by C. C. Hunter
I slow the back-and-forth motion long enough to focus on my dad perched at my door. A big grin widens his lips. He laughs. Deep, happy laughter. I have no idea what’s funny.
“What?” I garble the question out around my makeshift toothbrush.
“You. Seeing you so … normal.”
Since when is me panicking, finger-brushing my teeth, and holding up one Dumbo normal?
I toss down the shoe and pop my finger out of my mouth. “Ask him to give me a minute.”
“Okay.” Dad’s footsteps tap-tapping down the hall are followed by his laughter. I’m never going to understand parents.
I blow into my hand and smell my breath. Ugg. Finger-brushing is not going to cut it.
“Make that like five or ten.” I raise my arm, smell my pit. “Fifteen!”
I bolt into the bathroom, start the shower, and jump in before it’s hot. Goose bumps chase bigger goose bumps over my skin. I don’t care.
This feeling, the excitement racing, running through my blood tells me that this, this is going to be the first step to discovering who New Leah is. Who the hell knows how it’s going to involve Matt.
Especially when he might have a girlfriend.
No! I tell myself. Like the time I kissed him, whatever happens, I vow not to regret it.
I realized if I’ve learned anything from almost dying it’s that life’s too short to spend a second of it regretting.
As the warm water finally flows, goose bumps die, steam rises. The glass door fogs up. The gotta-hurry feeling fades into a strange calm. I press my hand on the door. When I lift it, the condensation drips away. My print becomes nothing but a fuzzy smear.
I think about Eric. About him being gone and yet not really. I have his heart.
And my own is gone.
Is that why I don’t feel like myself?
I wonder if Eric knows … knows I’m about to see his brother. I remember feeling sad when I saw Cassie yesterday. Was that Eric? Or am I losing it?
“Snap out of it!” I say aloud.
Then remembering Matt’s waiting, I bolt out of the shower, brush my teeth as I hum the “Happy Birthday” song to keep time—old habits are hard to break.
I comb my hair, and because I don’t have fifteen minutes to dry it, I clip it up. It’s gonna be curly as hell later, but I’m choiceless. I take two seconds to swipe blush on my cheeks and gloss on my lips. Then I dress like a runway model on speed, eager to start the New Year and the New Me.
10
Matt gulps fear down his throat and stares at Leah’s front door. Lady, on her leash, is trying to chew herself free. Matt can relate. With what happened last night, and not knowing what her parents know, it was hard to show up this morning. Even harder to come back the second time.
A phone rings behind the door.
Nerves gnaw on Matt’s sanity.
If her father opens the door and says Leah’s still asleep, Matt’s gonna know the truth. Leah is refusing to see him.
And then what?
Damn it. She said she’d help. And with his mom riding his ass, he could really use some help.
Why would Leah turn her back on him? Seeing him with Paula?
Matt had explained that Paula wasn’t … his girlfriend, hadn’t he? Then again, how could she be upset about Paula when she was attached at the hip to Trent Becker, and all snug and warm wearing his coat?
Matt pushes that whole bitter thought aside. Leah and he are just friends.
Yeah, they kissed and it was awesome, but that was then.
An uncomfortable thought hits. What if Leah told her parents she has Eric’s heart? Maybe it’s her parents who don’t want him here?
Footsteps sound behind the door. He stands straighter. The door swooshes open. Mr. McKenzie, holding a phone in his hand, in a flat-footed stance just stares.
“Sorry, I had a call.”
Matt waits to be sent packing.
“She’s getting ready,” her dad says. “You want to come in?”
Not really. But does he have a choice?
Matt remembers Lady. Maybe he does have a choice.
“I’ll wait. I have my dog.”
Mr. McKenzie stares at Lady. A jolt of nerves skateboard down Matt’s spine. The meeting-the-dad-of-the-girl-you-like kind of nerves. Not that this is a date. Does Leah’s father know that?
“Is he housetrained?” Mr. McKenzie asks.
