If You Loved Me

by Marilyn Reynolds

  “I can hardly hold that against him!”

  “I’m only giving you a description, you don’t have to get all racially outraged about it.”

  “I’m not racially outraged! I just don’t like it that because he’s black, he’s a bad guy! I’m black, remember?”

  “It’s just a description. And anyway, you’re only part black.”

  “That makes me black, and you know it.”

  “You know what? Sometimes I think you just look for stuff to get mad at. You’d better be getting mad at the guy who’s following you around, rather than getting mad at me. I’m on your side, remember?”

  “Sorry,” I say.

  We sit on the bricks, quiet for a while, then we start talking about the pros and cons of calling the cops. As usual, Amber’s mom is about twenty minutes late, so we have plenty of time to talk. I pretend to be all calm, but inside my chest, my heart is pounding like crazy.

  Chapter

  15

  When I tell Grams about the red Honda, she insists on calling her friend, Dennis, who’s a sheriff. She tells him the whole story and gives him the license plate number. He says he wants to talk with me in person, and he’ll stop by about seven.

  “Couldn’t we do it tomorrow?” I ask Grams. “Tyler’s picking me up at seven to go to the game.”

  Grams gives me the same look she used to give when I made all kinds of excuses for not making my bed sort of a “time to grow up now” look.

  “This is more important than getting to the game on time,” Grams says.

  The phone rings and I don’t even want to answer it, in case it’s another hang-up call. Grams is so used to having me run to the phone that she just sits there, listening to it ring. Finally Grams rushes to the kitchen and answers the call.

  “Amber,” she says.

  “Hey,” I say, taking the phone from Grams and walking out to the back deck, ready to settle in for a long conversation.

  “He called,” Amber says.

  “Who?”

  “You know. The guy you keep trying to set me up with.”

  “Blake?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’d he get your number?”

  “He said he found it on the internet.”

  “But you’re unlisted. Can they put your number on the internet if it’s unlisted?”

  “What’re you so worried about my phone number for?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just, you know, sort of freaked out over all of this business about the red car. My grandmother called the sheriff, and now he’s going to come over to talk to me right when it’s time for Tyler to get here . . .”

  “Don’t you even want to know about the phone call?”

  That’s when I realize what a social misfit I’ve been, going on and on about my stuff and not even listening to Amber.

  “Tell me. What’d he say? What’d you say?”

  “Well . . . you’re right about him being funny. And he was kind of sweet, too. I could tell he was really embarrassed when he asked if I’d go out with him next Saturday. You know, with you and Tyler, to the game.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “Well . . . at first I said no, but then, well, it might be fun.”

  “YOU SAID YES???” I scream into the phone.

  “Yes.”

  “Wow! Great! We’ll have so much fun!”

  “Do you think . . . well . . . maybe Tyler could tell him . . .”

  “What are you trying to say, S.B.?”

  “Do you think maybe he could wear something besides the brown corduroy?” Amber says, practically in a whisper.

  “I’m not going to suggest that.”

  “But Tyler?”

  “Maybe,” I say, but in my heart, I doubt it.

  “Tell me about the sheriff.”

  “Not so fast. Are you going to like Blake?”

  “I’m only doing it for you,” Amber says with a laugh.

  “Right. You’re happy about it. I can tell.”

  “Well . . . I do think maybe it’s time for me to stop being such a homebody. I mean, it is my senior year and all.”

  “Yeah, but don’t get your heart set on Grad Nite with Blake ’cause I bet he won’t be graduating.”

  “Really? He seems smart enough.”

  “Oh, he’s smart enough, but he’s getting his education at Carole’s Coffee Shoppe rather than Hamilton High. He sits there most of the day, ‘observing,’ and writing poetry about what he sees.”

  Amber groans. “I guess that means he saw me having a nervous breakdown over the herpes flare-up when we were there that day.”

  “Yeah, he noticed us. But he didn’t have any idea what was upsetting you.”

  “How embarrassing, anyway.”

  “He’s seen lots worse stuff than that in there. You should hear the poem he wrote about this older couple arguing with each other. It shows how mean and degrading people can be.”

  “His poem does?”

  “Yeah. You know, it’s not like we’re doing nursery rhymes in creative writing.”

  “Anyway, I’m tired of talking about Blake. Tell me about the sheriff.”

  When I’m finally off the phone with Amber, I take a quick shower and put on clean clothes. I dress in school colors—blue and gold. It sounds corny, but it’s a tradition at Hamilton High and almost everyone dresses like that for games—even when they come watch our girls’ volleyball games. A lot of kids have parents who went to Hamilton High and they wear school colors to games, too. Even some grandparents do. Grams didn’t go to Hamilton High, and she’s not much for attending games. If we get to the playoffs in volleyball though, she’ll come in jeans and a gold sweater. Maybe so many people wear school colors because it’s easy. It’s not like if our colors were ecru and mauve or something hard like that.

  On the dot of seven the doorbell rings and it’s the sheriff.

  “Come in, Dennis,” Grams says. “Cup of coffee?”

  “No thanks. I don’t think this will take long.”

