“You’re wearing the necklace.”
“I took it by Gose Jewelers after my appointment. You were still waiting to be discharged.”
“That took forever,” he grumbled.
“At least you’re better. You’re better, right?”
“Right as rain,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. He leaned forward, his palms flat on the quilt, and his nose gently moved my head to the side while he simultaneously tasted my neck.
“Salty,” he whispered after his tongue had teased my skin.
“Not as good as ice cream,” I said with a smile.
“Actually, I think it’s better.” His lips traveled to my ear but moved on too quickly to my cheek, and then the gentleness went away, and he ravaged my mouth.
Never before had we made better use of his truck, grabbing at buttons and zippers and yanking fabric up and then down. The moment Weston’s breathing became a bit labored, I froze.
“What?” he asked, hovering above me.
“You’re wheezing.”
“I have my inhaler.” He chuckled. “I’m fine, I swear.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better anymore.”
Weston’s muscles relaxed, and he caressed my cheek with his forehead. “Would it make you feel better if we went slow? Or do you want to stop?”
“Maybe we should give you at least forty-eight hours after your near-death experience?”
His head fell past my bare shoulder, his forehead touching the bed of the truck. “What if I promise I’m okay?”
“How do you know? Did you know you were going to have an attack at the game?”
He didn’t lift his head. “I ignored it.”
“Are you ignoring it now?”
“No. I don’t know. No.”
“We should wait.”
Weston took in a slow deep breath, and then he let it out even slower. He nodded. “Whatever you say, baby. This is your show.” He sat up and handed me my bra with a forced grin.
“Don’t be mad.”
He laughed. “I’m not mad, Erin. Swear. I’m just in my prime, and I’ve been looking forward to this for a while. Weeks. Long, long weeks,” he said more to himself than to me. He handed me my shirt and then slipped his over his head.
I frowned as he covered up the perfect contours of his torso.
“What?” he said, freezing when he noticed my expression.
I shrugged. “You should leave your shirt off all the time. I’ve got to find an excuse. Maybe I’ll burn all your shirts.”
“I don’t appreciate being objectified,” he said, lifting his chin. “I’m a person!”
“You’re my person.”
“Damn right,” he said, scooping me into his arms. “Now what?” he asked just inches from my face.
I wanted to beg him to finish what we’d started, but I could tell he was tired, and he likely needed rest.
“I’m actually a little worn-out,” I lied. “I’ve got to study for semester tests. I’m behind.”
“So, do you want to sleep or study?” he said, an eyebrow arched.
“Both,” I said, buttoning my shorts.
“You wouldn’t happen to be coddling me, would you?” he asked. “Because that would be embarrassing and possibly a little insulting. I’ve had asthma attacks before, and you weren’t there to baby me. Somehow, I still went on living.”
I smirked. “Take me home, so you can ice your ego.”
His mouth fell open.
“I’m not coddling you. I’m loving you. There is a difference.”
He frowned. “How the heck am I supposed to argue with that?”
“You’re not. C’mon.”
I hopped down from the bed of the truck to the concrete below, and Weston followed.
He drove to my house, holding my hand in his. He rolled the windows down, and we laughed at my hair blowing in a dozen different directions. Weston pushed a button on the radio, and his Chance Anderson Band CD began playing through the speakers. He tapped the steering wheel with his thumb and sang loudly.
Barely ten minutes later, we were sitting in the Aldermans’ drive, and Weston was kissing me good night. I walked into the house, smiling at Julianne’s expression.
“You’re home early,” she said, unable to hide her surprise.
“He was tired,” I said, joining her on the couch.
She bounced a bit when I sat, and then she hooked her arm around my neck.
“Are you telling me that it was his idea to bring you home?”
“Nope.”
“I didn’t think so.”
We laughed, and Julianne lifted the remote. “Your Sam was called in. What do you want to watch?”
My cell phone chimed. It was Veronica.
Thank you.
She knew as well as Julianne that Weston coming home early hadn’t been his doing.
I smiled and sent back a yellow winky face. Weston had finally shown me how to get emojis on my phone.
“That’s called tough love,” Julianne teased.
“He wasn’t happy about it.”
“So, you do? Love him?”
Her question caught me off guard. I recoiled, feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “Do I love him?”
“Sorry,” she said, clearly frustrated with herself. “I forgot that we’re not…there yet. But we will be, I hope.”
“I’m just…it’s not you—or you and me. We’re fine. We’re doing good. I like it.”
The awkwardness soared to a new level.
Julianne watched me for a moment, and then we both burst into laughter. I cackled so hard and for so long that tears began to fall from my eyes. Julianne was wiping her eyes, too.
“Ah!” she lilted. “I haven’t done that in a long time.” She nodded. “I needed that.”
“Me, too.”
“I, um…I talked to Dr. Briggs today. He thinks he’ll have room for another PA in the fall.”
“Really? That’s awesome!”
“Yeah?”
“Completely. I saw you in action yesterday. You’re really good. You still know your stuff.”
