by Seven Steps
It was hard telling people the straight truth like that, but it had to be done. I didn’t want to hurt someone else like I’d hurt Mrs. Rogers.
The first two caterers told us the same thing Mrs. Rogers did. That they’d contribute some food toward the carnival and send a check or coupons to the school for Kat.
By the time we pulled up to the third house, I was starting to lose hope.
“If you go in looking like someone kicked your dog, no one is going to give us anything,” Becks said.
“Does it even matter?” I asked. “If they’re going to give us one or two small dishes, we’ll never have enough food.”
“Hey, where is the hope?”
“It went out the window when we left the Ivy Castle.”
He smiled, leaned forward, and placed his hand over mine.
My entire body stilled, focused on his warm fingers squeezing mine.
“Lily, what we’re doing here is good and right. We have to believe that someone in this one-horse town is going to see that and will give us what we need.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we go to plan B.”
“What’s plan B?”
“Beg everyone to bring a dish.”
I made a barfing sound. “Tacky.”
“You’re right. It is tacky. So, you’re going to go in there and sweet talk Mrs. Smith into making some food. And if that’s not enough, we’ll go to every restaurant and bakery and fish shop around here until we have enough. You know why?”
He moved his hand up to my chin.
“Because Kat’s worth it?”
He smiled warmly. It gave me a little of my hope back.
“That’s right. Don’t worry, Lil. You’re doing all you can.”
“What if it’s not enough?”
“It will be. You’ll see.”
I sighed. “When did you get so good at pep talks?”
He patted my knee twice and climbed out of the car.
I followed, feeling my spirits rising within me.
There were only two catering halls in Bloom, but a lot of people owned their own catering business, even if it was something on the side they did for a little extra cash. Out of our list of twelve caterers we had to visit today, Nadine Smith was number four. She met us on the porch of her small house and waved us inside.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, guiding us through her tight hallway and into an equally tight dining room.
“Thank you for seeing us,” I said, preparing my “we have no money” speech in my head.
“Thank you for thinking of me,” she replied.
The older, fair-skinned woman eased herself into her chair and took a sip of water from a red cup on the table. She had a round face with graying hair at her temples.
“Mrs. Smith, I want you to know we don’t have a large food budget. We’re really depending on the community to help make this carnival a success.”
“That’s no problem, dear. I’m happy to do what I can.” She waved us into the kitchen, where a girl no older than twelve stood with a few red solo cups on a clear tray.
Had she heard what I said? I decided to repeat myself, just to be sure.
“Mrs. Smith, I just want to reiterate that we’ve only allocated a very small amount to the food budget. No more than maybe a hundred dollars. If that’s not what you were looking for, then that’s okay. We’d love for you to maybe volunteer your time as a chaperone. It’ll be just as appreciated.”
Mrs. Smith wrinkled her nose at us. “You asked me to cook. So, I cooked.”
The girl placed the tray down in front of Becks and me, then walked back near the stove.
Becks and I shared a look.
Well, I’d said it twice. I hoped Mrs. Smith understood we couldn’t give her what the food was obviously worth.
“Go on,” Mrs. Smith said. “Eat.”
I picked up the red solo cup, and the small spoon next to it. The contents smelled good. Savory. I dipped my spoon into the cup, retrieved a hearty helping of red beans and rice, and plopped it into my mouth. It was good. Really good. The beans were almost sweet, and the rice was just salty enough.
Becks scraped the bottom of his cup as more dishes were set before us.
Fries and poutine, chili, mini hot dogs, and beer battered shrimp on a stick.
The food wasn’t as decadent as Mrs. Rogers’, but it had a down-home feel and was quite tasty.
Becks handed me the last shrimp, and I popped it into my mouth before coming up for air.
“This has all been great,” I said to Mrs. Smith after swallowing the shrimp. “Really great. But I want to remind you that we can’t pay a lot for anything. Maybe a hundred dollars at the most.”
She waved my words away. “I wouldn’t dream of having you pay for it.” She sat back in her seat and crossed her legs. “I have two daughters, you know. Both of them are grown up and moved out and have families of their own.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the kitchen, her gaze turning thoughtful. “That’s my oldest grandbaby, Sylvia. If something happened to her, I’d want someone to show her the same kindness as you’re showing for Kat. Don’t you worry about food. I’m going to do all the appetizers and finger foods for the fair. No charge.”
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s so much to ask.”
“You aren’t asking me anything that I haven’t already agreed to.” She smiled at us, and her generosity made my heart feel light. I felt Becks squeeze my hand under the table, and I squeezed it back.
“Now, you kids take some snacks for the road, and if you give me the particulars, we can get this train going.”
She stood up, and we followed suit, telling her the date and time of the carnival as well as the amount of people we were expecting, about three hundred students, plus their families and chaperones. She said that would be perfect and, after a ton of arguing and begging, she finally agreed to let me give her fifty dollars toward the food. It wouldn’t buy much. Maybe a few bags of solo cups. But I was so appreciative of her generosity that I couldn’t help myself.
