“Thanks,” Jess said sarcastically. Of course, Ivy wouldn’t let her forget how she kept her up all night. She closed her book, thinking it might not have been worth it.
But the next day, Jess was the only one who got an A on the test.
Back on the driveway…
“Coach Purvis,” Ivy repeated, now laughing with a distinctive snort.
“Quit,” Jess said. “I know. You’re feelin’ sorry for me.”
“No, I never had him either, but I heard all these weird things.” She took a shot, though she wasn’t very good at games of “horse.” She missed.
“You’re a ‘ho’ now.” Jess relished saying that as she made another shot. Ivy reluctantly walked to the designated place.
“What do you mean, ‘weird things’?” Jess asked.
“I don’t know, that he coughs up phlegm in front of everyone and spits it out the window?”
“God, no,” Jess exclaimed. “I haven’t seen that yet.”
“And that he makes everyone get up and explain photosynthesis. Since everybody has to say the same thing, it gets really boring.”
Jess’s heart pounded. Not public speaking…
“I’m not doin’ any of that shit,” Jess said.
“You might not have a choice.”
“Sure I do,” Jess argued. “Just ’cause a teacher tells you to do something doesn’t mean you have to.”
Ivy stopped dribbling a moment. “Look, I know about the Rosa Parks report. I know it traumatized you.”
“What the hell does Rosa Parks have to do with anything?”
“Mom told me. The teacher told her how the class laughed…”
This was news to Jess. All these years, she didn’t think teachers talked to parents that much. “I don’t wanna talk about—”
“Listen,” Ivy said. “Just ’cause you had one or two bad incidents doesn’t mean you have to hate all teachers.”
“I don’t hate all teachers.” She took another shot that would be impossible for her sister to make.
“Forget it.” Ivy started to go inside.
“You’re not gonna try?”
Ivy waved her hand. “It’s okay,” she said, almost to the side door. “You need to know how it is, though. In college you can’t just say you’re not doing something. They’ll flunk you.”
Ivy was going to a small college a couple of towns away. Her plan was to study veterinary medicine. When she was younger, their parents had encouraged this path, because, as they told her, it was more practical than joining Greenpeace.
“Then I’ll flunk.” Jess took the shot.
As soon as she heard the screen door slap shut, Jess tried to clear her head—as if that was possible. Thoughts bombarded her, especially the question of how she would survive now that Stephanie was back. And what was it that made her care so much? Was it this exaggerated sense she had of their history together? It wasn’t exactly exaggerated, she corrected herself. They had, in fact, been each other’s first best friend.
The more she thought about it, the more things came into focus. The reason Jess cared so much had something to do with the passage of time…that had to be what made Stephanie’s reemergence such a big deal. Time gives things a depth and sense of meaning, even though it’s only days being checked off a calendar.
Their history made her feel like she knew Stephanie better than anyone else in the world. The truth was, she didn’t. After ten years, she didn’t know who Stephanie Greer was at all. She could be a gossipy airhead like Kelly, for all she knew. As she watched the pink autumn sunset taking its final turn in the sky, everything made Jess sad. She couldn’t understand why, except she had the feeling that from this point on things would never be as easy as they had been for the girls who went to the river that summer. She’d never feel comfortable calling Stephanie on the phone or visiting her house as six-year-old Jesse used to do. Time had changed everything and turned their friendship into something she was now afraid of.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Long before she came to Tennessee, Carolyn and her best college friend, Eleanor Koslowski, had talked about starting a bakery together. They’d call it Sweet Thing and serve coffee and tea, and they’d have an outdoor patio area for the warmer months. Of course, Carolyn’s mother, Rose, had frowned upon such an idea. She wanted Carolyn to focus on finding herself a good husband.
“Why not get married first?” Rose would ask. “Then you could always make it a hobby.”
But Carolyn thought the idea of being a businesswoman was exciting.
Now every December, she received a couple of New England calendars from her friend Eleanor. She and her husband ran a gift shop that was apparently doing very well. Since it was on the North Shore, they called it Shore Thing. It was filled with postcards, calendars, lobster-shaped serving dishes, and anything visitors could want to commemorate their stay in Boston. The pictures in the calendars made Carolyn homesick, but she was especially interested in the long letters that always accompanied the calendars—chatty gossip about the old neighborhood, who was doing what, who had moved away, who was having an affair. If it was gossip, especially the juicy kind, Eleanor knew about it.
This year, however, the new calendars had arrived early in September, and there was only a brief note about things being busy at the shop. With her mother gone, Carolyn had relied on Eleanor to make her feel still connected to her former home. Sitting on the edge of her bed now and looking at the calendars on her lap, she felt a kind of emptiness and a confirmation that her old home was somehow slipping away. Beautiful, glossy photographs of New England, carefully covered in clear shrink-wrap plastic…Eleanor always sent at least two of them. Carolyn pulled them out and inhaled their scent, suppressing a bittersweet tear. She’d always hung one in the kitchen and saved the other as a memento that she wouldn’t write on. She lifted her head when her younger daughter walked past the open bedroom doorway, saw what she was holding and poked her head in.
