by Ginger Scott
I catch his eyes in the mirror, and I flip the visor up, my breath hitching, and my pulse racing from getting caught. When he slides in the seat next to me, I notice he’s pushed himself up against the door, his arm hanging out. He’s putting distance between us. We’re quiet for most of the drive, and all I can think about are those few moments we’ve had together, how it felt that night in his room, and that night in the corn maze—how I’ll never feel that way again. I turn to look out my window so Cody can’t see the water building in my eyes, but when I sneak my hand up to wipe the tears away, I hear him take in a heavy breath.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I say, letting a single tear fall down my face while I have the chance.
“It’s okay,” Cody says. His voice betrays him—every time. I don’t know if it’s this strange connection we have, but I know when he’s lying, when he’s hurting, when he’s happy, and when he’s not. And that was a lie.
“No, it’s not. And I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you about…you know…on my own,” I say. I wait for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t.
We drive the rest of the way home, and Cody helps me carry my bag to the front door before turning and going into his own garage. I watch him walk away. I watch every step until he’s completely out of sight, and even then, I still watch, waiting and hoping he’s seeing me watch him—somehow knowing just how sorry I am. I’m sorry our timing wasn’t better. I’m sorry I hurt him. I’m sorry I didn’t meet Cody first.
I crack a little at that thought, pick up my bag, and head straight up to my room, the rest of the house its usual quiet. I pull out my book and open it to the drawings of Cody’s shop. Then I flip on the light at my desk and work on Cody’s shop some more. I sketch all day, until the moon is out, and then I slide over to the window seat and watch Cody’s garage, waiting for the light to turn on or off. I wait to see movement—see him—but when I don’t after two hours, I relent and dress for bed.
I’m about to pull the covers up, when I have a thought. I unplug my phone from the charger and open my book to my newest drawings to take a picture. Then I open my message and write to him:
I know you don’t want to talk to me. I understand, and I don’t blame you. But I truly am sorry. And I think I still need you in my life. I worked on the drawings a little more, and I’d love to show you.
I attach the pictures and send my message off. Gripping the phone to my chest, I lay under my blankets in the dark and wait. I wait for another hour, and my eyelids are heavy. The clock shows 3:00 a.m. I have class in the morning, and I know I need to sleep, but I will myself to give it five more minutes.
The vibration sends excited chills up my spine, and I can’t seem to slide open the message on my phone quickly enough.
I’m not angry with you. I like the sketches.
I love them.
I read his message over and over again, each time my heart breaking a little more. When exhaustion finally takes over, I plug in my phone and pull the blankets over my head, squeezing my eyes shut tightly and hoping my dreams give me answers.
I’m far from refreshed when the alarm sounds. If it weren’t calculus today, I’d smack the snooze button and go to school late. But I can’t; I know I can’t. My shower is lackluster, and I pull on sweatpants and a giant long-sleeved T-shirt with my boots. My office is closed today, so there’s no internship, no need to dress for anyone.
I set the coffee for a giant cup, more like three cups. I pour it all into a tumbler they gave me at work and take an apple from the fridge, lodging it in my teeth while I grab the rest of my things and head outside. The frost is setting in, and my teeth would be chattering if it weren’t for the apple stuck in my mouth.
“Practicing the apple bob, or is someone trying to roast you?” Cody says, his voice startling me enough to bite hard and drop the apple from my mouth. It rolls down the driveway and is covered with dirt by the time I retrieve it.
He’s sitting on the back hatch of his truck, his feet dangling. He’s still wearing the same clothes he was yesterday, and his eyes look as tired as mine. I smile softly, timidly—I don’t want to scare him away.
“Crap. My apple’s toast,” I say, rolling it over in my fingers.
“Hang on,” Cody says, sliding from his truck and walking over to me, reaching for the apple. “Lemme see it.”
He twists it around in his hands, inspecting it. He rubs some of the skinned part on his sweatshirt, and when he comes to my teeth marks he shrugs and then takes a giant bite out of it.