  We sit across from each other by the fireplace, Grams and me on one sofa and Dennis in the big armchair. He takes out his note pad and starts with the questions.

  I describe the car, repeat the license plate number, identify locations where I’ve seen the car.

  “Has the driver ever tried to approach you?”

  “No.”

  “What’s the closest you’ve ever seen the car?”

  “Probably about a block away.”

  “And if you start walking toward the car, what happens?”

  “It seems like if the person in the car thinks I’ve seen him, he drives away.”

  The phone rings and Grams goes to the kitchen to answer it, then is back immediately.

  “Tyler’s had to stay late at work,” Grams says. “He’ll prob­ably not get here until eight or eight-thirty.”

  “Who’s Tyler?” the sheriff asks.

  “My boyfriend.”

  “Oh,” Sheriff Dennis says. He rereads his notes, then says, “So there’s been no kind of threatening behavior at all?”

  “No,” I say, realizing how silly the whole thing sounds.

  “If I showed you mug shots, would you recognize him?”

  “No. But Amber probably would.”

  “Amber?”

  “My friend. She saw him kind of close today. She thinks he was one of the people who came and talked to our peer commu­nications class about drugs.”

  “Really?” the sheriff says, raising an eyebrow. “What’s your teacher’s name?”

  On and on, detail after detail. Everything repeated twice.

  “Any reason this guy would be interested in you?”

  “I can’t imagine why,” I tell him.

  Finally, Dennis folds up his notebook and puts it back in his pocket.

  “Here’s the thing,” he says. “I’ve run a thorough check on the license and the car. Found out the guy is employed by a real estate company. That gives him plenty of reason t
o be out and about at all times of the day or night. Except for drug stuff several years ago, his record is clean. As far as anything we can find, he’s not been in any kind of trouble, drugs or otherwise, for the past three years. We can’t haul him in for being on city streets.”

  “But you hear so much . . .” Grams says.

  “I know. It is a worry. It sounds like more than coincidence that he keeps showing up. But it’s nothing to arrest the guy on, or even question him about. Now if he were to approach you, Lauren, that would be a different story.”

  “If we wait until he approaches her, it may be too late,” Grams says.

  Dennis turns to me. “The thing for you to do is to be extremely cautious. Don’t walk anywhere alone, even in broad daylight. Stay off the streets as much as you can. You need to go somewhere—drive, or have someone drive you. It may be nothing. But act as if there’s a murderer or rapist out to get you.”

  “Can’t you offer some protection?” Grams says.

  “Sorry. I guess you could hire a private bodyguard, but we don’t have the personnel to do it. I wish I could be of more help.”

  Grams nods her head sadly. “I wish you could, too.”

  “I’ll talk with Amber—see if her description matches the owner of the Honda. I’ll talk with Ms. Woods, and I’ll alert everyone at the station to a possible problem with this guy. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Do you think the phone calls are related?” Grams asks.

  Dennis shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. You got an answering machine?”

  “No. I hate them,” Grams says.

  “Well . . . you should get one. At least until we know what’s going on here. Get a machine and never pick up the phone until you hear who it is on the other end.”

  “It seems so rude,” Grams says.

  “Tell your friends what you’re doing. They’ll understand. Usually prank callers get tired of answering machines pretty damned quick.”

  Grams sighs.

  “Also, call the phone company and get set up with Caller I.D.”

  “What?”

  “Caller Identification. It’ll flash the caller’s number, so if you recognize it, you can pick right up. If you don’t, you can write it down and maybe we can find out who’s calling.”

  Grams looks doubtful.

  “It’s easy,” Dennis says.

  Grams and Dennis stand talking at the door for a while before he leaves. How’re the kids, what do you hear from Claudia, that sort of thing. I guess Grams first met him when he and Aunt Claudia were dating. He doesn’t seem her type, but I remember she once told me, you’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. I wonder if the sheriff was one of the frogs she kissed. I don’t mean that in an insulting way. He seems like a nice guy—just nothing like Uncle Malcolm, who’s this brainy, witty guy who looks like a young Sean Connery.

  When Tyler comes to get me, Grams tries to talk us into staying home instead of going to whatever is left of the game. She even tries to bribe us with hot fudge sundaes.

  “I’d at least like to see the last half,” Tyler says.

  “Me, too,” I chime in.

  “Oh, I know. You can’t hide under a rock. And you’re both sensible kids. This thing just has me so on edge.”

  “I won’t let Lauren out of my sight,” Tyler tells Grams.

  “Please, let me know if you’re going to be late. I can’t help worrying.”

  I give Grams a long hug and we’re out the door. Tyler walks to the sidewalk and looks up and down in both directions.

  “No red Honda around right now,” he says.

  We get to the game at halftime and make our way over to where Blake is sitting with Megan and Kelsey. It is cool out, but comfortable. A light wind has sweetened and lightened the air, and the band sounds better than usual. It’s one of those times that feels right. I guess I’m just happy to be here with Tyler and my friends, and to not think about the red Honda for a while.

  As soon as I sit down, Blake climbs over Kelsey and scoots in between us.

  He puts his hand beside his mouth and whispers, “I called her.”

  “I know,” I say back.

