by Ann Herrick
"We had a great time, Mrs. Crawford. How 'bout you?"
"We had a wonderful time, too," said a male voice floating in through the screen door. It was Mr. Daly. "Kaysie, your mother is great at watching the water for flaws. We had the smoothest ride."
"Oh?" I'll just bet.
"And to top off such a perfect day," said Mr. Daly, sweeping one arm toward the ceiling, "I think we should all go to the Food Fair this evening in Lakeview. I read about it in the local paper. It sounds fantastic."
"We already ate sup‑‑" I started to say.
"What a wonderful idea." Mom clasped her hands to her chest.
Now wait a second. We had a really light supper. I wonder …
"I'll run upstairs and see if Robert wants to go, too," Mom said.
Please, Dad, I prayed silently. For once, ditch your work.
"A night in Lakeview sounds like fun," Troy said. "We could go to the boardwalk and try all the games."
"I'm kind of tired." I tried to delay a definite No until I knew what Dad was going to do.
Just then Mom came back downstairs. "Well, I talked to Robert," she said to Mr. Daly. "He's just too busy, but he wants the rest of us to go."
I wished Mom had looked more disappointed about Dad, but the truth was her eyes were sparkling. "Then count me in," I said. I sure wasn't going to let Mom and Mr. Daly go off alone again. "And what about Gwen? Maybe she'd like to go." I figured the bigger the group, the better.
"Actually, she's invited to the Tomiches' for the whole evening. Something about Mikel teaching her to play guitar. And since Dad is staying home anyway, we won't have to interrupt her plans."
"Oh." That settled it. I had to go. I had to monitor Mom. Besides, it wasn't as if I really hanging out with Troy or anything.
As I dashed upstairs to splash some water on my face, comb my hair, and change into a blue breeze of chiffon top tucked into a pair of sleek cropped pants, I assured myself that everything was under control, that I was just keeping an eye on Mom. Of course, that didn't explain why I dabbed a few drops of cologne on the nape of my neck, but, hey, a girl has to smell good.
I tried to tell myself that Troy's interest in me was not a big deal. I tried to convince myself that I was not really interested in him at all. I tried to ignore my racing pulse.
I mean, I certainly wasn't in love with Troy. Nothing as drastic as that. I mean, I loved Brian.
But there was a teeny, tiny problem. Right now the thought of spending a sultry summer evening with Troy was causing some major heart‑pounding under my wisp of blue chiffon.
Chapter Seven
As I walked downstairs, I took a deep breath to get a hold of myself. But my heart somersaulted when I saw the expression on Troy's face as he looked at me.
He took my hand when I reached the bottom of the stairs and whispered, "You look hot."
Hot? Me? I wasn't sure if it was Troy telling me I looked hot or the touch of his hand on mine that sent that warm fizzing feeling flowing through me. I felt myself blush all over. It was like a chemical reaction out of control. All I could do was let it bubble over and hope it didn't explode in the test tube.
It totally was ridiculous. I'd just met Troy. I didn't even know much about him. And yet, there was this … this sensation.
Mr. Daly insisted that he drive us to Lakeview, so we all squeezed into his black 944 Porsche. Troy and I were really jammed together, almost crouching in the back seat. My forearm was pressed against the bare part of his leg. I could smell his subtle, masculine after‑shave.
"Kind of crowded back here, isn't it?" Troy said. Without waiting for an answer he twisted slightly, slipped his arm around me and pulled me even closer. He used the same hand‑dangle technique as his Dad.
"N‑nice car," I said, figuring I should say something. It was hard to concentrate when I was so extremely conscious of Troy's, um, physical presence.
"Yeah, it's a great car. Too bad Dad never lets me drive it."
We rode along in silence after that until Mr. Daly finally said, "Well, here we are."
We pulled up to an area where the boardwalk next to the lake was filled with booths illuminated with strings of lights. Wonderful aromas filled the air.
We found a place to park and got out of the car. Music from a live band down the road drifted by, complementing the babble of people moving from booth to booth buying bite‑sized samples of all kinds of food.
"Isn't this fantastic?" Mr. Daly swept his arm across the scene in one grand gesture.
