Just Between You and Me

by Jenny B. Jones

  I open my mouth to refute it, but I can’t. “You and your stupid manners!”

  “You owe me a day on the job. Tomorrow. Bright and early.” His laugh is deep and husky as he gazes down at my shirt. “Don’t wear anything that can’t be peed or puked on.”

  I step closer to see him better in the dark. “You really know how to show a girl a good time.” And stumble over a rock.

  His strong arms reach out to catch me. Pull me to him. Our flashlights, angled to the ground, send up just enough light to see the intensity in his eyes.

  Connor’s fingers tip up my chin. His thumb skims a path down my cheek. “Why’d you call me tonight?”

  I stare at his mouth and tell myself to breathe. “I don’t know.”

  “Face it, whether you want to or not”—his gaze locks with mine, dares me to not look away—“you’re beginning to trust me.”

  Of its own will, my hand comes to curl around his arm. “Like a wolf in a chicken coop.”

  His head lowers. “It’s a start.”

  The night wrapping around us like a cocoon, I open my mouth to his. His arms move around me, draw me closer. And I just hang on.

  His hands slide up to frame my face, and he kisses me with a slow tenderness that has tears stinging my tired eyes. I lean into it and sigh. Connor presses his mouth to my cheek, my temple, then seizes my lips again.

  From somewhere in the fog of my head, panic starts to invade. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. “Stop.” I peel my hands from his back and push him away. “Stop.” My skin tingling, my face flushed, I take a step in retreat.

  His eyes flash fire in the light’s glow.

  “That can’t happen again.”

  Connor inhales the night air. Nods. “You’re right. It can’t. I’m through with complicated girls.”

  “And that’s what I am?”

  He rakes his fingers through his dark hair. “You’re their mascot.”

  I ignore his smug arrogance. “You never answered my question.”

  He crosses his arms, his Nike jacket stretching tight across his chest. “Remind me.”

  “What are you to my sister?”

  “A friend.”

  His answer is too simple. Too easy. “I don’t believe you.” Bile rises in my throat. You do not take your friends’ boyfriends, and you do not make out with your sister’s exes. “I think you were something more.”

  He kicks some gravel with the toe of a running shoe. “Trust me—friends. That’s all you need to know.”

  I tilt my head back and watch the stars above me. So much bigger than me. “Forget the dare. I won’t be at your office tomorrow. I think it’s best we not run into one another again.”

  He advances and puts himself right back in my space. “Just like that? You’re going to give up just like that?”

  I swallow and force myself not to step away. “I don’t need one more secret in my life. And I definitely don’t need you.” I hoist up my light and walk off, letting the breeze dance over my skin as I leave him there.

  “She called me.”

  I stop at his voice.

  “I worked for the church crisis hotline.”

  My feet twist in the ground, and I face him.

  He holds the light in the crook of his arm. “She called me the night she tried to take her own life.”

  My stomach plunges south.

  “All three times. Over two years when she’d pass through town.”

  “It comes with her disease. Especially if she’s not on her meds. Usually she has someone to blame. Who was it? I need to know.”

  He lifts his gaze toward the crescent moon. “You.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Do you have an appointment?” the school secretary asks me Thursday morning.

  “No.” It takes everything I’ve got to pull my cheek muscles into some semblance of a smile. I feel like I just got off an all-night flight to Europe, missed my eight hours of sleep, and landed in a time zone where daylight shines and I must participate.

  “No appointment,” she repeats, like my appearance is the equivalent of standing on a tabletop and yodeling in the library.

  “Danielle and I are old friends. She’ll be totally okay with it. In fact,” I stare past her shoulder. “I think I’ll just show myself back there and surprise her. I know you’re busy.”

  As the woman harrumphs and sputters, I walk myself straight to Riley’s principal’s office. I do knock, though.

  I don’t like to be rude.

  “Hey, Danielle.”

  My former classmate shoots me a death look, then goes into principal mode. She holds up a manicured finger and finishes her call.

