by Vicki Grant
“You’re going to make me look bad,” he said. “Skinny guys look bad when they let girls carry heavy stuff.” He grabbed the handle without touching my hand. I knew he did it on purpose.
It was just a pot of water. It was just a hand. I wished my chest would stop heaving.
“Okay,” I said. “But I think that’s probably sexist.”
“I think you’re probably right,” he said, taking it from me. “But that’s the way the world is. There are some things you just can’t change.”
That was one thing I really didn’t need to hear right now. I tried to make a joke. “Fine, but just because you carried stuff for me doesn’t mean I’m going to mend your socks and cook your meals.”
I was digging myself in deeper all the time.
“You’re breaking my heart,” he said.
I wasn’t even going to go there.
“Water!” Dolores called. “What’s taking you guys? We’re wasting fire power here.”
“Better run,” I said, and he went on ahead. I held back, but could only do that for so long.
When I got to the barbecue, Dolores said, “Murdoch, would you bugger off for a while? Betsy and I need to have a little girl talk.”
Murdoch went, “Sure.” I went pale.
I had no excuse for what I’d done, for what I felt, for what I wanted to do. I was going to throw up.
Dolores watched Murdoch walk down the beach, then she turned to me and said, “What?”
My bottom lip started to quiver. “What what?” I said. “What do you mean?”
Dolores started to laugh. “God. What’s the matter with you? I’m not your mother, you know. You look like you’re scared I’m going to give you the birds-and-the-bees talk or something.”
Was I reading too much into this or was she torturing me? I tried to smile. “Well, what do you want to talk about?”
“I just wanted to ask if you had a tampon.”
I took a little sobby breath and hoped it sounded like a laugh. I rooted around in my bag and said, “I’m about to start my period too.”
“Aw. How sweet. You know you’re true friends when you’re on the same cycle.”
True friends. I handed her the tampon.
“How do you think Murdoch feels about us?” Dolores said, and the tendons in my neck snapped like an elastic band.
“Having to deal with two premenstrual maniacs. Must be hell.”
She wiggled her bum down lower into the chair. She looked across the beach at him. He was drawing something in the sand with a stick.
I turned away. “You don’t seem very PMS-y to me,” I said.
“In other words, no crankier than usual?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“You, on the other hand …”
“What?”
“You’ve been acting kind of weird.” I found some ChapStick in my bag and fumbled with the cap. Just get it over with. “How?”
“How? Like going all Bride of Frankenstein on me just a second ago.”
“Oh, sorry. Hormones.”
“Make you do crazy things.” Dolores snickered. “That old excuse.”
I took one of the blankets and smoothed it over my knees. “Yeah,” I said. Yeah, I thought.
Dolores leaned back in her chair as if there actually was a sun beating down on her. “You’ve got to learn to de-stress. Seriously. Maybe you should take up yoga or knitting or something. I mean it,” she said, suddenly looking over at me all squinty-eyed. “We’re going to be really busy the next few weeks. That TV interview has done wonders for business. I’ve lined up three houses every day this week, so I really can’t have you going all schizo-jumpy on me.”
I waved my hand at her, like quit worrying. I told myself I was going to start running again. I was going to run every morning until I was too tired to be jumpy or to think or to feel or to want.
“Murdoch and I were talking about going to the Valley tomorrow,” Dolores said. “Tubing down the Gaspereau River. That’ll be good for you. Nothing like a terrorizing whitewater ride to help one relax.”
“No. That’s okay,” I said. “I’ve got other plans.”
Dolores bolted upright in her chair. “I beg your pardon. Other plans? You mean, that don’t include us?”
She took off her gigantic hat and sunglasses. She did a slow blink, then stared at me. After all the stuff that had just been going through my head it was weird realizing that I’d hurt her feelings.
I waved my hands like a ref signalling no basket. “No. It’s not like that. Well. Yes. It’s. I don’t know. I was just going to call Paige because …”
“Paige. The girl at the festival.”
