“Take my hand.”
He offered it to me, palm upturned, and I grabbed on. But it wasn’t handholding because our fingers didn’t interlock at all. This was the mitten-type grip. The one that you did with your mom or dad when you were little and crossed a busy street. The one where all of your fingers were Superglued together.
But my nerves didn’t know the difference between the two types. Sweat slipped between our skin. I rubbed the palm that wasn’t pressed to his against the thigh of my jeans, willing the clamminess to go away, but it didn’t help much.
“Watch your step.”
I did, and then suddenly we were at the top, like we’d floated there together through the dark, hooked hands and all. I looked up. Hundreds of stars hung above us, brilliant white pinpricks in the black paper sky. They glittered and literally twinkled like diamonds, just like the nursery rhyme said they would. Go figure.
Another song came to mind.
“And she’s buying a stairway to heaven,” I sang softly, my neck craned back to wash in their light. Mom used to play that tune on repeat, over and over, in the car every morning. An anthem of sorts. I knew this wasn’t what the song meant, but I made my own meaning, because if I had been that woman trying to buy her way there, this was surely the heaven I’d want.
I let my hands drop to my sides, insecure in the fact that my skin was still on Lincoln’s skin and that I was sort of singing to him.
“God, your voice is beautiful, Eppie.”
“No.”
“Yes,” he paused. “It is.” He walked backward until the hollow of his knees bumped into a waist-high pile of sheetrock, layer upon layer of chalky building material. It almost looked like a bed, though I wasn’t sure what room we were even in, if it was a room at all. Could’ve been a hallway. It kind of resembled one. “I’ve never been a big fan of rock—more of a classical guy myself—but you made that sound so classically beautiful.”
“You’re being very generous.”
“I’m being truthful. I’m generous with the truth.” He dropped down to sit on the sheetrock, and then he patted his hand on the space next to him. “C’mere. You asked why we were here earlier. Well... this is why.”
“You brought me here to... ?”
“Share something with you. Something that’s all mine.”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “You already shared the hat.” My cheeks flamed with heat, and even though he couldn’t see it, I drew my hands up to cover them. The nubby sleeves of my flannel rubbed against my skin.
“I like you in the hat. It’s a good look.”
“I sorta feel like a fake wearing it,” I admitted as I walked over to Lincoln, careful for the nails again. His hand was still on the drywall, and I waited for him to move it so I could sit. He got the hint, I think, because he shifted slightly and I was able to lower down and leave about a foot of empty space between us. That felt like an acceptable amount of distance.
“A fake because?”
“Because I don’t know anything about baseball.”
“To be honest, I feel like a fake wearing it, too. Only ‘cause it looks like I jumped on the bandwagon or something.”
I fingered the tattered brim. “Did you?”
“No. I’ve been a fan since I was a little boy, but people don’t necessarily think that when they see me wearing it.” I was close enough that I could smell him again, and he was different this time. There was definitely some faint cologne clinging to his clothes tonight, some musky grassy scent. That thought made my fingers tingle, wondering if he put it on thinking it would be something I’d like. He was right. I did like it. “That’s fine with me if they think that, though. I tend to find one thing and stick with it for the long haul.” In one quick movement that brought his legs up to the sheetrock and his head back onto his arms crossed like a pillow, Lincoln laid down, his long body filling the entire space, head to toe. “But I digress.” I fidgeted away from him, reclaiming that lost distance between us, but I had even less room to work with now. “I brought you here to show you this.”
“The stars?”
“That would be really romantic, wouldn’t it?” A brown lock of hair slipped across his forehead and over his temple as he spoke. I fought the urge to curl it around his ear, because although we’d held hands like we were Lego characters earlier, hair sweeping was definitely way, way down the line. “But no. I wanted to show you those beams and studs—” Jeez, I think I giggled out loud when he said studs, “—and roofing material. I won’t be able to show it off for very long before it’s all covered up, but that is all my doing. And I’m exceedingly proud over it.”
“Over the studs and the beams?”
“Yes, over the studs and the beams,” Lincoln said, as though it was an obvious fact. He wasn’t looking at me, but instead gazed longingly overhead. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to frame a house when you have a deep-seated fear of heights? It’s like being an arachnophobic pest control guy. Or a claustrophobic spelunker.”
“Spelunker.”
“Spelunker: One who explores caves.”
“I know what a spelunker is. I was just repeating it because it’s a weird word. Rolls off the tongue in a funny way.”
I could feel the vibration of the sheetrock underneath us before I confirmed it with my eyes, but Lincoln had shifted onto his hip, his focus no longer on the roofline, but completely transferred to me. That fallen hair from earlier dropped into his honey eyes, a brown fringe separating our stare. “You do that, too?”
“Do what?” I asked, unsure.
“Contemplate the auditory oddities of words.”
I played with a hangnail on my thumb because nerves made me do stupid, self-mutilating things like cheek biting, lip chewing, and the infamous hangnail tearing. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Goggles.”
“What?”
“Goggles,” Lincoln said. “It’s a weird word. As are diatribe and marsupial.”
I laughed. “I used to think diatribe was diet-tribe, and I wondered why anyone in their right mind would want to join a tribe full of dieters. That would have to be the crankiest tribe ever.”
