"Uh, I'm guessing you didn't feel what I did," he painfully manages to say. His cheeks turn pink, and he looks down at his shoes.
"I wanted that for so long, Justin––all throughout high school." I close my eyes, trying to fight the prickling feeling behind them. I open them and his sullen face fills my eyes with tears. "I hate admitting this because it hurts," tears start spilling out. "I'm in love with Todd. I really didn't think I was but," I sniffle, "I can't keep lying to myself. It's weighing on my heart like black tar, and I just can't deny it anymore." I am full on crying and have to cover my mouth to trap a sob before it can come out. I gave Justin way more information than he needed and I've probably hurt him with my blunt, candid confession.
Still looking down, he nods his head. "Yeah," he replies meekly, finally looking at me. "I sort of thought that might be the case. I just...I thought I might have had a chance," he honestly admits. I let out a sob, hoping it wasn't too loud. We are still tucked away in the hallway to the kitchen.
My throat feels tight and swollen, as does my heart. "Justin," I sniffle and take in a ragged breath. "I am so sorry." I shake my head vehemently. "I don't what else to say. I care about you. You've become a great friend, and––I'm just so sorry."
He doesn't miss a beat. He wraps his arms around me, and gives me a tight squeeze. "Amelia, I can't lie. I am sad, but you do not have to apologize for your feelings. I'm not going to stop caring about you, and I don't want to stop being friends."
I nod my head as best as I can while it's against his chest. He lets go of me but places his hands on my shoulders and looks me dead in my burning, watery eyes. "This is a night of happiness and success. No more tears. Your adoring fans need you back out there." He manages to smile slightly. "Plus, I heard that a couple of your photographs have already sold."
My eyes go big. "Are you serious?" I sniffle and wipe under my eyes, hoping my eyeliner isn't a mess. Maybe I should have worn my glasses instead of contacts after all.
"Yes. So cheer up as best as you can, and then get back out there and be awesome." He lifts his hands off my shoulders as I give him a nod.
I straighten my back, and lift my head high. "Thank you, Justin. The gratitude I have for you...you're so kind and giving...I don't know if I deserve it," I admit. He has hands-down been a complete savior for the last few weeks.
"Amelia, you deserve everything. Now let's go back out there and own this joint!" Whatever insecurity he had a few minutes ago disappears, and his regular excitement and confidence comes back.
To my surprise, a quiet laugh falls out of my mouth. Savior.
I hear a motorcycle engine roar in the distance. Chills roll through me and I wonder if anyone else heard it too.
Once The Café empties and I say my “goodbyes,” I make my way up to the front counter where my dad is standing. He looks up from the notebook he's been taking notes in.
"Hey, Dad. What are you doing?" I ponder as I lean on the counter, looking down at the notebook.
"I'm masquerading as your manager and accountant." He looks at me with his eyebrows raised. "You, my talented daughter, sold almost every single one of those photographs that are hanging on the walls. You should be proud, because I sure as hell am."
"Thanks, Dad," I reply bashfully. "I never imagined that I would sell anything much less more than one! Break it down for me: what sold?"
He lets out a heavy sigh. "Does it really matter, Amelia?"
Confused at his turn-around in attitude and temper, I shrug my shoulders and respond, "I guess not."
"I will tell you that Mrs. Jacobson bought one. That lady went on and on about you. She bought that big one of flowers and rivers. The others that sold were the hands, the waterfall, the Portland skyline, and the old oak tree in the park," he spews out quickly.
I gasped, shocked that five out of seven actually sold. "Wow, and they're still going to be up for another few weeks!"
"Exactly. You want to know what your final earnings are?" He asks, his eagerness suddenly back. Leave it to the accountant to get excited about money and earnings.
"Of course! Tell me!" I start to get my bag and jacket from around the corner so we can leave.
"$480!" He announces as we make our way to the door.
"What?! How is that even possible?" I try to do some quick math in my head but it's pointless. I didn't get that math gene like my dad. The paintings weren't listed at high prices; I'm still a student after all.
