Haven’t we both, she thought, but didn’t say it. The microwave beeped, and Kara removed the tray and divided the food.
“Smells good,” Vince said, reaching into his pocket for his enzyme medication.
Kara swallowed her pills also. “Mom’s a good cook. What a shame it’s wasted on me.” He ate and declared it delicious. “The student council’s sponsoring a carnival for Halloween,” she mentioned between bites. “There’ll be booths, a flea market, and a haunted house. They’re busing in some inner-city kids.”
“Sort of like the white suburbs does its conscience bit for the community?”
“Don’t be sarcastic. It’ll be fun.”
“What’ll you be doing for the cause?”
“I’m in the face painting booth.”
“Will you paint my face?”
“Sure … for three dollars.”
“I thought you said this was for poor kids.”
She giggled at his attempt to sound miserly. “It’s only free to kids under age ten. Big people have to pay.”
“Maybe I can get back into the swing of things at school if I volunteer to do something,” Vince said thoughtfully. “You say there’ll be a haunted house?”
“That’s right. I volunteered to work on the planning committee, and I could get you into it. What would you like to do?”
“I could come as Count Dracula, since I look sort of ghoulish.”
“You look fine, but if you want to be the count, I’ll do your makeup,” she offered.
“A deal I can’t refuse. Of course, I couldn’t refuse anything you offered me.”
She smiled. “You’re a good friend, Vince. I’m glad we have each other.”
He looked at her across the table, and his expression grew serious. “Me, too. I’ve felt that way for years, you know—glad that you were in my life.”
She was at a momentary loss for words. She liked Vince. He was a part of her life. But even now, looking straight at him, she felt the image of Eric nudge into her brain. “All right then. Let me set you up with the kids doing the haunted house,” Kara said quickly, returning to their former topic of conversation. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to have you on their team.”
He rose from the stool, gave an elaborate bow, and kissed the back of her hand. “The count must leave you now, my dear.” He mimicked the accent of Hollywood’s best vampires.
She walked him to the door and watched him drive off into the night. Life was full of tricks. Vince was the original Mr. Nice Guy, and she really valued their relationship. But Eric—Eric was tall, muscled, witty, handsome. He was the one she longed to be with. He was the one she wanted, but he didn’t seem to want her.
Eric was lying on his bed, skimming the text of a Shakespearean play, his headphones clamped to his head, the sound of music blaring against his eardrums. He was startled to glance up and see his sister standing at the foot of his bed. He tugged off the headset and poked the switch on his cassette player. “Hey, sis. What’s up? I didn’t hear you knock.”
“We need to talk.”
Christy wasn’t smiling, and Eric knew immediately that she was about to launch into a lecture. He sighed, sat upright. “So, talk.”
“Did you skip school last week?” He avoided her direct gaze. “Don’t lie to me, Eric.”
“Is that what you think I’m going to do? Lie about it?” Anger edged his voice.
“I know you cut your afternoon classes,” she said without answering his question. “I want to know why.”
He pressed his lips together tightly. “No reason. Sorry.”
“Eric, you promised that if I let you come live with me, you’d abide by my terms—which weren’t unreasonable. And the terms were no cutting classes. School’s important. I only wish I were still in school. Anyway, skipping out during classes isn’t acceptable.”
“No wild partying. No breaking curfew. No running with the wrong crowd,” he added in a singsong as he stood up. “I remember all the rules. There’re too many rules.”
Christy snapped, “You agreed to them.”
“I know.” Silence fell between them, and Eric rocked back on his heels.
“Why do you do it?” Christy asked. “Why do you purposely go out of your way to get in trouble?”
“You sound like our parents.” His tone was sarcastic.
“Mom and Dad are good parents. They help us as best they can. I know they want a good life for you.”
At that, Eric shoved clenched hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I know what they want. Why doesn’t anybody bother with what I want?”
“Maybe you could be more specific. What do you want?”