“Because of all the low blood sugar.”
“Exactly. Who would want to be surrounded by cranky, starving people? But then I figured that was exactly what Weight Watchers was, right? That’s got to be like some kind of hell.”
“Does hell even come in kinds?” Lincoln slunk onto his back again, swinging his gaze upward once more. His chest jumped up and down as he chuckled.
“You tell me. You were the short-lived spiritual salesman, right?”
“Failed spiritual salesman. But if I’m making an educated guess, I’d say no. Religion tends to deal in absolutes, so I’d assume there is just one hell and one heaven.”
I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I twisted my body down onto the remaining space next to Lincoln, my hair pillowing my head as I lowered onto the sheetrock. My frame suddenly felt too wide, like I took up more space than I usually would, and I bound my arms over my chest and endeavored to shrink within myself, if shrinking into oblivion was even a possible endeavor.
Lincoln was just the opposite—all lanky arms sprawled out at his sides and lean legs stretched to full length, taking up much more than his fair share of the world.
“But what I think doesn’t really matter much,” he continued, his voice lowering. “Because either way, I’ll either be right or wrong, and it’s not like my opinion on the issue will change the truth. That’s already set.”
“Right,” I agreed. “But I still think it’s worth having an opinion on it.”
“Probably so. Opinions are usually good.”
Lincoln’s body shifted toward mine. I could feel his proximity in all of my nerve endings. I could hear his breathing; smell the heat of his skin. It amazed me that even my senses had somehow developed superpowers and now my nose was doing what only touch did before. Next I’d be hearing colors if I kept up with thi
s craziness.
“Hey.” That sound came out of him an octave deeper than all the others. “Can I ask your opinion on something else?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“What’s your opinion on kissing me?”
I stopped breathing, aware that if I kept doing it, it would be all shaky and quivering. Utterly humiliating.
“I mean, not right now.” I was so grateful Lincoln continued talking so his words could mask the nervous vibration in my exhale. I desperately needed another breath. Things were getting that fuzzy rimmed blackness that precluded passing out. “But, like, someday. Like, can I someday kiss you? Even if someday is really far off. Would that be okay?”
“I think that might be okay. Someday.”
“Good,” he smiled, crossing his legs at the ankles and his arms behind the nape of his neck. His mouth pulled fully up at the corners; his eyes crinkled into slivers. “I like to have things to look forward to. I’m very goal oriented.”
“And you’d look forward to that?”
“I’ve been looking forward to it for the past three days, Eppie,” Lincoln admitted. “And in my opinion, it’s going to be really phenomenal.”
“In your opinion, huh?” I asked, trying to keep in my nervous laughter. Insecurity took form in my racing pulse, beating so fast that I could feel it thick on my neck and hear it hammering in my ears.
“Yes, in my humble opinion, you kissing me is going to be out of this world.”
Lincoln elbowed me in the ribs playfully, then raked his hands through his hair, gripping the strands at their roots.
“I can’t believe I’m talking about kissing you to you! I shouldn’t be telling you any of this nonsense. It makes me seem like a weirdo.”
“No, not a weirdo,” I consoled. “Honestly, I didn’t even know that was something you thought about.” I needed to just shut my mouth and let him continue talking because then I might be able to use my lips for something else if I just kept the words in.
“Oh, I don’t.”
My heart dropped.
“I’m totally kidding, Eppie!” Lincoln’s hand collided with my leg, just above my knee and he squeezed it quickly. Everything in me went numb, frozen in place. “I don’t just bring any girl up here to check out my wood.”
“That is so wrong.”
Lincoln snorted. His fingers flew up to his nose to stifle the spontaneous laugh. “I know, but I couldn’t pass it up. It was just out there for the taking, so greedily, I took it.” He shot out another gust of air. “But in all seriousness, I just really wanted to show this to you. I don’t know why, but I did. Maybe because that beam right there is the paycheck that’s gonna help pay for Herb. I thought you should at least see it before it’s all covered up.”
“I’m glad you showed me, Lincoln.” I looked up at the rafters and tried to imagine Lincoln in a hardhat and tool belt, securing the beam into place. I imagined other things, too, like him getting so sweaty that he had to peel his shirt from his slick skin, which would obviously leave him bare-chested. I sighed pathetically at the soap opera-esque striptease I visualized. “I’m glad to see it. I really am.” I figured I was still talking only about the beam.
His hand slid along the surface of the sheetrock, stopping just an inch or so way from mine. The space between us was charged, practically crackling with intensity. Liked if he reached into it, he’d shock himself or ignite the building around us, torching the whole place. It felt dangerous and exhilarating, just lying here next to him—just doing nothing at all—but doing it side by side. How was that even possible?
I closed my eyes longer in between blinks, and drew in deeper breaths each time. I could hear Lincoln’s breathing, too, all intentional and focused. I purposefully made sure my inhales and exhales didn’t match his. I tried not to fall into his rhythm just yet.
“I’m glad I brought you here too, Eppie.”
Lincoln’s pinky stretched out and tapped the edge of mine.
