Stupid Love

by Cindy Miles

  “Your face is so dirty!” she laughed, then looked at me with that soft gaze that hit me in the back of my knees. “Same eyes.”

  We just stared at each other for a moment. Silent, yet not.

  Jasper showed her a handful of other embarrassing pictures, and I watched the two of them laugh at my expense. Then Jasper started on his most prized possession—the album containing photos of him and Grandpa Jilly during their days first, as soldiers in World War II, then as Rangers. A prouder pair, I was positive, could not be found in the state of Texas. They’d loved their jobs, through and through. And they’d been damn good at it, too.

  I could only hope to do the same.

  Memory—there was nothing fake about that girl. When she spoke to you, you felt as though the world had stopped and there was no one, save you and her. She’d ask Jasper a question, and would listen with such intense curiosity, leaning forward just enough with her body to let you know she was one hundred percent there—it made my chest swell to see the joy that conversation brought to the old guy. She didn’t treat him like a child; not like an old, feeble man. She treated him with respect, yet as an equal. Equally capable. Equally sensitive. Equally young and intelligent.

  I sat there that night as an observer, and watching Memory interact with Jasper McGillis taught me more about her than I’d ever hoped to learn in such a short time. The way she spoke with her hands, all lively and animated. The way she lightly grazed a gentle touch with her hand against his, to let him know she was close, interested, and engaged. And she never broke eye contact—ever. That alone, to me, said a lot about her. A lot about her soul.

  How had I ever thought she was so…ordinary?

  As we rose to leave, Memory—standing as tall as Jasper, hugged him tightly and looked at him. “I have enjoyed myself,” she said earnestly. “Can I come back some time, yeah?”

  That time, Jasper’s cheeks did turn red, and he patted her arm. “Any time, girl. Any time at all.”

  A thought struck me then, and on our way out, after Memory had trotted down the porch steps, I stopped and whispered to Jasper. Something for just the two of us. Memory paused and watched us curiously.

  Jasper looked at me. “You’ve a good eye, boy,” he said, and slapped me on the shoulder. “A damn good eye. And thanks for making an old man’s evening.”

  “Anytime, Jasper,” I said with a grin. “Anytime.”

  As we drove away, Memory hung out of the window and waved. “Bye, Jasper!” she called out. “Thanks again!”

  Jasper stood on the porch, smiling, waving.

  “Well,” I said as we ambled down the lane back to the highway. “I’d have to say you just passed—again—the Jasper McGillis test.”

  Her eyes lit up. “That was the easiest test I’ve ever passed, then,” she said. “He’s something else.” She nodded. “I really like him.”

  For some reason, that really mattered to me. “I’m glad. And the feeling is obviously mutual,” I added.

  By the time we reached Memory’s drive, we’d laughed and sung several songs on the radio, trying to outdo the other. Damn, she was off-key, and didn’t care, and I liked that about her, too. I pulled into the lane and eased down the drive. At the porch, I left the engine going. It was late and I had a test in the morning.

  I hopped out, and she scooted behind me, but before she got past me I turned around, held her face still, then tilted it just so before lowering my head and kissing her slow. The spearmint Tic-Tac we’d both eaten mingled with the cool air, and I swear I could’ve kissed her all night. Her body pressed against mine, and my hand rested on her hip, then her waist, then the small of her back. I swept my mouth against hers once more and lifted my head. Her eyes shined like wet glass from the porch light.

  “I have sort of a surprise for you,” I informed her. “You busy Sunday?”

  She slinked her arms around my neck and smiled. “Tell me what it is,” she crooned.

  The warmth from her body seeped into mine, and it was getting harder and harder to maintain control of myself. God, I wanted her, and that didn’t surprise me, yet…it did. Without even realizing it, I laughed.

  “What’s funny?” she asked.

  I looked at her, ran my thumb over her swollen lips, and brushed another kiss there. “I just didn’t expect you, Ms. Thibodeaux,” I whispered in her ear. I looked at her. “It’s a surprise. I will not tell you.”

  “You are a surprise, Jace Beaumont,” she whispered, and then kissed me, and her hand rested against my chest, with her head on my shoulder. “I’m kinda glad my Jeep broke down that night.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, and wrapped my arms tighter around her. “Hell, yeah.”

