I didn’t think it was humanly possible to feel more wretched, but it was.
“Hey Lenny, it’s Dom.” I put my self-loathing on hold for a moment. “Doing good, thanks. How about yourself?” he asked politely, though keeping up the idle small talk was noticeably difficult for him. “Yeah, it’s been a while—hey, I know you’re closed today . . . but I’m, uh . . .” He spun around, looked at his car, and shut his eyes. “Well, I’m in a bit of a bind. I need to be somewhere in twenty minutes and I just got into an accident.”
The phrasing “got into an accident” rather than “someone hit me,” was somewhat of a surprise. Over the course of my seventeen years, I’d been in a panoply of accidents, both on a large and small scale, and found that people were generally in a hurry to diffuse the blame—most especially when there was a fair amount of ignominy to be earned. And here it would have been more than appropriate to cast all blame on me, yet he made no mention of having been the victim.
“No-no, I’m fine, Lenny,” he explained quickly. “I just need to get my car to your shop—but the tow truck can’t come for a couple hours. Do you think you could help me out?” He listened for a moment nodding, then whirling around he walked forward squinting at the wound defacing the pretty automobile. “No, it’s fairly minor . . .” he added in what I thought was putting it mildly. He squatted down low. “The damage is just on one side, but she’s definitely not in good shape.” At the mention of she, it occurred to me that just like Hattie belonged to me like a filial family member, more than just a means of getting from place to place, his Mustang was not just a car. “So you’re not coming into the shop at all today?” he asked, disappointment and grief spilling into his tone. Would the guilt ever stop compounding, I wondered wretchedly.
From his stooped position next to the car, he suddenly jumped up, startling me so that I jumped myself. “No, really!? Oh, you’re a life saver, Lenny, I can’t thank you enough. I owe you big time.”
When he turned around, he smiled euphorically; a look that changed his face so drastically it made him nearly unrecognizable. I had to control my face. I wanted to return that smile, making my heart thud. But as my lips fought to curl upward, I bit down on them hard, reminding myself the smile was not for me.
“No, that’s perfect.” I continued to ogle him, unable to look away from the bright eyes filled with gratitude, and full mouth curved in happiness. “I’ll park it in the lot and leave the keys on top of the left back tire.” He turned his back to me and lifted his head. “Um, hold on—let me check.” He looked left, checking for oncoming traffic, and then jogged out into the street. “Okay, you ready? The cross streets are Lansing and—yeah, L-a-n-s-i-n-g. And the other is Merle. M-e-r-l-e.” Still smiling, he jogged back over to me—to his car—and laid a hand on the roof. “Thanks again, Lenny. I mean it; I owe you big time. The next gig is on me. Yep.” Strands of dark hair fell into his eyes when he lowered his head. He chuckled, banging the roof gently with his fist. “Well, that all depends on how well you fix up my car. If you can make it look like this never happened, I’ll play any damn instrument you want, and dress up in a matador costume.” Laughing again, a cynical sound that wasn’t lacking in sincerity or mirth, he replied dryly, “You’re sick, man. No, no, I gotta go. Just do me a favor and call me whenever it’s done,” he instructed, a smirk still fastened to his lips. “Cool. Sounds good. Nah, I’ll find another way to get to school. Yep. K, see ya.”
I was still mesmerized by the fading smile that I almost missed the last thing he said. My heart pounced like an exuberant lion cub.
Get to school? Did that mean . . .
Immediately the news of him returning struck me as a good thing; though, I couldn’t understand why I felt that way. Reminding myself of our first and last interaction on Shorecliffs’ campus, I sought to slow the impetuous heart confusing me, replacing impulsivity for logic. There was no reason to believe this wouldn’t mean excessive glares and open hostility. What could possibly have happened in the last eleven days to cause such a drastic change of heart? The answer was nothing. Nothing had changed. Furthermore, he left school because of me. I didn’t need to hear him say it aloud to know that. Don’t be mistaken, I warned myself, watching the last traces of a smile disappear from his mouth. It wasn’t a cruel voice that spoke to me, but one of stoic factuality and reason. He doesn’t like you; he doesn’t even want to be around you. You damaging his car and interrupting his day will not have changed that. With that, I was able to suppress and squelch the irrational excitement I’d felt a moment ago. I took a deep breath, for no other reason but because I suddenly needed one.