“Hey, Mom,” Jess said. “Are those this year’s calendars? Already?”
Carolyn collected herself. “Yes, she sent them early.”
“Could I have one?”
“Well, sure,” Carolyn answered with welcome surprise. “I didn’t know you liked these,” Carolyn said, ripping into the thin covering of the one on top with her nails. She didn’t mind giving the second one to her daughter. It was like sharing a piece of her home with her.
“Yeah.” Jess took it from her. “Thanks,” she said and left.
Carolyn had always meant to return for visits. But after three pregnancies, which turned into the kids’ school commitments, not to mention Carolyn’s rehabilitation after a traumatic accident—all of these things had conspired to root her in Greens Fork. Church picnics, school plays and music recitals that were painful to the human ear—all of these took on greater importance with each passing year. After her mother died, the only reason to return would have been to stay in touch with old friends, but securing her husband’s and their family’s place in town had seemed of greater importance. In the meantime, the calendars kept coming and the pages of months continued to fly off of them, reminders that time was a fast-flowing stream and there was no way to hold on to it long enough to catch up.
* * *
For as long as Jess could remember, her mom had hung a New England calendar by the phone in the kitchen. Jess loved to look at it and pretend she was there, someplace so completely different from her surroundings.
Her fingers would trace the tumbling waves of the Atlantic Ocean and she’d think of the stories her mother would tell her—how she had lived a few streets away from the shore and how her father was a lobster fisherman. Jess loved the way she described the ocean, with cobalt blue water and waves on sand that was the same tan color as their car when she was a child. When she closed her eyes, she could picture the rocky coastline—not the kind of white sand they had when she was a toddler in Daytona, waddling around with a plastic shovel in her hand. Instead, it was the
kind of ocean you took photographs of but was way too chilly to swim in. She visualized the lighthouses that had welcomed home tired sailors after they’d been out in the middle of nowhere for months. What a comfort those lighthouses must have been to them, signaling that they were back home and safe.
Jess wondered if her mother wished she was home again too. She’d given up a lot to come here. She and her brother and sister would try, but they couldn’t fill the emptiness they sensed their mother sometimes felt.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alex Thornbush was a handsome boy with Ken doll blond hair and the cockiness that often comes when someone is treated like a rock star every time he strides through the halls of Greens Fork High School. Never seen in public without his green and white football jacket, a symbol to all of his above-mortal status, Alex walked the halls as if he didn’t notice the girls gushing on both sides of him. The guys wanted to be him. And why not? He was popular.
He was also the grandson of the richest family in town. The Thornbush dynasty with his grandmother Abilene as its matriarch was legendary. Less admired was his father Ray Thornbush, who had cheated on his wife with the organist at First Baptist. That scandal aside, they were the southern Kennedys. In short, Alex had it made in this town.
But his confidence dissolved the closer he got to Jess’s locker, where she was gathering books for her next class. He came over, trying to look as cool as the rest of the school thought he was. What none of them could see was that underneath the green football jacket was a guy who worried about appearing stupid in his classes or when the next acne breakout was going to occur. Or even worse, when he’d get an erection at an unfortunate time, like during English class when he had to stand up to read a poem. Truth be told, he was as neurotic and insecure as all the other teenagers in school. He simply did an above-average job of hiding it.
“Hey, Jess,” he grunted. “How’s it goin’?”
“It’s goin’.” She fumbled for her French book.
“Wanna go to the movies sometime?” he asked, with voice cracking and palms sweating. “They’re showin’ F/X.”
“What’s that?”
“A psychological thriller,” he said.
“I get that from my family every day.” She slammed her locker shut.
“Come on,” he persisted. He looked around, afraid someone might see him struggling to get a girl to go out with him. That would squash his reputation.
He smiled awkwardly at her with eyes that begged her not to embarrass him.
Jess paused and looked at him. He was cute, he was her age—what was the problem?
“Okay,” she finally said.
“This Saturday?” he asked. “Every Friday night I’m kinda busy…” He glanced at her as if expecting a response.
“Huh?”
“You know,” he said. “Football. I’m the quarterback.” His attempt to impress her was crashing and burning. “But we could go out on Saturdays.”
She stared at him with a puzzled expression. “We’re just goin’ to one movie, right?”
“Uh-huh. That’s what I meant. On Saturday.” He had to be careful not to scare her away, to assume too much. Even though, unbeknownst to her, he’d already imagined them married and living outside of Nashville in a two-story, split-level brick home with a terrier named Montana, after Joe Montana, of course.
* * *
Maybe one date wouldn’t be a big deal. Jess hadn’t had a boyfriend since grade school. But back then “going together” had been meaningless. In high school a boyfriend meant something more. She’d never had a steady one before. Because she was tall and attractive, most of the boys were too insecure to ask her out on a date. Alex was nice enough and handsome enough by all high school standards. She could do worse.
The night of their date Jess found herself in the back row of the only movie theater in town, watching a steamy love scene unfold on a big screen. Two actors, locked in a furious embrace, began to peel off each other’s clothes.