  “Yes, Connor, I’ll see you at seven on Friday.”

  Connor? Is it just me, or did she deliberately emphasize his name? Like that bothers me. I’m sure. How old are we, twelve?

  “Looking forward to it.” She giggles like a giddy prom queen and hangs up the phone. “Let me just pencil something into my social calendar.” With a ridiculous smile still on her face, Danielle types something into her phone before giving me her full attention. All traces of nice gone. “Did you have an appointment?”

  “This will be quick.” I scoot into one of the chairs in front of her mahogany desk. “I think my niece is getting a raw deal.”

  Danielle pooches her lips like she’s checking for lipstick on her teeth. “Your niece is a menace to the fourth grade. Starting next Tuesday, she’ll be spending an hour a week with the guidance counselor discussing her anger issues.”

  Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. But it’s the way the woman says it. Like Riley’s just this unexplainable terror. Like she’s the kid most likely to bring knives and pipe bombs for show-n-tell.

  “Counseling is probably an excellent approach. But I still think there’s something to Riley’s belief that these girls are bullying Sarah.”

  Danielle leans on her perfectly organized desk, her fingers intertwined. “Maggie, if Sarah were being harassed, she would speak up, and we’d take care of the matter immediately. She’s had plenty of chances.”

  “What if she’s too shy? What if she gets knocked around at home and has already learned that nobody’s ever going to believe her?”

  She taps her thumbs together. “That’s a bold statement we don’t take lightly here. Do you have knowledge of abuse in her home?”

  “No.” I am flunking this conversation. “Of course not. I just think Riley is smart enough to recognize—”

  “I have a meeting to get to.” Danielle stands up and smoothes her black skirt. “Your niece is spending the day in our in-school suspension room today. But the next time it happens—it’s a few days home, and I call the state department.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” That heifer. “Oh, one more thing. You know Riley has had her life torn apart. So our family has really appreciated the kindness and concern of Mrs. Ellis, her teacher.” I pick up my purse and hang it over my shoulder. “She should really be commended. What a heart for children she has.”

  Danielle’s eyes harden. “I’ll pass on the compliment.”

  “Have a lovely day.”

  I spend the rest of the day on my laptop, playing around with footage from my travels. God, is this just a hobby? Just something I’ve collected like the shoes in my closet? If I need to let this go, just tell me. Otherwise, I have to know what to do with this feeling that I’m supposed to share these children’s stories.

  I close my eyes and just wait and listen. Like God is going to whisper the answer in my ear. But no answer. Again.

  The afternoon passes in what’s become our normal routine. I pick Riley up from school, we stop and see Matilda, we eat peanut-butter crackers, we read a book together, then do homework until Dad gets home to fix supper. Yet tonight he called and said he would be a bit late, so dinner’s all on me. Alert the health department.

  Yeah, I can do this. No problem.

  “Riley!” I call at five-thirty. “Dinner’s ready! Come a
nd get it!”

  She sits down just in time for me to plop down my hard work on her plate. “Hot Pockets?”

  “What?” I rest my fist on my hip. “According to the news, schools have gone all nutritious, so I didn’t want to overdo it.”

  She pokes a stubby finger into the crust. “This doesn’t look good.”

  “Well, of course it doesn’t. Not like that.” I slip it from its microwave sleeve. “There. Much better. Mmmm!”

  “Dude.” Her voice is as dry as sandpaper. “You’re an adult. You can’t fix me things like this.”

  “Who says?”

  She rolls her eyes heavenward. “You’re supposed to, like, have food groups and stuff on my plate.”

  “It’s not like I’m forcing you to eat brussels sprouts here. I thought you’d be happy.” I’m such a reject mother figure. It’s a good thing I didn’t go with my side dish of mini Snickers bars I’ve got tucked away in my purse. “So does this mean you’re not going to eat it?”

  “Got anything else?”

  “My other specialty is popcorn.”

  She shoves her plate aside. “I’ll take it.”