Sobered, he looked at me for the first time in a while. “So I have a friend who owns a vintage repair shop,” he said formally, losing the casual tone of voice and picking up the stiff, slow cadence I remembered. “He also owns a tow truck and is going to stop by and pick up my car in the next hour.” He stared over my head, clearing his throat. “How’s Grandma over there? Can she drive or should we call AARP?”
A fugitive blush ignited on my cheeks. I turned, pretending as if I aimed to collect the information needed to answer him, just before the red heat peaked. I observed that Hattie didn’t have a single scratch on her—not from this particular accident, anyway. I turned back around once my cheeks had cooled.
“My car . . . she’s not a grandma. She’s just . . .” I paused for a moment, trying to find the right word. “An antique,” I finished with aplomb.
Dominic laughed, deep and honest, which completely threw me off. I stared, stunned and blinking owlishly at him.
“Oh . . .” He swiped a hand over his mouth and chin as if to smother the laugh. “You weren’t kidding, were you? Sorry, but no. That”—he jerked his chin scornfully toward Hattie—“is not an antique. My car is an antique. Yours is just . . . old.”
I gathered what little dignity remained intact. “Well, since everything seems to be taken care of—I’ll pay for everything,” I reminded him, “I think I’ll go now. Goodbye.” I began walking away, then remembered the pad in my hands, and hastily ripped off the top sheet where my information was written down and pressing it into his hands. “Sorry,” I said firmly—for the third time.
“Foster?”
I swayed forward as I came to a dead stop at the sound of my name. It echoed softly in my ears; the deep voice subdued, calm, and holding just a hint of plea. With my heart thudding in my ears, I slowly pivoted, trembling. “Yes?”
His was an expression impassive and unreadable; though I thought, perhaps fleetingly, I saw his mouth twitch.
He asked. “Do you think you could give me a ride? I have somewhere I need to be in about ten minutes. I wouldn’t ask, but it’s kind of important that I be on time. And I figured”—he chuckled once, a clearly wry smile on his lips—“since it appears we’re going in the same direction, maybe you could take me as far you’re going and then I can walk the rest of the way.”
I caught the teasing note in his voice, and smiled despite the implication. Standing a few yards apart, I was supremely taken aback by the request; equally disconcerting was the realization this was the first time he had spoken to me without anger or mockery. The way he watched me now—nearly friendly—I could almost pretend he didn’t hate me.
Confusing my bewilderment for apprehension, Dominic began to backpedal, “But if it’s too much trouble I—”
“No!” I interrupted, a shade overzealous. “I mean—it’s no trouble at all.” In fact, it was the least I could do after robbing him of his transportation. “I can take you on my way to”—suddenly remembering I had somewhere to be in roughly ten minutes, my hand flung to my head, digging into my scalp—“Oh, Shoot!” I used my other hand to pull out my cell phone, seeing it was exactly 11:21. I was scheduled to be at The House of Hope by eleven thirty.
“Is everything okay?” He stepped forward absently, furrows between his eyebrows.
“No, I—I just have somewhere I need to be too,” I answered vaguely,
very nearly telling him exactly where I was going. It likely wouldn’t mean anything to him, but still, I didn’t think he needed to know, or cared to know there were twelve very excited five-year-olds waiting on me. But showing up late was unacceptable, and I needed to hurry if I hoped to not worry them over my tardiness. Leaving Dominic stranded, even for an hour, was not an option either. I told myself it was my responsibility to ensure he arrived where he needed to be on time. A sudden tremor took me at the thought of sitting beside him in the car.
Without the narrative to coincide with the dozen emotions on my face, I could see he was about to rescind the request. I made myself focus, finding a solution to the time constraint issue. “Can I make a call quickly?” I asked, already dialing. “Just to let someone know I’ll be running a few minutes late?”
“Are you sure it’s all right?”
