And She Was

by Jessica Verdi

  “It’s where your parents got married too, you know,” William says.

  “It is?” Mellie didn’t say anything about that.

  “Oh yes. It was a beautiful wedding.”

  “I’m sure it was. The house is incredible.”

  “We have the wedding album at home,” Ruth says. “If you’d ever like to come see it.”

  “I’d love that.”

  She smiles.

  “What made you decide to move to a farm?” I ask.

  William chuckles. “We’d recently retired, and had grand illusions of country life. Riding horses, collecting fresh eggs from our own hens, all that business.”

  “It does sound nice,” I say, taking a deep breath of the fresh air.

  “It was. But it didn’t take us long to figure out it wasn’t for us.”

  “It was really cool of you to give the place to Catherine. She seems so happy doing this work.”

  “Yes, she’s our little do-gooder.” Ruth lets out a wistful sigh. “I do wish she’d find a husband to join her in her ambitions, though. It would be nice to know she’s taken care of.”

  We come upon the pigpen. Catherine is working diligently to file down each pig’s hooves to a more comfortable length. I never knew pigs needed their toenails cut like humans do. Some of them resist and pull away, but she’s patient with them, rubbing their bellies and murmuring soothing tones in their ears until they allow her to continue.

  She doesn’t look like she needs anyone to take care of her. I glance at Ruth as she watches her daughter perform this unusual task. She shakes her head, ever so slightly, in amazement.

  Matt, Jane, Ezra, Gabby, and Meadow are all here. Sam’s probably still in his room. Avoiding me.

  Matt nods at me. I wasn’t sure what it would be like seeing him again, but the light of day has reinforced that I did the right thing in walking away. He made me feel wanted and understood, and last night I really needed that. But he was a mere moment, and moments can’t last.

  “Have you met Maybelline yet, Dara?” William asks as we continue our tour.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “She’s our five-year-old American Quarter Horse. We bought her when we moved to the farm.”

  We walk a little ways to the horse paddock. William calls out for Maybelline, and moments later a shiny, muscular brown horse with black legs and a black mane and tail comes trotting over. “And how have you been, my lovely?” he asks her. She nuzzles her face against his, and he pats her side.

  “Do you ride?” Ruth asks me.

  “Me?” My eyes widen. “No, I’ve never been on a horse before.”

  She looks saddened by that. “That’s a shame. I grew up riding, as did my daughters.” Horseback riding. It was part of my vision of the family at the farm. I was right about so much.

  “For me it’s been strictly tennis,” I say.

  “Yes.” She nods thoughtfully. “Will you be playing in college?”

  I bite my lip, remembering what Ruth said about making sure Celeste continued her education even after she had me. College is clearly important to them. “Um. No, actually. I’ve decided to pursue a pro career instead.”

  William pulls his eyes away from Maybelline for a moment. “That’s very impressive.”

  “Thank you.” A sense of vindication blooms within me, rich as the farm earth. “It’s my dream. Traveling this week has made it hard to keep up with my training, but I’m really looking forward to getting back on the court.”

  “Oh!” Ruth says, her eyes lighting up. “We have a tennis court!”

  I look around. “Where?”

  “At home in Hilton Head. The previous owners had a court built on the property. It’s blue. We’ve never used it, but we keep it well-maintained. For aesthetics, you know.”

  “Wow,” I say. “There isn’t even a tennis court in all of Francis. I have to drive to Rochester to train with my coach, and most days I practice on a racquetball court at the rec center. And you have a court at your house?”

  Ruth takes my hand in both of hers. She glances at William, and he nods. “Dara,” she says, almost breathless. “We’d love it if you came to stay with us. The court is all yours. We’ll hire a pro from the club to come practice with you if you like, since your grandfather and I won’t be much help in that arena.” She laughs. “How does that sound?”

  Came to stay. Could that mean what I think it does? “Um … how long were you thinking?” I ask carefully.

  “As long as you’d like! We’ve missed out on nearly your whole life up to this point. We’ll take all the time we can get now.”

  Their eyes brim with anticipation and hope.

  My thoughts start spinning, slowly at first, but picking up speed as they go. My long-lost grandparents just asked me to come live with them. In their guaranteed-to-be-super-fancy house on the water with its own private tennis court. I could train every single day. And we could get to know one another—really get to know one another, in the way that only happens naturally over time. Share our stories, the almost-forgotten ones that only emerge in your memory when triggered. This scenario is beyond anything I’d allowed myself to imagine.

  “Would—” I begin, but my mouth goes dry. I want to ask the thing that’s been on my mind since Mom mentioned they had money. I want to know if they’d consider sponsoring me. If they’ll help me build a real career. After getting to know them a bit, I’m certain they’ll say yes. Still, it feels cheap—wrong—to ask even more when so much has been taken from them already. But I have to know—before I agree to live with them. I can’t let one dream thwart another. I need to find a way to develop a relationship with my new family and get out there on the circuit as soon as possible. “The thing is,” I say, fighting the urge to avoid their eyes, “I’ve been planning on signing up for some pro tournaments this summer. It’s important for me to earn ranking points. But the expenses involved have made that tricky—”

  Ruth waves a hand, as if she can’t imagine being bothered by such a thing as money. “We’ll cover anything you need.”

