Beau and Bett

by Kathryn Berla

  “And then I went home, Dad was furious, we went to see the principal the next day and Decker got suspended from school and wasn’t allowed to play his last season of baseball. He also had to do mandatory counseling after he finally admitted the truth.”

  That explains his absence, I thought. But not why Bettina got turned into The Beast.

  “Dad wanted me to transfer back to my old school, but I refused. I didn’t want Decker to win and I was grateful to the school for what they did, considering that at first it was his word against mine, and I was a new student. But everyone started treating me like a pariah afterward . . . even the two girls who invited me to the party. They were so supportive until it came to Decker not being able to play his last season. And Castlegate didn’t take home the championship like they would’ve if he’d been there . . . at least that’s what everyone said.”

  “Ah, crap, that sucks,” I said, and I glanced over at her. She’d stopped working and was staring at her gloved hands.

  “Don’t look at me,” she said. “I told you . . . not until I’m finished.”

  “Are you finished?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well then . . . ” I scooted over right next to her. “Well then, I’m really sorry that happened to you.” I put my thick leather gloved hand over her thick leather gloved hand and left it there for a second. “I’m glad you shared that with me . . . that is, if it helped you.”

  I wasn’t a great one with words, but I wanted to let her know she had a friend if she wanted one.

  “It does, thanks,” she nodded. “I wanted you to know, really. You can probably guess the rest . . . my general social awkwardness, my way of speaking my mind even when people don’t want to hear it, the fact that I’m generally an introvert, and all the rumors spinning out of control . . . that’s why people like your friend, Khalil, call me The Beast.”

  “Hey, he won’t be doing that anymore,” I said quickly. “I can guarantee you he’s seen the light.”

  “So you talked to him about me before I even told you the real story? You did that for me?”

  It was the first time I’d ever heard her sound unsure of herself. In a way, it was refreshing to know she was just like the rest of us with regular people insecurities, but the reason behind it was too sad. It didn’t make me feel good at all. In fact, it made me feel pretty bad just then.

  “I always knew you were good people,” I said. “I can always tell. I have a sense for it.”

  “You missed a tie,” she said.

  “So did you.”

  She looked back to where she’d been working. “You’re absolutely right.”

  “I know.”

  The sun felt hot against the back of my neck. Our shadows leaned against the fence and then spilled through to the other side. A light breeze ruffled the hair that had fallen out of her ponytail.

  “Bettina, I wish everyone knew who the real beast was, but you’d never get back the peace of mind he stole from you, and it wouldn’t make up for your pain.”

  “I know that,” she said. “It’s alright, and I don’t need to be comforted. I’m fine and I’m strong.”

  She was definitely strong. But at that moment, reliving that time, maybe not so much.

  “You do realize that once you get out of high school, you’ll most likely never see those kids again and then you get to decide where you want to be and who you want to be around . . . people who appreciate someone brave enough to tell the truth like you did.”

  “That’s like forever—before I graduate from high school.”

  “No, it’s not. It’ll go by fast as long as you keep your eye on the prize.”

  “What’s the prize?”

  “What you want from life. What you expect from life. And not to ever settle for anything less than that. So, for whatever it’s worth, count me as an actual friend.”

  A smile barely lifted the corners of her mouth and if I wasn’t sitting so close, I would’ve missed it altogether. But as quickly as it came, it disappeared like a mouse poking its head out of a hole to take a look around.

  “So, does she still hate me? Your mom?”

  I clipped the end of the tie and leaned over to hand her the cutting shears.

  “Of course not. She never did hate you. She was mad at you, but my folks could never stay mad at anyone for very long.”

  Thirty-Five

  Sunday morning marked the beginning of the end of my third weekend of work. After that day, there was only one last weekend with Bettina. I looked forward to being able to call my time my own again. I looked forward to paying off our family’s debt and I was proud I was making that happen. I was also proud I was helping to make Bettina’s world a little safer in the process. The snake fence, something I’d never heard about before I started working on it, would be a barrier between man and beast. There was nothing I could do about the “men” who turned Bettina into a beast, but at least my forced labor was helping her world in a small way.

  Besides that, I was becoming used to her company. Maybe even a little more than that—maybe even a little excited about the prospect of her company as I drove to the Diaz Ranch that morning.

  My heart felt happy when I saw her waiting for me, perched on the fence post where the street met the gravel lane. I say my heart felt happy because that’s exactly where I felt it. Not in my nerves and veins like when I hit a home run in Little League in the sixth grade. Not in my head like when I got a test back in English I thought I was going to flunk and instead saw B+ and a smiley face on the top right corner. When I saw Bettina, I felt it in my heart. A kind of flopping feeling like there might be a dying fish stuck inside my rib cage, followed by a spreading warmth the way you get when you slap on one of those muscle-pain relief pads.