  “Shhh!”

  “What, are you ashamed?”

  “No, I just don’t want jabbering Kelsey to start spreading rumors ... She likes me,” Blake says, a big grin plastered across his face. “She laughed in the right places.”

  “You sure jump to conclusions. Just because Amber has a sense of humor doesn’t mean she’s fallen for you.”

  “Uh, huh,” he says. “She likes me. You know she likes me. What’d she say?”

  “You’re the man of her dreams,” I tell him.

  “Really? Really???”

  “No,” I say, laughing. “But she sounded happy about going out with you.”

  “Awesome.”

  “She thought you were funny and sweet.”

  “Sweet?” Tyler says, practically choking on his soda.

  “I didn’t even think you were listening,” I say.

  He puts his arm around me.

  “When you talk, I listen.”

  Our laughter is drowned out by the huge cheer that greets the Hamilton High team as they run back onto the field. They’re only behind by two touchdowns, which is good for Hamilton High, so our side is enthusiastic.

  During a lull in the game I tell Tyler about the visit to the Habitat for Humanity house, and how Shawna said she could get some camellias.

  “Good idea,” Tyler says.

  “Will you help us with the planting?”

  “If I get to be the design boss.”

  “No problem,” I say.

  After the game we all pile into Tyler’s car and go to Barb ’n Edie’s. That place is so crowded we can’t even get through the door. We hang around outside for a while, joking with the blue and gold crowd. Finally we give up on ever getting inside Barb ’n Edie’s and go to Manny’s for burritos. Kelsey tries to sell Manny an ad in Connections, but he tells her to come back when he’s not so busy.

  “You should follow through,” Megan says.

  “I will! Do you think I’m stupid or something?”

  There’s a long pause, while Megan sits grinning.

  “Your silence speaks volumes,” Blake says.

  That gets Tyler going with his snorty laugh, and we all get hysterical. Manny watches us like we’re crazy, which we sort of are for now.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Kelsey says, which increases the volume of our laughter by about a hundred decibels.

  After Tyler drops everyone else off at their houses, we drive a few miles into the next city and park on a kind of dead end street in the middle of a big, private, college campus. There are no street lights here, and never any traffic either. It was at this place, on a dark, moonless night like tonight, that Tyler and I first realized we loved each other in a special way.

  “I know it’s not our anniversary yet, but I want to give you your present early.”

  “But I don’t even have yours yet,” I tell him.

  “I know. I can wait for mine. I just can’t wait for yours.”

  Even though it’s almost totally dark, I’m sure Tyler has that big grin he gets on his face when he’s happy about something.

  “Okay,” I say, never one to turn down an early gift.

  He takes a wadded-up handkerchief from his jacket pocket and very carefully unwraps it. He opens the car door a bit, so the light will come on, and takes a broad silver ring from the middle of the hanky.

  “Look, this is so neat,” he says.

  He gives the ring a twist and it separates into two rings.

  “See, it’s got this little lock thing that makes the two parts fit together perfectly. Like you and me.”

  “They’re beautiful,” I say, running my finger across the smooth, polished surface.

  “Last summer, I saw them in a store at the mall and right away I started saving money from my paycheck.”

  “I l
ove you so much,” I tell him. “I can’t believe how lucky I am, that you love me, too.”

  “I’m the lucky one,” he says, kissing me in a gentle, tender way.

  He puts one part of the ring on the fourth finger of my right hand.

  “We’ll save your left ring finger for later, like we’re saving other things for later.”

  He tries to put the other half of the ring on his right ring finger, but his finger’s too big. He ends up with it on his little finger on his left hand.

  “That works,” he says, putting his left hand on top of my right, so the rings are close to each other.

  “The guy at the jewelry store said it could be a friendship ring, or a promise ring.”

  “Which is it for us?” I ask.

  “I promise to always, always, love you,” Tyler says.

  “I promise to always, always, love you, too,” I say.

  Tyler closes the car door so the light goes out. We recline our seats as far back as they’ll go. He holds me close and we kiss again, harder, deeper, and then our hands are all over each other, excited, reaching for special places, moving faster, breathing harder, helping each other feel good. Better. Best!

  We stay close, arms around each other, Tyler’s head nuzzled against my neck. He strokes my cheek. My hand rests on his upper arm and I feel the hardness of his biceps under his shirt sleeve. I’d like to stay like this forever, but soon the night air grows cold. We rearrange our clothes and put our seats back in their regular positions.

  “Tyler?”

  “Curly?” he says, gently pulling at a strand of hair.

  “I’m so relieved, that you’re okay with the true love waits thing.”

  “Well . . . I’ve thought about it a lot,” he says. “I don’t want to have that experience with you unless you want it, too. Anytime you’re ready—wow! That would make me the happiest guy in the world. But no more pressure from me. That’s not what I’m about.”

  At times like this I’m so filled with love for Tyler I can hardly stand it. I’m beaming at him. I can tell. My smile is so big my cheeks ache.

  Then Tyler gets this worried frown.

  “Lauren, I . . .”

  He looks at me for a long time. Whatever he starts to say, he changes his mind. He starts the car and we head back toward my house.