“Yeah. I just figured, like, you and Murdoch might want some time alone. It doesn’t seem fair that you have to drag me with you everywhere you go.”
“What are you talking about?”
I finally got the cap off the ChapStick. I rubbed some on my bottom lip. “You guys are really nice to me and everything but, I mean, I know what it’s like having a boyfriend. You want …”
Dolores went, “Pah!”
Murdoch looked up from his drawing.
She lowered her voice. “You think Murdoch is my boyfriend?”
“Um. Well, crush, then.”
“You nuts? Murdoch’s not my boyfriend. He’s not my crush either. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love the guy. But seriously. There are two big problems with him. First, he’s not my type. This might sound cruel but every time I look at him, I think Nerd-och. Know what I mean? And I know you’re probably thinking that’s so perfect—Nerdoch and Geek Girl—but it doesn’t work like that. Opposites attract. I’m holding out for someone more along the lines of … what’s the name of that blond guy, you know the goalie on the hockey team?” “Nick’s hockey team?”
“Yeah.”
“Jack Connolly … You like Jack Connolly?”
“Yes! I’ve had a huge crush on him for ages. And by the way, it’s rude to keep your mouth open like that, Betsy. I thought you rich girls knew better than that.”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I’m just shocked. Jack is so …”
“Dreamy?”
“No. Well, yes, maybe, I guess. I was thinking so, like, conventional. You know, straight. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk about anything except sports.”
“My type of guy.” “You’re kidding.”
“No. I’m not. For me, someone like Jack would be a real walk on the wild side. And I think I’d be the same for him.”
I laughed, then I smiled at Dolores with something like love. “You sure would,” I said. “Once again, I realize how little I know you.”
Dolores narrowed her eyes and spoke in a thick accent of some type. “I am a voman of mystery. Another reason Yack vill go cray-zee for me.”
Murdoch was getting up, moving toward us. A wave washed up over his drawing.
“What’s the other problem with Murdoch?” I said.
Dolores put her hat on again and leaned back in her chair. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s in love with you.”
Chapter 36
I didn’t call Paige. I got up early the next morning and baked chocolate chip cookies. I made six ham-and-cheese sandwiches — one each for Dolores and me, four for Murdoch. I mixed a Thermos full of homemade lemonade and bought a couple of large bags of honey-dijon kettle chips too. I packed everything in Mom’s vintage picnic basket and threw in a gingham tablecloth and some napkins. I wasn’t sure if Dolores would think it was great or “too friggin’ tasteful” (that’s what she’d said about Amy’s house once). I decided I didn’t care. This is what I wanted to do. Dolores would at least appreciate that.
I showered and straightened my hair. I put on my blue-green bikini and a white shirt that made the most of the little bit of tan I had. I decided I was going to go shopping this week and get myself some new clothes.
I also decided to find out if Jack was still dating Hannah, and if not, whether I could wangle a way to introduce
him to Dolores. I did my best not to be skeptical. I hadn’t liked Dolores very much when I’d first met her either but now I loved her. I realized she was my best friend. Maybe my best friend ever.
It was pouring rain by the time the Rebel pulled up. Dolores said, “Here. You get in the front. I want to lie down,” and gave me a big, phony wink.
Murdoch suggested that maybe, given the weather, we should go to a movie, but both of us booed that down. Everyone would be at the movies today.
“We zig when lesser men zag.” Dolores was stretched out on the back seat and didn’t even bother opening her eyes. “We go to the Valley.”
We talked for a while about a cartoon Murdoch had drawn in the sand the day before. He’d totally captured the horrified looks on our faces when we’d picked up the lobsters to put them in the pot, but I insisted I wasn’t as skinny as he made me out to be and Dolores claimed she wasn’t as short. We threatened to start drawing cartoons about him.
“Fine. Give ‘er,” he said, and we all laughed because it was such an un-Murdoch-like thing to say.