“I guess I want to be my own person.”
“That doesn’t mean anything to me. What do you want to do with your life? Life’s not just fun and games, you know.”
He threw up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know what I want to be. I only know I don’t want what Dad wants for me. I don’t want to take over his stupid hardware store. I don’t want to be the dutiful son, smiling at all his customers, making small talk with ‘good old boys’ and sorting through bins of bolts for just the right one to fix some guy’s dumb lawn mower.”
“Do you want to go to college?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re smart enough.”
“I’m not nuts about hitting the books, and I wouldn’t know what to study if I went.”
“You like your car. If you study hard, maybe you can be an engineer or even a car designer.”
“Yes, I like my car. I like tinkering under the hood and making the engine purr. I like to take cars apart and put them back together again.”
“You feel things deeply,” Christy insisted. “You need to deal with your feelings and set some goals.”
He averted his eyes. He didn’t like people knowing that much about him, even his sister. Eric hated feeling vulnerable. It seemed to be a sign of weakness. It was easy for him to deal with machines. Machines had no feelings and no expectations. “I’m sorry I skipped school,” he said dully. “I won’t do it again.”
Christy came a few steps closer. “Eric, I remember what it was like to be sixteen. The ups and downs of it. All I can tell you is that you’ll live through it.” He hated her sermon, but kept his thoughts to himself. “Life isn’t perfect, and we all have disappointments. You’re my brother, and I understand that you might not be able to fit into Dad’s mold. We all want what’s best for you. We may not know what that is, but then, neither do you.”
“I get your point,” he replied.
Christy looked him in the eye. “Eric, we’re all trying to help you. My job is demanding and full of stress. My responsibilities to my patients are a priority. I can’t be worried about them and you, too. They can’t help their condition. You can. Something must remain constant in my life if I’m going to help all the people who count on me.”
Like Kara Fischer, he thought, shocked by the instant, vivid picture of her that rose in his mind. “I said I get the point.”
“Eric, I love you, but I can’t have a wild hare on my hands. Please keep your promises to me about house and school rules. Don’t blow it again, or I’ll send you straight back to Houston. And until you’re eighteen, that’s where you’ll have to stay.”
He met the challenge in her eyes. He knew she wasn’t bluffing. He didn’t want to go back, but at that moment he didn’t want to stay, either. He felt as if he had no choices. Go back and face conforming to his father’s image. Stay and drown in Christy’s rules. Eric nodded slowly. “I won’t let you down again. I’ll be on my best behavior for the rest of the school year.”
“I’ll take you at your word,” she said, then left the room.
He stared at the doorway for a long time, his insides a jumble. He would make it through the school year. But come summer, he would pack up and leave. And not for Houston, either. Come summer, he would hit the road, and none of his family would have to see his face, or hassle hi
m, ever again.
Eight
ERIC NOTICED A tall, extremely thin guy with dark hair weave his way between the rows of desks of the English class. The boy greeted kids who seemed to know him.
“Hey, Vince,” Eric heard Sheila say as he passed by her desk.
“Hey, yourself,” Vince answered, and when he smiled, Eric saw white, straight teeth, and decided that some girls might think the guy good-looking.
“Who’s he?” Eric whispered to Sheila after Vince had taken a seat in the back of the room.
She wrote “Vince Chapman” on a piece of notebook paper and shoved it toward Eric. The name meant nothing to Eric. Still, he wondered why Vince was starting classes so late in the term. Before he could find out more from Sheila, the teacher broke the class into groups to work on performing a scene from a Shakespearean play. Eric found himself in a group of six with Vince.
Howie was talking to Vince, and Eric pretended he wasn’t listening in on them. “I thought you were a senior, Vince. How’d you’d get stuck back here with us junior lowlifes?”
“I had to take double English credits,” Vince explained, “since I missed too many classes last year.”
Howie made a face. “Bummer.”