  There hadn’t been any talk between us on Saturday about when I’d be arriving the next day. I think we both knew without a doubt that I’d come in the morning when it would just be me and her and nothing else but that big old Diaz Ranch, with all its avocados and grapes and rattlesnakes and everything else. And when I say I saw her perched on the fence post, the image of an owl came to mind again, with her wise dark eyes that widened when she was interested in what you were saying and narrowed when she was shutting out the world or something she didn’t like about it. I’d seen her as Bambi too, scampering through the flower gardens, so there was that, but I’d given up trying to categorize Bettina. There was no neat and tidy spirit animal for her. She was complicated and mysterious. She was full of surprises.

  When she got in the truck, she was quieter than usual, so I asked what was up.

  “I got in trouble today,” she said. “With Nana.”

  “For what? Not doing the dishes again?”

  “Dad and Nana are going to a barbecue at my second cousin’s house this afternoon, and Nana wanted me to go with them. To church and then the barbecue afterward.”

  “You should have gone,” I said, thinking how disappointed I would’ve been if I’d been there on my own the whole time without Bettina. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t want to,” she said. “We have to . . . finish the snake fence before you leave. It’s too important.”

  This would’ve been the part where I said something to her about how I didn’t necessarily have to leave forever. That maybe we could continue to see each other outside of my work obligation. And that’s what I wanted to say but I didn’t have the nerve to say it just yet, and I figured I had one more week to work up to it. Then I would say it. How she’d react was out of my control, but at least if I saved it for the last day and she turned me down cold—at least then I wouldn’t have to face her and feel her pity or scorn or my own humiliation. There was no telling with Bettina how it would go. She was different.

  “We’ll finish it before I leave,” I said instead. “If we work really hard.”

  “And that’s what I want to do.” She nodded in agreement. “Work really hard and get it
done. I told Nana and she said that’s why we pay people to work on the Ranch and started in on my dad about spoiling me.”

  “I don’t get how you wanting to work translates to your dad spoiling you.”

  “I know, right? But Nana thinks I should make more of an effort to be social and working on the fence is just an excuse not to be.”

  “How about your dad? What did he say?”

  I asked cautiously, because technically her nana was right. If Bettina and I didn’t finish the snake fence, someone else would do it better and faster. But it was our thing, the cause that bonded us together. It was the place where we shared stories and secrets, hers too dark to tell in any other way.

  “Dad loves me to the moon and back, so he does everything he can to make me happy. I don’t think he’s ever really understood me, but nobody does.” She glanced over at me shyly. “He doesn’t care that he doesn’t understand me, though. He loves me anyway.”

  I pulled the truck under the massive tree and an acorn landed on the roof of the cab, making a clattering noise, much louder than its size warranted.

  “Anyway, I like being out here on the Ranch. It’s better than going to a dumb barbecue with a bunch of people.”

  “But you love your fashion—all your clothes and shoes and sunglasses. All your outfits. I’d have thought you’d want to go places to show them off. To show off how good you look,” I said and then literally bit my tongue, sensing right away I was saying something dumb.

  “Can’t I just do that for me? I mean, I do like fashion but not for other people. I like it for myself.”

  “Yeah, and I didn’t even mean that. Not sure why I said it.”

  “Did I ever tell you my mother’s a fashion designer in Milan?” she asked.

  “You never mentioned it. Do you want to be a fashion designer?”

  “Oh, hell no,” she said. “I want to be a rancher like my dad. Let’s get to work.”

  Bettina and I had the job down. Muscle memory kicked in, so we didn’t have to think about what we were doing anymore. We’d become an efficient team without even thinking about it, but it was slow-going, detailed work. Not having to communicate about the work left plenty of time for talking.

  “Is your family excited about your sister’s wedding?” she asked when we were laying down another length of mesh wire.

  I had to stop and think for a minute. I didn’t remember telling Bettina about the wedding.

  “You told me that’s why you pick Khalil up from school,” she said, as if she could read my thoughts or at least the puzzled look on my face. “To give your mom more time to prepare for the wedding . . . remember?”

  I hadn’t remembered but then I did. This girl listened. She heard. And she remembered. I wasn’t sure if anyone outside my family had ever listened to me that carefully before. Paid that much attention.

  “Of course, I remember,” I lied.

  “So, are they? Excited, that is.”

  “I don’t think my little brothers care too much except maybe they pick up on everyone else’s excitement. And I’m not that involved, even though I offered to be the photographer. But my mom and dad, yeah. Totally. Obviously, Angie is too.”

  “You’d make a good photographer,” she said. “I can see it in the way you pay attention to detail. The way you work and appreciate everything around you. I could see it that day I showed you the avocado grove.”

  “Thanks.” No one had ever given me that particular compliment, and my services as a photographer weren’t exactly in demand. It got me to thinking that maybe I could be a good photographer and I made a mental note to start taking some more artsy shots. “By the way, that avocado was amazing,” I said. “And I’m not going to be the photographer because everyone agreed Angie should hire a professional. Makes sense, I guess. What if I screwed up and they didn’t have pictures to show their grandchildren?”

  “Where’s the wedding venue?” she asked.

  Venue sounded like a too fancy way of describing it. “It’s like a rec building at a park near where we live. They rent it out for functions. And if the weather’s nice, there are picnic tables right outside.”

