Dad spends all Sunday orchestrating phone calls with Mr. Johnson, the police, our school principal, and Zach’s parents. But none of his work gets him anywhere. Other than Zach’s clear underage drinking, Zach’s actions are lost in a grey area.
None of the conversations make me feel any better. I don’t know if I want Zach arrested. Yes, he was an ass but I didn’t think he’d really rape me. Dad laughs when I say that. I’m apparently naïve. That’s when I quit. Dad has what he needs from me. I can’t do this any longer.
I escape to my room and pour myself back into the world of Pride and Prejudice. I finish the book at sunset. I’m not ready to surface to reality so I go straight from my bed to my computer where I open a blank document to begin my essay.
I write about the themes of love and social forces. It seems I can’t escape them if I try. So, I don’t. I pour myself into my essay, allowing it to speak the words I so desperately want to hear.
My fingers hit save just before midnight. I’ll drive the finished essay into school tomorrow. I’m not expecting a changed grade. I just want Mr. Taden to know I finally tried.
I sleep fitfully. My dreams tangle Mr. Darcy and myself in the tornado. I swear to him that I will find his Lizzy and tell her that he survived. I can’t remember why Mr. Darcy can’t find her himself, but the urgency all weighs on me. My search throws me into a panic, and Zach is always my obstacle. Occasionally I catch glimpses of Marissa making out with Mr. Collins in an attempt to aggravate Lizzy. I search the countryside for her but Lizzy can’t be found. I return to Mr. Darcy with no news of his Lizzy. He shakes his head and laughs at me. “Lucy, you’re funny,” he says with Justin’s voice.
The change in Mr. Darcy’s voice jolts me awake. My heart eagerly anticipates what he’ll say next. I remain still and hold my breath, hoping to hear him speak again. A few moments pass before I realize I’m in my bedroom, alone. I rub my face. This isn’t the way to start the day. I need to guard my heart. I am already swooning, and Justin hasn’t even made an appearance.
The grandfather clock downstairs chimes six times. I can sleep more or get up to meet the guys at the seven a.m. start time. I swing my legs out of bed. Justin will just have to deal with me painting today. Dad’s footsteps shuffle loudly below in the kitchen. I wonder if he slept at all.
When I push open the kitchen door, Dad sits at the table with a cup of coffee and a case of bed head worse than Eric’s. “Hey, Dad,” I try to say casually. I cross in front of him to the fridge, flinging my backpack on top of the counter along the way.
“Hi, honey,” his voice is still filled with concern. The swinging door squeaks and Mom walks in.
Mom had been unusually quiet the day before. She let Dad do his thing and me do mine. She offered us silent support as she distracted Eric most of the day. That night, when she saw me she just held me and let me cry. She knew exactly what I needed. I love her for it. It’s yet another moment of miraculous mothering all because I am willing to receive it. I smile at her while wondering what other moments she offered but I pushed away.
I quietly make a few turkey sandwiches and stuff a bag of chips in my backpack. Dad eyes me questionably as I cross the kitchen and grab his keys off the hook. “Lucy, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
My heart sinks. I knew this would happen. “Dad, I’m ready, though. Look.” I point to my painting clothes and my packed bag like a toddler.
“I’m not comfortable with it.”
I groan. “Zach’s not going to be there, Dad. None of those guys are friends with him.”
“I know but still. It’s too soon. Don’t you think?”
I bite my lower lip, trying to control my brewing temper. “Dad, seriously, there’s no reason for me to stay home. I made a commitment to this job.” I eye him and Mom. “Actually, you made a commitment for me to this job,” I add for emphasis.
“That’s true,” Dad says. “But that also means I have the ability to break the commitment.”
“Come on, Dad.” I whine. My hand flies to my mouth in surprise. I hate whining, it instantly discredits me. “I’ll call home during all of my breaks. I promise.”
Dad shakes his head. I look to Mom, hoping she’ll help.
