Skipping Stones

by J. B. McGee

  “Ha. I’m sure your grandpa has one ready for me.”

  “He just worries.” I climb off of his lap and lie down on the overgrown weeds. “This neighborhood isn’t what it used to be.”

  “Yeah. Your grandparents have the nicest place around here.”

  “How’d you know which one was theirs?” I ask as I furrow my brows.

  “Not hard to figure that out.” He shrugs. “The flowers on the door. The cars constantly coming and going.”

  Of course. I’d not even thought about all of the town gossip that is probably making its rounds about the accident. I stare at the water, willing myself to not go there, to avoid that subject. “They’ve been here my entire life. They bought this house when they married. Added on to it a little bit as their family grew.” I start to pick at the ground, breaking the pieces of green into smaller ones. “They had a little girl, but she died after only a few days. They said she had Spina Bifida.” With each pluck, it occurs to me that is how my heart has felt the last several days. It’s like pieces have been broken off of it that will never be able to be put back. I’m irreversably changed. It’s surprisingly relaxing to be here, doing this. Being with him is turning out to be the best form of therapy ever. So as much as I hate to say the words I’m about to, I know it’s necessary. I mutter, “I should probably be gettin’ back. I know we have a lot to do today.”

  “Like what?” he asks.

  If I thought I knew what guilt had felt like before, I didn’t. This is guilt. How could I have been skipping rocks and making out with a boy when my mother just died? What’s worse is it felt so good. It felt so good to forget. Should I even be experiencing anything good right now? I don’t deserve to feel happiness. I don’t deserve to feel anything other than this anguish. My chin starts to quiver. I was just able to talk about them. No, him. I was able to talk about my dad, but not really my mom. How do I do this? I gulp. “Funeral things.”

  “Oh. I shouldn’t have asked.” He lies back and rolls onto his side. He picks another flower, and he brushes it up against my cheek. “Um.”

  I glance over to him. “Um what?”

  “Well...I don’t want to invite myself. I mean...I’ve never done anything like this.” He bites his lip. “Do you want to see if I can come with you?”

  “Oh.” I doubt the grandparents will go for that, but it would make me feel so much better.

  “I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry. I just thought if I am able to make you feel better, that I’d try to be there for you in every way I can.”

  I put my finger up to his lips and silence his rambles. I lean in and replace it with my lips. “You’re so sweet to me, and you barely know me.”

  “Yeah. It’s strange.” He taps my nose with that same flimsy flower. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

  I turn my head, and he drops the flower and cups my face. I lean into his touch. It’s warm, electrifying, comforting. “I’ll ask,” I whisper.

  “Okay, me, too.” He pulls me in and kisses me again. “If they say no, I’ll just hang out here until dark.”

  “I don’t know how long it’ll take, though.”

  “I’ll find you, Alex. I think you’ve got enough to worry about. I’ll find you.”

  What is it about the way he spoke that sentence, the look in his eyes, that sends shivers through my entire body? He means it. He’s genuine, caring, and compassionate. It’s like God knew I needed him. I am convinced he’s here to get me through this. He’s a reason for living.

  Slowly I blink, realizing I need to get up, but leaving him is proving to be more and more difficult. I stand, brushing off the remnants of grass and dirt. “You could just walk back with me. I’d love for you to meet my Memaw.”

  I am about to offer my hand to help him up, but he shakes his head, and he bounces up in an instant. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be imposing. I know Papa seemed...stern, but they literally have never met a stranger.”

  It’s the first time I’ve really felt awkward around him. I wait for him to reply, “Okay.”

  He holds his hand out to me. I place mine in his, and he leads the way out of the field and back onto the short road that leads to my grandparents’ yard. We don’t say anything during the walk back. I take a deep breath, but I’m panting. It’s not like it’s that far of a walk.

  “Are you all right?” He asks concerned.