“Ewwwww, don’t eat dirt!” I say, reaching for his arm and grabbing the apple back to see his damage. He’s eaten the entire part that was covered in debris. I look back at him and he laughs, his mouth full of apple while he chews.
“What?” he says, reaching for my backpack and pulling it over his arm. “It’s just dirt. Ain’t gonna kill me.”
“So gross,” I say, looking over the rest of the apple before I decide he’s right, and I take a bite off his. I’m instantly thinking about how my mouth is, in some strange way, touching his with this act. I feel juvenile even thinking it, but I get a strange thrill nonetheless.
“Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’m running late…in fact, aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?” I ask, knowing he’s usually in the tutoring lab or class at this time.
“Yeah, I am. I’ve been sitting down here for 30 minutes waiting on your ass,” he teases, walking with my backpack toward his truck. I follow behind, confused and hopeful. “Thought we should just carpool. If that’s okay?”
He stops at the door and holds it open for me; his eyes search mine, waiting for my answer—I can see the same hope in them. In that instant, I know Cody needs me just as much as I need him, and that he’s willing to take whatever he can get. The relief I feel almost makes my legs weak.
I smile as I pass him and get in his truck. He crosses in front of me, and when he gets in, he’s no longer pulling away, forcing distance between us. He’s not sitting close, either, and I know that’s on purpose. And while I’m grateful, I’m also disappointed.
We listen to the radio for the short drive to school, some classic rock station that’s mostly blaring commercials. Minutes later, Cody pulls into his spot by the tutoring labs. I’m getting out, but suddenly he’s pulling the door from me, reaching for my bag. I hand it to him while I slide from the truck seat, and he closes the door behind me. He walks me all the way to class, finally handing me my bag as we enter the classroom. He’s standing still at the top of the room, almost like he’s not sure if he’s staying or going. I look at him for some type of answer, but he just nods forward, urging me to find a seat.
I head to my usual spot, tuck my bag under my seat and turn, expecting him to be gone. Instead, he’s sitting in the very last row. I smile, and he just raises his hand from the desk with a half-wave.
Dr. Rush walks in behind him, and I turn back to the front, not wanting to draw any more attention in this class. The lesson goes quickly, but I don’t understand any of it. I’m scribbling notes, but I’m not focusing. I desperately want to turn to see where Cody is, but I don’t dare. I keep writing, hoping he’ll help me make sense out of it all later today.
When the hour is up, everyone starts packing, and I finally let myself turn to find him. He’s still sitting in the same seat, just where I left him, and he still seems happy. The corner of his mouth curls, his cheek a deep dimple, and I’m reminded of the first time we met.
He’s back.
“So, I didn’t understand any of that, I hope you know,” I say, not thinking, and leaning into his side. His muscles tighten at my contact, and he folds his arms across his chest, almost as if he’s protecting himself from me. His smile is tight-lipped, and I’m worried I’ve already ruined this progress.
“Well…I seem to remember a certain concert that a certain someone promised in exchange for tutoring?” Cody says, his eyes staying on mine, playful, and not shying away.
I laugh at his commen
t, mostly to buy myself time. I don’t think Trevor would mind if I took Cody to the concert. I just don’t know if it’s a good idea anymore.
“Sorry, I get it. We don’t have to go. I didn’t really expect to anyhow…” Cody’s already backtracking, and it causes me to take a leap.
“No, no…I just didn’t think you wanted to go…you know, with me?” I admit.
Cody stops walking and tugs lightly at my sleeve, turning me to face him. “I’d go anywhere…” he says, stopping short, and leaving me to fill in the blanks, unravel the words unspoken.
My head feels light, and I’m starting to sweat. Not wanting to misstep, I just smile. “Well, that’s good, ’cause you’re driving. Show’s next Thursday,” I walk ahead, in the direction of Cody’s truck, secretly hoping his eyes are following me.