“Charlie,” she says while crossing the room and resting her hand on his shoulder. “You know she’s right. Those guys are her friends.” I hold my breath. Mom rarely if ever presents an opinion contrary to Dad’s. “You can’t keep her locked inside forever.”
Dad looks down at Mom and I see them as a couple, not my parents. He gazes at her and she fixes his hair. He closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling. It is sweet but weird. I fidget with my backpack straps. I normally would have coughed or left the room but I hold out, hoping their moment would end in my favor.
Dad sighs, “Okay.” He turns to me. “Lucy, call home during every break. Also, what’s Justin’s number? I need another way of getting ahold of you if I need to.” He glances at the red phone tethered to the wall. “You never know, maybe I’ll get somewhere with the police today?” he grumbles.
“Sure. No problem.” I pull out my cell and write Justin’s number on the white board on the fridge. “I promise I’ll call. I’m going to be just fine. Trust me.” Dad squeezes Mom’s hand.
The doorbell rings. “UPS.” Dad stands up and pushes open the kitchen door. “Probably Eric’s birthday gift.”
Mom walks over to me and I hug her. “Thanks. I can’t stand to not be doing anything today.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I had to start my garden.” I look out the window at our unusually beautiful backyard. It is a constant reminder of how sad I’ve made her. She pulls away from me and I plaster a smile on my face. “We’ll be expecting your calls, do you understand?”
“I won’t forget.”
Squeak. The kitchen door flies open. Dad walks back in shaking his head. Justin follows.
Justin hasn’t shaved this morning so his stubble is extra thick. His shirt hangs perfectly from his broad shoulders. He looks like he stepped out of a romantic comedy. I am completely caught off guard and mumble some sort of greeting. I glance at my parents, both dressed in robes, and I shift uncomfortably. The last thing I want is Justin to see my parents in pajamas. Somehow that’s worse than him seeing me in pajamas.
“Hey, I thought I’d stop over on the way to work and offer you a ride.”
Dad rolls his eyes at Mom and she smiles. I pretend I don’t notice.
“Sure. Is that okay, Dad?”
“Well,” he grunts, “It seems that I can’t keep you here or keep them away. So go.”
I glare at Dad. I expect that from Mom, not him.
Justin’s face slowly processes Dad’s words. He opens his mouth to re-explain his motives but I intervene. “Come on, Justin. Let’s go.” There’s no way I’m letting Justin’s sass ruin this for me. I open the swinging door. “I’ll call during breaks,” I emphasize as I hold the door open for Justin. We are not going down that road with my parents. Not today.
Justin raises his eyebrows at me. He clearly understands the awkwardness of the situation. I motion for him to walk through the door, urging him to drop it, for once. He smiles, turning back toward my parents. “Thank you, sir. I’ll have her back before dinner. I promise.” I groan. He couldn’t have made that sound more like a date if he tried. Dad glares daggers at Justin. Mom laughs as I grab Justin and pull him through the door.
I pull the door shut behind me. “Cut that out. They can still change their minds.”
Justin laughs as he steps onto the front porch. “It was too hard to resist. That room was thick with Daddy’s little girl sentiment.”
“Of course it was.” I heave myself into the passenger seat. “You’d feel the same way if it was your daughter.”
Justin laughs. “Oh, no, trust me. If it was my daughter, I wouldn’t have let another guy into the house. Let alone let you leave the house with him.” Justin pulls out of the driveway.
“Really?”
“Then I’d be a very happy person right now.”
He grins. “Well I’m glad to see you didn’t lose your fire.”
“And I’m glad to see you are still my consistent, annoying and egotistical friend.”
“You know it,” he says with unknowing charm. I refuse to let my grin creep across my face. “So, how did yesterday go?” he asks.
“Fine, I guess. Zach really can’t be held accountable. It’s driving my dad nuts.”
“That sucks.”
I shift in my seat. “I don’t think Zach would have done anything more, though.” I watch, but his expression doesn’t give anything away. “Do you?”