  It’s the bricks. I shake my head. Everything gets blurry from the tears that begin freely flowing from my eyes. “No.” I thought that being with him made them go away, but I think it’s a combination of him and the place. The creek is my solace. It’s my peace.

  He squeezes my hand. “Deep breaths, Alex. You can do this.”

  The memories flood back into my mind. The visions of the police car, Papa dropping to his knees, my grandmother’s wail, and it’s all too much. I feel my breathing becoming more and more labored. I think I’m going to pass out.

  “Alex!” I’m not sure where I am, or what’s going on. “Alex, wake up!”

  I open my eyes, which are met with his...with Drew’s. “What happened?”

  “Alex, thank God.”

  “Put me down.”

  “No way.” He shakes his head as he slows his pace. “No. I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

  “I’m fine,” I mumble, completely humiliated.

  “Clearly, you’re not.”

  I completely relax in his arms, completely exhausted. He’s right. I’m not. Who would be?

  When we come to the top of the hill, I hear Papa, and the sound of the wooden rocker moving back and forth against the tiled bricks on the front porch. That’s where Papa sits when he needs to think. “Oh my. Is she okay?” I hear him ask.

  “Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I think she passed out, but she’s awake now,” Drew speaks fairly calmly. I’m embarrassed he’s still carrying me. Part of me wants him to just put me down, and the other part of me wants to go crawl into my bed and never get back out of it again.

  “Why do you suppose she went and did that for?” Papa quizzes him.

  “I’m not sure. She was fine at the creek. As we started walking back, I noticed she was having a hard time breathing.” Poor Drew. He seems so concerned. I am numb, or something. Because I feel like I’m watching all of this from afar. Aloof? I don’t know. I just almost don’t even care. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t think I can handle this.

  “Well son, I’m glad you were with her.”

  I can barely keep my eyes open. I’m so tired. I just want sleep, but I don’t want Papa to worry. “Papa. I’m okay,” I manage.

  Papa ignores me. “Drew, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why don’t you bring her on in and put her to bed, if you don’t mind.” I’ve never heard Papa talk like this before, and I’m not sure if he’s angry or just worried. I’m not sure that any of us really know each other at this point. We’ve been hit with more tragedy than most in a lifetime. I’m not sure we even know ourselves. I know I don’t know who I am. I don’t have the slightest clue.

  Drew shakes his head, and I feel his grip get tighter around my body. “No, sir. I don’t mind. Anything to help.”

  “Papa, I’m okay.” I reassure him because I can see and hear the concern. “Drew put me down,” I insist.

  He squeezes tighter. “Nope.”

  I look to Papa. He’s leading the way, and he doesn’t turn back as he speaks to me, “Alex, baby. I’m gonna call Dr. White to come see after you. You need some rest.”

  “Okay.” I know he’s not to be argued with.

  Drew places me in my bed. Papa tells him, “Come on outta here. Let’s let her rest.”

  I glance over to Drew, our eyes meet as he is leaving the room. I don’t want him to go. I put my hand out, but he doesn’t take it. “Don’t go.”

  He hesitates. “Remember...I’ll find you.” He smiles, and I nod. He continues. “Take a nap. I’ll b
e around. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I look to Papa to try to read his expression. It’s softened from the last time he saw Drew. I’m not sure if it’s worry for me, or what. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Anything for you, Alex.”

  I’ve never really cared what anyone thought about me in the past. I’ve always kept myself closed off to feeling anything, but Alex has changed all of that. Now I’m stuck in a situation with her grandfather that I’m not sure how to get out of. I knew I should have never volunteered to stay with her today, but being with her is so much easier.

  When I’m away from her, she’s all I can think about. If I’m going to be completely whipped, I might as well be whipped with her, rather than away from her. It kills me to see how badly she’s hurting, and there’s not a darn thing I can do about it.

