Drew shut down the computer and set it on the bench behind him. His chair thumped onto four legs. He folded his hands between his knees. His head drooped between his shoulder blades. But he wasn’t praying. He was listening to the jealousy simmer in his gut, a slow boil that drowned out the crickets. He got up to make his last rounds. Maybe he could walk the anger off.
He circled the camp four times. He was still mad, but the fire was finally leaking out as his body tired.
Lord? He didn’t know what to ask. But the answer came anyway—in the form of Scripture running through his mind.
“Love is patient, and is not jealous… does not seek its own…does not take into account a wrong suffered, hopes all things, endures all things.”
Did he love Rainey? Was that why God gave him that passage? Maybe. Probably. But what about Sam? He loved Rainey, at the very least as a friend, and if he loved her, he needed to think about what was best for her, not for himself. What if Cal were the man who was best for Rainey? He’d noticed something between Rainey and Cal early in the summer, then there was the painting. This shouldn’t come as a surprise.
But he could hope. And pray. Lord, would You start turning Rainey’s heart away from Cal and toward me if she is the woman You’ve chosen for me. What if God was shaking his head at him, telling him to stick to Plan A: Sam?
He walked past Rainey’s darkened cabin, heading for his own bunk. Rainey must be asleep by now. His mind wandered to Rainey’s dark hair spread across the white of her pillowcase, her lashes resting on her cheek, her rhythmic breathing. Her bare arm and shoulder peeking from rumpled sheets—
Lord, would you throw this car into reverse? I don’t have the strength to fight it tonight.
Drew jerked back. A three-foot garter snake slithered through the sand in front of him from under the croton bushes around the gym. Even though he knew it was harmless, adrenalin surged into his system at the surprise. He stood watching the snake’s stripes glide across the sandy road and into the thick grass of the athletic field. Beautiful.
Nice one, God.
#
Aly shut the door to her room behind her and flipped on the light. Raine sat on the bottom bunk fully clothed. Raine squinted at her and held a palm between her eyes and the ceiling light.
“I thought you were going to kill your crush on Cal.” She pressed her knuckles against her hipbones. Her anger filled in the space between them. “That’s why I didn’t tell you—” she stopped herself.
“That Cal loves me.” Raine set her chin on her knees in front of her.
“He told you?” Cal never told her he loved her. And he had loved her a lot longer than he loved Raine.
“Tonight.” Raine didn’t seem exactly overjoyed about it,
Her anger dribbled out. Staying angry with Raine wasn’t easy. “Cal’s the kind of guy who travels around Europe and stays in hostels on Euros he earns chopping firewood. He’s the kind of guy who learns to smoke unfiltered cigarettes and quote obscure dead poets.”
Raine hugged her pillow to her chest. “I’m so confused. It all happened so fast.”
“What about Africa?” There. That was her best shot.
Raine looked up. “He had a spiritual experience last night.”
“He was in the emergency room with me last night.”
“Before that—while he was surfing, and at elementary campfire. He said God told him He loved him the way he was.”
Why didn’t Cal tell her? Her ankle was killing her. She eased onto the foot of Raine’s bed and gingerly propped her foot on the desk chair.
“Cal wants me to meet his folks.”
A laundry sack of rocks settled on her chest. Cal was that serious about Raine.
“It feels like Cal’s trying too hard,” Raine said.
“Do you love him?” Her fingernails dug into her palms.
“I don’t know. It’s all so much, so fast. I never imagined Cal interested in more than a flirtation. I’m supposed to leave for Africa in a month. What would we do, have an e-mail relationship?”
The wave of hope curled perfectly in front of her, and Aly was up and surfing like Cal taught her. “Stick to your dream. It makes me think I can stick to mine—no matter what.”
“What’s your dream?”
“I want to run a successful business someday, my own.” I want someone to love me. She eased her foot down to the floor and reached for her crutches. “But I’m going to have to learn to keep better track of petty cash. Fifty dollars disappeared from my desk drawer today. I’ve racked my brain, but I can’t figure out what happened to it.”
