Just Between You and Me

by Jenny B. Jones

  One by one, people jump to their feet. Applause breaks out all across the room. Hands go up toward heaven.

  And I just stand there. Heart pounding. Mind whirling.

  The soloist’s voice rings out above the piano, her words pure and melodic. “Do not fear. For I have redeemed you. I have called you by your name. You are mine . . .”

  Beth nudges me with an elbow. “We’re going to pray at the altar. Would you like us to pray with you?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Thanks, but . . . I’m going to stay right where I am.”

  “So how was church?” I ask Riley on the way home.

  “S’okay. They gave us Fudge Rounds, so it wasn’t too bad.”

  Little Debbies always turn my head too.

  “How come Grandpa didn’t come with us?” she asks.

  Um . . . because he’d have to leave his recliner? “He’s not really into church. When your mom and I were growing up, he always had to work. So our mother would take us sometimes.” Mostly not. It wasn’t until last year when a friend invited me to a Christian concert that I got saved. In that crowd of a few thousand, I was anonymous. It was just me and God.

  “If my mom died, would she go to heaven?” Riley plays with the button on her zebra-print jacket.

  “Jesus loves your mom, Riley. He loves you too.” I stink at this stuff. I really do. “And I know he’s looking out for you every minute of every day. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.” Even when it feels like you’re totally alone and abandoned. A misfit in your own world, in your own family. When you’re plunging off water towers and praying someone will notice you. Really notice you—just once.

  The aroma of pot roast hits me as soon as I open the front door of the house. “Yum. That smells good.”

  “Wipe your feet,” Dad snaps, staring at the hardwood floor. “You’re tracking in dirt, Maggie.”

  Riley runs up the stairs, dirt specs trailing behind, but Dad doesn’t say a word. I hold on to the banister and take off my perfectly clean heels. “Smells good in here.”

  “I hope it’s not overcooked. It’s been in the oven an extra thirty minutes. I thought you two would be back by now.”

  “Beth and Mark’s service goes a little later than noon.” I wander into the kitchen and survey the lunch progress. “Anything I can do?”

  “Nope.” Dad comes in and stirs the gravy. “Last time you were here and helped with dinner, I had to scrape burrito sauce off the ceiling.”

  I laugh at the memory, but my dad just shakes his gray head.

  He turns as Riley reappears, wearing the new jeans and black T-shirt I got her. “You sure looked pretty in your church clothes.”

  She opens the fridge. “Thanks.”

  I stand there and count the times my father has told me I looked pretty in my entire life. That would be zero. None. Nada. Not that I’m jealous of my niece. I’m not. But I can’t wrap my mind around how different he is with her. Maybe that’s the magic of a grandchild, because I’ve never seen him treat anyone like he does Riley. At least when I leave, I’ll know she’s not in the hands of the father I was raised with. He won’t try to choke out every ounce of her spirit with his cruel words and frigid indifference. But even then . . . will it be enough?

  A few hours later, I’m sitting with Riley on her bed, helping her with her English homework, when my phone rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Connor Blake.”

  My heart does a weird little flip. “How’d you get my number?”

  “Beth. I’m up at the clinic and thought Riley might want to see the puppy.”

  “Riley would like to do anything to get out of her homework. I guess as soon as we finish, I can bring her out.”

  “Let me talk to her.”

  “What?”

  “Put your niece on the phone.”

  “Okay . . .” I hand the phone over. “Dr. Blake wants to talk to you.”

  Her eyes grow wide with all the excitement she didn’t show her school work. “Uh-huh. Yeah . . . okay.” She nods her head and concentrates on whatever Connor tells her. “Got it. I can handle it. Yeah, see you.”

  Riley sets the phone on the bed. “He says if I do my homework, I can feed the puppy.”

  I smile at her enthusiasm. “Then let’s get to work.”

  Two worksheets and one short story later, Riley and I stand in the Ivy Lake Animal Clinic.

  “Come on back in,” Connor yells.

  Riley leads the way straight to where her puppy lies in a caged bed. Other dogs and cats in various states of healing make their presence known.

  “The puppy’s just waking up from a nap.” Connor motions Riley over. “She’s still pretty out of it. There’s where her stitches are. But she’s going to be fine.” Before Riley has a chance to tear up, Connor shows her how to use the baby bottle to feed the dog. “Easy. There, you got it. Doing great.”

  Leaning on a counter, I watch the two of them, their heads together over the small animal. Every few minutes Connor leans back and takes in Riley’s intense face as my niece whispers sweet, inaudible things to the puppy.

  At one point Connor looks at me. And I look at him. And we share a smile.

  Thank you, I mouth.

  You’re welcome, comes his silent reply.

  “Matilda, you ate really good,” Riley says, as the puppy goes back to sleep.

  “Matilda?” I move closer to my niece.

  “She has to have a name.” Riley runs her hand over the puppy’s downy head. “She needs to know we care about her, and we can’t keep calling her ‘the puppy.’”

  I lift a shoulder. “I think ‘the puppy’ has a nice ring to it.”

  “Matilda went home with me last night,” Connor says. “I kept her close by so I could feed her.”