“It’s not so bad. I don’t have to take phys ed, so I’ve got the time for extra English.”
Eric thought, You could use phys ed, buddy.
“So, how’re things going for you?” Howie asked. “You know—the hospital and all.”
“I’m on what I call ‘leave.’ I never count myself as totally out,” Vince said, and turned toward Eric. “I know the others here, but you’re new to me.”
Eric grunted his name and added, “I just transferred from Houston this year.”
“I think we have a mutual friend—Kara Fischer.”
Eric shook Vince’s extended hand. “Right. I know Kara,” Eric said, suddenly uncomfortable under Vince’s piercing gaze.
“Kara’s told me about you,” Vince offered.
Eric shrugged. “I don’t know her too well.”
“I do,” Vince stated. “She’s one of my best friends.”
When Eric looked into Vince’s eyes, he thought he saw some kind of a challenge. He bristled. Was this lightweight telling him that Kara was his territory? “I have lots of friends,” Eric said carefully. “It’s a big school.”
Sheila leaned over and said, “I’ll be your friend, Eric.”
The others laughed, and Eric smiled good-naturedly. “I always have time for a pretty girl.”
Vince met Eric’s gaze steadily. “Time’s a funny thing. Sometimes it runs out on you.”
In a sudden flash of understanding, Eric realized that Vince had CF, too. The discussion about the hospital had been a clue, and his thin body and clubbed fingers were obvious signs. Eric felt ashamed of coming on so tough, but didn’t know how to back down. Howie relieved the tension. “Hey, guys, can we get on with this play? We’re getting dirty looks from you know who already.”
Eric quickly picked up his book. He didn’t want to memorize a scene from some tragedy about life and death. He wanted to leave the room, go outside into the sunshine, and blow off some steam. He wanted to forget about Vince and Kara and their being sick. Life sure could be unfair.
After school, Eric hurried through the halls, trying to avoid people. He rounded a corner and stopped abruptly. Kara was standing in front of a bank of lockers, talking to Vince. She was looking up at him while he leaned down protectively over her. As she laughed, Eric heard the distant sound of her voice.
Eric wondered what Vince was saying that she found so funny. She had laughed that way for him the day he’d driven her home. Of course, then he hadn’t known that she was sick. And now that he did—well, he wished he felt different about it, but he didn’t. Yet, it definitely bothered him to see her and Vince together.
He flung open his locker. The metal door hit the wall with a bang. If he didn’t care, why was it bugging him? He couldn’t understand his reaction. He couldn’t understand a lot of things lately. Like why it had mattered to him when Vince had told him that Kara was so close, they were best friends. He marched out to the parking lot, jumped into his car, turned his radio up full blast, and drove out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.
The Saturday before Halloween, Elyse came over to Kara’s house. “I’m not sure what to wear to the carnival while I paint faces,” Kara told her.
“I’m going as Little Bo Peep,” Elyse said, flopping onto Kara’s bed. “I’m supposed to guide groups of kids through the haunted house—the really young ones. The teacher in charge thought it would seem less scary if the guides dressed like friendly types from Mother Goose. I’d prefer to go as a vampire or something sexy or elegant. I’m fed up with this plain Jane me.”
Kara held up a black body stocking. “I had Mom buy this for me. I thought I’d go as a black cat. But now I’m not sure I should wear it.”
“Why not? Let me see.”
Kara pulled on the body suit she’d transformed into her costume. There was a black hood on which she’d sewn pointed ears, and on the back, she’d attached a long tail she’d made out of black velvet. “I thought I could paint whiskers on my face, do my eyes dark and dramatic, and decorate the backs of my hands with tufts of velvet and black nail polish.”
“Wow, you look terrific,” Elyse exclaimed.
“Do you think so?” Kara studied herself in the mirror hanging on the inside of her closet door. The body suit clung tight, making her look sleek and taut. She put her hand near her face, cupped like a cat’s paw, and purred, then burst out laughing.
