“Hey. Thanks.” I switched the knife open and ran my fingers over its sharp edges. I turned the blade over a couple times, inspecting it. “This is great.”
“Be careful with it. I don’t want you having nine fingers next time I see you,” he said.
Abbey hovered over me and touched the base of the knife. “Where’d you get it?”
“My grandpa gave it to me when I was a kid. Best present I ever got.”
“Why don’t you want to keep it?” Abbey asked.
Derek gave a slight shrug. “Cuz I don’t need it anymore.”
“Won’t your grandpa be mad that you gave it away?” Abbey asked, and I wanted to kick her hard, but instead I gave her a look that told her to shut up. That knife was golden, and I wanted it.
“My grandpa’s dead. And I don’t need it anymore,” Derek repeated.
“Did you use this in any of your fights?” I searched the knife for spots of dried blood.
Derek shook his head slowly. “Nah,” he said softly. “Just my hands.”
Though I was mildly disappointed because I wanted to hear a good fight story that included the weapon I was holding, Abbey seemed touched.
“It’s braver not to use weapons,” she said. “Especially guns. Anyone can shoot a gun.”
He gave her an even smile. “You’re a smart kid.”
“Thanks.” Abbey giggled.
“I mean it. You’re very insightful. Stay that way.”
“Gosh, Derek. Thanks.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh God. She probably wants you to kiss her now.”
“Shut up, Lyssa. I do not.”
“And you,” Derek pointed at me, “are a sarcastic smartass. You will make a very difficult girlfriend for some poor dude someday.”
“A girlfriend? The hell I will,” I said.
Derek laughed. “But I’m glad I got to know you.” He looked at Abbey. “The both of you. Coming here, hanging with you guys, gave me something to look forward to every day.”
“Me too. I wish this summer never needed to end,” Abbey said.
I didn’t know what was happening. We’d never been so nice to each other before. I didn’t know what the hell Derek was talking about. Most times I thought we were just a couple annoying kids to him, crashing the time he wanted to be alone. I figured that was why he never brought anyone with him because he liked the quiet and the stillness the Hideout offered.
I assumed that with all the fights he got into, this was the place he came to unwind. It was hard to imagine the Derek sitting with us at that moment fighting anyone. Despite the cuts on his face, he didn’t look so tough to me anymore. Not like he used to when I saw him for the first time with his long hair and torn jeans.
Suddenly, he didn’t look so hard-hitting to me. His hair was still long, his jeans still torn, yet, somehow, he looked different, softer.
WE WERE IN my room, listening to a Van Halen cassette and flipping through pages of old issues of Metal Edge. Abbey was sitting on the floor, her back resting against my bed, while I was sprawled across it with my head hanging over the edge, skimming the pages of the magazine. A pile of rock cassettes that Abbey had searched through earlier sat in a scattered heap in the space between my legs.
“We need to come up with some money soon and buy more magazines. I’m sick of reading the same ones over and over again,” I said.
Abbey spun around to me. “I didn’t tell you. While you were playing on the tracks, Derek told me he’d bring all his old Metal Edge magazines and even some Hit Parader.”
I shot up in my bed. “What! Derek’s giving us his old magazines?”
“Yep.”
“How come you didn’t tell me before?”
“I forgot.” She shrugged.
“How could you forget such a thing?” I tapped the magazine against her head. “Did he say how many he has?”
She shook her head. “Just told me he’ll bring all the ones he has.”
“Wait. Why would he give us all his magazines? Even the old ones are cool to read again.”
“He didn’t say.”
I thought about this some more. “And he gave us his pocket knife. Why’s he being so cool with us?”
“Lyssa, he was always cool with us.”
“I know, but he never gave us stuff before.”
“He gives you cigarettes all the time,” Abbey pointed out.
“But I pay for most of them. This shit he’s giving us is free.”
“I guess he doesn’t need the magazines anymore like he didn’t need the pocket knife anymore,” Abbey said.
