“What?” There’s an edge to his voice.
I stiffen, but in a minute he gently lays his hand on my arm. “You okay?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I quickly reach behind my back with both hands and do up my bra.
He blows out air loudly. “I thought you wanted to.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I push myself off the bed and stand. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I thought I did too.” I open my mouth and close it, not able to think of what I want to say.
He swings his feet over the side of the bed and pats the spot beside him. I don’t sit.
“It’s okay. I’m not going to touch you anymore. I just want to talk to you.”
I glance at him, and he half shrugs. “Trust me.”
I plop down on the bed and put my head in my hands. “God. I’m such a dork.”
“No, you’re not.” He puts his arm across my back and holds it there. It’s not sexual, it’s kind of tender.
My shoulders start shaking, and I’m mortified to realize that I’m crying and shivering.
“Hey, Sam. Don’t.” He sounds kind of uncomfortable, but he doesn’t take his arm away. He moves closer so our legs are pressed together. I’m so cold. So, so cold.
“It’s okay,” he says.
Finally, my heaving stops and the tears slow down. I wipe under my eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
Casper takes his arm away from me, and instantly I freeze from the loss of body warmth when he stands. I wrap my arms around myself.
“It was so much easier when I was a lesbian,” I say with a sigh.
His eyebrows press together and he frowns.
“Remember? All the boys at my old school thought I was gay.”
The look on his face makes me laugh. He must think I’m completely crazy now. Crying uncontrollably one moment, laughing hysterically the next. But he shakes his head and grins and sits again, patting my knee. “You’re something else, you know that. And since you’re not a lesbian, do you want to go the Fall Festival with me?”
My laughter slowly leaves my lips. “The what?”
He tells me about the town fair that goes on every year in November. Scarecrow-building contests, baking contests, rodeo, the list goes on and on. There are even rides and games. A real county fair.
“Seriously?” I say, wondering why I haven’t heard of it before. Probably I wasn’t paying attention.
He frowns. “You don’t want to go with me, just say so.”
“No. I just never knew about it. I swear.”
“Well. It’s a big deal. Every year.” His voice is a tad sharp.
“We didn’t have a fair in Orlie. We had to go to Seattle.”
“You want to go, or what?”
“I guess. I mean. Sure.” I smile at him, kind of surprised that he’s asking me out. In public. Does he want to announce to the world that we’re a couple?
I wonder if we are. I’ve spent the last half hour or so kissing him, and I have no idea whether we’re a couple or not. Or if I even want us to be. Is he more than a distraction or relief that someone is paying attention to me?
There’s no fluttering in my stomach when I think of him when we’re not together. I don’t get all giggly and itchy around him, not like with Zee. I chew the inside of my cheek, wondering what he’ll say. I don’t want to think about Zee. Or before.
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Casper says, but he smiles.
“It’s not that. I didn’t know.”
“Cool…” He pauses and taps his fingers on my leg, as if he’s playing a song. “We used to all go together with our dates.” He takes a breath. “Alex, me, and Zee.” The words refreeze my thawing skin. “Zee’s taking Chloe this year. You want to go with Taylor and Justin?” He taps my leg. Tap tap tap.
I try to keep breathing normally.
“Zee’s taking Chloe?” I manage.
He lifts his shoulder. “He’s hanging out with her a lot. He’s into her, I think.”
I nod. Maybe they are becoming more than friends?
“So,” he says and stands up and stretches his arms high in the air. I have the feeling I’m being dismissed.
“Can you type out your final draft of your part of our essay by Friday? We can trade and proof each other’s and hand them in to Mr. Duffield on Monday. That doable for you?”
“Sure.” I stand up and head to the coffee table, where I grab my books and start putting everything in my backpack. He walks to where I’m standing, bends down, and lightly kisses my cheek. “I know how hard everything must be. You’re handling it great.”
I don’t answer, but I sling my backpack over my shoulder and fake a smile.