  When the doorbell rings at ten ’til eight, I stick my head in the living room and tell Dad good-bye. “Make sure Riley brushes her teeth.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He’s barely spoken to me all evening, acting as if words bigger than one syllable are just too much for him to bear. One thing I did get out of him is that he hasn’t heard from Allison.

  I wrench open the door without even checking the peephole and find not Jermaine O’Dell standing on my front porch, but Connor Blake.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Good evening to you too.”

  I just stand there and stare holes through the man.

  “You’re starting to hurt my feelings.” He glances at his watch like he’s bored.

  “I’m supposed to go to Club Retro with Jermaine.”

  “Jermaine got a case of food poisoning, and I have the distinct pleasure of filling in.”

  Connor says this as if he’d really rather have a root canal. It’s very uplifting to a girl’s confidence. “Maybe I should just reschedule.” I reach into my purse. “I’ll call Beth.”

  He stills my hand with his. “Afraid of a night out with me?”

  “At the moment food poisoning sounds more fun.”

  He shakes his head in mock shame. “You are such a sore loser.”

  “You are such a cheat.”

  “Me?” He laughs. “I lead a Bible study. I heal sick animals. You’re the one who pulled the whole sprained ankle thing and—”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” I breeze past him and walk toward my car.

  “My truck’s already running.” Connor tugs on my arm and guides me to his waiting vehicle.

  I slide in and pause, my hand on the handle. “No funny business tonight.”

  His laughing eyes hold mine. “Do you always think about making out? We’re just going to listen to a band. So don’t even try to beg me for a repeat of last night.” His gaze drops to my lips. “Though you know you enjoyed it.”

  I shut my mouth on a futile protest as the door closes in my face.

  Connor gets in and flicks on the air, kicking up the scent of hay, Tide, and the faint citrus spice of his cologne.

  He entertains me with small talk as he drives past the Ivy city limits. He doesn’t make another reference to our kiss, and though it feels like the elephant in the backseat, I eventually find myself relaxing, even laughing at his stories.

  “That’s a shame about Jermaine’s food poisoning,” I say, after listening to a funny tale involving some pro bono work he did at a pig farm last week. “I know that can be miserable.” I take a quick assessment of his features, searching for any hint that Jermaine’s sudden illness isn’t of the fake variety.

  “Yeah, it stinks,” is all he says.

  “He seems like a nice guy.”

  “He is. So’s his brother Michael.” He shoots me a wry look. “You don’t remember him, do you? Grade younger than us.”

  “The guy at the reunion meetings. Of course I remember him. Sure, he was the guy who—” Connor’s face says he’s not buying it. “No, I don’t.”

  “Michael O’Dell? His brother, Jermaine. Had another brother named—”

  “Tito?”

  “Richard.”

  “That’s a disappointment.”

  The flashing lights of Club Retro greet us as Connor pulls into the parking lot. Instead of seeing a bunch of college kids as I’d feared, there’s a mix of ages making their way inside.

  As I open my door, Connor stands there waiting. Frowning.

  “What?”

  “I was going to open your door for you. Let me guess, you’re too independent for that?”

  I pat his shoulder. “If you think that’s hot, you should see me balance my checkbook.”

  He shuts the door, leaving his arm on the window frame, staring down with those laughing eyes. “I should probably warn you now I’m going to buy your dinner tonight.” His voice is so low, it sends off clanging bells of warning in my head. Like the kind that accompanies a melting nuclear reactor.

  “That’s sweet how you want to make up for all the dates you didn’t have in high school.” I give him a wink of my own, duck under his arm, and sail right for the entrance.

  Inside a rock song pours from the speakers. Posters of singers who span the generations adorn the walls, as well as layers upon layers of artistic graffiti that pays homage to the art of music. We settle into a table next to a signed photo of Jon Bon Jovi. I ogle it with the appreciation it deserves, because at one time I was shot through the heart for that man.

  A candle flickers in a globe on the table, casting soft shadows on Connor’s face. We make quick work of ordering, and then settle in as the band sets up on a stage across the room.

