I stop laughing, “No way, Gram. I love you, but not a chance.”
She narrows her eyes and sits up as straight as her crooked spine will let her. Her look of cold disappointment travels the length of me.
“I wasn’t asking.” She tosses the blanket from her shoulders and carries her teacup to the kitchen.
I nod even though she can’t see me.
“Yes, Gram.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Talia
Now that I don’t have a boyfriend or a best friend, its way easier to go about my days completely unnoticed. After the freak out on day one, I’ve managed to stay invisible all week. I also haven’t had as many panic attacks. It’s like the less I allow people into my life the better I feel. And, I feel okay today. It’s just me and Nan.
I sit at her kitchen island and knit. The only sound in the room is my knitting needles clacking together as I work on my fifth hat this week. I’m hoping to finish one more hat by the meeting tomorrow as well as come up with a really good reason why I can’t plan the charity drive.
“What do you have there, darling?” Nan asks, leaning over the island. This is the first time she’s gotten off the couch. She’s worn out, I can see it in every movement she makes. She still won’t admit that something’s wrong.
I’m just about to press her for details again but she’s wiggling her fingers. I place my half done hat in her hands and get nervous as she inspects it. I just wish she’d tell me what’s wrong.
“This is lovely. What is it?” She looks over her glasses. She only wears them when she knits.
I force a laugh.
“It’s a hat, like the other one I showed you. This one has a skull on it, though.”
“Why in heaven’s name would you put a skull on a hat?”
“People like it. I have one with a flower too, for those who aren’t into skulls.”
“I don’t understand how anyone can be ‘into’ skulls.”
I stand up and pull the edge of my tiny skull covered underwear out of my jeans and Nan presses her lips together and frowns. I laugh and tucked them back in.
“I don’t know, Nan. I just like them, but I only have socks and underwear. I leave the death skulls to the more hardcore.”
Nan shakes her head and continues to scan the hat.
“This is really wonderful, darling. I’m so proud of what you’ve learned.”
“I’d like to sell them at the drive. Maybe then someone under the age of 50 will actually show up.” I smirk and Nan sticks her tongue out at me.
“I think you should. After all, you’re planning it.”
I blush, I hope I won’t be planning it. I hope that she just gets better and then rocks the show like she always does.
“Don’t you have to have the work juried?”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine. It’s just a hat, and you are a good enough knitter. But maybe submit the one with the flower for jurying. After you’re accepted you can put whatever your twisted heart desires on the hats.”
She hands the hat back and heads back to the couch, which is her favorite place to knit. I feel the most calm when I am knitting with Nan. It’s like all the jumbled thoughts move to the back of my brain and I can think clearly.
But I’m still dreading the meeting tomorrow.
~
Dad’s home when I wake up on Sunday morning. He’s reading the paper, playing with the side of his glasses. He glances up when I pad into the room. He does that thing with his mouth that looks like it could be a smile, but he’s a lawyer so it’s neutral-looking and I can’t really tell.
I get my cereal and milk and sit down across from him. I’ve never realized how young he looks. He has a full head of thick dark hair, like mine, and there are only a few faint lines around his eyes.
“So how was your trip?” I ask, still studying his face but this time I’m searching for expression. Particularly a guilty one.
He looks up with his permanent impartial expression, “Fine. How was your first week of school? I feel bad for missing your first day.”
I choke on my last bite of cereal. I can’t remember the last time he asked me a question, never mind apologized to me for missing something.
Sure, if I ramble on about something he’ll listen...kind of, but he doesn’t start the conversations.
“Deacon cheated on me with Janna, so I dumped him and don’t have a best friend anymore. And, a senior at school tried to get me to go on a motorcycle with him. He has tattoos and has been to prison. So all-in-all pretty good.”
I smile at my dad’s stare of incredulity. It feels good to make a lawyer lose his composure. Although, he’ll probably never ask me another question again.
“I’m, I’m sorry to hear that. Deacon was a nice kid,” he recovers quickly. He’s a good lawyer.
“Not really if he cheats on his girlfriend, Dad.”
He frowns like I’m crazy.
“I guess not.”
I dump my left over milk in the sink. I hug him quickly and kiss his temple.
“Nice to have you home, Dad.”
He forces a confused half smile before going back to his paper.
~
I ride my bike to the Wool Shop and lock it up in my regular spot. I didn’t bring cookies this week, because...well, because I didn’t want to. I’m not Nan, I don’t have time to bake cookies every week. I asked her to bake them for me when I called her this morning to double check that she was missing another meeting but she said she was tired. She says that a lot now and I am positive that something’s going on that I don’t know about. It’s driving me crazy. She’s not being herself and I’m worried about her. Nan has always been the only thing I didn’t worry about.
I push open the door into the familiar warmth of the shop. Immediately I sense something is different. I scan the store, music still blaring though my headphones. I spot the hat first, then the soft curls, then the defined jaw and sharp nose. Lachlan is definitely not movie star gorgeous, but there’s something about him that demands attention. I would be lying if I said I didn’t like looking at him.