Casper walks me all the way outside to my car and holds the door while I climb inside. “I’ll pick you up. For the festival. I’ll text you the details. Wear something warm. It gets cold.”
The house is still empty when I get home. Or empty again. There’s a note on the fridge held by a magnet. I skim Aunt Allie’s writing. She and Dad have gone to his doctor. Fredrick’s along for the ride. I’m not to worry. There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.
I feel dirty, like the kissing and touching tainted me. There’s no dreamy afterglow. It’s almost like I’m cheating on someone. But who? Alex? Am I mocking his memory by making out with another guy? His friend.
I shiver.
I want to tell Alex I’m sorry I kissed him before I had a chance to get to know him. Maybe I would have liked him. We might have dated or something. I try not to think about Zee.
I want to tell Alex I’m sorry he had a crush on me. That I feel bad about what happened to him, and don’t want to forget him, not really, but the thought of putting my words on paper horrifies me. I’m not ready to write him a letter.
I open the fridge, but food doesn’t appeal to me. I pick up my cell phone, but there’s no use texting Taylor. She’ll be swimming. No one in Orlie texts me anymore. There was a rush of messages to try to find out more about the accident. But they’ve died off. Gillian seems to have written me off. I shut off my cell phone. There’s only one thing I can think of to do. I dart to my room and change into yoga pants, a T-shirt, and a pullover running jacket, grab my iPhone, and head out on the road.
I start off with a light jog, my body responding with a rush to the exercise. Quickly, though, it feels like I’m swallowing acid in my throat. My lungs hurt, but I run faster and faster. I miss the sensation of water on my skin. Running doesn’t use my whole body. My shoulders are stiff but limp, and my body struggles to get a breathing groove, so different from breathing in the water. My legs ache, but it’s not like kicking. Trying to forget what my brain cannot, I turn the music louder, so loud I can’t hear anything else, not even my own breathing.
I push myself, running fast and farther than before. It’s dark when I get home, and my lungs feel clogged and uncomfortable. The house is still empty, which is weird but kind of good, since I’d probably be in trouble for being out running alone in the dark. I shower and while hot water runs down my back, my thoughts somehow drift to my mom.
I pull on the purple robe Aunt Allie gave me, and when I reach around to tie the belt my hand brushes over a small lump in the pocket. I reach inside. My fingers wrap around something metal. It’s thin and light. I pull it out. It’s an old-fashioned silver necklace with a locket.
With my heart beating fast, I slide my nail in and open it up. There’s a tiny picture inside. I bring it up closer to my eyes. It’s my mom. Holding a baby. She’s staring down at the baby, and the look on her face is exquisite. Mom love. I’ve never seen the picture before, but of course the baby is me. My heart pounds and pounds, and I can’t decide if I’m afraid or excited.
I close the locket and squeeze it in my fist. Somehow I’m compelled to stan
d and creep down the hallway to Dad’s room. I push on the door and stare at his neatly made bed. There’s folded laundry on his dresser. Aunt Allie’s taken over the laundry since she’s been here. He hates doing it and pays me an allowance to handle the chore, since I’ve never been able to get a job with my swimming hours. It’s the only time I go into his room. To put his laundry away.
Listening for Dad’s car, I creep inside, closer to his other dresser. The tall one. There are pictures in frames on the top. Mini me on a diving platform. A bigger me on a podium, three gold medals around my neck. Me last year, emerging from the water in a butterfly stroke with my shoulders looking as big as my head. My insides ache. For how much it must hurt him to have me refusing to swim. No pictures of him. None of Mom.
Swallowing jitters, I pull open the top drawer. His black work socks are shoved inside, unsorted. I refuse to match them up and roll them together. Instead, I throw them on his bed in a big pile on laundry day. It’s very un-Dad-like that they go in the drawer the same way.
I run my hand under the socks, searching the bottom of the drawer for something, but there’s nothing secret stashed away. I repeat this in his other drawers, not aware of what I’m looking for but sensing there’s something to find.