  I know what it’s like to lose a parent, but not two. Not like this. I have no idea what to say to her grandparents. I didn’t expect to be with them alone, without her. I walk down the hall looking at the wallpaper, and practice a couple of different lines. Mr. and Mrs. Hart, I’m so sorry for your loss. That sounds generic and insincere. There are no words that are adequate for your loss. Please know you’re in my thoughts and prayers. If there are no words that are adequate, why even bother to speak in the first place?

  My thoughts are interrupted as we enter the living room. It’s old, out-dated, but still nice. You can tell they take care of what they have. There are tin foil covered dishes on the stove. There’s a bunch of two liter drinks on the freezer beside one of the couches. Flowers and plants are everywhere. The mantle by the fireplace, the coffee table, the television, and the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room.

  “Elizabeth, call Dr. White. Something’s going on with Alex. We need him to come see about her.”

  “Is she okay?” She asks.

  It’s as though I’m not even here. It’s like I’m completely invisible. I’m not sure if I should say anything, or not.

  He nudges me. “This fine fella here was with her when she passed out in the street. He carried her home. Literally.”

  I extend my hand out to her. “Hi, I’m Drew. Drew Foster.” I think for a moment if I should continue, and I decide that I have to. “I’ve thought of a lot of things to say to you. I don’t think there are any words that are adequate to express my deepest sympathies. Your family, Alex, have been in my prayers constantly.”

  She places her rough, calloused hand in mine. I imagine she’s spent many years in those textile mills by the feel of her hand. “Thank you, Drew. That is so nice of you. Can I get you something to eat?”

  “No thank you. I’m good.” I am good. This is awkward enough. The last thing I need to do is eat, and stir the uneasy feelings in my gut.

  “You sure, sug?” She motions to the spread on the stove and counter. “We’ve only got enough to feed a small army. You have to be hungry. It’s gettin’ close to lunch.”

  I forgot how these people in the south are. They insist on feeding you. No matter how much you plead you’re not even hungry. “Well, I suppose I could eat a little something.” This will make her quit nagging me. It seems there’s something comforting to people here to be able to offer you food. If it means so much to her, then I’ll eat. I don’t want her to worry about me. Just like I don’t want Alex to worry about me, or us.

  “Here’s a plate. You just help yourself to whatever you want.” She points to the freezer. I’d not even noticed all the cakes on top of it when we came in. “There’s just about every kind of homemade cake you can think of over there, if you have room for dessert. My favorite is Miss Shirley’s chocolate cake.”

  Taking the plate from her I admit, “I love chocolate. I’ll have to make sure to save some room.”

  She smiles. “Yes, you do that.” Now there’s awkward silence as I pile on scoops of homemade vegetables, cornbread, and fried chicken. I wish my mom could cook like this. I don’t think I had any idea until I started fixing my plate how hungry I am. And thirsty. It’s like Mrs. Hart read my mind. “There’s a gallon of sweet tea by the refrigerator. I didn’t make that. The tea in the blue pitcher is mine. You’ll want that one.”

  I furrow my brows as I contemplate why I would want her tea more than someone else’s. I take one of the red Solo cups, scoop some ice from the cooler on the floor, and pour her tea. As soon as I put the pitcher down, I take my first sip. She puts new meaning to sweet tea. She must put two cups of sugar in that stuff. It’s so sweet it’s almost like syrup. The smooth liquid slides down the back of my throat, and just makes me even more thirsty. “Mmm, that’s good sweet tea.” What I don’t say is it’s also good enough to put any one human being in a diabetic coma. Is she trying to kill us all?

  I swallow. Kill us all. Not funny, Drew. Not funny.

  They go into an adjoining room and begin to talk about all the things they need to do. He’s insistent that Alex needs to rest. She’s equally as pushy that they need to shop for clothing, run errands, make arrangements so they can start to put this all behind her. I’m not trying to listen, but they aren’t exactly whispering. The feeling of eavesdropping isn’t one that sits well with me. Since they’ve made it no secret, I can’t help myself. The delicious food I am trying to swallow seems to get stuck in my dry throat. I quickly drag a sip of that too sweet tea to help it down, clear my throat, and speak my mind. “Um, Mr. and Mrs. Hart?” The talking stops, and they come back into the room. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “It’s okay, sug. What can I get for you?” She offers.