Hmmph. You'd think he'd organized the whole thing himself. But even as I reacted with irritation to Mr. Daly, I couldn't help being drawn in by all the sights and sounds and scents. So I didn't resist when Troy grabbed my arm and led me to the nearest food booth with an enthusiastic, "Come on!"
With Troy encouraging me, I nibbled my way through crackers with cheddar cheese, crackers with smoked Canadian bacon, and crackers with raspberry jam. Then it was on to silver‑dollar sized pancakes dripping with maple syrup. Of course, we had to try all six flavors of the syrup.
For a change of pace we munched bread‑and‑butter pickles before we started in on bite‑sized samples of all the desserts. Troy held up a piece of blueberry upside‑down cake for me to taste. I offered him a miniature apple turnover, and he licked the crumbs off my fingers. It wasn't until I'd hooked my arm around his as we tried to feed each other pieces of gingerbread that I suddenly realized I'd forgotten all about Mom and Mr. Daly.
"Hey! Watch it." Troy laughed. "You almost smashed that gingerbread up my nose."
"Oops! Sorry," I said as I looked around for Mom.
"No problem." Troy wiped the crumbs off his face, then gently dusted crumbs off my lips. "What are you looking for, anyway? More food?"
"Oh, I, uh, I was just wondering what else there was to do besides eat." I craned my neck. I didn't see Mom or Mr. Daly anywhere.
"There's that band just down the street," Troy said. "I don't know about you, but after stuffing myself I could stand to burn a few calories." Without waiting for a response he slipped his arm around my waist and we headed down the road.
I almost had to run to keep up with him. "Hey, what's your hurry."
Troy smiled down at me, his clear blue eyes shining. "I can't wait to have an excuse to get both my arms around you."
Before I could decide if I wanted both Troy's arms around me, I saw Mom and Mr. Daly dancing. With each other. And they had both their arms around each other. I remembered in fourth grade, when our teacher, Mrs. Dower, forced dance lessons on us every Friday after lunch. She said there should always be the space of a telephone book between partners. In fourth grade, of course, there was usually room for a couple sets of encyclopedias.
Mom and Mr. Daly didn't leave room for even one page. Mom smiled and laughed and tossed her hair so it swung across her shoulders. She totally looked as if she was having way too much fun. Mr. Daly, however, looked more intense. I mean, I'm sure he was having fun too, but he looked a lot more serious about it. I tried to glare at him, but he was too busy nuzzling Mom's hair whenever it swished by for him to notice me.
Troy was about to pull me into his arms, when the music stopped and everyone politely applauded. The band was the type that had probably been around since instruments were first invented, and played at weddings or dances for folks my parents' age. I hoped they played fast songs for the rest of the evening, so Mom and Mr. Daly would have to dance a decent distance apart.
As soon as the music‑‑the dreaded slow music‑‑started up again, Troy swung me into the circle of his arms. I felt all gushy inside when he pulled me close and pressed his cheek against mine. But I had to keep an eye on Mom. I tried to inch closer to her and Mr. Daly.
"Hey!" Troy said. "Who's leading here?"
"Oh. Sorry." I groped for an excuse, but I didn't come up with one.
"Not that I'm a chauvinist," Troy said with a laugh.
"Oh, yes. I mean, no. I mean, you're not." I peeked over his sho
ulder. Mr. Daly whispered in Mom's ear. She was all smiles.
Troy stopped dancing.
I looked up at him.
"I don't think you're exactly … involved in what we're doing."
"I'm sorry. Really." As I stared up into Troy's blue eyes, I felt my worries about Mom and Mr. Daly drain out of me.
Replacing those worries was a nice fizzy feeling as Troy leaned close and cupped my chin in his hands. "Something wrong?"
I shook my head.
"You sure?"
I nodded and offered Troy a reassuring smile.
"Okay, then …" Troy gathered me into his arms again and held me even tighter than before.
As I buried my face against his chest, a sensation, sort of like blushing, flowed from deep inside and rushed up to my cheeks. I felt weak and confused and breathless. I so was aware of every inch of myself that was pressed against Troy.
Suddenly I realized the music had stopped and people were clapping. I stepped back from Troy and looked around. Mom was standing by herself. Mr. Daly was talking to one of the members of the band.
"You're a good dancer," Troy said.