  She looked up at me then, our faces so close, sharing intimate space. “Do you believe in Fate, Mr. Beaumont? Or are you a man of chance and consequence?”

  I smiled at her. “I’m going with Fate,” I answered.

  “Fate, yeah,” she agreed. “I’m going with Fate, too.”

  I watched Jace’s taillights disappear down the drive, and as I did, my heart stirred—it was happening a lot, that scenario. I hadn’t planned on liking him so damn much. But, there you go. I’d gone and done it. I liked him. A lot.

  When I stepped inside, my dad was sitting on the sofa and, although the TV was on, I knew he’d been waiting on me. I knew what was coming; the conversation that was about to happen. I silently walked over and sat down beside him. He draped his arm around me, and I laid my head against his shoulder.

  Neither of us spoke for a moment; I knew my father was still trying to come to grips with everything he’d learned earlier that day. I guess I’d already done as much gripping as I could, since I’d learned it all over a month ago. Somehow, it hadn’t seemed real, when Dad wasn’t here. When it’d just been me, pretending it wasn’t happening again. Hanging out with friends and acting like Nothing Was Happening To Me.

  “I like him,” Max Thibodeaux said in that gruff, scratchy voice. “First boy you’ve ever brought home to meet me.”

  I gave a soft laugh. “First one worthy.”

  Max sighed and gave me a squeeze. “I figured as much.” He sighed again. “Memory, about the surgery—”

  I sat up and turned sideways to face him. “Dad, we’ve already gone over this with Dr. Cates.”

  His face crumpled a little, and I’d never felt like such total shit in all my life. He looked at his hands, then lifted watery blue eyes up to meet mine. “I can’t stand this, baby.”

  I smiled and let my hands get lost in his huge ones. “What? Letting me make my own decision? Dad.” I stared, then inhaled. Exhaled. I steadied my gaze on his. “You heard Dr. Cates. This surgery is extremely tricky at my age. The outcome might be…something I just don’t want to live with.” I pleaded with my eyes, willing him to understand. “I’m not saying no yet, Daddy. I’ve still got some time—”

  “Nothing’s guaranteed, Memory,” he said, and his voice cracked, and so did my heart. “If you wait, it could make surgery impossible.”

  “And if I have surgery now it could go totally wrong. Don’t you see? Quality of life to me is far more important than quantity, if I have to make a choice. I have—have to finish college. Come hell or high water, Max, I’m going to get that damned degree.” I breathed. Continued my case. “But the thought of ending up intubated, on life support? Having to be fed through a tube in my stomach, bathed and changed and diapers? Just lying there, shriveling up to nothing? There but not present.” My eyes closed briefly. “Don’t you see what a burden that would be on you, Max Thibodeaux?” My voice cracked, and my eyes filled with tears. “I…can’t be a burden, Daddy. Ever.” I squeezed his hands again. “Dr. Cates says I have a bit more time, to see if these trial medicines help shrink the tumor. Can we try it? Please?”

  Max Thibodeaux looked at me, his eyes swollen with tears. “When did you grow up on me, M-Cat?” he said. “You’re all I’ve got, yeah? I don’t think I’d like this life very much without you.” Hi
s voice cracked again. “You’re all I’ve got.”

  We cried together, on the sofa, and it hurt, it felt good, and it was necessary. Then I wiped my eyes, and I looked at him. Made him look at me. “I promise I’ll fight with everything I’ve got,” I said earnestly. “I swear, Dad. I promise I will.”

  Max Thibodeaux smiled then; smiled through tears. “If I know anything at all, girl,” he said softly. “I know that you will.”

  After that night, I can’t honestly say with one hundred percent certainty that my dad agreed with my decision. Hell—I wasn’t sure about it myself. I didn’t dwell on it, ever, because if I did, fear would creep into my body and slither up my throat so fast and so real that I would literally feel as though I were choking. My body would quiver, and I’d become breathless, antsy, unable to concentrate. I didn’t want to die. Not yet. Not…now. So I rarely let myself sink into too much thought about the tumor inside my skull. I kept busy—with school. With friends. My up-and-coming metalworks business.

  And, of course, Jace Beaumont.

  I should’ve majored in Theater.

  Because not anyone—not my friends, teachers, Jasper, and not Jace—even slightly detected that anything could possibly be wrong with me.