  “Oh, I’m good. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop or anything like that...but I heard you talking.” They both look at me expectantly so I continue. “I agree that Alex needs to rest. I’m happy to stay and look after her while you do what you need to do.” I’m not sure how they’ll take that. My mom has always told me to never put myself in a position to be alone with a girl. Only trouble comes from that. Her words go in one ear and out the other. “I promise I’ll take good care of her...let her sleep...try to feed her.” I figure that should make them happy.

  Mrs. Hart’s face lights up as much as one’s face can shine given what she’s been through. She looks to Mr. Hart. “I think that’s a fine idea.”

  He gives me a stern look, and then turns to her and gives her a less stern look, but it’s still not a welcome one. He grumbles, “Okay.” He glances up to me. “I don’t know you, but you have a way with her right now that no one else does.”

  I nod.

  “If you can get her to eat and sleep, then we might just have to invite you over more,” she laughs.

  I smile because I’m pretty sure I know exactly how to get her to do both of those things.

  “Thank you for trusting me with her,” I say. “I know I haven’t known her for long, but I can tell she’s special.”

  He smiles. “That she is.”

  The doctor came by before they left. He assured everyone that Alex is fine. The episode of fainting was probably due to the heat and exhaustion coupled with a panic attack and the fact she refuses to eat lately. While her grandparents were still here, I didn’t feel like I could be near or around her. They left a few minutes ago, and the first thing I did was go to her room and pull up a chair.

  I’ve been watching her chest move up and down while she sleeps. She’s easy to watch. Taking care of her is effortless for me. Talking to her is natural. My heart hurts when I allow my thoughts to roam to what has just happened to her. I wish I could make it better. When she asked me earlier not to leave her, I knew in that moment that the way I could make it better was to stay as close to her as possible. To just be with her.

  She moves around and I freeze, even holding my breath. I don’t want to be the reason she wakes up. I’m too late. She turns her head towards me, “Hey. You’re here,” she whispers.

  Didn’t I say I’d stay? Maybe I should remind her, “I said I would be.”

  “And you’re still alive, which means Papa d
idn’t get a shotgun to ya.” She winks.

  I chuckle. “Well thank goodness for that. I made a promise to them, so you need to help me make good on that so he doesn’t shoot me when he comes home.”

  She furrows her brows, “They’re gone?”

  “They had to run some errands,” I reply as I nod my head. “The first thing I promised was to let you rest.”

  She smiles. “But I’ve been resting.”

  I roll my eyes. “Not nearly long enough, but the other thing was that I’d get you to eat.”

  Her smile is beautiful, breathtakingly so. Her frown, not so much. She mumbles so quietly I can barely make out the, “Not hungry.”

  “You have to eat,” I plead with her. If I’ve not learned anything in the past couple of days, it’s that she is stubborn as a mule. “Just a little something.”

  “Drew –”

  I throw my finger up to intercept her rebuttal. “Drew nothing. You want to skip stones with me?”

  She nods.

  “You want to spend time with me?” I ask to further bring home my point.

  “I do,” she admits.

  Now I’ll confess that there is plenty of reward in that statement for me. She’s the first thing that came to my mind this morning, and she was the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes last night. “Then you have to eat a piece of that delicious Red Velvet cake in there with me.”

  “Ha. Or else?”

  “Or else I’ll have to find something else to do other than spend my days at the creek.”

  “That’s not fair.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Not fair.”

  This is breaking my heart, but I refuse to watch her waste away. “I promised them. Don’t make me break a promise.”

  I watch as her eyes close again. She sighs like I’ve placed a huge burden on her. “I’ll try,” she mutters.