by Nancy Werlin
Lucy nodded, although she could hardly remember what Padraig looked like. He was a peripheral element from that whole horrible prom night.
Soledad followed Lucy down the hall to the bathroom, and kept talking through the door at her, until Lucy turned on the shower.
The shower was a safe place to cry in. Nobody could hear, nobody could see, and there would be no signs afterward on her face. Lucy had been using the shower for that purpose fairly often. This morning, though, she found that she didn't need to. She was caught up in Soledad's optimism. She was eager to work on the seamless shirt.
Even if in the end all The Weird Stuff (which was what Zach called it) melted away and turned out to be nonsense—and despite the genealogical evidence Zach had found, despite the fear in her that simply would not go away, despite the way she went over and over the tasks in her mind, Lucy still sometimes tried to believe this—it still couldn't hurt anything or anyone for her to make the shirt.
And to figure out the other two puzzle pieces, if she could.
Or maybe, Lucy thought, as she immersed her face in the shower spray, maybe the insanity comes from simply trying to solve the puzzle.
CHAPTER 37
The dining room had been transformed into a work room, with the table shoved against the wall, half the chairs taken away, a stool from the kitchen brought in, and extra floor lamps toted in from other rooms to give more light. Lucy came in to find the table heaped with loose carded wool of various colors and thicknesses, several rolls of silver duct tape, two or three men's dress shirts pilfered from Leo's closet, a large pair of dressmaker's scissors and a few X-Acto knives, and also many small, flat pieces of homemade felt that Soledad had created from the sample wool during her experimental phase. There was also a large cardboard box filled with very fine, caramel-colored carded lambs' wool, which Soledad had bought for two dollars an ounce online. The wool had arrived by Federal Express two days ago. Lucy had known it was intended for the seamless shirt, and she had had a vague impression of beauty and softness when Soledad pulled one of the balls of wool from the box. The thought of working with it had, for some reason, scared her.
But the life-size plastic torso of a male mannequin now dominated the work room. Blinking at it, Lucy decided that she needed to adjust her idea of what was and wasn't creepy. The mannequin was bronze and had molded muscles. It was mounted on a rickety wooden end table that normally lived in the basement. It was headless and legless, but had arms, and on those arms, it also had hands with meticulously delineated fingers and fingernails. Somebody had put pale pink polish on the fingernails.
"Ick," Lucy said.
"My original idea was that you'd make a dummy using duct tape, and stuff it with cotton batting," Soledad said. "So I got all the duct tape and the batting. But now I've borrowed this mannequin from the thrift store on Moody Street. I can only have it for today, but that's long enough. I'm relieved, because making the duct tape dummy would have been a big job all by itself. And the shirt has to, you know, be shaped like a shirt, which means it has to be fitted on some kind of mannequin or dummy. I told you that already, right?"
"You did," Lucy said. "But it's okay to tell me again."
As she spoke, Zach came in, holding a glass of milk. He stood next to Lucy and also looked at the mannequin.
"Shut up," Lucy said without turning.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
"It's just that the nail polish is so special."
"That's my true love you're talking about," Lucy said. "I'm going to make him a seamless shirt. Without any seam or needlework."
"I know," said Zach.
Something in his voice. Lucy turned her head and looked at him. She didn't mean to, she didn't intend to, she just did it.
Zach had pulled on a pair of jeans before coming downstairs, but was wearing nothing else. Lucy recognized suddenly that the male mannequin torso's molded muscles were a preposterous imitation of the real thing. The real thing was smooth and corded and alive and warm under skin. The real thing moved in this incredible, connected way as Zach lifted the milk glass to his mouth and drank half of it. First the muscles in his neck stretched and shifted as he swallowed, and then the muscle movement flowed across his shoulders, and then there was some kind of bulging and flexing thing happening with his biceps and forearms that had to do with the lifting and lowering of the milk glass.