He sees me and grins. His mouth moves, then he gets up and walks toward me. He lifts one ear of my headphones and puts his face close enough to mine that I can feel his breath on my skin. The scent of toothpaste fills my nose and the minty air stings my eyes.
“Nice to see you again, Talia,” he whispers as I stab at the buttons of my music player, trying to make it stop.
“Good taste, Hat Girl,” he continues. “This band is pretty badass.”
He replaces the earpiece on my ear and sits back down. All the other ladies are watching me, except Marybeth. Marybeth is glaring.
I push my headphones down and make my way to the couches in the middle of the room. Nan’s chair is the only one open. Lachlan’s in mine. I glance around the room and most of the ladies have gone back to their knitting or their conversations about knitting, but Marybeth is still glaring.
“Sorry I didn’t bring the cookies, Marybeth. I just don’t...”
Lachlan puts his hand out to stop me and points his thumb at Marybeth.
“She’s pissed that I’m here,” Lachlan says. Georgina reaches out and smacks him with her knitting needle. Marybeth’s glare deepens, and I have to move my eyes away from her so I don’t laugh. I connect with Lachlan’s gaze and he wiggles his eyebrows. My lips stretch into a smile. A real smile. It feels weird, but nice. I would ask if I sound crazy, but according to the doctors, I am.
“Anyways,” he starts, not taking his eyes off me. “I’m only here to say I’ve been bullied into helping with this artsy thing...”
Georgina hits him with the needle again.
“Okay, Gram, Jeez. I’ve been asked nicely to help you and I came by to say I would be honored to sell your doilies for you.”
Lachlan leans toward me, his elbows on his knees. He’s thin but muscular, like a hockey player, except I doubt he ever played hockey. He holds his hand out to me and I hesitate bef
ore I give him mine. He curls my fingers in his and presses his lips to the back of my hand.
I will my face to stay its natural colour, but goosebumps spring up along my arms at the light touch of his lips.
“I’m at your beck and call, m’lady.” His slight accent comes out in full force. He bows as he stands up and lets my hand go slowly, our fingertips sliding apart. “How was that, Gram?”
She beams at him. “Be back in two hours so we can make our plans.”
~
Two hours fly by but I can’t push Lachlan from my mind. The only thing I have the guts to ask is where he picked up that accent. Apparently he’s from Louisiana somewhere. The conversation never went farther than that. I’m confused as to why I want it to go further. I just can’t stop thinking about him.
I drop six stitches and have to start over twice as I show Anna how I do the cabling for the hat I’m working on. I stretch out my fingers then ball my hand into a fist before I continue knitting. The skin on the back of my hand still tingles. I have no idea what is wrong with me. I don’t even like him. He terrifies me more than anything. And now I have to plan a craft show with him? A craft show I don’t even want to plan.
The door jingles and so does my stomach. Lachlan sits down in my chair and leans back stretching his arms out and resting them on his head.
“Times up. Let’s plan a party, Gram.”
I study Lachlan and the way he slouches in his chair and grins like he doesn’t care about anything, like it’s no big deal he’s here. There’s something off about Lachlan and it tugs at that girly part of me that needs to know, that needs to find out which of the rumors are true and how much of his reputation is based on gossip.
The other ladies begin to pack up their things and Marybeth glares at Lachlan the entire time she wraps up her yarn.
I put plastic caps on the tips of my needles, so the yarn doesn’t slip off, and pack up my own things. I pull a notebook from my bag, and Georgina hands me a pen.
“Okay, so the craft show is the first weekend in December,” I start. My breath catches. That’s not as far as it seems. I crack my wrist a couple times and tap my pen on the paper.
Lachlan groans. I tilt my head to the side.
Really?
Georgina obviously hadn’t told him that part. But it should be obvious. I glare at him.
“It’s a Christmas charity event. When did you think it would be?”
He stares. His head angles to match mine and something changes in his eyes. I’m not sure he’s used to being talked to this way. I don’t have time for this. All he has to do is show up and lift some boxes. My eyes flicker to his arms, crossed in front of his chest. I immediately drop my gaze to my notepad.
The shadows are pressing at the edges of my brain. I tap my pen a few times.
“Touche, let’s get on with it,” he grumbles.
“Which gives us twelve weekends to get everything done.” That’s really not much time at all. I push air out of my lungs slowly, trying to control my breathing. I can’t panic right now. Not in front of him.
Lachlan groans again and then bites his lip. His dark eyes flicker as if to say, ‘Ooops’.
“We have to meet with the director of the show, get our work juried, decide how many booths we want, decide the theme, set a sales goal, volunteer at the Shelter…”
Lachlan cuts me off.
“Whoa, back it up, Hat Girl. Volunteer at the Shelter?”
“Yeah, the contributors are asked to volunteer both time and money. This is the biggest craft event of the year. The Shelter staff are a lot of fun.” I try to sound light but he’s irritating me and it’s causing nervous energy to build inside my mind.
“I think I was led in here on false pretences, Gram. I didn’t know there would be volunteering.”