“Just doesn’t make sense.”
“Should we ask him if he’s sure?”
“Hell no. I want the knife and the magazines.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I said.
My mother popped her head into the room. “Hey, guys. Franklin’s on his way over. He said he wants to take you girls out for dinner.”
“Me too?” Abbey asked.
My mother smiled at her. “Yes, Abbey. He specifically asked for you to join us. Come with me and call your mother. Ask her if it’s okay.”
Abbey jumped to her feet and followed my mom out of the room. I lay back onto my back and opened the magazine I was still holding across my folded knee. I wondered how many magazines Derek had. Ten? Twenty? Fifty? I was starting to get excited when Abbey walked back into my room.
“She said I could go.”
“I bet Derek has a ton of magazines.”
“I still don’t know why he’d give us all his things,” Abbey said.
I shot up in my bed and looked at her. “It’s a knife and some old magazines, hardly can be considered all his things. Let it go. And when he gives us his stuff don’t keep asking him if he’s sure he wants to give it to us. I don’t want you changing his mind. Just take it and say thank you.”
“I wasn’t going to do that, Lyssa. Why do you always think I’m gonna do things I wasn’t going to do?”
I ignored her question and snatched up the magazine. I turned onto my stomach and flipped through the pages.
“Hey, where’s the knife? I want to look at it,” Abbey said.
“I hid it in my closet. We’ll take it out when we get back tonight. I don’t want my mom coming in and catching us playing with it. She’d flip out.”
“We should take turns with it the way we do with the Bon Jovi tape.”
“No way.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll either cut a finger off, or you’ll hide it in some stupid spot and your mom’ll find it. The knife stays here.”
“Girls!” I heard my mother’s footsteps nearing my room, and seconds later my door popped open. “You ready? Franklin just called. He’s leaving the theater now. He’s coming right from work.”
The excited, adolescent smile on my mother’s face made her look even younger than she was. She resembled an anxious teenage girl waiting to be picked up by a boy for the first time. I wondered if Abbey noticed as well, and if she had ever seen her own mother looking this jovial.
The theater he worked at was only minutes away from my house by car. By the time we stacked the cassettes back in their rack and piled the magazines neatly on a small bookshelf nailed to my wall, Franklin was knocking at my front door.
“He’s here!” my mother crooned from the kitchen.
I opened my bedroom door and walked down the short hall just in time to catch Franklin reach his arm around my mother’s tiny waist and touch her gently on the small of her back.
He handed her a fistful of colorful flowers. “You look beautiful.” He gazed at her briefly before he kissed her softly on the lips.
I couldn’t see my mother’s face straight on, but in the angle that I approached them, I saw the corners of her mouth stretched into a wide smile. I was stopped in that moment, doubtful with my newly acquired and uncensored insight into my father, that he had ever made my mother smile that way before. Neither, I was sure
, had he ever looked at her so tenderly, or touched her so delicately.
My father was never coming back for me. This, because of my mother’s forthrightness, I knew for certain. I could now stop waiting. And there was a remarkable freedom in no longer waiting.
Abbey was trotting beside me as we approached my mother and Franklin. In a clear bag, resting on the ground at his feet, were two baseball gloves and a couple of balls.
He picked up the bag. “I hope both you girls are right-handed cuz I bought a pair of left-handed gloves.”
“We are.” Abbey stared wide-eyed at the bag.
He held out the bag and I took it.
Abbey peeked inside it. “You really got one for me, too?”
“Of course. You can’t play catch with just one person.”
“Thank you.” She barreled into his thick gut and gave him a quick, energetic hug, but her arms didn’t wrap completely around his strong body. I wouldn’t have expected Abbey to be so excited over a glove because she didn’t even like baseball. I assumed she was just happy to have been included in the gift.
I took one of the gloves from the bag and slipped my fingers inside. The glove was perfect and new. I slammed my fist into the webbing, working to break it in.