She stood up and glanced at Raine. She didn’t look good. Her face had gone chalky. Lines creased her forehead. Cal’s revelation had been harder on her than Aly realized. She wanted to hug her, but the vacant look in Raine’s eyes held her back. She probably needed some time alone to process. Aly eased the door open and sidled through it with her crutches. Raine didn’t seem to notice.
#
Raine’s right foot had fallen asleep, and she slid off the bed to shake it out. Aly must have gone out, but she couldn’t remember when. One a.m., the clock read.
Eddie had stolen the petty cash from Aly’s drawer. Tomorrow she’d replace what Eddie stole, put it someplace odd where Aly would find it and assume she’d misplaced it.
Cash always came up missing when Eddie was around. She wondered if her whole family was in denial. For a while they talked about it. Was it a neighbor kid? Was it a familial shortcoming that none of them could keep track of their money? But after awhile no one talked about it anymore. Were they in denial? Or did they learn to lock their cash away?
When they were kids, she knew Eddie so well she could almost say the words as they came out of his mouth—like the script from The Lion King they’d watched a hundred times. But she didn’t know this stranger that inhabited her brother’s body. Sometimes she had to ask him questions about their childhood to reassure herself it was Eddie.
They were all taught not to steal. How was Eddie not eaten up with guilt? Ever since—that night—she wondered what he was capable of. Brothers protected their sisters, not harmed them. But the physical scar was minute compared to the junkyard of scars she had inside. No wonder she was having trouble trusting Cal.
#
Aly crutched toward the gym where she’d left her sweatshirt earlier when she and Gar were having their argument.
Cal told Raine he loved her. He was taking her home to meet the folks. Raine wouldn’t know the ceramic sugar canister was the middle one on top of the refrigerator at Cal’s folks, with a lid shaped like a mushroom top. That Starr hung the toilet paper so it rolled from underneath. That Jackson wore nasal strips to bed—he forgot to take one off last Christmas morning. That Cal was Starr’s favorite. It was amazing the trivia you collected spending holidays with a family.
And she knew Cal. He would go to Africa and deal with the consequences later. He acted with his heart, not his head. And his heart was obviously in love with Raine. She wanted to curl up in a ball and be held in someone’s arms. Gar, at least, was good at holding her.
A frog croaked in the shadows beside the gym, and she jumped onto the cement slab in front of the gym door with her good foot. Her heart beat double-time.
Voices came from inside. Stopping, she listened to the low timbre of a male talking. Something was familiar about the voice. She maneuvered through the door that had been left slightly ajar. Gar. Whoever Gar was talking to, she’d send away. She needed him. She propped her crutches against the wall and eased up the steps, her need for comfort propelling her.
Chapter 17
Cal had been rolling around like a chicken in a Winn Dixie rotisserie for the past hour. He shoved the dew-damp sheet onto the floor beside his bunk. He’d finish Raine’s portrait. She was all he was thinking about anyway. He pulled on a T-shirt in the dark, grabbed his flip-flops, and headed for the lodge.
The shop light clamped to the easel shone on Raine’s portrai
t. He sat back and feasted his eyes. He hadn’t stood a chance. If she’d only been intriguing, he might have resisted. But her beauty fascinated the artist in him.
Terror lurked under the surface. Could he actually win her? Was he man enough—spiritually man enough? Raine set the bar high. Africa, he could do. Sure, it was a stretch, but easier than the internal remodeling he wasn’t sure he could pull off.
#
Raine stopped and eyed the spot where she usually found Drew. The beach was empty. The sun simmered on the horizon, boiling the humidity in the air. She dragged an arm across her forehead and drooped down under the shade of a pine. She was too hot and tired to make it to the jetty this morning. She brushed away the needles that dropped into her hair and let the sound of the waves lull her.
She didn’t hear Drew until he dropped on the sand in front of her with a grunt. Bloodshot eyes studied her, then looked away. His hair hadn’t seen a comb. He wore a misshapen, faded Triple S T-shirt with a hole in one shoulder and baggy shorts.