Nodding, I held the phone up to my ear. As it rang, I tried to calculate how long it would take me to drop him off and get to The House of Hope, when I realized I had no idea where he was going. After the first ring, I quickly whispered, “Where is it that you need to go?”
“Oh, it’s called, um”—his face puckered as he struggled to remember—“I forgot the name, but I know how to get there. It’s not very far from here. Oh, wait”—he dug into his front pocket, pulling out a blue piece of paper that had been folded many times—“it’s called the . . .” His bright eyes flitted erratically over the paper, then flicked up as a familiar voice picked up on the other line. In stereo, I listened as two very different voices said the exact same thing. “The House of Hope.”
“Haylo?” The thick Columbian accent bellowed mellifluously into the receiver. It belonged to none other than Geraldine, The House of Hope’s vivacious receptionist. “Haylo? Ouze de Ope? Anyone there?”
The noise I made in trying to answer her was one part wheeze and one part squeal. Neither was sufficient in producing anything other than garbled gibberish. I cleared my throat as Dominic watched my face warily, one eyebrow lifting in question. Clearly he hadn’t overheard the greeting from Geraldine, or if he had, wasn’t able to understand it. An attempt to put my face back in check was done so with effort.
“Geraldine? Hi . . . I just wanted to let you know that I’ll—” I hesitated for a moment, blinking rapidly as if to force the shock out of my eyes, onto my eyelashes, and soaring off the ends like a skier down the jump. It helped slightly and I was able to gather one sliver of logic. Now that Dominic and I were not only going in the same direction, but to the same place, I really had no need to be calling. We would easily make it there on time. “I just . . . wanted to . . . confirm . . . that I will be there by eleven-thirty,” I babbled, the words syncopated and stiff.
The line was silent; I thought maybe the call had been dropped. Just about to pull the phone away to see if this was true, Geraldine’s pleasantly oblivious voice inquired, “Who is dees?”
“Oh, sorry,” I murmured, growing warm in the cheeks, “it’s me, Foster.”
“Oh, Fohster!” she cooed in elation. “How ju doing, baby?”
“Hi, I’m—I’m fine,” I answered, turning aside to hide my florid face and meandered away. “How are you?”
“Oh, ju know me,” Geraldine sang in a cheerfully demure alto. “I always good. How can you no, when the sun is shining and the birds are singing, ju know?”
“I know,” I mumbled, smiling despite the breathlessness and shock rattling behind my eyelids. “Okay, I should probably go now. But I’ll stop and see you before I leave.”
“Okay, baby. We see you. Bye-bye.”
Holding the phone to my ear a moment longer than necessary, I slowly lowered it to my chest, staring at the blank screen for another superfluous moment, then pressed my thumb to the end button and carefully slid it into my jeans—this was all for the sole purpose of wasting as much time as possible.
Dominic’s tone of voice indicated he had waited long enough for an explanation. I jumped when he spoke from directly behind me. “What was that all about?”
I turned slowly to find his eyes narrowed with curiosity, scanning my reaction with a focused concentration that flushed me with heat. I understood my reticence made me appear arguably daft, but spluttering—which was all I was capable of at the moment—wouldn’t be much better. My mind was spinning like a globe; the big, colorful countries that were my thoughts, blurred together to make an incoherent stream of nonsensical facts.
I took a deep breath, and with it a step backward. “I, um—well, it looks like we’re headed the same way,” I said enthusiastically, a tremor in my voice. “The exact same way,” I echoed when his face didn’t register. He didn’t mask his surprise very well—or the clean displeasure incurred by this news. He quickly composed his face, a courteous smile reaching nowhere near his eyes, building on the dark pink lips. Mr. Balfy’s bewildered summation of Dominic came flooding back to me. “So humble and respectful . . . everything was, ‘Yes, Sir, No, Sir, Thank you very much, Sir.”
“Just my lucky day, I guess,” Dominic said flatly. “Would it be all right if I put a few things in your car?”