“I sure do,” Elyse declared. “One ounce of fat, and you couldn’t wear that thing.”
“Fat’s not a problem.”
“Are you going to Howie’s party afterward?”
“Yes. Vince wants to take me. I guess you’re still grounded. I wish your parents would let you go.”
“I’m grounded like a pumpkin in a pumpkin patch. I even cried, but Mom wouldn’t budge. She said I should be glad I can be Little Bo Peep.” She picked at the bedspread. “You’re sure seeing a lot of Vince. Are you guys getting serious?”
“You know we’re just friends.”
“Maybe—just maybe—Vince doesn’t think so.”
“I like Vince a lot, but only as a friend. And he likes me as a friend, too. He’s just fixated on me right now because he’s been in the hospital and I understand about CF. There’s no one else except his family who understands.”
Elyse looked ashamed. “I should have visited him in the hospital. I meant to. He’s a really nice guy.”
Kara almost told her that good intentions didn’t count for much when a person was lying alone and forgotten in the hospital. She said nothing, knowing it would only make Elyse feel worse and put a damper on the afternoon.
Elyse picked up Kara’s sketch pad and started flipping through it. “Hey, these are good. I recognize none other than Eric Lawrence.”
Feeling her cheeks color, Kara crossed the room and tugged the pad from Elyse’s hands. “It’s just old stuff,” she said. “He’s got an interesting face—plenty of planes and angles. I thought I’d try and draw his face from memory. It’s good practice.”
Elyse turned a few pages of the pad. “Well, you’ve done a great job. It really looks like him. I guess you would have told me if he’d given you another ride home?”
“Yes, I would have, but he hasn’t.” Kara stared down at the various pencil drawings of Eric’s brooding good looks. She knew that the drawings were good. She’d been working on capturing her friends—she wished she didn’t feel so connected to a guy who didn’t care. She’d captured something she’d felt when she’d been with him—something he’d tried to hide—his vulnerability. She slapped the pad shut and shoved it in a drawer. “You know I sketch people all the time. Anyway, the only thing Christy’s ever said is that Eric’s busy with school.”
“What do you think about Eric and Vince’s ha
ving a class together?”
The news surprised her. “I think Vince may have mentioned that,” she said without meeting Elyse’s eyes. She knew he hadn’t, and the fact that he hadn’t bothered her. Why wouldn’t he have said something?
“I hear girls talking about Eric,” Elyse added. “The story is he’s really good-looking, but fickle. He dates someone a few times, then drops her, without giving her a clue as to why.”
“What are you—a field reporter for The Nashville Banner?”
“I was just telling you what I’ve heard,” Elyse answered. “I just thought you’d like to know.”
“Well, I don’t. What Eric Lawrence does and who he sees isn’t the least bit interesting to me.” But even as she said the words, Kara knew she was lying. It did matter to her what Eric did. It mattered a whole lot. Even though she wished with all her heart that it didn’t.
Nine
“DO YOU THINK you should go?”
Kara heard the anxious tone of her mother’s question and purposely ignored it. “Of course. I’ve been planning for this, and besides, everybody’s counting on me.”
“But your cough—”
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m not coughing now at all.” Kara knew her mother was right. She shouldn’t go, but she refused to give in. She’d taken medicine and plenty of cough syrup with codeine all afternoon. Her chest felt tight, and it was hard to catch her breath as she dressed, but she was determined not to stay home. Please, God, don’t let me get sick tonight, she prayed silently. More than anything, she wanted to go to the carnival and the party.
“You’ll have Vince bring you home if you feel worse, won’t you?” her mother insisted.
“You know I will.” The doorbell rang. “That’s Vince now. Bring him back here so I can start on his makeup.”
“Kara, I—”
“Mom, please …” She turned pleading eyes toward her mother. “It’s just one night. One time for fun. Don’t I deserve one normal night? I’ll be all right.”
A Time to Die Page 4