“You look awful.” She shifted away from the rough bark poking her between her shoulder blades.
“Short night. You don’t look so hot yourself.” His tone was wry.
She squinted at him trying to decide whether he’d seen her with Cal last night. A gull cawed over the water. A puff of air lifted her bangs off her forehead and let them fall. Drew held her gaze, his expression giving nothing away.
She sucked in a deep breath. “I…I’ve gotten myself into a big mess… I don’t know how to get out of it. …Or, if I want to get out of it.”
He looked at her for several heartbeats. Slowly, a smile spread across his face. “You wouldn’t call it a mess if you wanted to stay in it.” His smile was infectious.
“Let’s say that it feels like a mess at the moment.” Smiling made her feel a little better. “I’ve been praying, but I’m not getting any answers. Would you… would you pray for me?”
Drew held out his palms to her, and she placed her hands in them. His long fingers cupped hers, his thumbs resting across her knuckles. She closed her eyes, feeling safe.
Drew’s voice, gravelly with the dregs of sleep, wrapped around her. “Lord, Rainey needs to know You’re listening. She needs Your comfort. Your peace. And she needs Your wisdom to know what to do—at least for today.”
Drew was right. She only needed to know what to do today.
The timbre of his voice touched her soul with a desire to surrender Cal and Eddie, and even herself, to God. And he wasn’t even singing.
Drew squeezed her hands, and her eyes popped open. She needed to pay better attention. “Thanks. I feel better.”
She started to pull her hands back into her lap, but Drew held onto her left hand. “Tell me about the scar, Rainey.” He ran the back of his finger over the jagged pink flesh in the crook of her arm.
She owed Drew after he told her about Sam. But she’d never told anyone about the scar. She breathed in the peace from Drew’s prayer and stepped into the lava field of the past.
She was seventeen, and it was late at night. Eddie often came to her room when he was high and couldn’t sleep. He’d wake her up, and they’d talk. She almost looked forward to those times because he told her everything, things no one else knew. And he always tried to convince her to try meth. It made him feel invincible, happy, he said. That was the year Mom thought she had chronic fatigue because she was always falling asleep doing her school work. Eddie was out of school and worked late hours at the movie theatre. No one kept tabs on him.
That night, she woke suddenly, pain searing into her arm. Eddie leaned over her, his breath hot on her skin. He clamped her arm with the vice of his fingers. He had that wild look he got when he was high—dilated pupils, twitching.
In the glow from her clock, she saw a needle stuck in her arm. Amber liquid filled the attached syringe. She jerked away from Eddie with all her strength, ripping her flesh away from the needle. She screamed and kept screaming—outrage, pain, fear raking her throat raw. Eddie sprung away from her.
Mom and Dad burst into the room. “Raine, what is it?” Dad’s eyes flung around the room. He raised the blind and checked the lock on her window.
She whimpered and opened her eyes. Where was Eddie? Had he slipped out of the room or was he hiding nearby?
She must have grabbed a tissue from her bedside table in her hysteria because a tail of white was sandwiched in her arm. She tucked it out of sight and curled around the pain. Why was she protecting him even now?
Mom kissed her head. “It’s a nightmare.” She wrapped her in her arms. “Come on, honey, we’ll go downstairs for some warm milk.”
She let Mom lead her to the sofa where she curled up in a ball. Mom cradled her, rocking her back and forth like a small child.
Eventually, she relaxed. Mom stroked her hair, soothed her, saying, “It was only a dream. It’s okay. Everything’s all right.” But it wasn’t. And everything would never be all right again.
She and Mom searched every inch of her room making sure no one was there.
“I’ll be okay.” She smiled weakly at Mom. “Go on back to bed.”
She stood with her ear against the door listening to Mom pad down the hall. Mom’s door opened. Closed. She shoved her dresser in front of her door—and she’d done that every night till she moved into Triple S.
She looked over at Drew. His eye lashes were wet and clumped together.