  “How much longer are you in town?” Connor asks.

  “I’m not sure. I still have some things to get straightened out with Riley. Tutors. A babysitter.” But I’m dragging my feet. Why?

  His blunt fingers empty sugar packets into his tea glass. “Cinematographer. That sounds exciting. Tell me about your job.”

  I describe the basics of being in charge of the film crew. The travel. The unpredictable schedule.

  He leans closer, his elbows propped on the table. “Do you realize you just told me about your job with all the enthusiasm of one reading her grocery list?”

  I flip my napkin and lay it over my jeans. “I like my work.”

  Connor tilts his dark head. “Do you? Is this what gets you up every morning? Where your passion is?”

  “Yes.” I bristle at the knowing challenge in his eyes, that look he wears that says, I see right into your head and can read you like a book. He doesn’t know me.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I do my own leaning in. “I don’t care.”

  The band begins to tune their instruments, a mix of whining guitars and honking brass.

  “Beth said the band is pretty bluesy,” I say by way of changing the topic. “I hope they’re good.” And quick. Because moving this outing along seems like the safe thing to do.

  “Good evening,” the lead singer says into the microphone. “We’re the Funky Cold Medinas, and we’re glad you’re here.”

  They launch into their first song just as the waitress brings us our meal. Connor takes my hand as he blesses the food, but immediately lets go at amen. I nibble on a Cobb salad because Connor and I are not at the I-can-eat-hot-wings-in-front-of-you stage. Though Connor’s spaghetti looks ridiculously good. Darn men and their ability to eat without any care or concern for things stuck in the teeth or dripped on shirts in places that really don’t need attention.

  Connor takes over the conversation again, and we discuss everything from politics to movies to his tight-knit family. Whatever dork components made up the man in his youth, they are long gone. I find myself laughing more tha
n once at his outrageous stories, from childhood moments to his more recent animal escapades.

  But then as Connor describes the community basketball league he started, I find my mind drifting to other places. I set down my fork and stop him midsentence. “I never mistreated my sister.”

  He rests his elbows on the table and gives me his full attention. “All right.”

  “No, it’s not all right. That’s what you think. That’s what she told you.”

  “Don’t you think I’m smart enough to consider the source and determine the most likely truth?”

  “No.” I throw up my hands. “I mean, yes. But Allison—she can be convincing.”

  “Why’d you stay away so long?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand. You with your Cosby Show upbringing.”

  “What about Riley?”

  Anger pulses at my temples. “I didn’t know things were bad, okay? My father never said a word about Allison’s . . . decline. I live in Chicago. I’m on the road three hundred days a year. It’s easy to disconnect.”

  His fingers wrap around his straw. “If that’s what you want to do.”

  My eyes narrow. “Is this dinner or a therapy session?”

  “I think you’re running,” he says. “I think you’ve been on the run ever since you left Ivy after graduation.” The taut lines of his face soften. “Or since your mother died.”

  “I got out of this town so I could become something. Staying here would’ve been the worst thing I could’ve done. You have no idea what it was like in that house.”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “I appreciate that you were my sister’s confidante, but you’re not mine. You think I don’t feel awful coming home and seeing how neglected Riley’s been? I do. But I don’t know what I could’ve done.” I press the napkin to my lips and throw it down. “I’m ready to go. I’ll meet you at the truck.” Before I can get to my feet, Connor’s hand manacles mine to the table.

  “Maggie, hold on, I—” The phone in his pocket rings. “Just a minute.” His eyes shoot me a warning and his fingers tighten. “We haven’t even ordered dessert. Sit down while I take this. Please.” His attention turns to the call. “Hello?”

  I focus in on the band as he talks, but it’s a little hard to determine the quality of a blues song in the haze of my anger. Not to mention his fingers are making absentminded little strokes on the inside of my wrist. I study his face for signs of foul play, but Connor’s totally engrossed in the call. Maybe he thinks I’m Danielle.