Finally, we hugged Mrs. Smith and stepped back into the warm late summer air.
Relief flooded me. I didn’t think it would happen, but we’d gotten the food we needed. I wanted to jump for joy!
“That was unexpected,” Becks said.
“And awesome.”
His hand brushed mine and heat shot up my arm. I didn’t think he was walking so close but, oddly, I found myself inching closer to him.
“I told you everything would work out. You just had to believe.”
He was right, but I didn’t want to admit that. Becks used to be notorious for letting praise go to his head. I wondered if he was still that way.
“I suppose you had some valid points.”
“Do you think we should tell Calla about Mrs. Smith?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Later. When she’s not so upset.”
He nodded. “Good idea.”
We reached Becks’ SUV and climbed inside.
“So, have you decided on your booth yet?” I asked, leaning my head onto the headrest. He blasted the air conditioning, making the SUV into our own little slice of heaven.
“I actually have.” He put the car in drive, and we pulled away from the curb.
“And…”
“And, I’m going to paint.”
“Paint?” I sat up straight. “You paint?”
“I can do things.”
I scoffed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, I didn’t know you painted.”
“I paint and draw. I’m not too bad at it either. I figured I could do some quick sketches for five dollars a pop, you know, like how they do in Time Square. For a fully painted sketch I can charge more.”
“Wow. I didn’t know you had such secret talents.”
“Everyone has something they do. I just do this.”
“Is this what you want to do? Like for a career?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sur
e. At this point, I’m just trying to get out of high school.”
“Becks, you’re a senior. You have to start thinking about your future.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“The last time we talked about the future, you were going to be The Flash and I was going to be Wonder Woman.”
He laughed. “I’m still not ruling that out!”
I swatted at his arm. “Becks!”
“Fine. What do you want to be when you graduate?”
“A doctor,” I said quickly. “I want to join Doctors Without Borders.”
“What’s Doctor Without Borders?”
“They provide humanitarian aid to countries that may not be able to afford it. I figure it would be a good way to help people and travel at the same time.”
“Sounds fun. And kind of lonely.”
“How does it sound lonely?”
“Well, you’ll have to move from place to place. How will you put down roots anywhere?”
I shrugged. “Who needs roots when you have wings?”
“Fair point.”
“I just want to help people. Whether that’s here or in India or Africa or South America. I want to contribute something to the world. Some people make the world beautiful just by being in it. This is my way of making the world beautiful too.”
Becks looked at me, unapologetic and serious. “You’re already beautiful.”
My heartbeat went into overdrive.
“Thank you,” I whispered, shimmying lower in my chair.
Being called beautiful was an uncomfortable thing. It made me feel like I had to live up to that standard. How could one possibly live up the standard of beauty? We weren’t all Roses with her effortless beauty. I was the furthest thing from that. How could he call me beautiful when I didn’t feel it?
“I want to show you something,” he said.
My head felt light from his unexpected compliment, but I managed to speak up. “Okay.”
We drove down my block, but instead of pulling into my driveway, he passed it and pulled into his parents’ driveway up the street.
“This is your house,” I said.
“You deduced that, huh?”
I gave him a look. “Why are we here?”
“Well, number one, my mom has been harassing me to bring you by. And number two, I want to show you something.”
“It’s not a dead body, is it?”
“I haven’t watched that movie in a long time. But no, it’s not a dead body. Come on.”
He climbed out of the car before I could ask any more questions.
Becks’ house was similar to mine. Split level ranch with a big driveway and an even bigger back yard. Becks was an only child, so we always had the run of his house and the yard.
I used to love coming here. But, after Becks disappeared, Mrs. Hayes didn’t have me over anymore. She barely looked at me. It hurt. Mrs. Hayes was like a second mom growing up, and to have her act so coldly to me felt like a betrayal. Now that I knew she’d allowed her son to move to Florida, I started to view her differently. If Becks reminded her of her dying father, maybe she ignored me because I reminded her of Becks? I understood her reasoning, but it didn’t make the hurt any less.
Becks pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. He slowly pushed it in and peeked his head inside.
“Mom, we’re home.”
Becks’ mom, Mrs. Hayes, was a stay-at-home mom, unlike my mom, who spent most of her days in the flower shop.
“Mom?”
Becks looked around again, then opened the door fully and stepped inside.
“Her car’s here. She must be taking a nap,” he said.
Becks’ dad worked for a marketing firm and traveled a lot. He was only home every other week. I guess this wasn’t one of those weeks.
“Come on,” he said, taking my hand and leading me toward the stairs.
I’d forgotten how grand his house was.
Mahogany hardwood floors, carpeted staircase, beautiful pictures of family along the wall, an ornate crystal chandelier. Mrs. Hayes had expensive taste, which she could afford with her husband’s enormous salary. And it definitely showed in the way she decorated her house.