  No wonder my sister was friends with this guy. He’s so not a dork anymore. Aggravating, yes. But geek? No. If only I had known back then.

  I walk through the room and stop and say hello to a Persian cat. Then a border collie.

  “Your niece seems to be doing better,” Connor says from behind me.

  I coo to a toy poodle and turn my head. “She has a long way to go.”

  He looks at Riley as she talks to Matilda. “Every creature flourishes with some care and attention. It makes all the difference.”

  I straighten. “I can’t stay in Ivy . . . but I know I want to be a part of Riley’s life. I just have to figure out what that means.”

  He looks into my eyes and steps closer. “You’re doing a good job, Maggie.”

  I shake my head and dislodge some hair from my ponytail. “I botch it up daily.”

  Connor reaches out a hand and tucks a wavy strand behind my ear, his finger a soft caress on my skin. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  I move until we’re facing one another. Inches apart. I stand there, rooted to the spot. Drawn to his eyes like they hold the promise of a king-size Snickers bar and other sinful temptations. My breath grows shallower.

  His focus dips to my lips. “You are . . . not what I expected.”

  “What am I?”

  “You are—”

  Ring! Ring! My phone trills in my pocket, sending both of us feet apart.

  “Gonna get this.” The phone is a wet fish in my hands, and I drop it twice before Connor reaches down and hands it to me in his large hand. “Um, thanks.”

  What am I thinking? I have to get away from this guy. “Hello?”

  “Maggie, it’s Dad.”

  “Oh, hey.”

  “I need you to get home.”

  “Ugh. I forgot to clean up the dirt in the entryway. Look, Dad, we’re feeding the puppy Riley found. I’ll sweep as soon as we finish here.”

  “Forget the dirt!” His voice is rushed, anxious. “Just hurry on back.”

  “Dad, whatever it is. I’m sure it can wait. We have to—”

  “It’s your sister. It’s Allison.”

  My heart plunges. “What about her?”
r />   “She’s standing in my living room.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  My mom’s back?”

  The brakes squeak as I stop in Dad’s driveway. “Yes.” But who knows what condition Allison’s in.

  Slowly, as if neither one of us is ready to go inside, Riley and I walk onto the porch and inside the house. I place my hand on her back and give it a little bolstering rub as we stand in the living room.

  “Dad?” I call.

  “Up here,” comes his voice from upstairs.

  With Riley following behind me, I climb the steps and peek in each room. I find them in my current room, my sister curled in a ball on her old bed. Or what’s left of her. She lays there, thin as any runway model, her light red hair now a mousy, frizzed mess.

  Sitting in a nearby rocking chair, Dad’s face is drawn and pale. “I put Allison in here. I can’t get her temperature under control. She shakes like she’s freezing, but she’s dripping sweat.”

  I stand over the bed. “How’d she get here?”

  “Friends,” Allison says, her lips trembling. “I got friends.”

  “Dealers. Users.” Riley steps forward and sits on the end of the bed. “When they get sick of her, they always send her back.”

  If my head could spin, it would fly off my neck. “She’s left you alone before? Like for a long time?”

  Riley shrugs. “A few days.”

  My eyes lock on Dad’s. Guilt pierces me like a hot poker in the chest. “This has to stop.”

  “Go away,” Allison mumbles.

  “What did you take?” I ask her. “Allison, what did you—”

  “I heard you.” Her eyes are round as pie plates. “Just leave me alone.” Her body jerks with each word. “It’ll . . . pass.”

  I pull Riley’s hand into mine. “Do you know what she’s on?”

  “Probably a bunch of things. OxyContin, Vicodin, Valium.”

  A ten-year-old knows these words. I close my eyes at the crime unfolding in front of me. In what kind of world is it okay that my niece can quote meds like a Physician’s Desk Reference?

  “I didn’t know what to do.” Dad leans forward and rests his hands on his knees. “I never do.”

  “You’ve seen her like this before?”

  He head falls in a silent nod. “I don’t think it’s ever been this bad, though. She was seeing bugs before you got here.” Dad casts a furtive glance at Riley. “Maybe you should go downstairs and watch TV, hon.”

  Her laugh is small and bitter. “I do this all the time.”

  Oh, the hits keep coming. God, why didn’t I know about any of this? How could my dad just keep this from me?

  Allison opens her parched lips. “I saw Mama today.”

  Ignoring her, I look at Dad. “We should call an ambulance.”

  “She was swimming. At the lake.” Allison laughs, and the high-pitched sound has my hair standing on end. “You remember the lake, don’t you, Maggie? It always was your favorite place.”

  The goose bumps spread, and I rub my arms against the chill. I am not doing this. I will not be swept under by her words. This is evil talking. A hallucinating woman is not going to drag me down.

  “That’s it.” I throw my purse on the floor and dig for my phone. “I’m calling 9-1-1.”

  Dad shoots to his feet. “No!” With a look at Riley he lowers his voice. “She can’t have this on her record. The state department will—”

  “I don’t know how to deal with this!” I gesture to my trembling sister. “We can’t detox her by ourselves. And Riley does not need to be around this.”