He smiles and I can almost see his breath as we walk in the chilly air to the car. It's getting cold earlier this year, reminding me that I'll be leaving soon for school. Part of me can't wait and part of me doesn't want to leave my heart here; leave my heart with someone who doesn't want it.
"Okay, so a couple people may have over-paid, but I wasn't going to argue with them!" He smiles as if he achieved a great accomplishment.
"Over-paid?" I marvel. "This has been one of the best nights I've ever had." Sure, I cried, but the show was successful and now people will have my art––my art––hanging in their homes or offices. It's truly an honor, and it raises my confidence.
As we leave the parking lot, I hear another loud motorcycle somewhere near us but not in sight. The only thing that kept this night from being perfect was Todd. As much as I hate to admit that I love him, I wish he would have come to the show. I rest my head on my hand, against the passenger car window.
My dad grunts and reassures me. "Forget that Bartlett kid. He's like his dad––good for nothing. Trust me."
I turn my head fully and peer out the window with a frown on my face. He might have lied to me and broken my heart, but I know he doesn't deserve my dad's false, harsh words.
For the rest of the night I lock myself in my room, fighting every urge in my body––my gut instinct––to not go to Todd's house.
41
–– Todd ––
I zoom around the corners on this two-lane road leading up through a small canyon. It's a full moon so it's not as dark as it usually is. I still opted to not wear my helmet. I wish the cool breeze that's blowing through my hair and into my face would distract me enough to forget about the last two hours––to forget about Amelia. Well, Amelia and that goody-two-shoes Jason. Or Justin. Or Joe. Or whatever the hell that guy's name is. Justin, I decide, not getting confused with her evil little brother, Josh. I grunt and take the next turn faster than I should.
Something broke inside of me when I saw that asshole kiss Amelia in that hallway. I ran out like the place was on fire. I want to kill him. I feel completely wrecked, which is why I haven't been able to go home yet. I need this escape. I need to feel the freedom that can only be felt when I'm on my motorcycle. I told myself I wasn't going to go back to The Diner to talk to her without Justin around. I did it anyway, and was relieved to see her go home with her dad and not Justin. I probably would have lost my shit. Who am I kidding? I'm already losing my shit.
I sigh and find a turn-out that I can use to turn the bike around. I start heading back down the canyon and into town. The road isn't giving me as much solace as I need. I guess I can't avoid real life any longer.
I don't bother trying to be quiet as I pull back into the driveway. I see the TV light seeping through the broken blinds. I'm relieved that it's so late that Al is probably already passed out cold.
I let the screen door slam behind me. I see what I always see when I first walk in the house at night: Al half-on the sofa and half-off, completely unconscious. I stalk to my room in the back of the house, and collapse on my bed, hoping that tomorrow will be better. I also secretly hope that Amelia hating me is just a nightmare that I'll wake up from in the morning. My eyelids get heavy and in no time I'm sleeping like a baby.
I easily wake up in the morning after a solid eight hours of sleep. Unfortunately, I woke up to the nightmare I'm still living in. Once I'm showered, I head for the kitchen to grab something to eat on the way to work. I adjust the sleeve on my white t-shirt that somehow got wrinkled. When I
look up, I notice the faint blue TV light. He forgot to shut it off last night. "Dammit," I mumble knowing that doesn't exactly help our electric bill. I grab the remote and shut it off. As I drop it back on the coffee table, I notice how oddly Al's body is draped on the sofa. His legs are tangled, and as my eyes go up, I see that his torso is facing one way but his head is hanging the opposite way. His hand is touching the floor because he couldn't fit his arm on the sofa with the rest of his body on it. Part of me wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Any hint of a smile slowly disappears when I see that his mouth is partly hanging open.
What the fuck?
My feet stay planted while I lean my shoulders in to get a better look, without having to get too close to him. His eyes are halfway open. It makes me jump back. I have no idea how I missed this creepy look earlier. I didn't even know people could sleep with their eyes open. I kick the sofa, giving him a good jostle. He doesn't so much as make a peep.