“I thought about it all day yesterday. I want to say no but I just don’t know. He’s not himself when he’s wasted.”
“He always listened to me before.”
Justin clenches his jaw. “You had to say no before?”
I shrug like it was no big deal. The vein in Justin’s neck throbs. “No guy should ever push a girl so far she has to say no.”
I roll my eyes at him and laugh. “Come on, Justin. How else are they going to know?”
“That’s not how it is supposed to work.”
“Oh? Then how does it?” I mock him.
Justin shrugs. “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage.” I laugh, thinking he is joking. He doesn’t smile. He turns to me. “Guys shouldn’t operate like Zach. There should never be a question when you get to that point.”
I don’t know how to respond. Justin’s reasoning astounds me. I didn’t know there were guys left that actually felt that way. “So you’re saying?” I need clarification.
“I will never force myself on a girl.”
“And?”
He sighs, “Yeah. It sounds stupid. But I want to be married first.” He shrugs. “I’ve seen too many people heartbroken over what they didn’t need to give away. That’s not going to be me.” He smiles softly and my heart breaks free of my guard. It does cartwheels. “And I definitely refuse to risk the heart of a girl I like. I’ve waited seventeen years. I can wait longer.”
“But what if you don’t get married until you’re thirty-five?”
“Then I am in for a very long and frustrating wait.”
“You’d really want to wait?”
“Well, I’m hoping I won’t have to wait that long.” He leans over and flips on NPR. “Do you mind?”
I shake my head and watch him settle into our old morning routine. I pretend to gaze out the window, processing everything he said.
I’ve never realistically contemplated waiting until marriage. I wrote it off somewhere between watching MTV’s Spring Break and my friendship with Marissa. It didn’t seem possible. Could a relationship even work out if your first time having sex was on your wedding night? How can you know if you’re marrying the right guy?
My grandparent’s marriage comes to mind. Grandma told me all about their honeymoon last summer while she sipped a mimosa on the deck with Mom. Mom left but I stayed for the details. Somehow it wasn’t that weird coming from Grandma. That’s how their marriage worked. She assured me it was worth the wait. And, here they are today, fifty-five years married. Today, the divorce rate is over fifty percent. I have no idea if Mom or Dad had sex before their wedding night and, honestly, I don’t want to know. That’s one conversation I’ve successfully avoided.
“Do you think I’m ridiculous?” Justin teases, interrupting my thoughts.
“Oh no. I just,” I sigh. “I’ve never met anyone like you. That’s all.” My heart swoons with the truth of my words. Somehow Justin’s commitment makes me want to be his girlfriend even more. It feels counterintuitive.
Justin chuckles. I can’t help but let out a small sigh of delight. Crap.
“Well,” he smiles, “I’m glad you’ve met me then.”
I nod and force myself to turn back toward the window. My defenses have given up and my heart can’t be trusted on its own. I focus out the window, expecting to watch the bushes that hide the low wired fence of the Cross-Town Highway. My eyes fall on a high noise barrier instead.
“Wait. Where are we going?”
“It took you a while.”
“We aren’t painting?”
He shakes his head and nods toward my hands. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I stretch my fingers and bend my palms. They aren’t even bandaged anymore. Minnesota’s white, domed capital rises in the distance. “Why are we going to St. Paul?”
“Finishing that research project.” He pulls off the highway onto Grand Ave. I eye Summit Hill, a steep, small road that cuts straight up the natural cliff of the river valley. “You aren’t going to try to drive this thing up that are you?”
“Yup. She can handle it.” He pats the steering wheel in encouragement. The light turns green and I grasp the bottom of my seat. The motor huffs and sputters as we climb. We no longer face forward but up. I am certain we are going to flip over backwards. I close my eyes and brace myself. Every other calamity seems to happen in my life. Why not this too?
Justin laughs as the truck makes a choking noise. “Lucy, you can stop white-knuckling it. We made it.” I open my eyes. “Aw, come on! Eyes closed? You missed all the fun.” He nods back down the hill. “We can do it again if you’d like?”