“She.” Matt hesitates. “Sort of, but—”
“Then come in. The shower’s going. She might be a while.” He pushes open the door.
Matt barely crosses the threshold when Mr. McKenzie looks back at Lady and says, “But if she’s the sort that poops and pees, you clean it up.”
“Of course.” He scoops up the squirming puppy. Her big yellow paws tread the air and her pink tongue is busy trying kiss his face.
Leah’s dad leads Matt into the kitchen. “Have a seat.”
Matt’s unsure if the man is being nice or is about to interrogate him. Matt pulls the chair out from the table, leaving room for Lady in his lap, then drops in the seat. Mr. McKenzie remains standing and staring. The dog starts twisting and turning, right along with Matt’s insides.
Her father finally speaks. “Want a Coke?”
“No, sir.” He remembers his manners. “But thank you.”
“How do you know Leah?” Mr. McKenzie settles in a chair.
Here comes the interrogation. “At school.”
“You tutored her once, right?”
“Yes, sir.” Lady barks, wanting down. She starts the howlish whimpering. Matt sits her on the ground, but holds her leash and hears her sniffing around for table crumbs.
“You’re a senior, too?” Mr. McKenzie asks in a non-interrogation tone.
“Yes, sir.” Matt wishes he could drop the “sir,” but when you had a father in the army, “sir” is ingrained in you.
Her dad runs his hand over the edge of the table. “My wife mentioned you’re a twin?”
Was a twin. Matt’s nod is small.
“You two close?”
Matt nods again, this one slower. He’d done a lot of nodding with people who didn’t know. It hurts less than explaining.
“It’s Matt, right?” Mr. McKenzie asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s the last name?”
“Kenner.”
“Kenner?” Her dad tilts his head slightly to the right as if … His eyes round. Instant pity turns his blue eyes a shade darker.
“Your brother, he … passed away?”
Matt nods. This one hurts. Thank God, he didn’t say killed himself.
“I’m sorry. My wife hasn’t kept up with the news. And I didn’t put the twin thing together.”
“It’s okay,” Matt offers the hated pat answer and thinks shit.
Then he smells it. Shit. Dog shit.
He ducks his head down and moans. Lady’s in full hunched mode doing her business.
Mr. McKenzie leans sideways and peers under the table.
Their frowns meet.
Effing great! “I’ll get it, sir.” Matt loops the leash around the chair, bolts up. “Paper towels…?”
“On the counter.” Mr. McKenzie’s voice is muffled from covering his nose.
Matt, paper towels in hand, crawls under the table. “Not ladylike,” he scolds Lady, using his mother’s words and tone. The puppy plops down in a poor-me pose. Matt scoops up the crap and is attempting to crawl on three limbs when he hears footsteps.
Still under the table, he glances out and up. Leah’s standing in the kitchen doorway. She’s wearing soft-to-touch-looking faded jeans that aren’t tight but hug her every curve. The red sweater she’s wearing does to her top what the jeans do to her bottom.
“Where is he? You told him to wait, didn’t you?” Disappointment slides off her words. Matt almost smiles realizing she wants to see him.
Lady, past the pathetic mode, dashes from under the table, taking down a chair as she goes.
>
Leah squeals, jumps, then stares at Lady. “What…” She slaps a hand over her nose.
“He’s … uh, under … there,” Mr. McKenzie’s tight voice echoes from above.
Leah squats down. Their gazes meet, hold, then her focus shifts to his hand holding …
Damn! Of all the ways a guy didn’t want a hot girl to see him, down on his knees holding a towel of dog shit has to top that list.
Matt frowns. “Lady shi…”—he corrects himself—“had an accident.”
Leah’s surprise fades into something softer, sweeter. A sparkle lights up her blue eyes. They crinkle at the corners with humor, and her face transforms into one big, so-damn-beautiful smile. He’s captivated.
She giggles—falls back on her butt. Lady rushes her with puppy excitement.