Jess squirmed uncomfortably as Alex made his move. He leaned closer, his hot breath dangerously close to her ear. Before she knew it, he was practically in her seat.
“Hey,” Jess exclaimed. “What the hell are you doin’? You’re crushing my Milk Duds!” She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard a few of them pop out of the box and roll around on the sticky floor. No way was she going to check.
Jess was no fool. She knew she couldn’t go on forever seemingly untouched by the rules of school relationships. Kelly Madison was a human trumpet. There would be talk—loud talk—and sooner or later, Jess would have to pretend that she too was an ordinary girl who thought the sun rose and set in Alex’s pants—even though she didn’t.
Jess turned toward his open, waiting mouth. She was intensely aware of whose lips were moving against whose and in what direction, to the point of distraction. She felt like she was kissing a suction cup. The stray stubble on his lip and jaw scratched her face.
She pulled away and did her best to fake a smile. When she turned to face the screen, she could see out of the corner of her eye that he was still facing her. It was unnerving. Clearly, the movie was not his priority.
Eventually, he took the hint and settled back into his seat.
But the situation only grew worse when, much to Jess’s horror, the woman on screen took off all her clothes while the man kept his pants on. It felt like a violation somehow, like seeing herself up there, her own anatomy larger than life. Though she wasn’t much of a writer, Jess had a sudden urge to pen a letter to all Hollywood actresses who undress for the camera and the male directors who insist on it—a vicious, rage-filled letter, reminding them of girls like her who had to suffer the self-consciousness of that in addition to puberty, not to mention the unfairness of it all. Alex wouldn’t be subjected to another guy’s penis on the big screen for his “girlfriend” to gawk at. Jess couldn’t see for the clouds of angry steam she’d swear were coming out of her eyes and ears. She was going to be scarred for life if the scene didn’t end soon, unless it was already too late.
When the film finally cut to a car explosion and a gruesome murder—things she could handle much better—she felt Alex’s hand roaming toward her lap as if it were a creature that wasn’t attached to the rest of his body. She felt obligated to take his hand in response. But she stiffened in her seat, wishing she was in grade school again when having a boyfriend meant nothing.
As the credits rolled, Jess, still unnerved by Alex and the movie, bolted up from her seat, unaware that Alex was gathering napkins behind her. She turned around.
Alex said, as if to explain, “I know the guy who has to clean up after.”
“Jess!” came a screech from behind.
Jess turned to see Fran with the most brilliant grin and a little extra curl in her hair tonight. She was dragging what looked like a shell-shocked boy behind her up the aisle.
“I’m so happy for you!” she exclaimed in the noisy theater.
Jess was pretty sure she was the only one who heard. Thankfully. In fact, it was a good thing boys were so oblivious, because Fran was obviously falling all over herself with excitement.
“Thanks,” Jess replied, glancing at the boy who was with Fran. She didn’t recognize him. He must have been another football player; she had a hard time telling most of the jocks apart. “You too.” She pulled Fran closer to her row. “That one scene sucked,” she said. “You know, having to watch that with a guy.”
“Which scene?” Fran stared blankly.
“You know,” Jess snarled. “The full frontal?”
“I don’t remember it.” Fran was serious.
Jess looked at her in disbelief. Fran must have been paying more attention to her date, something she herself hadn’t been.
“Never mind,” Jess said.
“We’ll talk later.” Fran waved and flashed another goofy grin that suggested they would be the talk of the lunch table on Monday.
Alex drove Jess home in his candy apple-r
ed Porsche, something that was considered a big deal at school. Throughout the ride, he was quiet. If he had any worries, he was keeping them to himself. Jess was also quiet, wondering if he could see her displeasure in the dark. Apparently not. He reached for her hand as he pulled up her driveway. The top of his hand was covered in light blond fur, but his palm was clammy.
“I had a great time,” he said sincerely.
“Yeah, thanks.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and reached for the handle of the door, even though she knew he expected more. His disappointment hung silently but heavily in the car. If she had to kiss the suction cup again, she’d shoot herself.
He reached for her.
“’Night,” she said firmly and exited the car.
Once inside the house the smell of his cologne on her clothes was nearly overwhelming. She wanted to take a shower. She didn’t know why, but she felt odd. Something wasn’t right. Everything about this night—Alex’s expectations and the lack of reaction to what was on screen—it reminded her of one of her earliest P.E. classes in junior high. They had to follow the teacher, who was leading an exercise routine. Jess was the one doing the opposite of everyone else—when the teacher said “to the left,” she’d accidentally move to the right. She’d try to correct herself to get back in place quickly. The world of dating, she predicted, would be endless nights where she’d fight to correct herself, to get in the place she was expected to be.
Her head was swimming—from the smell of cologne and her swirling thoughts. Alex was nice looking—but only to the same degree as Randy Billings was. Randy. She hadn’t seen or thought of him much since grade school. He’d probably moved away.
She trudged up the porch steps. Life was no different than grade school, everyone trying to keep you in a straight line. The moment she turned the key, the door was already open, her expectant mother on the other side, welcoming her in.
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