  And that’s the way I wanted it. For now, anyway. It had to be this way, my way, for now.

  You remember how when you were little, and time just dragged by? Like, summers would seem utterly endless. Why, once you got older, did time fly by so fast? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t goddamned fair at all.

  The school week ticked on by. Being that this was final semester I didn’t have as much work to do as earlier ones. I did have a couple of projects to complete. Exit exams. Finals. Part of me didn’t want that time to come. The other part of me—the part that knew my time was limited—wanted it to hurry the hell up and be over with, so I could claim the prize I’d been busting my ass for all these years. I wanted to hang that goddamned certificate, framed and all, on the living room wall. Proof that I’d set a goal. Accomplished it. The End.

  And now there was Jace Beaumont in the picture. With that, my world seemed to have shifted on its axis. His presence caused me to think. Caused me to consider. Caused me to ponder the future. Beyond graduation. Hell, I’d been so focused on Just That for so long, it felt strange to have another object of my attention.

  One that may very well exceed a certificate.

  Before Jace? I’d lived my life as a dare. Every one I’d succeeded at was a victory, a memory; something to gloat over. Brag about.

  With Jace? So, so different. Every time my phone buzzed, my heart jumped a mile high. If he texted me, and his sexy face with those fathomless eyes flashed across the screen of my phone? I would smile so hard that my teeth bucked. Ha! Score one for Beaumont! He’d made me go all bucky!

  And I had to admit: I fancied being all bucky by Jace Beaumont.

  It was mid-week, and I was out in the shop working on an order. I’d just wrapped up, turned the valves off on the gas tanks and set the torch down in its rocker when my phone buzzed. My heart did indeed leap. But it was a call from Claire.

  “Hey, Claire Bear,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “Well,” Claire began. “We all just finished and passed, thank you very much, a ridiculously awful test, and thought since we hadn’t seen your dad since he’d gotten home…”

  I grinned. “You want boudin.”

  “We want boudin,” Claire confirmed. “Well, it was Sugar’s idea.”

  My friends adored Max Thibodeaux, and he adored them as well. And they adored his famous boudin. Max could whip up the spicy Acadian pork-n-rice stuffed in casings concoction like nobody’s business.

  “I can’t do it Sunday,” I informed her. “Sorry, Peeshwank.”

  “Oh?” she questioned. “Do tell.”

  I grinned. “I don’t know anything. Jace is keeping it a secret.”

  “Oh my God! I love secrets!” she exclaimed. “You will have to share ASAP! Okay, so how about say, Friday night?”

  I thought about it. “Friday works for me.”

  “Cornhole?” she asked sweetly.

  “Definitely cornhole,” I agreed. “And if I know the guys, panty-tag as well.”

  “Oh Lord, probably so. I’ll let the others know,” Claire said with excitement.

  Although Jace worked nearly every single day, and we both had school and I had my business to run and orders to fill, a day didn’t go by that we didn’t talk. Or text. It’d been a good week so far; my head hadn’t hurt at all. Once I’d closed up the shop and showered, I had supper with Dad, and gone to my room to check my website for orders. I just lay across my bed when my phone buzzed, and his face flashed across the screen, and I smiled. Yep. Teeth bucking.

  Jace: I’ve got this problem.

  I smiled, bit my lip, closed my eyes and laughed a little.

  “Memory, you okay in there?” Dad yelled from the living room.

  “I’m fine, Dad!” I called back.

  Me: I thought I’d noticed something quirky about you. Do tell :-)

  Jace: See, there’s this girl. Gorgeous. Smart. Talks funny tho. Daredevil. Very annoying.

  Me: Ha! Sounds perfect to me. So what’s the problem?

  Jace: I can’t stop thinking about her.

  I closed my eyes briefly and smiled. Is this what all the fuss has been all about? This…falling in crazy like over one guy? How was it he could make me feel so insanely blissful just by looking at a few words on a screen?

  Could it be because he actually meant them?

  Me: Mais, that does sound like a problem for sure. It probably takes up way too much of your time. What to do about it, I wonder?

  Jace: Not sure. First time I’ve ever had this sort of problem, ma’am.

  I grinned. He was so witty.