“Me too,” I said again, leaving my hand right there, pressed lightly to his.
And we stayed just like that until it was time for Lincoln to drive me home.
NINE
“I’d like to get a second opinion.”
The paper draped across the table crinkled underneath my thighs. I fiddled with the torn edge of the parchment, running the tip of my fingernail across it, careful not to get a paper cut.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Ms. Aberdeen.” The doctor sat in one of those metal chairs that spun all the way around. I imagined twirling and twirling on it until I got dizzy. Maybe he would let me after the appointment if I asked really nicely. “She’s asymptomatic—”
“Until she isn’t, which is much too often.” Mama took a really deep breath, like the ones she did when she and Daddy weren’t getting along. “Dr. Morgan, I value your professional opinion¸ but as a mother, I have to go with my instincts on this one, and my maternal instincts are telling me that something’s not right here.”
Dr. Morgan did a half turn in his chair and pulled up a calendar on the computer that had a bunch of notes typed onto it. He ran his finger over the screen as he read to himself. He was a very fast reader, it appeared.
“Eponine, tell me a little about school?” Pulling himself closer to the table, he walked his feet across the floor. Thump, thump, thump. He wore an ironed white shirt with a tie, but had on sneakers. It looked kind of funny, especially since the laces were bright yellow. “Any favorite subjects?”
I thought for a moment. There were too many to list. “I love them all. Math especially. And science. I like learning about the way things work.”
Dr. Morgan’s eyes got smaller behind his glasses like they were at the other end of a telescope. His mouth turned into a super big smile, one that made his cheeks all puffy. “I like science, too, but I never liked the tests. Do tests bother you, Eponine?”
“They’re okay.” I shrugged my shoulders up to my ears.
The room was cold. It felt like the refrigerated room at that store where you had to buy twenty of everything. The one with the huge shopping carts and all those free samples from grandmas in hairnets. Mama took me there last week and let me get the biggest box of Lucky Charms I’ve ever seen. It was so large that instead of being a rectangle, the cardboard was shaped into a square. I’d already eaten all the shamrock marshmallows out of it for good luck.
“Tests used to make me really nervous. Sometimes so much that my tummy would hurt.” Dr. Morgan rubbed the center of his stomach in circles as he spoke. “Do they ever make your tummy hurt, Eponine?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Do they make you nervous at all?”
I didn’t know what answer I was supposed to say. It felt like maybe I wasn’t saying the right ones. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s not nerves, Dr. Morgan. This is something more than just childhood anxiety over school.” Mama was standing behind him, her arms folded across her chest as she shook her head quickly. She looked kind of like a human pretzel. “I know my daughter.”
The doctor stood up from his chair and leaned closer to Mama. I could hear him say something, but couldn’t tell exactly what it was. It wasn’t like when Daddy and Mama talked. He wasn’t being loud like that.
“Eponine, will you please excuse your mother and me for just a moment?”
I nodded.
Mama followed him out the door and it locked quietly back into place behind them. The back of Dr. Morgan’s shirt pressed onto the small window that separated us and it made the texture of the fabric look smooth like glass.
“We’ve exhausted every possible explanation, Ms. Aberdeen.” He was speaking softly, but the door must not have been very thick because I could still hear him.
“I need answers, Dr. Morgan. I’m tired of all this run-around. That’s my daughter in there.” I could see Mama pointing her finger through the window. “Something’s not right. It hasn’t been for a while. There have to be more tests t
hat you can run.”
My tummy flip-flopped.
I must’ve lied earlier when I said I didn’t mind tests. But these ones were different. I liked the ones they gave me at school. They made me feel smart. They were fun to take. I could study for those tests.
The ones I took in doctors’ offices just made me confused. I was never prepared for the tests they gave me. I always felt like I got all the answers wrong.
“I’m not sure which ones we even have left to order—”
“Find some,” Mama interrupted. She always told me it was rude to interrupt. I wasn’t sure why she was being rude to Dr. Morgan. That didn’t seem very nice. “I want my healthy eight-year-old back, Doctor. I need her back.”
“I understand, Gloria. I’m a parent, too.”
“Then you understand that she means the absolute world to me and every day she suffers, I feel like I’m failing her. I feel like I’m failing.”
I could see Dr. Morgan lift a hand and drop it slowly onto Mama’s shoulder. “You’re not failing anyone, Gloria. I promise you that.”
Mama sniffed. It sounded like she might be crying. I hated that I made her cry. “Just promise me you’ll help her—that we’ll get this figured out.”
“I’ll do everything I can.”
They might have talked some more after that, but I couldn’t hear them. Whatever noises they made weren’t as loud as the ones in my head—the ones that echoed Mama’s sweet voice saying everything was going to be okay. Everything would be alright. I’d feel better soon enough. I wouldn’t always feel like this.
It was going to be okay. Dr. Morgan promised Mama that, and adults didn’t lie, especially when it involved kids.
I breathed a sigh of relief and jumped down from the table, happy with the knowledge that maybe my life would be back to normal soon.
I owed Mama the biggest hug ever for bringing me to Dr. Morgan’s office again. He was going to help me heal this time. He would make me all better.
Love Like Crazy Page 5