Leah’s laughter is like a song you want to sing along with. One he hasn’t sung in a long time. He wants that back. He wants to be able to let go of the pain he’s felt since his father died, since his brother died, and laugh like that. Laugh so free—free of grief.
Then Mr. McKenzie’s laughter roars above. Even Lady makes happy puppy sounds. Then it happens. A light feeling swells in his chest and his own laughter spills out. He can’t remember the last time he’s laughed so spontaneously. But for these few seconds, he doesn’t want to think about it.
He just wants to enjoy it. He knows it won’t last long, because in just a minute his heart is going to remember everything he’s lost.
* * *
I rush to get the garbage can for Matt, who crawls out from under the table. I hope he knows I wasn’t laughing at him but at the situation. He stands up. Our gazes meet. His eyes still hold the most amazing smile. No hard feelings, I assume.
Dropping the paper towels in the trash, he grabs a few more, dampens them in the sink, and climbs back under the table to finish the job.
“Looks like you’re an expert,” my dad says, leaning down to watch Matt.
“Unfortunately,” Matt answers, from under the table. “Mom gave Lady to me for Christmas. But she didn’t come with a cleaning service.”
Dad chuckles. “It’s the gift that keeps giving.”
Leah hears Matt laugh, but it’s there and gone. Not nearly as unencumbered as the last.
He crawls out and drops those paper towels in the trash I’m holding out. His gaze shifts to my dad. “I’ll take this out for you, if you’d like.”
“Sure.” Dad’s still smiling. He likes Matt, I think. For some reason I like that.
“Trash can’s in the back.” Dad points to the kitchen door.
Matt pulls the bag from the can. I grab Lady’s leash and follow him out.
Hurrying to the trash can, I lift the lid for him.
I feel bad he’s taking out our garbage. Feel bad that I took so long getting ready, which caused the accident. And I still feel bad I hadn’t introduced him to my friends when they surrounded his car.
“Sorry,” I say.
He drops the bag in the can. I drop the lid. Our eyes meet. Hold. The moment feels so special, perfect, I ignore the trash-can aroma permeating the air.
“Sorry?” he asks. “You didn’t shit under the table.”
I laugh.
He stands there; time freezes. He’s looking at me all dreamy like—the kind of look that says he’s really seeing me. That he likes what he sees. The kind of look that happens in romance novels. And I do love those novels. I don’t give a damn what Sandy and LeAnn think.
“You … have a pretty smile.” He shrugs then looks embarrassed for tossing out the compliment.
But I’m not sorry.
“Thanks.” My smile widens, my chest fills with something light, airy, and oh-so good.
Lady tugs on the leash. Trash odor still hangs on. But I’m in the clouds. I’m floating. Then I notice his jacket, his school-issued letterman football jacket with his very own number. And bam, I crash back to garbage-scented reality.
I remember the girl last night. I remember Matt’s here because of the dreams, to get justice for his brother. I remember who Matt is.
I realize that his liking my smile doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot.
Not in the big picture.
Not when school starts in a few days.
Not when he’s still Matt Kenner. And I’m still …
I don’t know who I am.
While I might be on a mission to discover answers, I’m positive even New Leah isn’t in the same league as the school’s quarterback. And when we’re in the world of cliques, snobby chicks, and dicks—in the world where guys like him don’t really notice girls like me—he’s going to realize that we don’t match.
I need to remember that.
I might have lost the expiration date stamped on my ass, but I shouldn’t let myself start wishing for impossible things.
Damn it, though … My spine tightens; my shoulders lock. It’s not going to stop me from enjoying today. Or any of the time I get to spend with him.
The silence lingers a smidgeon too long. Matt must feel it too, because he starts talking.
“I … I was taking Lady for a walk in the park and thought you might come so we could talk.”
“Yeah,” I say, hoping I don’t sound too eager. But I am eager.
Unable to stop myself, I go right back to full-blown wishing.
Wishing that school didn’t start in five days.
Wishing I could have a few months to enjoy this.