  I chew on my lip, not allowing my hopes to get up just yet. “That’s … wow. Thank you. That’s incredibly nice of you. But you should know that starting a tennis career can be very expensive. There’s a lot of travel and training and equipment involved—”

  “Dara,” William cuts me off. “It’s not a problem. Like your grandmother said, we’ve missed out on too much of your life. Let us spoil you now.” He grins.

  I almost don’t trust my own hearing. This is the one thing I’ve been praying for, and the Pembrokes just offered it up as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

  “Really?” I whisper.

  “Just one question,” Ruth says. “Are there tournaments you can play in near where we live?”

  “Yes—well, not too far away.” I mentally run through the schedule I memorized while stalking the ITF website. “There are a few coming up in Winston-Salem, North Carolina; Sumter, South Carolina; and Charlottesville, Virginia.” And the deadlines to register for them are fast approaching.

  “Wonderful!” Ruth collects my hands in hers and squeezes. “You let me know the dates and I’ll have our travel agent arrange everything. Perhaps we can even find some spas to stay at. We’ll make a holiday out of it!” She’s absolutely radiant with the idea.

  “Well … okay then!” I’m grinning now too. “When do we leave?”

  “Sam!” I cry, out of breath, throwing open the door to his room. I ran at top speed all the way from the horse paddock. “You’ll never guess what just happened.”

  “What?” He’s coming out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

  “My grandparents have a tennis court! At their house! And they’re giving it to me. They asked me to come stay with them and said they’d pay for me to travel to tournaments and whatever I need to make a career happen!”

  “That’s great. I’m happy for you.” His voice says otherwise. He walks past me and tosses his too
thbrush into his duffel, which is lying open on the bed. Then he goes to the dresser and starts packing his clothes too.

  “Wait,” I say, feeling like someone just pulled an emergency brake. “What’s happening here?”

  “I’m packing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m leaving.”

  “Leaving?” I repeat, stunned. “Where are you going?”

  “Home. My bus leaves in a couple hours. Gabby said she’d drive me to the station.” He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, and he’s got a smattering of dark stubble across his chin and cheeks. It makes him look older. Or maybe it’s the exhaustion in his eyes that’s doing that.

  “Is this because we had a fight last night?” I’m starting to panic. “Everyone fights sometimes. It doesn’t mean we’re not friends anymore.”

  “That’s not what this is about.”

  “What is it about, then?”

  He looks at me. Cold. Detached. He’s already gone, I think. “You don’t need me here.” He finishes packing up his clothes and zips the bag shut. “Honestly, you probably haven’t needed me in a while. I just didn’t want to see it.”

  “Of course I need you!” I cry.

  Sam shakes his head vehemently. “You don’t.”

  “No, really, I—”

  “Dara!” He scrubs his hands down his face in frustration. “Listen to me. There’s a difference between needing me and needing someone. You knew how I felt about you, and you used it, dragging me from place to place, expecting me to go along with all this, taking advantage of my presence when you needed it, tossing me aside when something—someone—more interesting came along. It was never me you needed. I was just a warm body to keep near when you didn’t want to feel alone.”

  “That’s not tr—” Hold on. “Wait, how you felt about me?”

  He blinks, like he hadn’t realized he’d said that. But the pause lasts barely a second—he seems to surrender to the turn the conversation has taken. “Don’t act like you didn’t know,” he says, trying to be confident but looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him.

  “I didn’t!” I cry.

  Sam likes me? Like, like likes me? And that’s why he’s mad today? Not because of the fight but because he thinks I spent the night with Matt?

  How did I not know this? I know I’ve been distracted this week, but the way he’s talking, I think his feelings have been going on for longer than that.

  “Tell me something,” he says. “And don’t lie.”

  I bite my lip and wait.

  “Do you remember kissing me the other night?”

  All the air leaves my body. I have no choice; I have to answer. “Yes,” I whisper.

  He shifts his weight. “Did you black out at all or was that just a convenient way to pretend it never happened?”

  I don’t answer. But I don’t need to. He knows.

  He slings his bag over his shoulder and walks around from the other side of the bed. “You know, just because you’re going through a hard time doesn’t mean you get to treat me like crap.”

  “Sam …” I didn’t spend the night with Matt. I lied to you because I thought I was saving our friendship. I want to say it, but I know it won’t change anything.

  Instead, I ask a question of my own. Maybe I’m playing into his accusations of selfishness. I don’t care. “Are you getting back together with Sarah?”

  His face goes hollow. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because you’ve been texting her. I saw one of her texts when it came up on your phone—she said she thinks about you all the time.”

  His hand drifts to the pocket in his jeans where he keeps his phone. “I don’t know. Maybe. She wants to.”

  “But what about college? All the reasons you broke up with her are still there.”

  “She wants to try to figure it out.” He shrugs. “I think maybe I should try, too. There’s no reason not to anymore.” He pauses. Looks me in the eye. “And at least I’ll know she’ll be with me for the right reasons.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. So I just … don’t say anything.

  His shoulders slump. “Bye, Dara.” He turns toward the door.