Ignoring my bad feeling, I look around his room and then take a step inside his walk-in closet. Dress shirts line the inside racks, displayed on cheap white coat hangers with the protective plastic from the drycleaners. I don’t do work shirts. I hate to iron.
Above the hangers is a long shelf that runs the length of his closet. Sweaters are folded neatly in piles and then, at the end, there’s a long white storage box. I stare at it for a moment and then tuck the necklace in my pocket, walk over, stand on my tiptoes, and pull it down.
SANDRA is written on top in thick black marker.
My heart pounds. I’ve never seen this before. I have no idea what’s in it. I carry the box to the bed.
Slowly, I lift the lid. A pale pink baby sleeper lies on top of a pile of cards and pictures. There’s a sweater under it that looks homemade. Knitted or crocheted, I can’t tell the difference. It’s so tiny. I pick it up and hold it to my nose. It smells sweet. I reach for the stack of pictures and pick one up. My heart skips a hurried beat. It’s my mom, and she looks so young. Maybe not much older than me. She’s wearing flared jeans that go all the way to the top of her waist with a tight, short T-shirt. Her hair is huge. I peer closer. She’s smiling at whoever is taking the picture.
I flip to the next one. Her in a retro Speedo bathing suit. I flip and flip. There are so many more. Younger versions, and gradually shots of her with Dad. Arm in arm. In one they’re wearing matching hiking clothes on a mountain. They’re smiling. Happy. In another she’s sitting on his lap, and they’re smiling into each other’s eyes. Under the pictures is a frame, and I pull it out. It’s her. Sitting in a rocking chair. She’s wearing a yellow hoodie with bright red sweat pants. She’s holding a baby to her chest, half swathed in a blanket. Leaning up against her feet is a black Labrador retriever. She’s smiling, but there’s sadness in her eyes. Tired. She looks tired.
I put the frame down and look back in the box. A set of candles in a plastic see-through box. Baptismal candles. My name and birthday are printed on them. There’s a white sleeper with a silk cross on the front. I recognize it from my baptism pictures from the album Dad keeps out for me with pictures from my childhood. Before everything went digital and got stored on his computer.
In the picture, Mom’s holding me facing the camera, the only baby girl not wearing a frilly white baby dress.
The box is empty now except for an old VHS tape. I take it out. On the spine, in Dad’s handwriting it says “Sandra.” And a date close to when I was born.
I put everything back in the box, everything except the framed picture and the video. I plunk the lid on and place it back in the closet where it was.
I sit down on the bed for a moment, thinking, and then I take the frame and place it on top of Dad’s dresser. I tuck the tape under my arm and go down to the basement, wondering where Dad would stash the old VCR, knowing it wouldn’t be thrown out. Not yet.
There are a few unopened containers in the storage room. Each one is labeled. Dad’s organizational skills are reliable. Inside a box marked “Electronics” I find the VCR. The cords are still attached.
Triumphant, I carry it to the TV, hook it up, plug it in, and nod in satisfaction when the TV switches over. I put the tape in, waiting impatiently while it whirs and beeps, taking forever to load. I listen with one ear for sounds from upstairs to indicate that Aunt Allie and Dad are home, but it’s quiet. I wonder if they went out for dinner. An image flickers on the TV and then a voice speaks from off camera. The image wobbles and then a woman, blurry and out of focus, appears on the screen.
“Sandra, Samantha, look over here,” Dad’s voice calls.
I hold my breath and the picture comes into focus.
My mom sits on the edge of a pool. Her feet hang in the water. She’s wearing a black one-piece suit and has long, pale legs. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she turns and smiles at the camera, but her eyes don’t smile along with her mouth. The baby in her arms is chubby, with rolls for arms and legs.
Compared to the roly-poly baby, my mom looks too thin. The baby—me—I look too big to have come from her body. But she holds me under my arms and dips my toe into the pool. The baby—me—I squeal, and then a giggle erupts from my lips. Off camera, the deep voice of my dad chuckles. “Just like her mom, a natural in the water.”