Or maybe that’s why Dolores laughed. I laughed because I was happy. I would have laughed at anything right then. The day before, I’d thought I was caught in this inescapable trap, and now, everything was fine. Everything was better than fine. I’d wanted it all, and I’d got it.
The rain was pounding down. The Rebel didn’t have air conditioning and we had to roll up the windows. It felt muggy inside but very, very safe.
Some song came on the radio that we all hated and Murdoch changed the station to one I’d never heard of.
Dolores said, “CKDU. I love CKDU,” but that was the last peep that came out of her for a while.
I was aware of the music, of Dolores snoring, and of the sloppy sound the wipers made trying to keep up with the rain, but the car still seemed unbearably silent.
Say something, I kept thinking. Just say something.
Sometime later I managed to mumble, “You okay driving?”
“Oh yeah, I don’t mind this,” he said.
“Good.” I was going to have to do better than that.
I hadn’t had to do anything with Nick, other than to make myself available. I’d looked at him the right way a few times and I’d always made sure I was where he was going to be, but other than that, I’d left it up to him. Nick and I had been playing by the same rule book.
I didn’t know the rules here. That was the problem. I’d have liked to tease Murdoch about something—but would that turn me into a buddy? I didn’t want to be his Gregor. Dolores had said he was in love with me, but what did she know? That could just be Dolores being Dolores.
I could see his hands on the wheel without really looking at him. His fingers were long and straight and his nails were square. I was half afraid that my hand was suddenly going to fly out and touch his.
“How did you learn to draw so well?” I said, and it seemed like the perfect question. It was something I really wanted to know and it was sort of personal, but not in a weird way.
“It’s the upside of unpopularity.” He laughed. “When you’re thirteen years old, six-foot-five and a hundred and twenty pounds, you got a lot of time to kill. You learn to amuse yourself.”
I felt sad for him for a second—then I remembered the portrait of Dolores he’d done one night at the Esquire Diner out of french fries, ketchup and the gravy left over from his hot hamburger sandwich. What was there to feel sorry about?
“I wish I could draw,” I said.
“You could. Anyone can. I could teach you if you want.”
The thought was excruciating in both a good and a bad way. “Oh,” I said.
“Oh?” He took his eyes off the road and smiled at me. Now I was the shy one.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he said.
The answer was because you’re adorable but I didn’t say that. I looked at the dashboard and kind of laughed. “I guess I just don’t think I could do it.”
“Sure you could. If you can see, you can draw.”
“What do you mean?”
He thought for a long time. “Well, okay. People see a ball and they know, like, intellectually, that it’s round so they draw a circle—but then it doesn’t look right. That’s because they’re listening to what their brain’s telling them and not their eyes. If they shut off their brain and just looked, they’d know they’re not actually seeing a circle. It’s an ellipse—you know, sort of oval, flattened out. They’d also see that there’s a shadow here and a light spot there and all those things make a difference. Be honest about what you’re seeing and you can draw.” He raised his eyebrows. “You could do that. You seem honest to me.”
My cheeks went hot. I turned and looked out the window.
“That sign was for Gaspereau,” I said. “You know where we’re going?”
“Not really, do you?”
“I do.” Dolores sat up. I wondered how long she’d been listening. “Yeah, this is it. Exit 6.”
We wended our way along these twisty old roads. By the time we got to the river, the rain had stopped but everything was so soaked that we stayed in the car to eat our picnic. Dolores spread the gingham tablecloth on the back seat and laid everything out. She excused herself for a moment and came back with a couple of wild roses for a centrepiece. If she found this all too HGTV, she wasn’t saying.
I leaned my back against the car door and picked at my sandwich. Cheese isn’t really orange, I thought. Murdoch poured some lemonade and I realized his thumb—now that I was really looking—was just a little cube on the side of the cup. That made me smile. He smiled back.