  “I called Mellie,” I blurt out. It’s a coward’s move, but it’s all I have.

  He stops. Turns back. “You did?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Last night.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Not a lot. She said she’s sorry.”

  “That’s good.”

  “And I told her I was reading her emails.”

  “Why did you decide to call her?”

  “Because I was sad and worried about her.” I smirk. “I guess all that mean stuff you said to me last night got through after all.”

  He smiles, and it’s like my chest has been lifted by the power of a thousand helium balloons. “I’m proud of you, Dara.”

  “Thanks.”

  A few moments pass.

  “But I have to go.” He comes close to me, gives me a heartbreakingly detached kiss on the cheek, and then walks out the door.

  The rooster only has one job, and he does it well.

  I slept on the couch again last night, because William and Ruth needed a room to stay in. With everything they’re doing for me, it was the least I could do for them. But man, I’m tired.

  I shower in Catherine’s bathroom since she’s already out with the animals. Then I get dressed, and zip my suitcase—I packed most of my things yesterday. When I come back downstairs, the sounds of the house are more awake.

  “Good morning!” William greets me as I’m sitting on the couch tying my sneakers. “Ready to get on the road?”

  “Sure. I just need to go say good-bye to everyone first.”

  “You got it.” He picks up my bag and takes it out to the car.

  I make a quick stop at the kitchen to grab an apple, and eat it as I head out to the farm. It’s all hands on deck with the pigs this morning. I watch from the fence as the farm crew fills bowls, shovels poop, and re-hays the bedding. Jane fills a kiddie pool with water for the pigs to cool off in. One of the goats trots up next to me. I scratch between his little horns and give him my apple core. I’m going to miss this place, but it’s time to move on.

  In some ways, whatever’s about to happen next is more of an unknown than what lay ahead of me after I left Francis. This isn’t a fly-by-night adventure anymore. This is an informed decision, a calculated deviation from the path I’ve been on for most of my life. This is what I want. But there are new things to be unsure of. What will it be like living with my grandparents? Will I manage to make friends there? How long will I stay? Will I go back to Francis to get my stuff? What will Sam say … if he’s even speaking to me? And the hardest question to answer of all: How am I going to tell Mellie?

  I ignore the way the apple seems to be turning to acid in my gut. The Charlottesville tournament is only a few weeks away, and registration closes in a couple days. I need to get training again.

  Catherine turns around and sees me standing by the fence. She points me out to the others, and they all come over to say good-bye.

  “Thanks for letting me help out,” I tell them. “It was pretty interesting.”

  Meadow laughs. “Good interesting or bad interesting?”

  “Definitely … enlightening,” I say.

  I give Jane, Meadow, Gabby, and Ezra each a quick hug, and they go back to work.

  Catherine stands off to the side squinting up at the clouds in a not-so-discreet attempt to give Matt and me some alone time. I kind of wish she wouldn’t—Matt and I have been tiptoeing around each other since the other night, and I don’t really know what to say now that I’m face-to-face with him. This is what I imagine breaking up with someone and then having to see them every day at school feels like.

  “So,” I say, leaning back on my heels.

  “Good luck with tennis,” he says. “I’ll be watching for you on
TV. ESPN—that’s a sports channel, right?”

  I’m relieved for the excuse to laugh. “Yes. And thanks.”

  “And I hope everything works out with your mom.”

  I clear my throat. “You too—with your dad, I mean.”

  He brushes his toe across the dirt. “That ship has sailed, I think. But thanks.” He pauses, as if considering whether to say something else.

  “What?” I press.

  He sighs. “Sam’s a good guy. You two would be good together.”

  It’s the last thing I expected him to say. Does he think that’s why I stopped things between us the other night? “That’s not … what this is.”

  He raises a skeptical eyebrow.

  I frown at him. He might be only the second boy to kiss me, but that doesn’t mean he knows me.

  Matt leans down and kisses me lightly on the mouth. A good-bye. Sam’s kiss on the cheek yesterday contained volumes, and this one, though far more intimate, is empty. But I force a friendly smile as Matt steps back. I’m sure the only reason I’m even thinking of Sam right now is because Matt brought him up.

  “See ya around, Dara,” he says.

  Catherine walks me to the cars and gives me a big bear hug. I hold on to her fiercely. I’m suddenly scared, standing next to my open car door with no Sam in the passenger seat. Can I really do this on my own?

  “Call me anytime,” she says. We exchanged phone numbers last night, and I believe her when she says to use it. But I think it would help to know that I’ll see her again before too long.

  “Maybe you can visit Hilton Head soon?” I ask. “Or can you come to one of my tournaments?”

  She gives an unconvincing smile. “We’re negotiating with a dairy farm right now for some of their older cows, so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get away …” I feel my face fall, and Catherine sees it. She tacks on: “But I promise I’ll try.”

  “Okay.”

  With a few final waves and Drive safelys, my grandparents get into their car, I get into mine, and we drive away.

  About halfway into the two-hour drive, I hit a stretch of traffic. There’s roadwork going on, and the three highway lanes are being funneled into one. I’m at a dead stop for several minutes, so I use the time to check my email.