Butterflies Don't Lie

by B. R. Myers

  Dad didn’t put up much of a fight. I could hear Chet in the background. “Mom home?” I asked carefully.

  “Yes,” he said, then after a slight pause, “in her office.”

  He stayed silent. I said goodbye quickly. The uncomfortable tone in his voice was freaking me out. Home was becoming awkward and I didn’t know why.

  That evening, each time I went into the kitchen, How-hole was whistling a tune.

  “Have a big date planned?” I asked, making sure I was busy with the dirty dishes, and avoiding those blue eyes. I hated that he had gotten under my skin. He looked confused, probably pretending not to catch on. “Brooke picking you up after work?” I prodded.

  All he did was chuckle and shake his head. “You and Brooke are nothing alike,” he said.

  I snorted. “Anyone can see that.”

  There was a crash and Clyde cursed in French. Ronnie’s flower vase had slipped and fallen on the floor. I jumped. My nerves were raw. Before Loretta could order me to clean it up, I raced out of the kitchen. I was becoming a pro at avoiding conflict.

  It was ten o’clock by the time every table was cleared, the floor swept, and the front door locked.

  I was a walking zombie. My feet were on fire and my back was a series of tight knots. I dragged my colonial, stinky self to the kitchen. How-hole looked up from his mopping. “Hey, Kels,” he said, “what are your plans for tonight?”

  “To die,” I answered weakly. I emptied my apron pockets. Peppermint wrappers, nubs of candles, and little paper slips from the coffee and dessert orders soon littered the counter. I started counting my ten percent from the tip money Ronnie had given me. There were a few fives and even a ten among the change. This one little thing made me smile. I could easily have a new pair of Toms if I used some of my paycheque. Mom and Dad had insisted I put at least half of everything I earned this summer in my bank account, so spending cash on fun stuff took some organizing.

  How-hole was quiet. “What?” I asked. “Is there something on my face?” I wiped a hand over my forehead. I had worked a double shift in the heat; there could be broccoli stuck to my face and I wouldn’t care.

  “No,” he simply said. “I just wondered what you were doing after work.”

  I straightened up. Where was he going with this? He knew I was a social moron. I pictured Brooke wishing she’d caught my rant on her iPhone. She could have a billion hits by now. The only thing popular girls want more than clothes is to be more popular. Maybe she’d convinced him to invite me to another Stunder soiree.

  That’s why he’s being so nice to me…

  My paranoia was on high alert.

  I pictured Brooke in her crocheted sundress, snuggling up to How-hole on his couch with a plate of Bowsky’s Bowl untouched on the coffee table in front of them.

  “I doubt we’ll ever party together again,” I said. I wanted to sound strong like Julia, but it came out weak and tired.

  His face hardened, then he looked down and began mopping again. “Guess you have another hot night planned between the covers of your magazine.”

  That was cruel.

  My pulse started to pound in my ears. I’d had enough of his confusing remarks and staring contests. In fact I’d had enough of a lot of things, like Mom ignoring me, Francine’s empty spreadsheet, and how I was always expected to be responsible but never allowed to have any fun on my own.

  I slammed my hand down on the counter. “I don’t care what you’re doing, and you shouldn’t care what I’m doing…which is nothing. Okay? Happy?” I jammed all the paper slips into the nearest garbage bag and stomped away. Let him have his date with Brooke. She could have him and his piercing eyes.

  Julia had changed out of her uniform and retired to the bar, planning on having a few beers with her boyfriend. Loud conversations seeped through the French doors. Most of the crowd came over when the yacht club closed. Some nights the bar at the Queen’s Galley didn’t shut its doors until two in the morning.

  I caught my reflection in the window: frumpy nightcap, pale face, black bags under the eyes. I staggered into the sitting area and plopped into the nearest chair. All I needed was to close my eyes for a bit, then I’d change and bike home.