“Thank you. This is great. I’m glad you didn’t get me flowers.” I slammed my hand again into the mitt.
“You don’t seem much like the flower type girl,” he remarked.
“She’s not.” My mother laughed. She kissed Franklin on the cheek. “Thank you. That was sweet of you to get them both a gift.”
After Abbey and I thanked Franklin one last time, we went back into my room to put the gift away.
“How come you didn’t give him a hug like I did?” Abbey asked.
“It’s easier for you to hug him. He’s not your mom’s new boyfriend.”
She sat on my bed. “You mean you don’t like him?”
“No, I like him. But it’s too soon for hugs.” I dumped the bag onto my bed.
She nodded. “I understand.”
I sat down next to her. “Know what, Abbey?”
“What?”
“I’m okay with my dad never coming back.” I put on my mitt and smoothed my other hand over it. “He’d probably bring me something stupid like a doll.”
“Probably.” Abbey picked up the other glove. “And you like this a lot better.”
“Totally.”
“WHO’S UP FOR some ice cream?” Franklin asked as we pulled out of the restaurant parking lot.
Franklin had taken us to an Italian place where he got a kick out of the way Abbey slurped her spaghetti. I thought it was funny too, even though we were going into the sixth grade, and I knew she was too old to eat spaghetti like Lady and the Tramp. I suspected my mother was uncomfortable watching Abbey gulp her spaghetti, but when Franklin laughed, my mother laughed too.
Our waitress and people sitting at nearby tables, also seemed to have taken notice of Abbey’s adolescent approach to eating pasta. But they just smiled and cast adoring looks her way, most likely mistaking Abbey for a child much younger than she really was. Abbey’s baby face, petite stature, and delicate features allowed her to get away with eating spaghetti like a six year old. I assumed her mother didn’t serve it very often for dinner because there was no way Mrs. Hulling, as strict as she was about proper behavior, would allow her daughter to make slurping noises while eating.
“I’m too stuffed for ice cream, but I’m sure I know two little girls who aren’t.” My mother looked back at us as we sat close together in the small backseat of Franklin’s fire-red Trans Am.
“I’d like some ice cream,” Abbey said.
“Are you gonna slurp that, too?” I rolled my eyes.
“What are you talking about?” Abbey asked, confused.
“I’m just saying if you make any noise while eating your ice cream, I’m smashing it right in your face.”
“What are you talking about, Lyssa? I don’t make noise while I eat.”
Everyone in the car, except for Abbey, burst out in laughter, but Franklin seemed to be the one laughing the hardest.
I imagined that this was how most family’s car rides were like.
MY MOTHER AND I were standing in the kitchen. Franklin had just dropped us off. I was glad, when he walked my mother and me to the front door and wished us good night, that he left without coming in. Even though I enjoyed the night, it was enough for me. And I think my mother knew that.
I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a jar of orange juice. As I poured myself a glass my mother asked me if I had a good time.
“Yeah. Abbey was funny,” I said.
“She certainly made the night interesting for sure.”
Abbey had been a nice distraction to what was at the heart of the night—my mother was bringing a man into our lives. I didn’t mind that our limited time together was being shared with Franklin. Maybe it was because Abbey was with me, and her presence may have made an otherwise formal and awkward night seem relaxed and casual. Maybe Franklin suspected this soothing effect Abbey would have on the evening and was the reason he specifically invited her.
“Franklin couldn’t stop laughing at her. He really likes her,” I said.
“He does, but it’s you he really wants to know. Are you okay with that, Lyssa?”
The look in my mother’s eyes was hopeful. I gulped my small glass of juice. “Yeah.” I put the empty glass in the sink. “I’m okay with that.”
My mother stepped closer to me and took me in her arms. “I love you,” she breathed softly in my ear.
Chapter Ten
WE WERE RIDING our bikes to the Hideout.
