 454? What wonderful praise had Fuller heaped on that person’s paper?
“You up for a session?” Skeet’s voice broke into Nathan’s dark thoughts. “I don’t have to work this afternoon, and I don’t want to hang around my house.”
“Sure.” Nathan shoved his papers into his notebook and headed for the parking lot with Skeet.
“Bad news?”
“No. Just a test.” By habit, Nathan searched the lot the instant they were outside.
“She already left,” Skeet said. “I saw her take off a few minutes ago.”
Nathan shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You giving up?”
“Do I look like a quitter?”
Skeet grinned. “You’re the man.”
Later, Nathan raised the garage door, plugged in his electric guitar, and let Skeet cut loose on the keyboard. Nathan preferred his acoustical guitar, but at the moment he felt like making noise, and his mother and the twins were off shopping, so no one was there to shush him. He let the music crank and, pulling fevered, frenzied sounds from the steel strings, closed his eyes and let the music take him to another zone. He was aware of nothing until Skeet’s playing fell off and he opened his eyes to complain and then saw why Skeet had stopped.
At the end of his driveway, Lisa sat wrapped in leather and staring at him from the seat of her Harley. His heart leaped. He laid down the guitar and started for the door. She quickly backed her Harley onto the street, kicked off.
“Lisa!” he yelled. “Wait! Lisa!”
By the time he’d sprinted to the end of his driveway, she was gone.
Nathan squirmed through the remainder of the weekend, arrived early at school on Monday and waited in the parking lot for Lisa, hoping that today wouldn’t be one of the days that Charlie’s truck was broken. He was rewarded by the sound and sight of her cycle just after the first tardy bell. He didn’t care if he was late to first period, he was going to talk to her. She pulled into her space and he stepped from behind the car parked next to it. “Good morning.”
She looked startled. “Same to you.” She unstrapped her book bag from the seat. He eased in front of her. “Are you stalking me, Malone?”
“Why did you come by my house on Saturday?”
“I was out for a ride. You own the streets?”
“Why my street?”
She tried to shove past him, but she couldn’t. “Don’t let it go to your head, Malone. You don’t mean anything to me.”
He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Sure I do, Lisa. You just haven’t accepted it yet.” He had no idea where he’d gotten the nerve to say such a thing. Chalk it up to being angry.
She rolled her eyes. “Guys are so vain. A cup of coffee and a ride home is not the basis for a lasting relationship. Now excuse me.”
“If you would like to really hear us play, Skeet and I are holding an audition Saturday afternoon in my garage for a drummer—some guy Skeet met at work who thinks he’d like a stab at it.”
“I hope it goes well for you.” She’d walked around to the opposite side.
“Three o’clock,” he added as the last bell sounded and she hurried toward the building.
Lisa was cool to him in Fuller’s class. Nathan didn’t push it. He held out hope that his invitation wouldn’t be ignored. Whether she admitted it or not, there was an undercurrent flowing between them. Like static electricity that snapped at unexpected moments, he could feel it. And he craved it.
On Friday, Fuller collected more of the class’s original papers. When the bell rang Nathan was surprised when Lisa turned in her desk and asked, “Did you submit one of your songs to Fuller?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They’re private.”
She looked skeptical. “You want some big country singer to sing your songs, but you don’t want someone as good as Fuller to judge them first, is that it? You can’t have it both ways, Malone.”
“They’re not the kind of poetry Fuller would appreciate. Songs need music to make them sound right. You ever read the words to a song, a song you might love when it’s played? It can sound pretty dumb because the words depend on the music to drive them.”
“Coward,” she said, then picked up her books and left.
He cleaned the garage on Saturday, rolled out the piece of carpet he and Skeet used for practice, even vacuumed it, and set up a side table with sodas on ice. Skeet was impressed. “All for an audition with a drummer? He may suck.”
“We should at least look like we’re serious and sort of professional. Okay—semiprofessional,” he amended when Skeet gave him a kooky look.
“What’s next? A tour bus?”
The drummer arrived right on time, a kid named Larry who proceeded to set up his gear and tell Nathan and Skeet how his former band had played a few bar mitzvah parties, some birthday celebrations for socially connected Atlanta debutantes, and a country club before breaking up.
“We’re not into rock,” Nathan explained.
“I can dig it,” Larry said.
Except that he couldn’t. The rhythm of country seemed to totally defeat Larry, and after half an hour, Nathan was ready to throw his drum set out the door. He was edgy too because he kept hoping Lisa would show, and just as he was giving up on the possibility, she rolled into his driveway. His heart leaped and he couldn’t hide a smile.
Lisa wasn’t alone. Her rider was the girl Nathan had seen her with at the football game. Lisa boldly walked into the garage, and the girl followed hesitantly. “Are these auditions open?” Lisa asked.
“To you they are, baby,” Larry called out.
She gave him a look that would have peeled paint and turned toward Nathan. “This is my friend, Jodie Price. She’s a hell of a singer and you should give her a chance.”
Skeet walked over. “We don’t need a singer.”
Jodie pulled on Lisa’s arm. “Let’s go. I told you this was a bad idea.”
Nathan saw the scared look on Jodie’s face and realized that Lisa had strong-armed her into coming. He also felt instantly sorry for the girl because he knew what it was to be an outsider. “Did Lisa tell you we’re country?”
“My favorite,” Jodie said. She was a short girl with a round face, short dark hair and brown eyes. She was heavy, but pretty in her way. She kept fidgeting, and Nathan figured Jodie would rather be anyplace but here.
“We should give her a try,” Nathan told Skeet.
Skeet grimaced, but ret
urned to his keyboard.
“How about some classic Patsy Cline?” Nathan picked up his acoustical guitar. It felt funny to be auditioning people for their band, more their hobby than anything else.
“I know ‘Crazy’ and ‘Sweet Dreams,’ ” Jodie said. “Actually, I know all her songs.”
“Let’s try ‘Crazy.’ ” Nathan looked straight at Lisa.
She ignored his look, walked over to the table, plucked a soda from the cooler and sat on an old folding chair.
Nathan played a few riffs. Skeet picked up the melody, and even Larry managed to come in softly with his snare drum. Jodie stepped up, opened her mouth and sang the words with a magical timbre that sent goose bumps up Nathan’s back. Who knew that such a voice could come out of this shy, plump little girl? Lisa had known.
They stopped and started a few times, but eventually got through the song. When the last note had faded, Lisa jumped up, clapping. “Didn’t I tell you she was good?”
“You’re good,” Nathan told Jodie, who turned red and shuffled her feet.
Skeet came over. “Yes. But we never planned on adding a singer.”
“It’s all right,” Jodie said, dropping her gaze to the floor.
“You should practice some more together,” Lisa interjected. “See what comes of it. What kind of a band are you if you don’t have a singer?”
“Want to try it again next week?” Nathan asked.
Jodie shrugged. “I—I guess so.”
“Give Skeet a way to get hold of you.”
“What about me?” Larry asked.
“Same thing.” He turned to Lisa. “Take a walk with me.”
“Where?”
“Around back.”
He unlatched the high wooden gate and led her down the path to his mother’s eye-popping backyard of winding trails, clusters of trees, shrubs, and flowers, and gurgling koi pond. Many of the leaves were tinged with the colors of autumn. By November, the trees would be dormant and bare.
“Whoa,” Lisa said when they rounded the corner of the house. “Some backyard, Malone.”
“My mother’s hobby.” He kept his eyes on Lisa. “Why did you bring Jodie over here?”
Keep Me in Your Heart Page 27