“Hey, what’s going on up there?” Dolores said.
“Nothing.” We both blushed.
“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes and tucked into the chocolate chip cookies.
“Mmm. Al dente,” she said with her mouth half full. “Just the way I like them.”
Dolores and Murdoch stuffed themselves while I watched. She teased him about something. He stuck his arm out behind him and put his big hand right over her little face. She laughed and tried to keep on talking but he held her jaw shut. He only let go when she licked his hand. I read that scene entirely differently than I would have two days earlier.
Dolores wiped the spit off her face with her sleeve, then said, “Shall we go?”
“Go?” I said. “I thought we were tubing.”
“I dunno,” she said. “It’s kind of cold and wet.”
“You okay?” Murdoch said.
“Other than just having been brutalized by a giant squid, you mean? Yeah. I’m fine. I just don’t feel like doing anything active at the moment. I also remembered I have some errands to do. So, home, James!”
Murdoch turned on the car and looked at me. “This all right with you?” We both laughed. We knew it didn’t make any difference whether it was or not.
When we got back to the city, we volunteered to go shopping too, but Dolores insisted we leave her at the mall. Murdoch seemed surprised but I understood. I just prayed she wouldn’t wink at me again.
“Betsy. I’ll meet you tomorrow at 1612 Jubilee Road. The lady’s name is Mosher, I think. No, Moser. Whatever. Nine-thirty?”
I nodded. Dolores slapped the hood of the Rebel and darted into the mall.
Murdoch turned to me and said, “Where to now?”
I swallowed.
“I can take you home, if you just want to go home.”
“No,” I blurted out, but I didn’t have anything else to say after that. The pause was agony. “Want to go for a walk maybe?”
“Sure. Yeah. Okay. Where?”
“Um.” I sort of grimaced. “We could just leave the car here and walk down to the Arm?”
I knew Dolores would have come up with something better than that. A secret trail. A breathtaking view. A vintage ‘50s bowling alley. She wouldn’t just get out of the car and take a walk through the parking lot.
I said, “The sun’s going down. It might b
e pretty.”
“You don’t have to justify it.” He had this little smile on his face, more in his eyes than his mouth. “I was thinking the same thing.”
We locked the car and walked across the endless stretch of asphalt. We had to step around puddles and discarded plastic bags and mall food that hadn’t quite been washed away by the rain. Twice Murdoch put his arm out to keep me from walking into moving cars.
“Isn’t this lovely?” I said.
“Ah, yes. The modern urban landscape.” He rubbed his hand up and down behind his ear and smirked.
There was a school playground beside the mall. The field was at least a tad more picturesque than the parking lot, although my feet were soaked by the time we cut across it to the tall fence at the end. Murdoch went over first, then reached up to help me. I didn’t really need the help but I took it. I hopped down and he held on to my hand just a little longer than he had to. I knew Nick would have used this as an opportunity to kiss me—or, realistically, whatever girl he happened to be with at the time.
“You’re athletic,” he said. “I guess.”
“You know what? You’re one of the only people I’ve ever met who didn’t ask if I played basketball.” “Do you?” He laughed. “No.”
“Too bad. You got the height.” My heart thumped like something heavy crashing on to a garage floor. I took his hand and turned it over. “You got the hands.” I laid my palm flat against his. His fingers were a knuckle longer than mine.
“But not the ability or the interest.”
“Then why should you?” I said.
I wanted to bend my fingers between his but there was this big, deep, scary pit between wanting and doing.
“You can draw with them,” I said, and took my hand away. “That’s a better thing to do.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know about that.”
We were awkward again. “Wow. Look at the sky,” I said. I was so grateful the sunset was there to distract us.
He said, “I know a place where we could get a really good view.”
“Better than over the Walmart?”
“Even better.”
We cut through a subdivision and crossed Chebucto Road and I suddenly knew where he was taking me. Larry O’Connell Field. The irony was not lost on me.