  Me: I really like it when you say ma’am. Kinda sexy :-)

  Jace: Ma’am. Ma’am. Ma’am. Ma’am.

  Me: Lol! :-) Hey—boudin over here Friday night, if you can make it. My friends will be here. Throw some cornhole. Me, to annoy you.

  Jace: You had me at boudin :-) Hey, gotta run. Just got a call. See ya tomorrow, Ms. Thibodeaux?

  Me: Not if I see you first :-)

  Believe it or not, in the beginning it was fairly easy to pretend things weren’t going totally south on the inside of my head. Mostly because I had few symptoms. Few and far between. I’d trained myself to pretend the medicine I took was just part of my daily routine. Vitamins. Birth control pills. Anything, save experimental medicine to shrink a life-threatening tumor. I felt shrouded for a while. Shrouded from danger. From pain. From fear. From the truth. I had my work; friends. Dad. My new and indescribably fabulous new relationship with Jace. It kept my mind busy, believe me. And if you thought all people reacted the same when handed a life-threatening diagnosis, well, think again. They don’t. Some people fall into a pit of fear and withdraw—I’ve seen it. And that can sap the life out of a person faster than the fucking cancer itself. Some people worry themselves into panic attacks. I could see how it happened, I could. I made sure I didn’t allow it. So I lived it up to da moon and back, yeah, as my great-granny Clementine would always say.

  By the time Friday rolled around, I was ready for the get-together at my house. I’d called Claire, and she and Brie had gone to the grocery store with me to get everything for the night—save the boudin, which Max Thibodeaux had insisted on getting himself. He was very particular about his boudin ingredients.

  We’d already been at it for a couple of hours by the time Jace stopped by, and on our third round of cornhole, and the second I saw his headlights turn down the lane, my insides raced.

  “Hot damn, would you look at that,” Crisco teased. “Boys, look at Mem’s face.”

  “I ain’t never seen it like that before,” Conner added. “Scary.”

  “Couyons,” I said, and stuck out my tongue.

  “Hey, I know what that means,” Bentley said. “She just called you two stupid.�
� He laughed. “Seriously, Memory. You got it bad. It’s…” He shook his head. “Just so damned cute.”

  “Like our little girl is finally growing up,” Sugar said. “Just look at her.”

  I flipped them all the bird, and everyone started laughing.

  “I’m telling your daddy!” Claire yelled.

  “I saw, Peeshwank,” Max Thibodeaux said, grinning.

  I just smiled wider and ran out to meet Jace.

  When he stepped out of his truck, the scent of fresh soap and clean man hit me square in the nose. His eyes found mine.

  “Hey, you,” he said.

  “Hey, back,” I answered. “Glad you could make it.”

  He quirked a brow. “Like I could pass up real boudin.”

  I smacked him. “Whatever. Come on and join in.”

  Everyone said their hellos, Jace shook my dad’s hand and I left them while we set the table, and after Dad told a few gruesome stories of life on the oilrig, we all gathered in the kitchen for boudin and beer. We laughed as we watched Claire attempt to squeeze the boudin out of the casing and straight into her mouth.

  “Peeshwank, you havin’ trouble tonight?” Max Thibodeaux said.

  “I’ll get it,” Claire remarked, and then she did. We all laughed harder.

  The girl’s and I had made chocolate pies for dessert, and we were all stuffed by the time we finished. I watched Jace, and he seemed to ease right into whatever conversation he was pulled into, and I liked that my friends liked him. It mattered, somehow.

  We had all walked out onto the porch and, just as I’d expected, the guys started up Their Favorite Game. Jace stood next to me; Dad took one of the rockers. The girls all crowded onto the porch swing.

  “What are they doing?” Jace asked.

  “Panty tag,” Sugar offered.

  Jace looked at me, brow raised.

  I grinned and watched my friends throw, dodge, dive, and whip the balled up thing at each other. “Panty tag. It all started our first year at Winston,” I said. “We’d all known each other a couple of months maybe, and had gone to Crisco’s for a cook out. Somehow—I hate to think how—a pair of his granny’s drawers were discovered, fell in the pool, and they started throwing it around at each other”—I nodded toward the fools running around the yard—“just like so. Eventually one of them got the bright idea to wad the bloomers up in duct tape,” I grinned at Jace. “Made ’em last longer.”