  “That sounds nice,” she said. “Music?”

  “A friend of Jason’s is deejaying. They’re trying to save money because of the cake and the . . . venue, and the photographer. The food too, even though my mom’s making most of it. And my mom’s making Angie’s dress and her own dress and the two bridesmaid dresses. They’re skipping the flowers.” I’d heard these details so many times they bored me, but Bettina seemed interested. “Jason lost his job and money’s kinda tight,” I added.

  “Oh,” Bettina said, and I wondered if it was a struggle for her to imagine what life would be like if money was tight.

  Two hours into it and our shoulders and backs were killing us from hunching over the wire mesh, tying it to the fence posts.

  “Time to get out the wiggles?” I looked up and grinned at Bettina.

  “Get out the wiggles? Really?”

  “Yeah, why not?” I tried not to sound too hurt. “If it’s good enough for preschool Beau, it’s good enough for high-school Beau.”

  “What do you suggest?” Bettina stood. “I don’t know about wiggles, but my shoulders and neck are feeling it.”

  “Race you to the lawn,” I said. “But you have to stay on the footpath. I’ll give you a head start.”

  “Please! I’ll give you a head start,” she said.

  And we took off, me starting first and expecting to win. But Bettina overtook me, even somehow leaping past me while never leaving the granite stepping stones. We threaded our way along the meandering path, which wound through the entire orchard, scampering through the flowers just like Bambi and . . . Thumper. Bettina made one final leap that landed her on the grassy lawn.

  “Can I interest you in a game of croquet?” she asked once I caught up.

  “Nope. My policy is to only lose at one event per day,” I said.

  I was panting and laughing from the exertion. I stopped to catch my breath but she was off again, across the lawn, disappearing through the gap in the oleander hedge. I followed her onto the pool deck, which was the first time I’d been there since that first day.

  “Cannonball!” she yelled and executed a perfect one, clothes and all—right into the pool.

  I looked around. No one there but us. I cannonballed in right behind her.

  “Oh well, I needed a new watch,” I said when I came up for air. “Forgot about that.”

  “And I needed new boots.” It was only then I realized she was wearing her big clunky leather work boots.

  I looked up and blinked at the bright cloudless sky. The sudden cool of the water against my sore muscles felt good. For about one second. And then . . .

  “I should get back to work.” I dragged myself and about a hundred pounds of wet clothes to the side of the pool where the steps were. “Oh, man, this is going to feel so shitty. Why did I follow you in?”

  She slogged up behind me, dragging her own hundred pounds, maybe two hundred considering the boots.

  “Because you really wanted to do it,” she said. “Or you wouldn’t have. We’ll be dry in an hour.”

  We got out and sat by the side of the pool for a few minutes letting the sun work its magic on our backs. Our clothes felt heavy and clammy—nothing worse than wet jeans, not to mention wet shoes and socks. I wanted to take my shirt off, but it seemed inappropriate.

  “Why were you so weird that first day we met?” I asked.

  She didn’t have to think about it too long and she didn’t get mad at the question either.

  “I don’t like a lot of people,” she said. “I don’t necessarily trust them at first. I told you I’m a bit of an introvert, so people have to prove themselves to get into my life.”

  “An introvert without a filter.”

  “At least I’m not a know-it-all who always has to have the last word.”
But she looked over at me and smiled so I knew she was kidding around. “That day when you challenged me about the coffee I threw in the pool, and then you sang that stupid song. That’s when I knew you were okay. You were different.”

  “Just okay?”

  I pulled off a shoe and let the water drain from it, and then did the same with the other one. Then I took off my socks and squeezed them out the best I could.

  “Maybe a little better than okay. Nice . . . you know. I liked being around you because you were real.”

  “Liked?”

  I put my socks on while she took off her boots and repeated what I’d just done.

  “Okay, like.”

  Her hair was completely out of the ponytail by then, swept back from her face revealing it more fully than I’d ever seen it without sunglasses, floppy hats or hair to hide behind. It was a beautiful face, I decided, and was surprised I hadn’t realized that before. Without the camouflage, without the backstory, it was open and trusting—round in shape which made her seem younger than her age, dark satiny eyebrows and thick eyelashes glistening under the sun from moisture. I didn’t know where our hats had gone until I saw them floating in the pool.

  “I’ll get them,” I said. “I know where the net is. Be right back.”

  By the time I fished our hats out, Bettina’s socks were wrung dry and her boots were back on.

  “Can you please tell your mom I’m sorry for the way I acted?” she said. “I get embarrassed just thinking about it.”

  “Sure, I’ll tell her,” I said.

  This would’ve been my second opportunity to tell her she could tell my mom herself when I brought her to my place to meet my family and see my part of the world. But again, I held back. Next Sunday. When I could disappear if she laughed in my face.

  “I feel really bad you have to spend your weekends working here when your family is so busy getting ready for your sister’s wedding,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it, okay? There’s not much I can do now, and I’ll be able to help out with the cooking and setup the week before.”