The rest of the week continues the same. Every morning I get up and meet Cody downstairs. He even drops me off at my internship and is waiting for me when I’m done. Things almost feel normal, like this is our routine—what we’ve always done as friends. It’s Friday. He’s driving me home from tutoring, talking about the Killers, while I thumb through his music on his iPhone. When he’s not looking, I tap into my iTunes account and secretly download a few more songs that I think he might like, making a Charlie playlist. When my phone buzzes, I jump in my seat and quickly put his back in the center console. I look down at my phone in my lap and am torn when I see Trevor’s name.
I almost don’t answer, but Cody turns to me and smiles. “It’s okay,” he says, leaning his head forward, urging me to answer.
“Hello?” I say, timidly, like I have no idea who’s calling.
“Hey, baby. Flight’s leaving in an hour. Just missed you,” Trevor says, his voice happy and naïve. “Oh, you sound like you’re in the car. I’ll let you go, drive careful.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m with Cody,” I say, not able to stop my words. I shut my eyes and brace myself for his temper, expecting a lecture.
“Oh, good. Hey, put him on,” Trevor says, shocking me. I’m not able to speak for a good four or five seconds. I hold the phone in my lap and look at Trevor’s name and picture, then turn to Cody, who’s listening to every word despite his laser-like attention to the road.
“He, uh…wants to talk to you?” I say, not sure if Cody’s okay with this. By the look on his face, I can tell he’s just as surprised as I am. I think we both thought Trevor would get back to Washington and forget about the bond they started to forge last weekend. Trevor never once mentioned Cody or his contract plan during my nightly phone calls with him. Of course, I never asked either.
Cody takes the phone from me and presses it to his ear with his shoulder; I struggle to hear both sides of the conversation.
“Well, I guess I have that…I mean, it’s not really anything formal, like written down and shit, but I can put something together,” Cody says. A few minutes pass, and I can tell he’s listening.
“Uh huh…Okay…Yeah, man,” Cody says, pausing and taking in a deep breath. “Seriously…thank you.”
When Cody hands the phone back to me, I notice that Trevor’s hung up. I look at the blank screen for a few more seconds before I push the phone back into my purse and stare at Cody. He’s rubbing his neck with one hand and gripping the wheel with the other. When he finally glances at me, he forces a smile, and then turns his attention back to the road.
“What…did he want?” I ask, confused that Trevor spent more time on the phone with Cody than with me, and even more confused at Cody’s reaction to it.
“Oh, he, uh…He’s pretty serious about this plan of his. He needs my business plan, five years, ten years, you know the drill…at least, I hope you do, because I don’t know a thing about business plans,” Cody says, laughter seeping into his words. His smile lifts more with every second. “This really might work, huh?”
I smile back at him and fight the urge to unhook my seatbelt and hug him with all my might. Instead, I just nod yes and hold my tongue.
“Oh, and he said he’s bringing that guy, Kevin or something like that? The golfing dude,” Cody says, his voice almost sounding excited. “He’s bringing him for Thanksgiving in a couple weeks. His wife, too. Said he wants us all to have Thanksgiving dinner.”
I’m so thrown by all of this; I can hardly absorb it fast enough. I don’t know what to question first, so I start with the most difficult question. “You mean, with Jim and Shelly?” I ask, my question lingering in the air, the truck cabin silent with our thoughts.
“Huh. Yeah, I think so. He says he’ll have everything ready by then; that’s when I should try to talk to Jim,” Cody says, his hands tapping nervously on the steering wheel. I can tell he’s done talking, his mind busy racing through everything he needs to get done for Trevor—everything he needs to do to save his father’s memory.
By the time we pull into the driveway, the energy is practically peeling off of Cody. He’s short, but pleasant, when he says goodbye, and I watch him rush up to the carriage house to get started.
It’s almost evening when I hear Trevor’s cab pull in, and I rush down to greet him. He’s barely inside the house for five minutes before Cody’s there too, and the two of them are huddled around the kitchen counter sifting through pages of notes. I’m amazed at how much work Cody was able to do in the few hours before Trevor arrived, but what stills me is the sight of the two of them sitting, talking. There’s an instant respect, and it’s beautiful—something that weeks ago I never could have imagined would take shape.
