by Allie Gail
Feeling it, he brushed my cheek with his knuckles. “Oh, baby, don’t cry. The sequel to the story has a happy ending.”
“It does?” I sniffled.
“Of course it does. You should know - you wrote it.” With his fingers, he lifted my chin to gently kiss me.
“I love you,” I whispered through my tears.
“You don’t think any less of me?”
“How can you say that? I could never think less of you.”
He burst out laughing at my poor choice of words, and even though I tried not to I eventually had to laugh too.
“Okay - that really didn’t come out right.”
“You’re so funny,” he said affectionately.
I propped myself up on one elbow. “So your biological father was actually your grandfather?”
“Step-grandfather, technically. But, yes.”
“And that’s why your dad acted the way he did.”
“That’s why.”
“I’m assuming your biological grandfather wasn’t really run over by a herd of wild camels.”
“No, actually he died of lung cancer from smoking like a chimney. See what I did with the metaphor there?”
“I can’t believe your mother didn’t at least try to protect you. I mean, even considering the circumstances…so then she was being molested right up until the time she left home?”
“I think at that point ‘raped’ would be a more accurate term for it.”
“Did your…did Buck know about all that when he married her?”
“He knew she’d been sexually abused when she was younger, but not that it was still going on while they were dating. She didn’t confess that until later. I think he would’ve killed the man if he knew where to find him. By that time her parents had sold their house and moved to another state. They didn’t want anything to do with my mom. According to her, my grandmother always believed her story was just a malicious lie. Or maybe deep down she knew and didn’t have the balls to face it.”
“Dad said you tried to contact them once.”
“Yeah, a couple of years ago. It’s not that hard to track someone down if you know how. He answered the phone and as soon as I told the fucker who I was, he hung up on me. So I just let it go. I tried again to contact them after the fire but the same thing happened. I wound up mailing them a copy of the obituary. I was tempted to write a message on it, something like I hope you both rot in hell, but in the end I figured what was the point, they obviously didn’t give a flying fuck what I thought.”
“I hope they do rot in hell, both of them!” I erupted angrily. “I hope they’re suffering right now! How could they be so cruel? I can’t even…I can’t…” My tongue was tied in disbelief that his entire family could be such soulless, heartless brutes. He’d been abused and forsaken by the people who should have loved him most. The very ones who were supposed to protect him. It was sickening. Inconceivably sickening.
“Shh, baby…it doesn’t matter anymore. I didn’t tell you that story to upset you. I just wanted you to know what you were getting into with me. I needed you to know the truth about where I come from. Who I am.”
“Where you come from doesn’t make you who you are!” I objected.
“Now you sound like my therapist,” he chuckled.
“You told him all this? And he didn’t say anything to my dad?”
“By the time I saw Dr. Saunders I wasn’t a minor anymore. Besides, there’s such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality.” He squeezed me gently. “Not quite as sacred as boyfriend-girlfriend confidentiality, but almost.”
“I won’t tell my dad anything you don’t want me to. But I still don’t see why you’d want to keep it from him.”
“What good would it do, other than to hurt him? The past can’t be changed. Better to just let it go. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking behind me. I’d rather spend it looking at…more appealing scenery.” His fingers traced a leisurely line from my lips down my chin and neck until he reached my belly. “Like you.”
“Am I the only person who knows all this? Besides Dr. Saunders.”
“Yep. Just you. Let’s keep it that way, all right?”
“You can trust me.”
“I hope so. I really hope so…”
“Rob…”
“Hm?”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Thank you for listening.”
19
“What are we supposed to bring to Gran’s on Thursday?”
Dad looked at me as if I’d just asked him where we keep the napalm. “There’s already going to be enough food there to feed the Army, Navy and possibly the Air Force. I don’t think we need to bring more.”
“Are you kidding me? Dad, we can’t just show up empty-handed, even if we are family! That’s so rude.” Men. No concept of etiquette - jeez.
“Well…I don’t know, ladybug. Why don’t you shoot her an email and see if there’s anything she wants us to bring.”
“Botulism, anyone?” Rob muttered from his position sprawled out across the sofa.
“Oh, shut up. I didn’t see you complaining when you were inhaling the meatloaf I made last night.”
“I didn’t complain. My stomach did. All night.”
“You are so full of crap!”
“Not anymore, I’m not.”
“Gross! Keep your plumbing issues to yourself, please!”
“He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” Dad looked up at me with a smirk. “And you fall for it every time.”
“Can we leave him at Gran’s?” I complained. It was too bad Mr. Clarke couldn’t see me now. I’d get an A+ for my brilliant acting.
Rob nudged me with a foot. “Make yourself useful. Go get me a Coke.”
“Do I look like your servant? Get your lazy butt up and get it yourself.”
“I worked all day.”
“So? I babysat Peyton all afternoon. You don’t see me whining about it.”
“Are you working tomorrow?” My dad interrupted our sparring. “Is the tree lot open on Sundays?”
“Yes sir, until five.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and pick one out for us. We can decorate it on Friday since I have the week off.”
“Sure, I could do that. What size do you want?”