A glass of milk, she thought hazily. That's all he's doing. Drinking a glass of milk. No big deal. No big deal …
She swallowed.
"You want me to get you some milk too?" said Zach. Was she imagining a land of mockery in his voice? Mockery, mixed with something else—if she dared look at his face, in his eyes, she'd know what it was, but she couldn't. Not right now.
She couldn't look away from his body.
And she couldn't answer, though she tried. She tried to say something. Something light. A joke. Anything. But she couldn't form a thought, much less get one out. And she still could not look away from Zach's body. His shoulders, arms, chest, stomach … if you touched him, you would be able to trace how everything moved … all of him, so connected … under the skin …
Had Zach moved just the tiniest bit closer to her, or had she moved closer to him?
Lucy lurched away from Zach. She wrenched around to face Soledad, who had started to drag the end table and the mannequin into a different position on the floor.
She managed to speak. "Mom?"
"What?"
"I can't form the shirt on top of that—that mannequin thing."
"But—"
"It feels wrong," Lucy blurted. She was hardly aware of what she was saying or why. She was revolted by the mannequin. She would not touch it. She would not make a shirt for it.
"It's gross," Zach agreed. He had come up behind her again. Lucy imagined she could feel heat coming off his bare chest and pushing gently against her back. She could have stepped forward again, away from him, but she didn't.
"I liked what you thought of before," Zach was saying to Soledad. "About making a duct tape dummy using a human model, and then fitting the shirt on the dummy. I mean, here I am. A human model. So what if it takes longer? I have nothing but time. Lucy can just make a duct tape dummy using me."
"Lucy?" said Soledad doubtfully. "It'll take longer, but if Zach is willing?"
"Okay," Lucy said. "Just get that thing out of here."
"I'll put it in your car, Soledad," Zach offered.
"All right. And then put on a T-shirt, one you don't mind losing, because it's going to be ruined by duct tape. Lucy, you go get some breakfast."
After eating toast, scrambled eggs, and an orange, Lucy felt steadier, and also inexplicably happy. She even found herself humming the ballad as she did her breakfast dishes. Worried and anxious though she was, a feeling of well-being would occasionally come over her, a feeling completely at odds with the fear and anxiety she otherwise felt. This was suddenly one of those times.
She thought the feeling came from the baby. Or her hormones. Or both.
At twenty weeks, the baby was about halfway there, and Lucy had gained nine pounds. Growth was going to accelerate at this point, and Lucy had been told she could expect to gain a pound a week. Also, her doctor had readily confirmed that she was carrying a girl—news that, although expected, had ratcheted up the anxiety level for all of them.
But, whenever she was strongly aware of the baby, as she was at this moment, Lucy's own anxiety would abate. She would drift off into thinking about baby names or something like that. She wondered: Would there come a time when it would be impossible not to think of the baby constantly? Would she then be floating in a sea of nonstop soporific happiness?
Recently, Lucy had begun talking to the baby in her mind. She felt aware of her as a distinct presence. For example, right now, she felt as if the baby was awake, alert, and interested. The baby had liked breakfast, Lucy thought, and was looking forward now to a little activity
and excitement.
We'll fight together, you and me, how about that? Lucy thought to the baby.
She imagined the baby punching one tiny fist upward.
So, what do you think of Zach Greenfield? Lucy asked the baby. He's not some skinny boy anymore. It's a good thing Mom's making him put on a T-shirt. Who'd have thought it? I mean, Zach Greenfield.
She imagined the baby giggled. She imagined the baby was glad, just as Lucy was glad, that they were not after all going to make a seamless shirt using that ugly mannequin. That they were going use Zach instead. Zach, who thought he was in love with Lucy. Or—who maybe really was in love with Lucy.
The thought made Lucy blush. For no reason, she found herself going upstairs to spray on a little perfume. Then she went back down to the dining room where she discovered, to her surprise, that Soledad was leaving.
