“You did not. Lindsay Timms was a friend of mine, and I would’ve heard about it.”
“No, really. It was after you left for college. And . . . let’s see, there was the time I took what’s-her-name-who-you-don’t-know to Red Lobster and then to the Amarillo Community Theatre.”
“Really? That doesn’t sound like your thing.”
“It was her thing. Needless to say, that relationship didn’t last long.”
I was leaning forward with my elbows on the table, and Graham’s hands were near mine. When he touched the tips of his fingers to my palm, I responded with a gentle touch, and for a few moments we stopped talking and focused our attention on our fingers as we explored each other’s hands. Such a simple, innocent thing to do, but warmth spread up and down my spine, and I found myself wanting to reach past his hands to his arms, then up to his shoulders. I wanted to explore the muscles on his chest. I wanted him to explore me.
I straightened and pulled my hands away.
Graham acted like he didn’t notice, and he stood, picked up his bag, and started loading empty containers into it. Then he reached into the bottom of his bag. “I almost forgot. I brought an after-dinner activity. Not quite as fancy as dinner theater, but I think it will make you laugh.” He set something down on the table. “And I love it when you laugh. Did you bring the mirror?”
My gaze fell to the tabletop, and when I saw a roll of Wint O Green Lifesavers, confusion clouded my thoughts. “Um . . . what are we doing?”
“My mom calls it sparking.”
It was his mom’s idea? “And we need a mirror?”
“Don’t look so worried.” He tore the wrapper away and popped a Lifesaver in his mouth. “If you bite them hard enough, they spark. You just have to be in a really dark place.” He peered over his head at the now dark sky.
“Show me,” I challenged, moving to stand in front of him.
His laugh sounded uneasy. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but here goes.” He kept his mouth open for my inspection, and obnoxious chewing sounds rattled across the canyon.
I smiled at his absurd facial expression. “I didn’t see a thing.”
“No? Probably not dark enough.” He bent down and blew out the candles, leaving us in pitch blackness.
I heard the wrapper tear again, and then his chewing, and his nearness sent goose bumps down my arms. “You sound like a cow.” Then I saw it—a tiny spark. “Oh, my goodness. There really are sparks in your mouth. Sort of blue. Or green.”
“Told you.” He tore more of the wrapper.
“Do it again, but bend down so I can see you better.” In the darkness, I sensed that he leaned against the end of the table and moved his feet on either side of me. I put my hands on his shoulders to keep my bearings, and our faces were almost level so that when he crunched again, I had a better view of the sparks. “Your mother does this?”
“She puts on a show for the little kids she babysits. But only if they’re good.”
“Can I try?”
“Please do. I’m getting a stomachache.” He fumbled for my hand and palmed me a mint.
“Now I see why you wanted a mirror.” I reached for my bag but tripped over his feet, falling against his chest.
“Whoa there.”
Graham’s arms encircled me as I regained my balance, and when I stood back up, his cheek brushed mine. “You okay now?”
When I felt his breath on my ear, I turned my head and brushed my lips against his. “Couldn’t be better.”
He chuckled brusquely. “Let’s see if you can spark then.” He scooted back to sit on the table, and I stood between his knees, holding the mirror above his right shoulder.
My first try didn’t work.
“Can I try it again?”
His hand traveled up my body, and his fingers tapped my neck and chin until he found my mouth. Then he slipped a mint between my teeth. “This time, really crunch hard, and keep your mouth wide open.”
His hands moved down to grip my waist, and I bit down so hard I thought I might dislodge a filling. “That’s it. Three sparks in a row.”
I giggled, and he gave me more candy, but this time when I chewed, I could hear him snickering. “What are you laughing at? It sparked. I saw it.”
“Oh, it’s sparking all right, but listen to yourself. You’re humming when you chew.” He laughed again.
“Hush up.” The next time I consciously tried not to hum, but I couldn’t chomp hard enough that way.