Dad tilted his head and studied the ceiling. “About nine feet?”
“Okay. I’ll tag a really nice one for us.”
“How much are they?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.”
“No, son - you need to save your money. Actually…they take credit, right? You can just put it on the card I gave you.”
“You gave him a credit card? Are you nuts?” I propped my hands on my hips and assumed Peyton’s favorite pose.
“I still don’t have a Coke,” Rob reminded me, trying not to smile.
“You don’t have any manners, either!”
“A glass of tea will do, if we’re out of Coke.”
“Ugh!” I stomped off dramatically and went to my room to email Gran. It was already ten, so I probably wouldn’t hear back from her tonight. After that I read a message from my mom and responded to it before texting Dana to see what she was up to. Once I was done chatting with her, I went into the bathroom to scrounge around for a bottle of nail polish. By the time I returned to the living room, Rob had dozed off on the couch and my dad was watching Saturday Night Live. Seating myself on the floor in front of the coffee table, I neatly coated my nails with Fiji Pearl blue. It looked more like a metallic silvery-gray to me, but whatever.
While waiting for my nails to dry, I glanced over my shoulder at Rob’s sleeping form and noticed that one of his hands was hanging off the side of the couch. Oh, this was far too good an opportunity to pass up. Pressing my lips together to stifle a giggle, I began lightly brushing Fiji Pearl on his blunt nails. From his recliner, Dad saw what I was doing and shook his head with a broad smile. “You’re asking for it,” he q
uietly warned me.
I just shot him a naughty grin and continued, finishing the job quickly before Rob could wake up. This would be a lot funnier if it dried before he noticed.
“Dad?”
“Hm?”
“If Rob gets into FSU, is he gonna keep staying on here?”
“Well…yes, if he decides to, I don’t have a problem with that. Why? You don’t want him to?”
I shrugged, pretending not to care one way or the other. “No, it doesn’t bother me. I was just wondering.”
“I think you just like having someone around to torture.”
“It is fun,” I admitted.
“He really has opened up a lot since the accident,” Dad commented. “I think it’s done him a world of good, being here. I get the feeling his home life wasn’t the best to begin with.”
“What makes you say that?” I tried not to let him see that he’d startled me with his insight. Did he know more than he was letting on?
“I don’t know. Just a hunch.”
Behind me, Rob stirred awake and pulled himself upright, yawning widely. “Oh, man…I should get to bed. I’m tired.”
Exchanging covert looks with my father, I smothered my mouth with a hand and erupted into muffled giggles. Dad held the remote in front of his face to hide his smile.
“What’s so funny?” Rob wanted to know.
“You’ll find out!” My eyes strayed to his hand and he followed my gaze.
“What the…? Oh. You suck.” He shook his head with a deep sigh, and I laughed even harder. “Okay, real cute. Where’s the nail polish remover?”
“I think we’re out,” I lied merrily.
“Yeah, right.” He stood up.
“No, wait - it looks pretty on you! Don’t you think it looks pretty, Dad?”
“Leave me out of this,” he chuckled, holding up his hands defensively.
“You have some in your bathroom, don’t you?” Rob headed for my room.
“Noooo! I don’t have any, I swear!” I took off after him, and he started running to escape me. Once I caught up to him in my bedroom, I leaped onto his back and wrestled him to the floor, still laughing.
Flipping me over, he pinned me down with a grin. “You little hellion.”
“What? You used to like painting your nails. Remember?”
He silenced my teasing with a kiss. “Mm…you gonna miss me tonight?”
“Nope. Not one bit.”
“Bullshit.”
“Did you really hate my meatloaf?”
He pretended to mull it over. “Hm…after I drowned it in ketchup, it was…almost edible. If I swallowed it without chewing.”
“I guess if it was actually edible you’d have had four helpings instead of just three, right?”
“I love your meatloaf…” Kiss. “I love those disgusting pumpkin muffins you made…” Kiss. “And I love you.” Kiss.
“I’m still not telling you where the nail polish remover is.”
“I don’t care. I wear gloves at work anyway.”
“Oh…you’re no fun.”
“Excuse me? You wanna say that again?” His fingers pressed against my ribs threateningly, preparing to begin tickling.
“Agghh…I take it back, I take it back!”
“Say, ‘Rob Kensington is the funnest and sexiest guy in the whole world.’”
“‘Funnest’ isn’t even a word,” I informed him, then shrieked when his fingers gouged into my side. “Okay, okay! Rob Kensington is the funnest and sexiest guy in the whole world.”
“Say, ‘I am his faithful servant and will gladly do whatever he commands because he is so awesome.’”
“I am his faithful servant, not, and will gladly kick him in the nads if he doesn’t get his awesome self up off of me.”
“Now, Saralou…you wouldn’t really do that to me, would you?” he purred in a low voice.
“No,” I admitted. “But you should probably get out of here before my dad starts wondering what we’re doing.”
“True that.” With one last, lingering smooch he hopped up and pulled me to my feet. “You listen to that playlist I sent you yet?”
“Most of it. I had it playing last night when I fell asleep.”