“That’s amazing. You actually know how to take that out and rebuild it,” Trevor says, trying to keep up with Cody’s mechanical talk. Trevor’s out of his element, but there’s genuine interest lighting up his eyes. Within minutes, the two of them are heading outside to Cody’s garage, and Cody’s propping up the hood of the latest special project he’s taken on.
I stay back, wanting them to have this moment. The longer they talk—the longer they connect—the more satisfied I am with my decision. I love Trevor, and I know I do. And I know I care about Cody, probably more than I should. But I also know I care about him enough to not want to mess this up.
I head upstairs and crawl into bed to read until Trevor finally comes up to join me. He’s talking a million miles a minute, as excited as Cody was after their phone conversation, and I’m starting to feed off his adrenaline. He pulls his shirt and jeans off and slides into bed next to me, turning the light off as he does. When he pulls me into him, everything finally feels normal—right. He’s kissing the back of my neck, his fingers stroking my hair out of the way, when he whispers the most important words he could have said.
“Thank you, Charlotte. Thank you for forcing me to listen, and giving me my brother,” he says.
I lose my breath, and I’m hit with a sudden sense of mourning. I squeeze Trevor’s arms tightly against my front and chase sleep, just waiting to see Cody in my dreams—knowing now that’s the only place I can.
Chapter 12: Just…Friends
Trevor spent most of the weekend with Cody at his garage, and I managed to get completely caught up with my drafts and homework. I rush out of the house each morning early—purposely waking before Cody, so I can drive myself and not have to spend time alone with him in his truck. I need this distance, this time to get my head on right.
The first time I did it, Cody asked why I didn’t wait, and I told him that I was behind on drafts and was spending extra time in the art room. He seemed to buy it, because he quit asking, and this morning, I noticed his truck was gone first.
It’s Thursday, and we haven’t had time to talk about the concert. I’m actually thinking about holding my breath, hoping the entire night passes without him remembering so I can survive this. But it seems my calculus grade has other plans for me.
“Ms. Hudson, you need to spend a little more time in the tutoring lab,” Dr. Rush says, slapping down the stapled packet that was our last quiz. It’s covered in red, and the F can be seen across the ro
om. I know it can, because Cody’s on his way toward me, mouthing, “What the hell?”
“Charlie, why didn’t you ask for help?” he says, sitting down in the seat next to me. I can’t tell him the truth…that I didn’t want to be alone with him because every time I am, I start to question things, and my stomach flutters, and my palms sweat, and I imagine kissing him again.
“I didn’t want to distract you…from the work you’re doing with Trevor.” I lie. It’s a good one, and I know it’s laced with guilt. And Cody feels it, sighing heavily in his seat and leaning forward to rub his temples.
“I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy. But I want to help you. Even if we weren’t…” he starts, but never finishes that part of his sentence. “Helping you is actually my job. Besides, if Trevor finds out I let you fail, he’ll kick my ass!”
He reaches over and pulls the quiz from my desk, flipping through the pages and shaking his head. He stands up and walks over to Dr. Rush. I try to busy myself, pretending not to listen. But I hear him ask if I can get a retake, and he actually gets me one for Monday morning.
Cody is smiling when he walks back toward me; it’s a cocky smile that I’ve only seen him wear once or twice, but it’s sexy as hell, and I’m feeling myself step over that invisible line just a little in my mind. I shake my head to get myself back over it the second he slaps my papers back on my desk.
“Okay, that’s it. We’re hitting the books this weekend—hard!” Cody says, and I open my mouth to tell him it’s okay, that I can study on my own, but he shooshhh’s me—actually holding his finger up and “Shooshhhhhhing!”
He leans over my desk, the ink and muscles of his arm exposed in the pushed-up sleeve of his black thermal. “No excuses. You know this stuff, and I’ve got nothing to do all weekend,” he says, biting his tongue a little as he stands up again.