“I guess humming gives you extra power.” He paused dramatically. “One Lifesaver left . . . and I think it should be mine since—”
“No way, I get the last one.” I groped for his hand, and we scuffled briefly, and when he shoved the candy in his mouth, I laughed once again at the sparks shooting in the darkness.
“I love it when you laugh, Cecily,” he said quietly. “It makes me laugh too.”
“Well, Dr. Harper, you know what they say . . . laughter is good therapy.”
He was still laughing when he pulled me toward him and covered my mouth with his.
It felt strange when I kissed him back, smiling, but I decided it was a good strangeness. To be happy with a man seemed right and healthy, and to be happy with Graham seemed natural. And complete.
The mintiness of the Lifesavers gave my tongue a tingling sensation, and his kisses felt different from before, new and exciting. My hands went to either side of his face, as though to keep him from pulling away. His fingers dug into the curve of my back, and both of us stopped smiling. My carefree mood had been replaced with something deeper and more base, instinctive. This man, Graham Harper, cared more about my happiness than anyone I had ever known, maybe even more than I did, and that knowledge was swiftly intoxicating my senses.
When one of his hands left my body momentarily, I heard the votive candles clattering to the ground. Then his arms surrounded me, and he pulled me roughly against his chest before he lay back on the table, and I giggled one last time as my feet came off the ground.
Chapter Thirty
Group text from Shanty: Don’t forget to love yourself. (That’s a quote from my blog!!!)
Cecily: I’m pretty sure I think about myself too much already.
Shanty: There’s a difference between selfishly THINKING about ourselves too often and LOVING ourselves. It’s a balance.
Cecily: Not sure I’m following you, but whatever.
The three members of the support group climbed onto tall chairs around a counter-height table near the front windows of the shop. It was an uncharacteristic choice, but it was also the only available option. Apparently the high school had had some sort of banquet, and half the student body decided they needed coffee afterward. Hopefully the boisterous voices would drown out our sensitive conversation.
“Girlfriends,” said Shanty, “I’m still pumped about the mall, and I’ve still got black marker in a few places.” She leaned toward us and whispered. “Al don’t seem to mind it too much. He kinda likes to run his fingers across the names, if you know what I mean.”
I dropped my forehead into my hands and moaned, and Nina stifled a laugh.
“Spare us the details,” I said. “But the demonstration was awesome. Did you see it in the paper yesterday?”
“Sure did. And the YouTube video already has over two thousand hits.”
Nina shuddered. “How can you stand it? If it was me, I’d feel so . . . exposed.”
“Aw, sweet girl, I’m a crazy one.” She slapped her palms against the tabletop. “But how’s your journaling going? Were you able to write down the reasons you’re beautiful and amazing?”
“See, I can’t even do that,” Nina said.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I’m teasing you. I wrote down a few reasons, but the hard part is believing them.”
“I agree,” I said. “I found myself writing things I knew I was supposed to write.”
“But you wrote them down.” Shanty said. “Good for you, becau
se now that you’ve done it, your subconscious can work on the idea. Keep writing things down, or just sit and think them with your eyes shut—meditate on them—and eventually your mind will begin to believe what your hand has been writing. I know it’s weird, but it works.”
A group of teenagers near us erupted in laughter. A girl was sitting in a boy’s lap, running her fingers through his hair dramatically while their friends hooted. She kissed his cheek and the others cheered.
Shanty glared at them with her hand on her hip even though none of them were paying attention. “Anyhoo.” She turned back toward us. “Tonight, I want you to compliment yourself.” She folded her hands and gave us a tight smile. “Right now. Out loud. Just for me.” She looked back and forth between the two of us and must have decided I was the least appalled. “You first, Cecily.”
“Compliment myself?”
She nodded.
“Um . . . I . . . have good hair?” My fingers instinctively pulled at the long side.
“Excellent! See? That wasn’t so hard. How about you, Nina?”
Nina leaned on one elbow. “I have good hair too.”