“Pay special attention to the last song. It reminds me of you.” Enveloping me in his strong arms, he hugged me tightly. “’Night, baby.”
“Good night.”
I drifted off to sleep about an hour later with the lyrics to Candlelight Red’s Feel the Same swirling gracefully through my head.
“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two…two, um…uhhh…”
“Blushing pilgrims,” I hissed through my teeth. I was getting sick and tired of feeding Riley his lines. By now I knew his part as well as my own.
Red-faced and with zero patience left, Mr. Clarke slammed his fist down on the rickety wooden table in front of him. It wobbled precariously. “Mr. Murphy! Did you or did you not promise me that you would have those lines memorized front to back by this week? Why are you still stumbling? What is the problem here?”
“Sorry.” Riley seemed unfazed by the outburst. “I pretty much know them.”
“You pretty much know them? Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but pretty much isn’t going to cut it! We have less than two weeks left - if you’re unable to hold up your end, then mister, I need to know right now!”
“It’s all good, I got it covered,” Riley calmly assured him. From across the room, Dana caught my eye and made a gagging motion with her finger.
“You got it covered.” Sighing, Mr. Clarke raked a frustrated hand through what was left of his thinning hair. “Yes, we can all see how well you’ve got it covered. Very well then. Let’s see how you cover this. You have until Wednesday. Day after tomorrow. That’s it. If you don’t know every last word by then, I’ll need to go ahead and replace you with Brady so he can use Thanksgiving break to work on the part that you should have already had perfected. And you will receive a less than satisfactory grade. Have I made myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Miss Marsh.”
“Yes, sir?” What the hell was he calling me out for? I hadn’t made a single mistake.
“Would you be able to stay after school today and assist Mr. Murphy?”
Oh, balls. “Um…well, I have dance class today. Until five.”
Another deep sigh. “I hate to infringe upon your personal time, but it might be beneficial if you and Mr. Murphy could rehearse your lines together for a few extra hours if at all possible. We’re getting down to the wire here.”
“I’m free tonight, if you want to get together afterwards,” Riley offered with the vaguest trace of a smile. “I’d be happy to work around your schedule.”
Double balls. Rock…hard place…me, smack dab in the middle. “Okay, I guess. I should be home around five-thirty if you want to come by.” At least Dad would be there, so my house would be a safe zone.
Mr. Clarke clapped his hands together and rubbed them dramatically. “Good, that’s settled. Thank you, Miss Marsh - I appreciate your willingness to put forth the extra effort in lieu of those who haven’t taken this quite so seriously. Now…shall we try this scene again?”
Triple balls. Why did I ever think I wanted the part of Juliet in the first place?
“Saa-raaa!”
Shutting the passenger side door of the yellow Mazda, I waved appreciatively to my ride. René from ballet class had offered me a lift home since Rob had the Tahoe. As she pulled away I looked over to see Peyton emerging from her house, singing my name while she galloped across the dark yard to meet me.
“Whatcha doin’ there, tadpole?”
“Can I wear your pointy shoes?” She looked up at me with those wide baby blues and I couldn’t bring myself to say no, even if I was freezing my keister off out here.
“Pointe shoes. Just for a minute, okay? I have a lot of stuff I need to do.”
“O
kay!” She plunked herself down on her bottom right there in the driveway, yanking off her stubby purple sneakers and patiently waiting while I dug through my duffel bag. I put them on her and wound the ribbons around her ankles before tying them. Of course they were too big for her pint-sized feet. I’ve never understood her fascination with my pointe shoes, unless it’s just to clop the hard box ends against the concrete. I guess it’s a good thing I wasn’t taking tap.
Mrs. Weston wandered over from next door to retrieve her daughter. We’d gone through this routine before. “Has she got your shoes on again?” The perfectly styled blonde hair didn’t budge as she shook her head. Not one single hair was out of place. She must spend a fortune on hair care products.
“Future prima ballerina. No doubt about it.” I held Peyton’s hand as she tried to stand in them, hoping she wasn’t shredding what was left of the worn satin.
“All right stinker, that’s enough. Give Sara back her shoes. It’s time to come back inside now.”
“Aww…” Her tiny lips puckered into a pout.
“You heard me. It’s cold out here. Come on, I need you to help me set the table. Daddy will be home any minute. That’s probably him now.” We both turned our heads to the pair of headlights approaching. I groaned inwardly when the silver Mustang pulled up alongside the curb. Shit, I’d forgotten all about Riley.
“That’s my study partner,” I explained, quickly unwinding the pink ribbons from Peyton’s legs.
“Nice car,” Mrs. Weston observed.
“Isn’t it? I was told he ran his Camaro into a light pole so Mommy and Daddy bought him this one to replace it.” Pulling the wiggly little feet out of my pointe shoes, I slipped them back into her sneakers. “There you go, Madame Ballerina.”
“I get to go to ballerina lessons after I’m not five anymore,” she announced.
“Sylvia won’t take children under the age of six,” Mrs. Weston explained, referring to Miss Andrews. “Peyton’s been driving me up the wall wanting to know how many days until her birthday gets here. I don’t know how I’ll make it until March.”