“I forgot how much I love it.”
“Then, you should definitely do it again.”
“I haven’t told Sam.”
“Then, neither will I.”
“I just wanted to wait until I talked to you about it. I was thinking about starting after your first week at Stillwater—just in case you need anything—and then I’ll go back.”
“You’ll get bored. You should go back the first day of my classes. That way, we can start something new together.”
She wrinkled her nose and then looked down to her lap, shaking her head. “You’re”—she nodded—“an amazing young woman, Erin. I couldn’t be prouder even if I had nothing to do with it.”
“You had everything to do with it. This part of me was missing until now.”
She shook her head again. “No, you’ve had it all along. You would have carried it with you to college, and…it’s been hard for me to say this out loud because of what it might mean, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t glad to get the chance to know you. I’m not glad Alder’s gone. I miss her. She…” Her face crumpled. “A lot of kids are angry and make bad choices in high school, but they get to make up for it later. They get their heads and hearts straight, and they grow up. Alder won’t get the chance to tell you she’s sorry. It’s been hard for me to grasp this, but I can be glad you’re here without being glad that she’s gone.”
“You’re right.”
Julianne took me into her arms and squeezed. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Julianne pushed a button, and the program guide displayed on the screen. “Okay, Red Square Death Squad Two, Three Dogs’ Journey, The Bloody Ghosts from Hell. What the crap? Over three hundred channels, and it’s these or Silky Soul and Latin Jazz.”
I cackled. Julianne was feisty on Saturday nights.
“What about SNL?�
� I asked.
She nodded once. “We can do that. Oh, by the way, your dress is back. I picked it up from Wanda today. She does the alterations for Frocks and Fashions.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“You should try it on before you go to bed. Just in case.”
“O-okay.”
“Are you still going?”
“Yes.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust him—not to stick with Alder’s plan to embarrass you, I mean?”
“Yes. I don’t know about anyone else though.”
“They’d better not,” she said, looking at the television. “They’d just…better not.”
I didn’t know if she would bake them a batch of bad cookies or point her finger at them, but she appeared to be serious.
While the skits played on the flat screen sitting above the fireplace, I imagined what would have happened had Alder and Sonny made it back safely from spring break, and Weston wouldn’t have been able to stop them from carrying out their plan. Gina wouldn’t have noticed that I’d gone to prom, much less done anything in my defense if I’d come home covered in whatever they had doused me with.
Once the cast members gathered to say good night and the credits rolled, Julianne yawned and checked her cell phone. She tapped the screen and then stood. “Sam will be home in twenty minutes. I’m going to hop on the treadmill until then.”
“I was going to…is it all right if I take a drive?”
She tilted her head a bit, confused by my request, and then realization settled on her face. “Down Ferguson Street?”
I pulled my mouth to the side. I couldn’t lie to her. “Yes. I thought I should check on Gina.”
She swallowed. “Just promise to call if things get weird.”
“I promise. The worst thing she’s ever done is ignore me.”
Julianne’s face fell, and she nodded before leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Be safe.”
I sat in my red BMW with the lights and engine off, parked where Weston’s Chevy had been parked following the first time he’d taken me to our overpass. That seemed like an entire lifetime ago. Now, here I sat, in my designer jean shorts and expensive car, working up the courage to knock on the door of the house I used to fantasize about leaving behind.
Gina’s rusted white Malibu was parked with its front bumper touching the garage sitting at the back of the property, hidden in the shadows left by the streetlight. Two lines of patchy gravel made up the drive, and an uneven broken sidewalk led to the porch.
I gripped my keys in my hand and pushed my way outside of the car to the street. “Screw it,” I said, slamming the door behind me.
The steps felt like tar beneath my feet as I tried to climb them. I slowed to a halt at the top of the stairs, four feet from the broken screen door. Music was playing inside, but my heartbeat replaced the usual bass throbbing through the walls, rattling my rib cage with each pulse.
My sweaty hand formed a fist, and I rapped against the Plexiglas, the aluminum frame shuddering with each knock. After a few excruciating seconds, I tried again, but nothing happened. It was late. I could have been one of her meth head friends, but she wasn’t coming to the door. She must have already passed out.
Without letting myself think too much about it, I turned the knob. She had no one to check on her anymore to make sure she hadn’t gone too far, to make sure she had come home at all, or to make sure she had food in the fridge. I swallowed, afraid of what might be on the other side of the door, shaken to the core by the thought of the state she might be in.
“Gina?” I called, stepping on the thirty-year-old brown calico carpet.
Still, I found nothing. She wasn’t on the couch, so she must either be in bed or have her head in the toilet. I guessed it was the former since the house didn’t have that familiar stench of vomit and stale beer from when she’d drunk too much.
“It’s Erin. Gina?” I called again. The smallness of my voice was even more frightening than Gina’s unexpected absence from the living room.
I reached back and fingered the rectangular bulge in my back pocket. Julianne had said to call if anything got weird, but the problem with that was, anything concerning Gina was weird in comparison with life at the Alderman home.