"Mmmm." I watched Mr. Daly on his path back to Mom.
Troy waved his hand in front of my face. "Hello. Earth to Kaysie."
I blinked, then focused my attention back on Troy. "I'm sorry. You're a good dancer too."
Troy shook his head and grinned, as if I'd said something funny.
"And now," announced the saxophone player, "a special request."
The band started playing and Troy and I started dancing again. I was savoring the feel of his arms around me, when I realized that the music sounded familiar. But I couldn't figure out what it was. Well, it wasn't important, so I just closed my eyes and rested my head on Troy's shoulder.
Then the saxophone player stopped playing and started singing.
When I heard the lyrics, my eyes flew open. It was "Almost Paradise," the moldy oldie Mom was always listening to! Mr. Daly must have asked the band to play it.
I started edging my way toward Mom and Mr. Daly, hoping to see if, up close, I could tell exactly what was going on between them.
"You are the most assertive dance partner I've ever had," Troy said.
"Oh. Sorry." I felt my face turn pink. "I‑I was just trying to get closer to, uh, the band. I, um, couldn't quite catch the words to that song."
Troy stopped dancing for a second and listened. "That's 'Almost Paradise.' I've probably heard that song a thousand times. Dad plays it constantly." After unknowingly dropping that little bombshell, Troy casually danced us closer to the band.
But it was too late. Mom and Mr. Daly had already danced off in another direction‑‑into the shadows where I could hardly see them.
The words of the song pounded into my brain. All this stuff about perfect love, and dreams coming true.
Just as I was so wishing I could look into Mr. Daly's heart and see what kind of lechery lurked there, the music stopped. The saxophone player thanked everyone for coming.
"Too bad the dance is over," Troy said.
"Yeah, too bad." I looked up into Troy's blue eyes and felt a magnetic pull. How could I feel so attracted to a guy I hardly knew? Was it some kind of "bad‑boy" syndrome? Not that I had any real proof that Troy was a "bad boy." But he sure wasn't Brian, either. Of course, the attraction was only temporary. In a few days I was sure it would just … just fade away. I should probably relax and enjoy it while it lasted. Hmm, I'm good at rationalizing.
"Hey, you two!" Mr. Daly bounded over with Mom following a few steps behind. "How about going to the video game place next?"
"I'm tired," I said quickly. While it would be great to spend more time with Troy, I didn't want Mom and Mr. Daly together any longer than necessary.
"Oh." Mr. Daly shrugged.
"It is getting late," Mom said, checking her watch. "I want to see Gwen before she goes off to bed."
"I hope Dad isn't still working at this hour," I said, mainly to bring Dad into the conversation and remind Mr. Daly that Mom is MARRIED.
"I'd be surprised if he isn't," Mom said. "I think he'd forget to go to bed at all if I wasn't around to remind him."
I was glad Mom worked the word bed into that sentence. I thought it made Mr. Daly look uncomfortable.
On the way home all he could do was talk about how great the Food Fair was, how great the band was, what a great dancer Mom was. To which Mom responded by giggling and saying, "Oh, Parker." But it sounded to me as if she was pleased, not embarrassed.
Troy had his arm around me, and we couldn't help but sit extremely close. But sitting close together was all we did. It was just as well, since every now and then Mom would turn around and say something to us. I didn't want her to see us kissing. For one thing, it would be embarrassing. For another, I didn't want to have to explain to her why I'd be kissing Troy when I was in love with Brian.
When we got back, Mr. Daly pulled the car up to our cottage. He walked Mom to the door. With the porch light beaming down on them, I had a clear view as Troy and I lingered in the shadow of a large maple tree. Mom smiled, fluttered her fingers and gave Mr. Daly the tiniest pat on the arm before she breezed inside. For a second, Mr. Daly just stood there, looking as if he'd expected more.
Of course, Mom knew Troy and I were there, even if Dad was probably upstairs with his nose to the keyboard. Only she knew how she might have reacted if she'd been alone with Parker Daly.
As Mr. Daly headed back to the car, Troy said, "I'll be home in a few minutes, Dad. Kaysie and I are going for a short walk."
"Okay, Troy. Goodnight, Kaysie."
"Goodnight," I said as he drove off. Then, "Walk? As in one foot in front of the other?"