  There was a knock at the front door. “We’re closed,” I yelled out, my eyes still shut. The knocking came louder this time. I grunted and pushed myself out of the chair. Probably some lost drunk looking for the entrance to the bar.

  I peeked through the side curtain. They knocked again. “Fu—” I jumped back. It was Blaine! I pressed my back against the door, praying for lightning to strike.

  There was another knock, then finally, “Kelsey?”

  Okay, he’d seen me. I had no choice but to finally face my future husband. I pulled off my cap and stuffed it into my apron pocket. I rubbed my cheeks a few times, then unlocked the door.

  He smiled at me and motioned to the door frame. “Thanks,” he said. “I wondered if you’d be working tonight.”

  I could only nod. The ability to speak had suddenly deserted me.

  “Look,” he started. I noticed two other guys were behind him. They must have been Stunders from the yacht club. “My friends and I were hoping you could let us into the bar.”

  There was always someone checking ID at the real entrance to the bar. Blaine glanced back at his friends, then took a step forward. A warm breeze came up. He smelled especially amazing tonight. Hollister should really consider renaming their scent after him.

  He took another step closer to me. “You told me all I had to do was ask for you.” He lifted one eyebrow. I had no idea eyebrows could be that sexy. I stayed quiet, worried to say anything: the last time I’d brushed my teeth was eight hours ago.

  He looked down and wiggled his toes in his flip-flops. “And you kind of owe me for last week.”

  I groaned inside. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I think I had the flu,” I added stupidly.

  He bit his lower lip, and then did this kind of half-grin, half-shrug that made me melt on the spot. He reached up and squeezed my shoulder. “No worries. I’m just glad you didn’t have pizza before the party.”

  He laughed, his friends laughed, and by God, I laughed too! And just like that, all my worries evaporated magically.

  Blaine was that kind of guy.

  During our grade six track meet, Blaine had sprinted for first place in the eight-hundred-metre race. Just before the finish line, the kid in very last place, who was being lapped by everyone, tripped and fell. Instead of jumping over the kid like a human hurdle, Blaine stopped and helped him limp across the finish line.

  Someone that nice deserved a small favour. And yeah, I did kind of owe him for barfing on his perfect feet. What harm could come from helping a guy so forgiving and thoughtful?

  I led Blaine and his friends to the French doors near the patio and unlocked them from my side. It was so crowded in the bar, they slipped in without anyone noticing—and I got a chance to enjoy Blaine’s shoulders. “I’m finished my shift now,”

  I said to his back. Thoughts of hopping on my bike for home had disappeared as soon as he smiled at me at the door.

  He leaned into his friend. “Told you I could get us in.”

  The door closed and I was left looking at my reflection again. There were a few stunned seconds while my brain caught up to what had just happened.

  I hated who I saw, but the ugly truth was staring me in the face: no matter where I worked, or how many spontaneous chit-chats we had, Blaine Mulder would never fall in love with me.

  No one will ever fall in love with me.

  “Boys suck,” I said tearfully. It felt like someone had punched me in the heart. All I wanted to do was go home, bury myself under my Holly Hobbie bedspread, and cry for the rest of the summer. I grabbed my Kipling bag, muttering to myself.

  I had taken this stupid job to be closer to Blai
ne.

  Everything I did was for Blaine.

  A rush of anger compelled me to start madly searching my bag. I wanted to rip up my paycheque—the meagre couple hundred bucks was like blood money to me now. I opened every compartment on that stupid bag, but my paycheque wasn’t there.

  Tears stung the corners of my eyes.

  I must have thrown it in the garbage with the paper slips!

  The kitchen was spotless. I almost slipped on the freshly mopped floor. How-hole’s proficiency was maddening. A broken leg in a cast for the rest of the summer would probably be the next thing to happen to me. I checked all the bins, cursing under my breath. He’d already taken out the garbage. I went out to the shed and dragged all the garbage bags into the driveway.