“Never again.” I glare at him in response. “Not in this junker.”
“Shhh. You’ll hurt Thelma’s feelings.” The truck sputters as he pulls up to Summit Avenue’s stop sign. I decide not to humor him with asking about the truck’s name.
We drive a bit before parking along the street. I climb out of the truck, recognizing a few of the homes from the Victorian volumes I studied. Justin follows me with my notes from last week.
“Where are we going?”
He nods as he puts his hand on my shoulder, turning me around and away from him. “There.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I stare at the massive stone structure of the James J. Hill House. The mansion with the striking carriage entrance looks stunning against the lavender morning sun. The grand chimneys that split through the aged roof have a beautiful green tone to them. Graceful arches of brick protect the entrance. The mansion is beautiful.
“I’m bidding to paint it,” Justin explains. “It’s a huge job, a hard job. But it’d be an awesome job.”
“It’s stone,” I point out the obvious.
Justin laughs at me, putting his hand on my back as he leads me across the street toward the mansion. “Look closer. There are hundreds of windows to trim and other small nooks. The exterior is all about the details. Plus,” he nods toward the entrance and smiles, “the inside has lots of walls to paint.”
“That would take all year.”
“A couple, actually. If we got the job, we’d start next fall.”
“But won’t you be away at school?”
He shrugs. “I got into the Carlson School of Management at the University of Minnesota. It’s ten minutes away. I should be able to swing it.”
“But how will you have time to paint?”
“I’ll paint a bit but mostly Troy will hire appropriately.”
“He’s not going to college?”
“He’s going to pick up an associate in business during the evenings. He’s never been big on school. He loves to paint and he really is a great manager. If I snag this gig, the experience will set Troy up for a successful career.”
“And you?”
“Well,” he laughs. “I’ll be able to afford college.”
He opens the notebook to a blank page. “We need to gather notes so I can build a realistic proposal.” He walks up to the door of the carriage entrance.
“I don’t think if you knock they’re going to let you in.”
“Oh yeah?” Justin knocks loudly. Moments later, the door swings open. “Hi,
Mason,” Justin says as he steps into the mansion. “This is Lucy.” I follow him through the door. The woodwork is dark and stunning. I remember it vaguely from my tour in second grade.
“Nice to meet you.” A middle-aged gentleman extends his hand. I shake it and he grasps the back of my hand with his other hand in an old-fashioned shake. “I’m Mason. I have the honor of being the groundskeeper here and,” he eyes Justin, “your personal tour guide.” He weaves my arm through his as he walks me out of the entryway and into the grand entrance. I gasp at the staircase looming before me. I turn back to Justin. “How did you get us in before hours?”
He shrugs. “They like me.”
“We’re old family friends,” Mason explains. Justin walks past us, examining cracks in the paint near the baseboards. Mason drops his voice, “Also, it helps when your dad’s the governor.”
“He’s not the governor, Mason,” Justin insists as he sits down on the ground to get a closer look.
“Not yet,” Mason playfully taunts. Justin ignores him.
Mason proves to be a delightful tour guide. Justin surveys every room, jotting notes as he examines the trim, fireplaces, walls, and wallpaper. I, on the other hand, can’t even think about painting. I allow myself to get lost in the grandeur of the space and swept up in Mason’s captivating story-telling of the mansion’s rich railroad history.
Mason shows us every nook and cranny of the house. Most people only see a few rooms, never the offices and certainly never the rooms that aren’t safe for large touring groups, like the children’s theatre and schoolroom.
Our tour ends at the top of the grand stairway. Mason drags Justin away from the wallpaper. He nods to me and the steps. “You aren’t going to let this lovely girl walk down these stairs alone, are you?” I open my mouth to protest but Mason shakes his head at me. “Don’t be so modern.” He slips my arm through Justin’s. The butterflies that I have worked so hard to keep dormant spring to life. “You can’t miss this opportunity.”
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