"I don't think I should be here while you make the shirt," Soledad said. "I'd be too tempted to help or give advice. That might ruin everything. So I'm off to run errands and I'll leave you alone with Zach to work. Okay, Lucy?"
"Okay," said Lucy.
CHAPTER 38
Zach couldn't find a good T-shirt to put on. He had been told that the shirt needed to be snug, and also that it would end up completely trashed by the duct tape.
He whistled lightly while he searched. Was he getting somewhere with Lucy, or was he getting somewhere with Lucy? She hadn't been able to look away this morning! And then she'd nearly tripped over her own feet. He looked at himself in his bedroom mirror. He flexed a bicep. Oh, yeah. Things had really improved there this past summer, with all the manual labor. No wonder Lucy was impressed. He was impressive!
Not that he had ever been unattractive, really. Well, maybe in seventh grade. And possibly eighth. Maybe ninth, also. And then in tenth—well, that was the past. Zach was at his best now, just when he needed to be. Ha! He picked up an imaginary guitar and played a few chords.
Then he turned back to his T-shirt hunt.
He had dozens of T-shirts, but somehow nothing seemed right. He knew it didn't matter, and yet he rejected one after another.
Then he had an idea. He went to Lucy's room and boldly invaded her bureau. The old Yaz shirt that he'd given her was right on top in the second drawer. He pulled it on. It had to stretch to fit, but fit indeed it did.
Zach ran downstairs two steps at a time. They had a duct tape dummy to make, and then a seamless shirt!
Lucy smiled involuntarily at the sight of him in the Yaz T-shirt. For a moment, Zach thought she was going to make a comment about it, but she didn't. She simply gestured for him to stand in the center of the room. "Basically," she said, "I'm going to mummify you with the duct tape." She looked beautiful and very businesslike, holding the thick roll of silver duct tape before her. She stepped closer, cocked her head to the side, and spoke softly, thoughtfully, as if to herself. "Hmm. I wonder if I should have you sit down on the stool. No, I guess not. I'll have to be able to go around and around you with the duct tape."
Zach cleared his throat. "You could start mid-chest," he said helpfully. "And work down. Then you can do the shoulders and arms. Um, but only as far as the sleeves go." Not even Lucy was going to be allowed to duct tape bare skin.
"All right." Lucy was suddenly standing even closer. She looked up at Zach from under her lashes. "No time like the present. Could you hold your arms out? Yeah, just like that—straight out to the sides. Okay, then. I'll get started."
She smiled at him as if he were the most attractive man on the planet. And then there came a startlingly loud ripping noise as she yanked on the edge of the duct tape, pulling out about twelve inches in length. "Hold your muscles taut while I do this," she cautioned. "I'm going to do it tightly." Another glance up from under her lashes. "I don't think it will hurt."
Suddenly, firmly, Lucy pushed the end of the tape into Zach's chest, and began circling, pressing the tape onto Zach with one hand while reeling it out with the other.
He stood rigid, holding his breath. Soon there was one band of silver duct tape compressing the middle of his chest. And Lucy, less than three inches away—and what was that amazing smell wafting off her?—was going around again, overlapping the second circle of tape on the top edge of the first one, touching him, pressing on the tape, all the way around that second time. And a third time. And a fourth. And a fifth … the tape was just about at his armpits now. And it was getting hard for him to breathe, and it wasn't entirely because of the tape constraining his lungs.
This had been a big mistake. A huge mistake. He was the world's biggest idiot. What had he been thinking?
"Luce," he said weakly. "I'm not sure that … um." She was behind him now. Thank God. The tape roll was dangling heavily off his back while she got the scissors. He had maybe eight seconds to get his body under control.
All right. What if Soledad came in right now? Or Leo. Think of that. He would think of that.
It didn't help.
"Just keep your arms straight out at the sides," Lucy said sweetly. "That's right. I'm going to cut the tape here and start again, going down. Get all the way to your waist." She snipped the duct tape and began to move around to Zach's front.