  I ripped each one open and started pulling out bits of kitchen scraps and soggy leftovers. Soon I was covered up to my elbows in pepper steak, melted ice cream, and congealed butter. I delicately unwrapped each piece of paper. I found a grocery list of Julia’s, Loretta’s reminder to call the vet, food wrappers, paper towels—

  The kitchen door banged open. How-hole stood there in bright Hawaiian shorts. He was holding a baseball bat. “Oh, it’s you,” he said dryly. “I thought it was the dog again.”

  Cujo-the-land-shark was the least of my concerns at that moment. “Were you going to play baseball with it?” I had no time for chit-chat with him.

  He took in the piles of categorized garbage. “What are you doing?”

  “I threw out my paycheque by mistake.”

  “Not on purpose?” I could hear the grin in his voice.

  I nodded at the baseball bat. “That for your date with Brooke? Which base are you hoping to get to tonight?” I didn’t even try to hide the snark in my voice. To be honest, I thought it was a pretty clever remark to pull out of my butt considering my state of mind.

  He didn’t bother replying. Instead he went back inside the kitchen.

  Whatever. I can do this on my own.

  I glanced over at my bike, still waiting for me. Great, I still had that to look forward to. I could call home, but Mom wouldn’t want to leave her office, and the sight of Dad’s tired face was something my heart and head couldn’t handle right now.

  The kitchen door opened again. How-hole came over with several garbage bags. He worked silently, methodically sorting through the garbage. I noticed the bat hadn’t come back out with him.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But you don’t have to help me.” I replayed the moment when I must have thrown away my paycheque. “It was my stupid mistake.” I left out that I had been busy telling him off for teasing me about having no social life.

  “Most mistakes are stupid,” he answered, totally absorbed in handling potato peelings. He didn’t even look at me.

  Bacon turds to the tenth degree! I couldn’t even compete with garbage for a guy’s attention. It’s like I only got noticed when I was messing up.

  I wonder if I’m becoming self-destructive…

  I waited for him to talk and maybe give some hint why he was being so nice to me. Was this about Brooke and another party or did he feel sorry for me? Neither one of those scenarios was desirable.

  I wish I had a magazine quiz for this situation.

  Still, he was helping me sort through this gooey mess. And suddenly being elbow-deep in garbage didn’t seem that bad.

  “Are you sure it’s safe out here?” I asked him, partly testing the waters.

  “Depends on what you’re afraid of.” He examined a piece of paper, then tossed it in a pile.

  How-hole, king of ambiguous answers.

  “I mean…” I scrunched up my nose as I pulled out a particularly gross piece of rare steak. “I read raccoons can be pretty bold sometimes. And, um…they have teeth, right?”

  He only shrugged, intent on searching through more garbage.

  Trying to talk with him tonight was torture. This was ridiculous, I had to find that damn paycheque and get home for my all-night cry-fest. I shoved my hand to the bottom of the bag. “SHIT!”

  Pain shot up my arm. I pull out my hand, my fingers were covered in blood. “Something bit me!”

  How-hole pushed me out of the way and stomped on the bag. We waited, but nothing moved inside. He flipped it upside down and dumped it out. Ronnie’s broken vase hit the ground and shattered into even tinier pieces.

  “Damn. I’m sorry,” he said, kneeling next to me. “That’s my fault. I should have wrapped it up before I threw it in the garbage.” His fingers were cradling my hand, gently examining the cut. “We’ve got to clean that up.”

  His touch set off a nervous tingle over my skin. I met his gaze and our eyes locked. Our noses were almost touching. I held my breath.

  “Kels, I—”

  A threatening growl came from behind the shed.

  We slowly turned. A dog the size of a pony came out of the shadows. It growled again, then leaned back on its haunches, launching itself toward us.

  TWENTY-ONE

  I’m not sure if How-hole said it out loud or if we both thought, Run! at the same time, but when he grabbed my good hand, I was already sprinting.