I thought she’d cheated a little, but Shanty beamed at her. “You sure do, hon! You both have beautiful hair.” She squeezed our hands, and her palms were soft and warm. “How does that make you feel?”
Since I had gone first with the compliment, I felt it was only fair for Nina to go first with the analysis, but she only sipped her coffee and lifted her eyebrows in a my-lips-are-zipped sort of way.
“Actually, my hair is one of the things I wrote down in my journal,” I admitted.
“That’s all right.” Shanty nodded, but Nina snapped at her.
“But neither one of us believe what we’ve written.”
Shanty smiled faintly and focused on me. “Cecily, why do you think you don’t believe you’re beautiful?”
I didn’t even have to think about my answer. “Because of Brett. His words and actions told me otherwise so many times over the years, and since he was the only one who truly mattered, it sunk in deep. Even now, when I hear his voice, it makes me feel bad about myself. And when I feel bad about myself, that voice inside my head tells me I’m unattractive.”
Shanty rolled her eyes. “You’re not still listening to that phone message, are you?” She snatched my cell from the tabletop where it rested near my elbow. “Girl! We’re deleting that stinking thing right here and now. You don’t need any more of Brett Ross’s discouragement in your life.”
“But he didn’t even say anything. Not like that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Nina said. “You’re still allowing him to hurt you whether he means to or not.”
“There.” Shanty set the phone in the middle of the table, and we all peered down at it for a few moments like three cranky school teachers disciplining a wayward child.
“It works better if you turn it on.” Mirinda stood next to our table, tilting to one side, mocking us.
For a few long seconds, none of us said anything, even Shanty. And right then I knew that Shanty and Nina had my back. We may have only known each other a few weeks, but they weren’t about to let Brett’s little sister rankle me the way Brett had.
Shanty’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Now that’s ironic, Mirinda. We were just deleting your brother from Cecily’s phone.”
Maybe Shanty didn’t have my back after all.
“You may be able to delete him from your phone”—Mirinda looked at me—“but you can’t delete him from your life. No matter how many dates you have with your therapist.” She gave Shanty and Nina a lazy grin before turning away.
When had she seen me with Graham? I wanted to crawl under the table. No, I wanted to strangle Mirinda, then crawl under the table. No, I wanted to tell Shanty and Nina that Mirinda was Madam X and had her own hidden insecurities, then strangle her, then crawl under the table.
“You’re dating Dr. Harper?” Nina spoke first. “He could lose his license for that.”
Shanty puckered her lips. “Clearly you’ve put some thought into the notion.” When Nina’s hand fluttered in indifference, Shanty studied me. “You okay?”
It seemed like a peculiar question, and I didn’t know how to answer. “I’m not sure.”
She nodded. “I know Graham well enough to know he’s not breaking the law, but I don’t know him well enough to know if he’s up to something. Men are cockroaches.”
“Oh, good grief,” snapped Nina. “Your Al is not a cockroach. You’re happily married.”
Shanty’s face grew quizzical, but right then the teenagers next to us stood as if on cue and banged and bumped their way past our table, finally leaving. Nina’s gaze followed them out the door, and I wondered if she had been happy in high school. Somehow I doubted it.
“So how can you say that?” Nina’s question came out in a whine, but she was clearly sincere. “Not all men are bad, are they?”
“Naw, they’re not all bad, and when I say they’re cockroaches, I don’t mean it in a bad way. They’re just not always good for us. Or they could be, but we don’t always let them. We expect them to be something they’re not, or something they can never be, or something they’re not willing to be. If we just accept them for who they are, then we’ll be all right. Besides, without cockroaches, the world’s ecosystem would be overrun with problems.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. “Are they cockroaches, or not?”
“Okay, just forget the cockroach comment.” Shanty stared at the corner of the ceiling, thinking. “It’s all about how we look at them, right? And what I’m afraid you girls are doing is making them out to be your savior, as if men can make you feel pretty, make you feel good about yourselves, make you live happily ever after. But that’s not realistic. If that’s what you’re about, then it would do you well to think less of them. Maybe not rank them as low as cockroaches, but at least take them off the pedestal . . . if that’s where you placed them.”