“Well, you just think about that next time you want to be dishonest with me and try to play me for a fool. I can play that game, too.” Georgina crosses her frail arms across her chest and Lachlan’s face turns three shades of red. Fury flashes behind his dark eyes and his jaw muscle twitches but he just slouches further into his chair. He doesn’t say another word the entire meeting. As soon as we’re done, Lachlan’s out the door without a glance in our direction.
“I’m sorry about Lachlan, Talia. He’s been so misguided his whole life that it’s just hard to rein him in, you know?”
I nod, but I don’t know. I have no clue.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lachlan
I clutch the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. I want to punch something but I just hold on. As long as my hands stay on the wheel I’ll be fine.
“Did I embarrass you in front of Talia?” Gram says about half way home.
“I don’t care about her,” I snap.
I know that hurts her feelings and I instantly regret saying it. I just can’t control myself when I’m mad.
“Did you ever think that maybe she doesn’t much care for you either because you act like a big pig-headed buffoon around her? All that girl cares about is making her grandma proud by doing her job as leader of our group. Now that may not seem like a big deal to you, Lachlan, but to her it is. So I would suggest you smarten up and start acting like a man, not a boy.”
I’m not sure how to react. I’m not surprised that Talia doesn’t like me, I’m surprised that I care.
I turn to Gram and smirk.
“Did you just call me a pig-headed buffoon?”
“I most certainly did.” She smiles.
The only person I can never stay angry with is Gram. If this girl is important to Gram, then I will do what I can to help.
If nothing else Talia has an ass worth staring at for twelve weekends.
“Sorry, Gram.”
“You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”
We drive in silence the rest of the way home.
~
The text comes at 8pm.
408 10th Ave
I slide my phone back into my pocket and stick my head into the living room.
“Hey Gram, I’m going to run to the store and grab some ice cream. You want anything?”
“No thanks.” She doesn’t look at me and I’m glad.
I slip my shoes on and head to the garage. The guilt of lying to Gram again fills my thoughts. I’m not paying attention as I push my motorbike out onto the street and almost run over Talia.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss at her and by the hurt expression on her face I’m guessing it came out wrong.
She slams the box she’s holding into my chest. I brace my bike with my legs, trying not to drop either.
“Bringing this stuff by for Georgina. It’s Nan’s notes for the sale. She wants us to go over it.” Her voice is tight. Her arms are straight by her side. She is so rigid. So closed off.
Gram’s right, she really doesn’t like me. Or maybe she’s just uptight, as straight as those knitting needles she loves so much, and talks to everyone like that. I don’t know, I barely know her. But something about her intrigues me. Something about the way she switches on and off. There’s more to her. I’ve never been curious like this about someone, until this afternoon at the meeting. How her skin felt when I took her hand. How everything around her was neat and in order and her knitting needles were lined up from biggest to smallest. How, from out of nowhere, she flared to life and shut me down without even blinking.
I press the kickstand down with my heel and prop my bike on it. Steadying the box she forced into my arms, I walk back to the garage. I stop when I see the spare helmet hanging on the wall.
No way, I think. This chick would never.
But that just makes me want to try.
“Did you walk here?” I whisper.
“Yeah, I don’t live too far away. Why are you whispering? Where are you going?”
I grab the second helmet off the peg. I have no idea what I’m thinking but I hold it out to her. She stares at me with those huge blue eyes and I have an overwhelming need to
uproot her sheltered existence. It’s an overpowering feeling and I know I should just walk away. I should leave her standing on our driveway and preserve her innocence but something about her, something about the way she looks at me, makes me want to drag her down into my world. Bring her to my level so I don’t feel so alone anymore. I get the feeling that she’s like me. Alone.
“Put it on,” I say.
“But...”
“Please.” I place the helmet on her head, clipping the strap under her trembling chin.
I flip up the bike stand and swing my leg over, kicking the bike to life. The motor rumbles, masking the thunderous sound of my heart against my ribs.
What the fuck am I doing?
“Get on.” I have to yell. Talia doesn’t move. I hold my hand out to her and she stares at it.
“Come on, trust me, Hat Girl.”
She slowly takes my hand and I pull her to the bike. To me. She lifts her leg and adjusts herself behind me. I wrap her arm around my waist and glance over my shoulder at her. Her eyes are wide, shocked, and I get a sick sense of pleasure from it. This girl has probably never let go, she has probably never done anything wrong in her life. I grab her other hand and bring it around me too.
“Hold on,” I say over the loud hum of the engine. She presses herself into my back and balls the front of my shirt into her fists. Her fingers dig into my skin.
Part of me says stop, to let her get off and go home, to tell her to forget I even exist and to never speak to me again. But another part of me feels like it’s the right thing to do. I need to bring her with me. I need her with me. I hate this feeling. Even more, I hate that I don’t know where this feeling is coming from.
I race through the streets, faster than I usually drive, and try to convince myself I’m not trying to scare her. Every time I take a corner too fast or hit the gas a little too hard she squeezes me tight, the entire length of her presses against me. I like it. I feel more alive than I have in months. Hell, I haven’t felt this good since I was using.
I turn onto 10th Ave and stop a couple houses down from Garrett’s. I want Talia with me, I just don’t want her knowing what I’m doing.
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