The baby shrieks again, but the giggle turns into an angry wail. I watch my mom stand, pulling the baby up with her as she gets to her feet. The baby shrieks. Loud and angry cries.
The look on my mom’s face makes my heart sink. She looks angry, terrified, defeated in the span of a second. “Take her,” she says. “Please, Jonathan. Put down the camera and take her. She hates me.” She’s holding me out, with her arms straight, her eyes opened wide, her lips pressed together.
“Sandra,” my dad’s voice says off camera. It’s changed. He’s talking in a low voice, I recognize the sound. He’s angry, but he’s trying to remain calm. “She’s probably cold. She doesn’t hate you. Just hold her close. Warm her up.”
The baby howls louder.
“Take her. Please.” On screen there’s a close-up of baby me, with squinched-up eyes and an angry, toothless mouth wide open and hollering.
“For God’s sake, Sandra.” The camera jiggles around and then turns off. There’s blackness and then a hissing and horrible pop from the TV. I jump and press mute on the remote, then I find the fast-forward button on the VCR and press it. Another image wobbles on the screen, distorted until I let go of the button.
The baby again. Older. Wearing a goofy flowered dress. Baby me is sitting up on my own.
“Sam?” Dad calls.
Noises come from upstairs. The front door’s opened, and Aunt Allie and Dad’s feet thump on the floor above. Fredrick’s little paws scrape along the hardwood.
I turn the VCR off. “Down here. I’ll be right up.”
Fredrick hears my voice, scrambles down the stairs, and jumps at my legs. I pick him up and he attacks my nose and mouth with his little tongue until I spurt and move him away. I carry him up the stairs with me while he grunts and snorts and noisily greets me. He’s wearing a new bandana covered in orange pumpkins.
Aunt Allie is at the top of the stairs with a sour look on her face. Her eyebrows are pressed together, her lips tight. Dad smiles, but it wavers and quickly fades. Immediately guilt plops into my head. Do they know? About me and Casper? About me snooping in his room?
“Where’d you get that robe?” he asks when I walk into the kitchen.
“Aunt Allie gave it to me.” I glance at her.
“It was your mom’s,” he says and pres
ses his lips together and shakes his head.
“I know.” I stare at Aunt Allie. She glares at my dad.
“I thought she should have it. She has so few things from her mom.”
“It’s fine.” He waves his hand in the air. “Fine. Sorry we’re late,” he says to me with another sigh. He squeezes my shoulder as he walks by me to his wine cupboard. “We went for dinner and texted and called your cell to see if you wanted to come, but you didn’t answer.”
Aunt Allie swoops in and pulls me close and tries to squeeze the stuffing out of me. When she lets go, I reach into my pocket and pull out the necklace.
“What’s that?” she asks, narrowing her eyes to peer closer. Dad has a wineglass in each hand, but he stops moving and his face goes almost white.
“Where’d you get that?”
I glare at Aunt Allie. “You put it here.”
She shakes her head. “No, I didn’t.” She holds out her hand. “Let me see it.”
I close my fist.
“What is it?” she repeats and shakes her hand at me.
I open my hand and dump the necklace in hers. She sucks in her breath and her eyes open wider. She lifts the open locket up close to her eyes.
“It’s Sandra’s. Jonathan. Did you see this?”
He’s put the wine glasses down and is walking toward us. “Where’d you get that?” he repeats.
“It was in the pocket.”
He glares at Aunt Allie. “Did you find it and put it there?”
She shakes her head. “No. I washed the robe before I gave it to Sam. I know the pockets were empty. I’ve never seen that necklace before.”
Dad’s face is almost white. Aunt Allie hands him the necklace. His face crumples.
“She lost this,” he whispers. “She was so upset with herself. It disappeared right before she died.” He looks at me. “I gave it to her for her birthday. And when she was wearing it, it slipped off. We never found it.”
Shivers run up my spine.
“Allie. You must have put it in the pocket,” he says again.
“I didn’t, Jonathan.”
Who I Kissed Page 13