"Unbelievable. Al, get up!" I get set to kick the sofa again but stop abruptly. "No. No fucking way. No, no, no." I grab the legs under his jeans and shake them so hard to try and get him to wake up but instead he just falls sideways onto the dirty floor. "Fuck!" My hands dive into my hair and grab onto it. "What do I do? What do I do?" I ask myself as I pace back and forth in front of the coffee table. In front of Al's dead fucking body. "Kristin!" I shout, digging in my jacket pocket for my phone. I fumble and my phone falls out of my hands and lands right next to Al's arm. "Oh God, oh God," I mutter, knowing I have to get closer to him to pick up my phone to call my sister. I lean down and stretch my arm out as far as possible to reach it while keeping my distance. Five minutes ago, I thought nothing of being near him, but now that I know he's dead it freaks me the fuck out. I grab the phone, and then jump back as if Al will spontaneously combust into flames. A chill rocks through me causing goosebumps up and down my arms. I shake it off and try to type in Kristin's name until I come to the realization that I need to call the cops first. "What the fuck am I doing?" I panic, out loud. I fumble with my phone again, but manage not to drop it. I dial 9-1-1 with trembling hands.
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" The operator asks me.
"I–uh, um–I," I try to find the words, but they get stuck in my throat.
"Sir, just take a deep breath, and tell me what's going on," the operator calmly instructs.
"Yeah––um, it's my, uh, dad, Al." I swallow, trying to tell her what happened before I lose the ability to talk at all. "He's d–dead," I manage to squeeze out of my throat.
The next hour is a blur. The coroner shows up after an ambulance and a cop car. They ask me a million questions, but I can't remember any of them. Everything is out of focus, and the voices of the officials talking to me sound like whispers, until Kristin shows up. She rushes over to me, sitting on the front steps of the house, and flings her arms around me. Bam. Everything goes from slow motion to real time. I suck in a deep breath like I had been holding it in for the last hour.
"Todd, are you okay?" She questions. My eyes are burning from the ambulance and police lights swirling, ricocheting off the house and into my eyes. "Hey," she grabs my face, forcing me to look at her. "Are you okay?"
I look into her eyes, my vision becoming blurry again. I sag my shoulders and watch her heart break into little pieces as she looks at me. She wraps me back up in her arms. It's only when I sniff that I realize I'm sobbing. I rest my head on her shoulder.
"Todd, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," she repeats. She lets go of me, and I notice that I'm wrapped in a small, weird looking blanket. I have no idea why, but I give it a confused look and shake it off like it's some strange thing that crawled on me. I rub my hands over my face, drying the remaining tears that trickle down.
"Why are you apologizing?" I wonder, my voice cracking. She sighs and shrugs her shoulders.
"Stay here and I'll go into the house and get some of your things. You can stay with me for a few days." I don't even bother trying to argue. I nod, and she goes through the screen door behind me.
My attention focuses on the coroner slowly driving off. "What the fuck?" I jog to the police officer. "You're just taking my dad's body and you're not even going to tell me where the fuck you're taking him?"
"Sir, please calm down," the idiot tells me.
"No! What the fuck are you doing?" My temper slowly rises.
Another officer jogs up to us. "Sorry, sir," she starts. Again with the damn, "sirs." "I was just coming up to tell you. I have a report for you, and this is information for the coroner's office."
"Oh," I mumble dumbly looking at the paper she places in my hand.
"I'll take it from here," Kristin tells the officers from behind me. "Todd, here," she instructs as she places my bag in my arms. "Go wait in the car, and I'll be there in a minute."
I nod, and do as she tells me. Why? Because this is the way it's always been. She takes care of me. Buckling my seatbelt, it dawns on me that she apologized because I lost a parent, but Al was only a parent to her for a few years until she was old enough to take care of herself and then eventually take care of me. I lost a parent. She had already lost two parents years before today.