We padded upstairs and I walked behind Becks to his bedroom. Memories of this hallway washed over me. Running over the carpet, hiding in the guest bedroom, sitting in laundry baskets and sliding down the stairs. It was like a second home here. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until just now.
Becks put his hand on his doorknob. The last time I’d seen this door, his name had been painted in big blue blocks on the front of it. Now, it was a plain white door, indistinguishable from any other door in this hallway.
He pushed it open and I followed him inside.
Just as the outside of the room was different, so was the inside.
Posters of superheroes and his race car bed were replaced with a king-sized bed and gray painted walls. The sheets were deep blue and striped, and white curtains hung around the windows. But the thing that struck me most about this room wasn’t the look of it.
It was the smell.
The room used to smell like dirty socks and grass and dirt, no matter how many times his mom cleaned it. Now, it smelled like Becks. Soap and man. It was heady. Like Becks was all around me.
He gestured to the corner of the room.
“Here they are,” he said, taking a step back so I could walk in front of him.
Canvases were stacked in a neat pile beneath the window.
When he said he drew and painted, I expected a few doodles on loose-leaf paper. Not an actual canvas with actual paint.
I stepped closer and knelt down, examining the first one.
It was a painting of Gramps looking sadly off in the distance. Gramps wore his trademark vest and tie, and he held his hat in his lap, just like he used to. It looked like a professional had painted it. I brushed my fingers across the rough canvas. It was so realistic I nearly expected Gramps to open his mouth and speak.
“Becks, these are incredible,” I whispered.
He ran his hands through his hair. “They’re all right. Just me messing around.”
“No, Becks, they are really great. Like, they should be on display somewhere.”
He smiled shyly. “Thanks.”
“When did you learn to paint like this?”
“My aunt Millie insisted I take some classes when I was down there. She said it wasn’t good for me to stay in the house all day. We tried karate, cooking, Lego building. Finally, she put me in art class, and it was the first thing I really liked. The rest is history.”
I flipped to the next painting. It was the shadow of a man walking into the sunset.
The next was of a little boy, growing out of what looked like thorns.
The picture gave me an odd feeling in my chest. Like I wanted to cry and scream. They were so sad, and yet, there was hope there.
“I’m sorry about Gramps,” I said. “I miss him too.”
Becks nodded, but I could see the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, and his eyes turned cloudy.
My heart ripped apart for him, and I stood, taking his hand in mine.
Without warning, Becks threw his arms around me, burying his head in my shoulder.
“I miss him so much,” he said, his voice thick with tears.
I held him tight, rubbing his back and letting him grieve.
Had he ever grieved before? His grandfather had died barely a week before I saw him at the wedding. He couldn’t have healed in that short amount of time.
We stayed there in his room, his arms locked around me, while I used every fiber of my being to comfort him without words.
After a while, we broke apart, and he sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“Sorry,” he said. “I guess I’ve been holding that in for a while.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
I sniffled and felt water on my cheeks. When had I started crying?
I didn’t even remember doing it.
His hand raised to my face, and he used his thumb to wipe away my tears.
His expression was odd now. Some mix of emotions I couldn’t identify.
“It’s getting late. I should take you home,” he said.
I nodded but didn’t move. I felt the pit in my stomach grow. I wanted to say something that would make him feel better. To comfort him and heal him and have him smile again. But the words eluded me.
Instead, he started walking toward the door, and I followed him out. His mom didn’t reappear, and we didn’t call for her again. We walked out into the warm air, and I was surprised to see the sun was still shining.
Why did it feel so late? Like we’d been in his room forever? It was like time had stood still and moved way too fast all at the same time.
There was no reason for us to drive, since I only lived three doors down. Instead, we walked slowly and silently, side by side. When we got to my driveway, he stopped and shoved his hands into his pockets.
The lights in my house were on, and all the cars were in the yard.
My family was probably eating dinner or playing cards right now.
I should’ve gone inside.
I should’ve left Becks there.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t bring myself to leave him.
We stood there, staring at each other awkwardly. Like we were strangers again, even though we’d been so close less than an hour before.
“Hey, Lil?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you hold my hand? Just for a minute?”
I pulled in a breath, then let it out. Then, I reached for him, lacing his fingers with mine. My heart pounded, and I felt a tingling from our joined fingertips all the way up my shoulder. His hand felt so good. So right. But I couldn’t understand why. This was my friend. I shouldn’t be feeling this way for him.
Right?
True to his word, after a minute, Becks pulled away.
“Minute’s up,” he said.
My hand instantly chilled and I shoved it in the pocket of my shorts.
“Yeah.”
“I guess this is good night then.”
“Yeah.” My brain felt like mush. Why couldn’t I form a coherent response? What was up with me?
“Night, Lil.”
“Night, Becks.”