Zach sat down abruptly on the stool. He dropped his arms in his lap. His eyes were on a level with Lucy's tummy now, as she stood in front of him. He saw clearly how it protruded. Twenty weeks. He knew the sight ought to cool him off.
It didn't.
"Zach?"
"Just a minute." His voice was hoarse.
"But—"
"Just a minute."
Lucy was quiet. He could feel her looking at him. Despite everything, she was naive enough to be a little puzzled. This broke his heart. And it made him so happy he could have keeled over from it too, if he hadn't had other, more immediate problems.
He felt as aware of Lucy as he was of his own skin. He could sense the exact moment she stopped being puzzled and understood his problem. He heard the little intake of her breath. He expected her to take a step back, away from him. But she didn't.
He looked up at her then, rueful and ready to laugh. She was still standing close. His gaze brushed the roll of duct tape as it dangled on her wrist like a bracelet, before he lifted his eyes to her face and found her looking right back at him. For the first time in a long time, their gazes met, and held.
But it was different now from how it had ever been before.
Lucy cleared her throat as if she was going to say something, but she didn't. Her cheeks were flushed. She looked amazed, Zach thought.
He felt pretty amazed too. Also dizzy.
Later on, Zach acknowledged to himself that at this critical moment, the moment before he fell on his knees and proposed marriage to Lucy—meaning every word—his mind was filled with one single, powerful thought, and it was this:
I'm going to change my whole life plan right here, right now. For Lucy. And I know for a fact that it's not the smartest move I could make for myself. But with everything in me, I believe that it's right for her—no. No. No.
For us.
Us. Without his having known it on a conscious level, for weeks now, Zach had been considering roughly one hundred different, yet related, questions in his mind. They were all about Lucy, and about the baby, and they were also all about him. And now, suddenly, he had the answers. A few of the answers were ugly and scary. But that too was simply how things were.
There had to be an us.
So, the next moment, still holding Lucy's gaze, Zach was on his knees.
"Luce. Lucy. Lucinda Scarborough. Marry me. Please. I want you, and I want to be your daughter's father."
CHAPTER 39
"Zach!"
Lucy discovered that she was holding Zach's hands. The roll of duct tape slipped down her wrist, over her left hand and then over his right one, finally falling to rest on his muscular forearm. And she was looking down into his face, and into his eyes.
He didn't repeat what he had said. There was no need to.
Lucy took time to think before she spoke. She considered every word for a very long time, maybe thirty whole seconds. Then she said wonderingly, "I love you, Zach. I do."
Zach stayed on his knees, looking up at her. Was that a little smile starting on his face?
"What is it?" she said suspiciously. She was clinging to both his hands. They felt so solid. So real. And it was a fact that she liked seeing him on his knees in front of her. But—
"Okay, Zach. What are you thinking right now? Why are you smiling that way? That smug way?"
Was true love when you wanted to slap someone and kiss him madly at the very same time?
"What are you thinking?" Lucy insisted.
Zach shook his head. His grip on her hands was as strong as hers was on his. His grin didn't fade. "Just say it again, Luce. Say again what you just said."
"About you being smug?" she teased.
"No. The other thing."
She cocked her head to the side. She peeked down at him through her lashes. She came to the same incredible conclusion, but this time she allowed an entire minute to pass before she smiled and said it again. "I love you, Zach."
The certainty in her voice. And the amazement. And the—well. The other thing. The joy! She could hear it in her own words, she could hear all the things she was feeling; they danced in her voice like music. She knew he could hear them all too. And probably see them in her face. Her eyes.
He knew her, after all. He knew her well.
And she knew him.
Zach, she thought. Zach Greenfield from next door, who she'd known forever. She really, truly loved him. How could that be? And how could it be any other way, ever?
Why hadn't he kissed her yet? Was he waiting for her to make that move? Well, then, she would lean down this very second, and—