The bathroom door creaked as I pushed it open. The light was off, and the small room was empty. The sink was so different than the expansive countertop space of my current bathroom at the Aldermans’. Gina’s was covered in grime, rust, and water stains. The faucet dripped, the shower curtain was mildewed, and the floor hadn’t been swept since I left.
Down the hallway, I knocked quietly on Gina’s door. “It’s Erin,” I said just loud enough for her to hear. “I need to talk to you.”
After several seconds without an answer, I pushed open the door. The hinges whined while I squinted to see through the darkness.
Finally resorting to flipping on the light, I called her name again. The bright bulb revealed a messy empty bed with worn floral sheets she’d bought at the thrift shop when I was nine.
Rhythmic tapping on the air-conditioning unit in the window signaled a light rain. I hovered in the doorway, arguing with myself about where to search for her next.
Is Gina sitting in her car, and I missed it?
I flipped off the light and shut her door, and then I stood in the hallway, catching the slit of light coming from my former bedroom. Even though it took just four or five steps to reach the knob, it seemed like miles. My finger tapped on the painted wood, and the door slowly backed away from me, revealing Gina sitting alone on what used to be my bed.
THE ENTIRE ROOM HAD BEEN CLEANED, the bed had been made, and the green shag that was the carpet had been tamed by the vacuum.
Gina was still in her grocery store apron, her name tag hanging crooked. Her frizzy blonde bangs had been curled under and sprayed into place. She looked up at me but didn’t seem surprised.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Do you got any cigs?”
I shook my head. “How have you…how have you been?”
She laughed once, seeming to just notice the raindrops on the window. “It wasn’t supposed to rain tonight.”
“That’s Oklahoma for ya. If you don’t like the weather, wait a day, and it’ll change.”
“My dad used to say that.”
Her words took me aback. That was the first time I’d ever heard her mention my grandfather or any family in general.
“Did he?” I asked, leaning my head against the doorjamb.
She didn’t answer.
“Do you have anyone, Gina? Not your drug dealer. Do you have any family to talk to?”
“You were the only one who would talk to me after…” She looked out the window. “And it turns out, you’re not even family.” She thought about that for a moment. “Not that you had a reason to talk to me anyhow.”
“I know what happened.”
She laughed once. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear before.”
“It wasn’t fair. You were just a kid. You were left to handle it all alone.”
“And I did the same to you,” she said, staring at the floor.
“Have you talked to anyone? About everything? Anything?” I asked.
She shook her head.
I lifted my head from the wood frame of the door and walked over to the bed. She warily watched me. I sat next to her.
“Talk to me,” I said.
She searched my eyes and waited for the cruelty that she’d—that we both had—become so accustomed to over the years.
“I don’t even remember how to anymore,” she said.
“Well…how do you feel about it?”
“How do I feel?”
“Are you mad? Relieved? Sad?”
Her head slowly moved from side to side, and then her eyes glossed over. “I got no one. It’s hard to feel anything when there’s no one to notice.”
�
��I noticed.”
She stood but kept her eyes on the floor. “If you came here to make me feel guilty—”
I shook my head, also standing. “No. I didn’t. I came here to…it wasn’t fair—how Harry left you all alone when you were young and pregnant or how they treated you.”
She snarled her lip. “I’ll be damned if he didn’t end up spending time with his own kid, and that bitch opened the door wide open for her. The irony of all of this is the best part.” The smug grin on her face melted away, and she finally looked up at me. “Not for you. I saw your new car. They’re busy making up for the years you got stuck with me, huh?”
“Making up for lost time.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to lie to me. I know what I’ve done.”
“No one has clean hands. We’ve all made mistakes. But I just wanted you to know that I know, that they know. Everyone knows, but not everyone blames you, Gina. You’re not the villain in this story.”
“I ain’t exactly the victim either.”
“Then, stop acting like it.”
She craned her neck at me, but then her thoughts were turned inward, her eyes losing focus.
“We’ve both got a clean slate now. I just thought you should know.”
Gina’s lips made a hard line, guilt softening the wrinkles around her eyes. “I shoulda known you weren’t my daughter. But if the accident hadn’t ever happened, I would definitely know now. You comin’ here to say all this after the way I’ve been to you? You’re all Julianne. You’ve always been better ’an me, better ’an this filth.” Her eyes crawled up the walls to the water stains on the ceiling, and then she looked back to me. “You look pretty.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Do you want to ride with me? I’ll buy you a carton of cigarettes.”
She shook her head. “Nah. I need to quit anyway. I need to quit a lot of things. Clean slate, right?”
I offered a small smile. “Right.”
I hadn’t tried to hug Gina since I was a girl, and I didn’t suspect she’d be open to it now either, so I walked to my car without looking back. With each step, I left behind any rejection or blame that had piled up over the years.
Parked behind the BMW was Weston’s red Chevy, and he was leaning against my door with his arms folded across his chest.
Happenstance: A Novella Series: Part Three Page 2