“Of course,” I replied eagerly, nervous laughter bubbling up from out of nowhere. “I’ll go make room.” We split in opposite directions, and I heard the creaking of a trunk as I walked head down into the mist. It was a lie. I knew full well there was plenty of space in my car; it was the time alone I desperately needed—time to think in straight, neat sentences without the heavy burden of his eyes to cloud up my judgment. Only, it wasn’t as easy as I hoped.
My body trembled, burgeoning with the sensation of pins and needles. The thought of being alone with him in my car was perturbing enough, but the whole day? Would he be volunteering with me? What would we talk about on the ride over? Was this even happening? I still wasn’t a hundred percent positive I wouldn’t wake up any moment, to realize this was all a fabrication of my very imaginative mind. Something distant and foreign pricked determinedly at my bones—like a chisel on hard stone. It was gone before I knew what to make of it.
I braced my knee on the seat and leaned across the car to grab my raincoat. Then I adjusted the mirror to better see how I might ameliorate my frizzy situation. Quickly, I worked to smooth the frazzled tendrils springing from my scalp like broken Slinkys. It was a futile effort; the rain was ruthless and my hair a weak contender.
“Hey, do you think—”
I jumped at the sound of his voice, thumping the back of my head on the doorframe. “Oof!” I cried out, my vision fading around the edges for a flash of a second. I heard a whistle sucked through teeth, and then felt the barest of touches come upon the crown of my head.
I froze.
Then, like a passing wind, it was gone.
Existent or not, my heart pounded like a herd of wild antelope. It wasn’t possible he had just touched me, was it?
“Sorry, I should have . . .” Dominic struggled to finish his sentence. “I should have walked louder, or something. I thought you saw me coming,” he added somewhat defensively. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” I replied. “It was just a little bump.”
“No it wasn’t,” he countered from behind me. “I saw it happen.”
My head begged to be soothed, throbbing so hard my sight shook with each rapid beat of my pulse. “I’m fine,” I repeated and remained face-forward, burrowing my hands into the center consul. “Did you need something?”
A wet scraping sound followed my inquiry. “Are you able to help me move my car?” I heard the note of doubt in his tone, and answered with quasi-confidence.
“Yes. I just need one second, please.”
“Sure.”
Hearing his footsteps retreat, I turned my head infinitesimally and watched him from the corner of my eye. He took long strides toward his car, fists clenched at his sides. My heart had slowed considerably, though it still gave a hearty thunk as I imagined one of those large hands clasped lightly on me.
I gave myself one
last glance in the mirror, then stopped. Why was I so concerned with how I looked? I could show up dressed in packing peanuts and my kids wouldn’t care. Moreover, I didn’t care. To prove this, I pressed my fingertips into my scalp and rubbed hard. There, now I really looked hideous.
I watched Dominic removing things from his trunk and my mind began to wander. I knew very little about him—but this complicated boy didn’t strike me as the type of person to volunteer his weekends. Occasionally students from Shorecliffs would appear in the front office, looking to fulfill community service hours; but for the most part the roster consisted of the small, underpaid staff, church groups, and the elderly. Teens were a rarity.
He caught me staring at him, and I dropped my eyes.
The rain was starting to come down in large sporadic droplets. I got back into my slicker and walked toward Dominic to help him with the boxes. By the time I had arrived, he had set them both down on the curb.
“Push or steer?” he inquired, staring through me and somewhere near my forehead.
“I’m sorry?”
He sighed, begrudgingly making eye contact with me. “Push,” he said, holding out the last two consonants so that it sounded like he was shushing me, “or steer? One of us needs to stand at the front and push the car, while the other steers it backward up the driveway. Just under that tree,” he gestured with his chin. “It should be fine there until Lenny comes to get it.”
I stared through the rain, toward the small spot he indicated the car would go, and decided it was not a difficult decision at all.
“Push,” I replied.
He blew air through his nose. “Push it is.” Then he darted away, leaving me wondering if I had, in fact, made the wrong decision.
Climbing in through the passenger side, Dominic slipped into the driver seat, cranked the window down, and hung his head outside. “All right,” he said, sounding as though he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. “Ready when you are.”
Awakening Foster Kelly Page 25