  “Please.” My father’s eyes plead with me, conveying words his mouth can’t express. “Don’t do this, Maggie.”

  I slide my finger over my phone and watch the screen light up. And hit redial.

  “Maggie?” I feel a small sense of comfort at Connor Blake’s voice. “What’s going on?”

  “I need some help. I mean, Allison needs help. Can you come over?”

  Ten minutes later, he stands at Dad’s front door. I step back to let him in. “Hey.”

  He studies my face. “You okay?”

  “Yeah . . . but Riley.” No wonder that kid is so tormented. Tears pool in my eyes, and I quickly swipe them away.

  “Hey, don’t do that.” He pulls me into his arms, and I automatically stiffen. But he doesn’t let go. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  His chin drops to my head, and I inhale his light tangy cologne before inching away, out of the warmth of his arms. “Thanks.” I sniff indelicately. “I’m not much of a hugger. Don’t know what got into me.”

  He rolls his blue eyes. “You are so weird.”

  “Says the president of the Ivy Nerd Alumni.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re afraid of human contact?”

  “Anyone ever tell you one day you’re going to want to wear socks with sandals?”

  Connor flashes me a quick and lethal smile before getting down to business. “Where is she?”

  “Upstairs. She’s really freaking out.”

  He nods. “Coming down off something.”

  “A few somethings.” At least according to Riley, the ten-year-old narcotics expert.

  We walk upstairs and Connor assesses the situation. “We need to get her to the ER.”

  Allison holds out a jerky hand. “Connor . . .”

  He takes it in his and gifts Riley with a smile. “We’re going to help you get better, Allison.”

  She throws her other arm over her face and laughs. “Uh-huh. Heard that before. Tried that before.”

  Connor turns to Dad. “Are you okay here with Riley?”

  “Yes. But if Allison goes to the hospital—”

  “We have to,” I snap. “We’re going.”

  “I want to come too,” Riley says, looking younger than her ten years. “Take me with you, Maggie.”

  I drink in her misery. “We’ll be back soon. Stay here and keep Grandpa company.”

  Connor leans down and scoops my sister into his arms, lifting her as if she’s weightless, a light piece of fluff that could blow away in the breeze.

  Allison murmurs to herself in the backseat of Connor’s truck the entire way to Grapevine. I struggle for something to say to fill in the space.

  “Want to play ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall?” Connor asks.

  “I would never put my counting skills up against the president of the math club.”

  “And they say Maggie Montgomery can’t pass up a challenge.”

  Two excruciatingly long hours later, my sister is admitted, IV’d, and passed out cold in room 333 at St. Raphael’s Hospital.

  Connor opens the door and enters with two waters and some crackers just as I’m ending my call to Dad. What I wouldn’t give for some SweeTarts right now. Isn’t it funny how sometimes you can’t stand the thought of food. But candy? Now that’s totally different. I can always choke that down.

  The vinyl of the chair squeaks as Connor eases his tall frame into the seat. I take the Dasani he offers, but pass on the crackers.

  “You can go home,” I say. “I’ll be fine here. I’ll have Dad pick me up later.”

  Connor leans his head back into the seat and lolls it my direction. “Nah.”

  “Seriously. Go home.”

  “Seriously. No.”

  I watch the second hand move for another hour, my thoughts keeping me quiet.

  “Tell me about the night your mother died.”

  A semiautomatic fired in the room couldn’t have shocked me more. “What?”

  Connor lounges in the chair, his hands folded over his chest. Eyes closed. “I remember when we were in high school, there was an accident. At the lake.”

  If I were not wearing my Victoria’s Secret push-up bra, I think my heart would flop out on the floor. “Yeah.”

  “Still difficult for you?”

  A million answers shoot to the surface. “It was a long time ago.”
/>   The seconds tick by before he speaks again. “Allison said you were never the same.”

  My throat clenches. “I lost a parent that night. How could I be?”

  He opens one blue eye. “Anything you want to tell me about that evening?”

  That I’ll never be free of it? That I relive it almost every night in my dreams? That I hear my mother’s voice on the wind. On the subway. In a crowded street. “No. Can’t think of a thing.”

  “Allison always had some crazy ideas about your mother’s death.”

  “She drowned. End of story.” End of life as I knew it.

  “She says you’re afraid of water to this day.”

  “Maybe I don’t like getting my hair wet.”

  He trains both eyes on me for a long moment that has me dropping my gaze to the linoleum floor.

  “You know, between you and your sister . . . I can’t ever seem to get a straight story.”

  My head snaps up. “Then maybe you should mind your own business.”

  His mouth drags up in a lazy smile. “Maggie . . . that’s getting harder to do by the minute.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I think the school will understand if I don’t go on the field trip today.” Riley stands in her bedroom this morning, hands on hips, facing me down like a tiny Joan of Arc.

  “No, you’re going. We’re both going. Grandpa is staying with your mom. It’s all taken care of.” Though I’m tempted to give in. A whole day at the lake? Mrs. Ellis said it’s some natural science center. What’s wrong with a nice, safe museum?

  “It’s not every day I can use the excuse ‘my mom’s detoxing.’ It would be a shame to waste it.”