  How-hole pulled me through the garden, diving under shrubs and down the grassy slope. He shouted out directions every five seconds. “Jump! Faster! Duck!” I had no idea my legs could move so fast. I thanked God I was wearing the pleated skirt; I’m pretty sure the skin-tight, black pencil version I’d been wishing for wouldn’t have stood up so well to this obstacle course.

  I kept expecting a jaw lined with teeth to clamp down on my calves. We hurdled the last shrub successfully and crossed the road. We didn’t stop to look back until we had gone the full length of the wharf.

  I bent over with my hands on my knees, sucking in air. How-hole arched his back, equally out of breath. I took some satisfaction in that. He pointed toward the back of the Queen’s Galley, where the dog had retreated into the shadows. “Hard…to resist…pepper steak,” he said between breaths.

  He took off his ball cap, ran a hand through his hair, and went down the small walkway to the float. I followed him down, simply because the dog could have been part ninja, waiting in the shadows to attack us again. I was, after all, covered in rare steak.

  “Sit here,” he said, pointing to the edge of the float. “You can soak your hand in the salt water.”

  The water was so calm, the float barely moved. I crossed my legs and dangled my hand in the cool water. It stung at first, but I kept it in, determined to be tough.

  How-hole was still standing. He wiped his brow with his forearm. “God, we both stink,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” I pretended to be insulted. We had both worked double shifts and then played in garbage. Of course we stank.

  He peeled off his T-shirt. There was a long scar on his right side, disappearing under his arm. I could see his nipples.

  Why am I looking at his nipples? I don’t even like nipples…I need to stop looking at his nipples.

  I finally tore my eyes away. “Getting ready for your big date?”

  “You seem pretty obsessed with my social life.” His sneakers and socks were off now.

  I swished my hand in the water. “I just need to know if anything else is coming off, so I can hide my eyes. Whatever, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  He tapped his nose. “Your nostrils don’t lie.” He jumped in still wearing his Hawaiian shorts. He let out a whoop! and did a few strokes.

  I sent a few splashes his way, but he couldn’t feel them. Then he stopped and floated on his back, so still…so calm. I laid flat on my back, keeping my hand in the water. I looked up at the stars. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d looked at them.

  He started humming his song.

  “What are you thinking?” I said.

  “Huh?” He swam back toward the float. “What’d you say?”


  “Nothing,” I lied. I rolled onto my belly and took my hand out of the water. It was dark but I could see the jagged cut, white on the edges from the salt water.

  How-hole brought his face closer. “You won’t need stitches,” he said, “just some Polysporin and a tight bandage for tonight. Make sure it’s covered tomorrow too.”

  I gave him a look.

  “People don’t want to be served food by someone with a huge slash across her hand.”

  “Maybe I’ll call in sick,” I suggested.

  “And miss all the fun?” he said. He crossed his arms, resting his elbows on the edge of the float. His hair was slicked back from the water. He looked normal without shaggy neon blue hair. “Mr. Deveau’s outfits alone are worth getting out of bed for.”

  “I’m not a fan,” I said. “He wants me fired, remember?”

  How-hole pushed off and treaded water. I’d never seen him so relaxed. “I know why you’re so upset,” he said.

  “I had to dig through garbage to try to find my missing measly paycheque and was chased by a mad dog to the wharf, where I am now soaking my sliced-open hand, which is probably infected.”

  He was quiet while he considered my answer. “Yup,” he finally said. “You definitely need a guy to push you to the edge.”

  I made a pfft sound, a slight variation of my snort. “You don’t know me,” I said. The night was going downhill, but what did it matter? I was too tired to even care anymore.

  “I don’t even know me,” I said truthfully. “I don’t even know what I want, and you definitely don’t know what I want.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “But I know what you need.” His tone gave me goosebumps. He reached toward me. “Come on.”

  I looked at him in horror and jumped up. “Whoa, dude! The last thing I need is to go swimming…with you.”

  “Come on,” he insisted. “Being on the ocean is my speciality. You’ll be perfectly safe.” He pulled himself up onto the float.