42
–– Amelia ––
I stumble downstairs Monday morning in my pajamas, deciding to eat before I get ready for work. The smell of bacon wafts through the house, and there's no easier way to get me out of bed than the smell of bacon. Mom is in the kitchen cooking, and Dad is reading a newspaper, drinking his steaming mug of coffee. Usually he's gone for work or rushing out the door this time of the morning.
"Morning, kiddo," my dad greets me. His eyes stay on me a second too long like he wants to tell me something. "Sit down, and mom will bring you something to eat. I'm going in to the office a little later today." I nod my head and a yawn sneaks out. "Christine! Amelia is awake!" He shouts at my mom in the kitchen cooking breakfast. My dad folds the newspaper in half and sets it down on the table. He eyes me again, and with his mouth slanting down on one side I can tell he's thinking about something.
"What is it, Dad? You've got that look on your face like something happened. Is it Josh? Did something happen with one of the neighbors? Oh my gosh, is Mr. Frank okay?" If something happened to my poor, old boss I would be crushed.
"No, no, they're all fine." He hesitantly picks up the folded newspaper again. My eyebrows furrow in curiosity and confusion. He turns it around and slides across the table until it's directly in front of me. My eyes widen.
"Obituaries? Dad, I–" I start before I gasp and cover my mouth with my fingers. I lift the paper and quickly read.
ALBERT QUINCY BARTLETT, AGED 60
Al Bartlett passed away Saturday morning from natural causes. He is survived by his children, Todd and Kristin, son-in-law Julian, and grandson, Daniel. There will be no open services. The family thanks the community for their condolences and asks that their privacy be respected.
My heart sinks. I know Todd and Al had their issues, but I still can't help but wonder how this is affecting Todd. "'No open services.' What does that mean exactly? Are they having services at all or is it just for the family?"
"It could mean either. He didn't have a great reputation, but I'm sure some of his old co-workers would have liked to make their peace with him and give the family condolences. For whatever reason, though, it seems the family doesn't want that. I know the kid hurt you, but I still thought you'd want to know. I know you still care. You have a heart the size of Jupiter," he lovingly informs me. It comes out sounding like "haht the size a Jupituh, and my eyes sting.
"Thanks, Dad. I'm glad you told me." I give him back his newspaper just as my mom swings through the door, and sets a plate of eggs, bacon, and potatoes on it.
"Your father told me what happened. I'm sorry for Todd and his sister's loss. It's always sad when someone dies, especially at that age. Thank the Lord your father is healthy. Although he needs to cut down on the bacon," she pointedly tells him. He rolls his eyes.
/> I quietly eat my breakfast while Mom and Dad argue about him needing to eat better so he's at lower risk of a heart attack. I don't have too much time to think about Todd and his relationship with his dad, because I look up at the clock and realize I'm running late.
After a few hours at work, I've dusted, vacuumed, hung a few new frames on the sales floor, and framed a large family portrait. I sit behind my desk, chomping on the caesar salad I retrieved from the mini fridge in the back. I've been fighting off my thoughts of Todd all morning. I can't decide if I should reach out to him. I want to be there for him if he needs a friend to talk to, but I have no idea if he will even want to hear from me. Mostly, I'm worried about his mental state. He had a complex love, as well as a complex hate, for Al. Love. Love. Love... He told me he was falling in love with me. I get the feeling that Todd doesn't love easily, nor does he hate easily. He does have heart despite his efforts to play into his bad boy persona. He definitely has heart. Shoot, I think he might have a “haht the size of Jupiter,” too.
I glance down at my phone on the counter, debating for the umpteenth time if I should text him. Or if I should call him. Or if I should just drive over to his house. I sigh, and then jump a foot in the air when my phone vibrates loudly on the desk. I put my hand over my heart and feel it racing. I grab my phone, and see a number I don't recognize.
UNKNOWN: Hi Amelia, I'm sure this is crossing privacy lines, and I don't even know if you and Todd are together, but he was mumbling your name last night, so I got the idea to reach out to you.
Mumbling my name in his sleep...my brows furrow deeply. Is this Becky or some other trollop trying to mess with me? Instead of firing off an angst-ridden message, I play it cool.
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