“I had Brett on a pedestal,” I admitted, “but now I readily agree that he’s a cockroach.”
“What about Graham?” Nina countered. “Is he a cockroach?”
I bit my lip. “I don’t think so? I hope not. But I’d be wise to proceed with caution.” I squinted at Shanty. “That’s what you’re telling us, isn’t it?”
“I think you’re hearing me now.”
Nina’s head moved back and forth in slow motion. “I’m not sure I need a man right now. Dr. Harper suggested a book called Boundaries in Dating, and it’s made me look at things differently.” She giggled. “The other day I was reading it on my Kindle, and I almost bumped into a bulletin board in the JBK. But anyway, I don’t think I can be with a man right now without putting him on a pedestal where he doesn’t belong. I think I need to get healthier first.” She laughed softly and looked over her shoulder toward the bar where Michael usually worked.
Mirinda was there instead, watching us.
“Maybe we shouldn’t meet here for a while,” Shanty said. “For several reasons. I’ll be in touch when I work something out.” She took a long swig of coffee, finishing her drink. “But of course I have homework for you between now and then.”
“I get enough homework at school,” Nina teased.
“But this is an easy assignment.”
“That’s what you always say,” I argued. “Easy smeasy.”
Shanty’s long fingernail swept back and forth in front of our noses. “Do something that makes you happy.”
We just looked at her.
“You mean—”
“Anything. Just do something that makes you happy.”
“Happy,” Nina said.
“Mmhmm. You remember happy? That good feeling you get?”
Nina smiled as she stood. “Used to get.”
I followed them to the door, tossing my trash on the way, but then I stopped. Do something that makes you happy. Maybe I would do just that. Right here. Right now. And then my homework would
be done for the week.
“You know what?” I held the door open for them to walk through. “I’ve got to make a pit stop before I leave. That coffee went straight through.”
Shanty and Nina said their goodbyes and went to their cars. I turned around and peered into the back corner of the shop, but not toward the restrooms. I steeled myself, gathering up the confidence it would take. And finally, I headed in that direction.
Chapter Thirty-One
The piano in the back of Midnight Oil was an old upright with no bench, and when I dragged a chair up to it and sat down, it didn’t feel right. The seat was too low, and my forearms and elbows made an uncomfortable angle when I rested my fingertips on the keys, but somehow the awkwardness seemed appropriate.
My thumb pressed middle C, and a smoky tone filled the room—the hollow, reverberating sound that could only be made by an old instrument crafted long ago. It mimicked the sound of the first full-sized piano I’d played on, a spinet, back when I took lessons from Mrs. Stewart in the choir’s practice room at the Episcopal church. Quietly, I played a simple treble chord, then added the left hand and played a rapid scale before resting my hands in my lap.
Did I really want to do this?
Only a handful of coffee drinkers remained in the shop, so it wasn’t as if I had an intimidating audience, and the ones that did remain continued their chatting, paying little attention to me and my echoing notes. As it should be. There was a time for music to be front and center, and there was a time for it to be background noise, subtly adding to the atmosphere, and guiding people’s moods on an almost subconscious level.
Someone muted the television—Mirinda maybe—and with the TV stilled, the voices in the room amplified more clearly, and I could hear snippets of conversations, even from the far corner. And if I could hear them, if I felt vulnerable and exposed from the decrease in volume, then I knew others did too. They needed the background noise. They needed the music.
I began with Johann Pachelbel. His “Canon in D” would be familiar enough among the general population, and its well-known melody would ease tense muscles and pacify day-long worries. The woman at the side booth would be reminded either of her best friend’s wedding or her own. The two teenagers at the bar would wonder where they had heard it and finally decide it was on a commercial. Someone in the room would replay a movie scene in their head, probably a love story.
Looking Glass Lies Page 15