“I’m not sure I can like Franklin,” I said.
Abbey skidded to a halt. “Are you kidding me?”
I rode back to where she was stopped in the middle of the empty street.
“He’s the best of all the other guys,” Abbey said. “He was so nice and fun. And he bought us baseball gloves.”
“You don’t even like baseball.”
“Who cares? It was still nice of him. What’d he do that you’re not sure you can like him?”
“It’s nothing that he did. It’s what he could do.”
“What could he do?”
“Break my mother’s heart. Like the others.”
Abbey slowly nodded as though she were considering something she hadn’t considered before. “Oh . . . I get it. You love your mom more than I love mine.”
She looked at me with hardly any expression at all. She spoke with no dramatic flair, but rather as simple fact—Abbey didn’t love her mom as much as I loved mine. There was nothing more to say about it. I’d been around her mother enough to understand why.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get goin’.”
When we got to the Hideout, Derek was sitting on his rock, smoking.
“Hey, Derek,” I said.
“Hey.” He stood and dropped the cigarette butt on the ground and smashed it with his sneaker. “I got something for you guys.” He walked toward a blue backpack lying in the grass. He grabbed the bag off the ground and unzipped it.
Abbey and I hopped off our bikes and rushed toward him. I was hoping they were our magazines. He angled the opened pack toward me as I approached, and there were magazines stacked at least thirty-deep inside the bag.
“Are you serious? You have that many magazines?” I asked.
Abbey walked to my side and peeked into the pack. “Geez, Derek. Are you sure you want to give us all these?”
I gave Abbey a hard look, but she wasn’t paying attention to me. She was staring wide-eyed into the backpack, anxiously fingering through the magazines. “Hey, Lyssa. There’s one with Twisted Sister on the cover. And another with Van Halen.”
I glanced at Derek. He was watching Abbey ardently ransack his backpack the way an amused father watches his child eagerly tear open presents on Christmas morning.
“These are great, Derek. Thanks,” Abbey said.<
br />
“No problem, kid,” he replied, and then held the bag out to me. “Wanna have a look?”
I did, but I hesitated. As excited as I was about getting Derek’s magazines, I was suddenly unsure about his generous gesture. Although he had given me cigarettes I didn’t pay for, this was different. I couldn’t piece together why he was giving us his stuff, but it didn’t feel right. We never gave him anything.
Even though I had instructed Abbey to just take the magazines without question, I was racking my brain to come up with a reason Derek would not only give up a coveted collection of rock ’n’ roll magazines, but a pocket knife given to him by his late grandfather, too.
“Well? You wanna look through them or not?” He rattled the bag impatiently in front of my face, shaking me out from my distracted thoughts.
“Sure.” I took the backpack from him and sat on the ground. I placed the pack in my lap and sifted through it. Abbey was right. These magazines were great. Every cover was filled with bands I loved so much.
Abbey sat next to me. “Can I sleep over tonight? We can stay up all night reading our new magazines.”
Derek scoffed. “Up all night? You two’ll be dead asleep by ten-thirty.”
“That’s what you think,” Abbey yelled. “We’ll stay up till one, easy, two if we drink enough pop.”
Derek laughed. “Two if you drink enough pop. That was funny. You’re good for a laugh exactly when I need it.”
“It wasn’t meant to be funny.” Abbey scowled at him.
“Oops.” Derek lay back against the gravel and placed his arm behind his neck.
“Hey, can we play catch later with the gloves Franklin got us?” Abbey asked.
“Who’s Franklin?” Derek asked.
“Lyssa’s mom’s boyfriend.”
I dropped the backpack and jerked my head toward Abbey. “He’s not her boyfriend.”
“He’s not? Then what is he?” she asked.
I sighed. “Maybe he is her boyfriend, but I don’t want to call him that yet.”
“Okay. Sorry,” Abbey said.
Derek sat up. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like him?”
“It’s other reasons.”
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