Wishing I had time to convince Matt that, out of his league or not, we could mean something to each other—mean more than just a method of finding justice for Eric.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Matt’s driving to the park. Leah, riding shotgun, is quiet. But so is he. Lady’s never quiet. She’s in the backseat, bouncing from window to window, barking at every car on the road as if it’s her job.
He recalls he still hasn’t asked about Leah’s health. He glances at her. “How are you?”
She looks confused.
“With the heart transplant, I mean?”
“Oh, I’m … good.” The slight indecision in her voice gives him pause.
He keeps switching his focus to the road, to her. She’s a better view. “Everything is like … before. You’re like healed. Normal?”
“Yeah.” She gazes out the window, and he can’t help thinking she’s not being completely honest. But maybe not.
“You look good.” But he thinks really good.
That earns him a hesitant smile. “Thanks.” She focuses back on the road. “Which park are we going to?”
Looking around, he gets his bearings. “The one we passed about a mile back. Sorry.”
She smiles, and this one appears real.
“I do that sometimes. Especially when I’m in the good part of a book.”
He chuckles. “You read while you drive?”
She laughs. “I mean, thinking about a book.”
“Are you going to take charge of the book club again?”
“I don’t know.” She pauses. “Do you read?”
“Yeah. Probably not as much as you. Especially lately.” He glances at her. “But I finished all the Harry Potter books. And I like James Dashner’s books. What are you reading now?”
She hesitates. “Mostly girl books.”
“By who?”
“Christie Craig, Lori Wilde, Susan C. Muller. Diane Kelly.”
He doesn’t recognize the names. “What kind of girl books do they write?”
She looks away. “Some have suspense, paranormal, humor, and relationships.”
“Romances?”
She gives him a cute look. “Don’t judge.”
He bites back a smile. “Not judging. My mom reads them. Used to.”
He recalls the day Eric brought one of his mom’s books into Matt’s bedroom and read some of the sex scenes. They laughed their asses off. Was Leah reading those kind?
“She doesn’t read now?” Leah asks.
“No, she … ga
ve up reading when … Dad died.” They all had. “I should probably pick up a few books for her.” And maybe even see if Dashner has a new one out.
Leah shifts in her seat. “I’ve got a stack that I was going to donate. You could take her those.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
They don’t talk again until he pulls into the park. He unbuckles his seat belt.
She doesn’t. “Did you dream last night about Eric?”
“No. I don’t dream about him every night. Sometimes it’s not even a dream. It’s like … I get this feeling and he pops in my mind.”
He gazes out the window. The park is almost empty. The sun is bright, making it look warmer than it is. And right then a little bit of truth leaks out of him. “Sometimes I … start feeling a certain way, not so much how I would feel, but how Eric would feel. It sounds crazy but…”
He looks at her. She looks … scared. Really scared.
11
Matt’s positive it’s fear widening her eyes. “You’ve felt Eric, too, haven’t you?”
She blinks. “When … I saw Cassie at the roadside park. I felt so sad. It didn’t … It’s like you said. It didn’t feel like me feeling it.”
Matt draws in air. “You have his heart.”
She swallows. He hears the gulp. The scared sound becomes trapped in the car. “But you don’t,” she says.
“We have that … twin thing.” He tells her the story about Eric breaking his arm and feeling the pain. “Even later,” he continues. “We were so connected. Eric used to say, ‘Get out of my head.’”
He runs a hand over the steering wheel. “I’d give anything to hear him say that again.”
Lady starts barking.
“We should probably walk her,” he says.
“Yeah.” She unbuckles her seat belt. The click almost sounds too loud.
They walk down the path. A lot of the trees are winter naked, leafless, but a few still cling to their fall-colored leaves. The air is crisp and cold, but the sun is warm and bright. It feels good. Leah’s wearing a light jean jacket on top of her sweater. He thinks about her in Trent’s coat again. The temptation to ask her about him grinds at Matt’s gut, but it doesn’t feel right.