"We have to take advantage of the moonlight." Troy cocked his head to one side and smiled down at me. "Any objections?"
I hesitated for about one millisecond. "No."
"Good." Troy's hand felt warm and strong as he grasped mine and led me down the path toward the lake. We got about half way there, when suddenly he stopped.
"I thought we were going for a walk in the moonlight," I said. "It's so dark under these trees that I can hardly see."
"Exactly." Troy sat and pulled me down next to him. He gently pushed me onto my back and rolled next to me. Ordinarily, I would've shoved a guy away if he tried something like that. Easy to think, of course, as I'd totally never been in this situation before.
But I didn't push Troy away. My stomach churned, half in panic, but half in anticipation. Troy traced the edge of my lips with his, then pressed his on mine. I had goose bumps all over.
Troy lifted his head. I opened my eyes to see him gazing down at me. Then he kissed me again, moving his mouth over mine. His lips left mine and started to caress the side of my neck. My heart pounded so fast it almost vibrated. Troy's mouth slid down to my throat.
A startling feeling shivered through me. I was dizzy. The damp ground made my blouse stick to my back. A tree root dug into my shoulder. "Troy, please," I managed to whisper. "Let's stop."
"What's wrong?" Troy brushed a wisp of hair off my face.
"My back …" I sat up. "My shoulder …"
"Sorry. I don't know why I didn't think to bring a blanket."
"Um, that's okay. I, uh, it's late." I could hardly say I didn't like what we were doing, because, frankly, I totally did.
I also couldn't tell him that I wanted to stop because if I didn't stop now I might not want to stop later. That would probably just confuse him‑‑it majorly confused me.
To my surprise, Troy didn't argue. He just stood and offered me a hand up. "It is kind of late, and I promised Dad I'd play tennis with him early tomorrow morning. And when Dad says 'early,' he means early."
"We'd better get going then," I said, probably too eagerly. But Troy didn't seem to notice. He whistled softly as he walked me back to the cottage. When we got to the porch he gave me one quick kiss, whispered, "See you," then left. I stood on the porch and listened as
he whistled all the way back to his cottage. If his emotions were as stirred up as mine, he sure didn't show it.
I smoothed my hair into place before I went in, in case Mom was around to see me. But when I went upstairs I heard her and Dad in their room, Mom bubbling over, telling Dad all about the Food Fair. She usually wasn't one to keep secrets from Dad, but I wondered how much she'd tell him about the dance. However, I was chicken to stand outside their door and listen to the whole conversation.
As I headed down the hall, I was glad to see the light on in my room. That meant Gwen was still up. I so wanted to talk to her. I just hoped I didn't end up sounding like a cross between "The Enquirer" and "True Confessions."
Chapter Eight
"At last!" Gwen tossed a magazine onto the floor. "I've been dying to talk to you."
"Oh?" Gah! I wanted to talk, not listen! But I lay down on my bed and propped my head up on my hand.
"Mikel and I had the way coolest time today." Gwen hugged her knees to her chest. "We were out in the canoe for two hours and we hardly knew what we were doing. I mean, neither one of us could figure out how to go in the direction we wanted to. But it was like, YESSSSS. Not embarrassing, which it could've been. Know what I mean?"
"Mmmm, hmmm." I rubbed my hand across the nubs of the bedspread. I was bursting to talk about Troy. And Mom. And Mr. Daly.
"Later we had burgers at his cottage, then a marathon Scrabble game. Can you picture it‑‑two rare Scrabble freaks in this world, and we find each other. Is that fate, or what? Oh, and you wouldn't believe his sister's vocabulary. I mean, thirty‑point words all over the place from that kid."
Gwen paused to breathe, then went on. "But the best part was just being with Mikel. I mean, I've just met him, but it's like we've known each other forever. It's so … so comfortable with him. We never even held hands. But everything is so perfect between us! Can you believe it?"
"Mmmm, hmmm."
"Kaysie!" Gwen swung her legs over the edge of the bed and faced me. "Have you been listening to a single word I've said?"
"Sure. Yes. Of course." I sat up and patted Gwen's shoulder. "It sounds great. Kind of like me and Bri …" I gulped, suddenly taken over by guilt.