“The next day, Eddie acted like he had no memory of what happened. And he’s never admitted it since.” She shrugged. “Maybe he really doesn’t remember.”
Drew rolled onto his knees. He bent toward her and dried tears she didn’t know she’d cried from her cheeks with the tail of his T-shirt. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this.” His eyes brimmed with compassion. He let go of the shirt, and his hand cradled her cheek. His face dipped to hers, and his lips touched hers with a kiss that was soft like the well-washed cotton of his shirt.
Drew sat back on his heels.
She looked at Drew. What did the kiss mean? What was he thinking?
Drew shrugged. “It seemed like the thing to do at the moment.” He gave her a sheepish grin.
She looked away. Comfort. He meant it for comfort. She stood and brushed the sand off her shorts.
They walked toward the seawall.
“Why didn’t you tell your parents?” Drew said.
And, poof, the kiss disappeared as though it never happened. Fine. She drew in a breath and released it. “I guess I was protecting him because I knew this wasn’t Eddie. It was the methamphetamine. I have so many more good memories of Eddie. When we were kids he bought me a Harry Potter book my parents forbade us to read. He emptied his piggy bank to buy that book.”
Drew gave her a hand up to the seawall, and the touch materialized the kiss in her mind. She tugged her hand out of his. He was in love with Sam.
“Did you read Harry Potter?”
“I hid it in my closet for a week, but, yeah, I read it under the covers with a flashlight and felt like a criminal. I finally confessed to Mom.”
Drew smiled. “Sounds like you.” He raked his fingers through his bed-head, making little improvement. “What was Eddie like before he got into drugs?”
“He went through puberty late–all legs and no shoulders, acne. I was the only one who understood his know-it-all attitude covered-up insecurity.”
Her shock from the kiss was wearing off. She glanced over at Drew. Could he be interested in her? He looked as calm as ever.
“What drove Eddie into drugs?”
“He needed friends. When he was fifteen he learned to surf. Surfing bulked up his shoulders. The sun helped his acne. And the druggie surfers took him in.”
They passed the gazebo. She lifted a hand in Drew’s direction and veered off toward the lodge. She needed to be alone in her classroom to think. Maybe the kiss meant comfort to Drew, but he’d pitched her down a bumpy hillside end over end like Buttercup in The Princess Bride. She wa
s too confused to know what she thought.
She sunk down to her knees on the carpet square next to the window where she usually prayed for her students. Oh, God.
“Raine!” She tensed at the sound of Cal’s voice and jumped up like she’d been caught filching candy from the snack bar.
Cal strode toward her with a painting under his arm.
Her breath caught. When was she going to get used to the way he looked? His hair was down on his shoulders today, crimped and ocean-soft. His brows and mustache were sun-bleached white against the deep tan of his freshly shaved cheeks and chin. Did she love him?
He stopped in front of her. Energy radiated from him, crossing the small space between them.
She looked down, but she could still feel his brown eyes drinking her in.
“I finished your painting.”
Her gaze shot to the canvas under Cal’s arm. “When?”
“Stayed up all night.”
Why did that bother her? “Let me see it.”
Cal flipped the painting around to face her and propped it on a chair. Like looking in the mirror, only more—more of who she was inside. It was almost scary how well Cal had captured her.
Her hair was flipped up and away from her face, the way she always wore it. The inky brown was a perfect match. In her face, she saw grit and passion as she taught from the Bible open in her lap. She remembered every one of those hours she sat for Cal, hours spent praying for him.
Cal was a master with color. Out of the burnt oranges and browns in the room, the yellow of her blouse drew the eye, then upward to her face illumined from unseen light. Cal must have gotten that look the night he painted her by lamplight while it rained outside—the night they’d first acknowledged they had feelings for each other.
She glanced up at Cal. He stood there gauging her reaction.
In the painting there was a subtle white light shining from her eyes, but her lips were full and parted. She understood how Cal saw her—innocent and alluring. And it made her uncomfortable.
Kicking Eternity Page 15
