Serious Fun

by Jessie Gussman

  She paused, putting her hand on his fender, touching lightly along the edge. “I didn’t leave any notes, and I didn’t text you. I figured I’d just wait.” She clasped her hands together and faced him square on. “I love you. I’ve missed you. I’m sorry I didn’t get my mouth working before you walked out Saturday night. Maybe I should have run after you, but you’d shocked me. Twice, and it took me a few minutes to recover.”

  He dropped his hand from the door and took a step toward her, covering her hand with his over the fender.

  “I wasn’t lying Saturday night. It wasn’t a joke. I can see how you might misunderstand.”

  “I know you don’t lie. I knew you were serious. I wasn’t expecting you to quit.”

  “I wasn’t expecting Ransom to show up.”

  She grunted. “Me either.”

  “I wanted to make the decision easier for you.” That was the honest truth. He had seen the conflict in her eyes and had gone with his knee-jerk reaction to solve it.

  Her lips pursed. “You took away my right to make the decision.”

  He shrugged, unimpressed. “You can thank me. I handled it so you didn’t have to choose between the man that you seem to enjoy kissing and the man who would do a professional job for your play.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “There’s no ‘seeming’ to it. And it wouldn’t have been a hard decision. I wanted you. I still want you.” She closed the distance between them, putting her hand around his waist. His chest pumped in and out.

  “I’m here.” His voice scratched out.

  Harris’s lips flattened in annoyance. “I told you how I feel. I’d appreciate it if you would do the same for me.”

  He swallowed. “It hasn’t changed. Not since high school.”

  “When you dumped the paint on me?” She lifted a brow, all hints of irritation gone.

  “Are you ever going to let that go?”

  She leaned back, keeping her arms around him, looking into his eyes, and waiting.

  He looked deep into her eyes, willing to bare his soul for her. “I love you. I can’t even tell you how much.”

  “Good. Now that’s settled...” Her phone buzzed against his leg. She reached in the pocket of her apron and pulled it out. “Hello?”

  He ran his hands up her back, wondering how long DeShaun and Miss Beulah and Pap were going to stay. Of course, Harris probably had play practice.

  “You’re kidding... No... Oh no!... Please, tell me you’re kidding. No, you cannot be serious... No, of course. I’ll see what I can do... We’d have to give it all back. Somehow...right. I’ll call you later. Goodbye.” She dropped her phone back into her pocket and leaned her forehead against Turbo’s chest.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  “Grace missed practice last night. She was diagnosed with mono this morning. Daddy Warbucks just called her because he’s having the same symptoms, and he’s headed to the doctor right now, but it’s probably mono for him.”

  “So, couldn’t they still power through the play? At least tomorrow?”

  “The doctor said bedrest. It takes weeks to get over it. Actually Daddy Warbucks isn’t going to the doctor himself. He was so exhausted his mother had to come and pick him up.”

  “Wow. I might have been able to step back in for Daddy Warbucks, but I can’t play Grace.” He’d have to kiss himself. Then an idea popped into his mind, so brilliant that it shocked even him. “But...” He put a finger under her chin. “You could.”

  Her eyes got wide, her mouth formed an “O,” and she shook her head, trying to pull out of his arms.

  He held on.

  “No. No way. There is no way I’m getting up on that stage and taking on the role of Grace.”

  “Why not? You have the lines memorized.” It seemed reasonable to him.

  Her eyes were wide. Wild almost. “I do. But I’m not an actress.”

  “I’m not an actor.”

  She blinked. Her body trembled. “I can’t even conceive of being in front...”

  “You could do it.”

  “No.”

  She’d pushed him to open up, to take a bigger risk than he’d ever done before. Maybe she needed to do the same. “So you’d let the whole play get cancelled, you’d return all the money that people have already paid for the tickets, you’d let your dreams of a hospital library go down the drain, just because you’re scared to get up in front of people?”

  “Yes?”

  “I can’t let you do that. Gotta say, Rissy, if I can stand up in front of all those people and admit that I can’t read...you know, I half expected the school district to call this week and demand my diploma back.”

  “They can’t do that.”

  “Well, they have to know by now that I paid for it.”

  His words caused her eyes to flicker. Pain, maybe? “I wondered how you got through. I mean...I know you are an expert at misdirection.” She smiled. “I think that’s why you’re good at magic.”

  He snorted. “Probably right.”

  “But tests? Writing assignments? Essay questions.”

  “They don’t give the ‘slow’ kids essay questions.” He could count on one hand the number of times he’d had essay questions.

  “You’re anything but slow.”

  “That’s the label.” It was what it was.

  “Not anymore.”

  “Oh, come on. There have to be other kids like me that can’t do the work and figure out how to game the system.”

  “You’re probably right. Just new ways now. Electronic ways, maybe.” There were always ways. He’d found them then, and if he were in school today, he’d figure out something. Plenty of other kids could, too.

  “Maybe.” It didn’t matter anymore. “But that’s off the subject. I have a deal that you can’t resist.”

  “Hardly.”

  He paused, for full dramatic effect. “You play Grace, and I’ll let you teach me to read.”

  “You’re right. That is hard to resist.”

  “Thought so.” He shrugged. “I can’t promise that you’ll be successful. After all, I spent four years truly trying to master phonics and reading.”

  “I wondered if it was an eye coordination or brain wiring problem. Like dyslexia or maybe eye tracking?”

  One side of his lip turned down. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “There’s a lady who uses the library with clients. She does some things that help with brain wiring, which includes dyslexia. I’ve also seen her doing eye exercises. I think it’d be worth a try. But—” She paused and stared him in the eye. “I don’t want you to think in any way that my feelings are contingent on you being able or not being able to read. Is that clear?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Speak for yourself. I don’t think I’ll love you anymore if you don’t play Grace.”

  She laughed. “That’s not fair.”

  “What’s the saying? All’s fair...”

  “In love and war.” She chuckled again. “Not this.”

  “I want you to do it. I don’t want to kiss anyone but you.” He lowered his head. “Actually, I think we should start practicing right now.”

  She lifted her head. “If you insist.”

  A car motor sliced through the chilly afternoon air. It slowed. Gravel crunched. Turbo groaned. “Maybe that’s for the best. When you kiss me, I get a little crazy anyway.”

  “That’s so?”

  “Plus, we have play practice to do tonight.”

  “Oh, gosh. I’m not sure I can.” Another tremble ran through her.

  “I am.” He tightened his arms around her before letting go. They turned to meet their guests.

  “Is that DeShaun?” Turbo squinted up the street. It looked like DeShaun, but the kid was carrying a... “Is that a baby?”

  “Does he have a baby sibling?”

  “Not that I know of,” Turbo said. “You mind helping Pap and Miss Beulah out? I’ll see what’s going on with DeShaun.”

  She nodded, and
he jogged across the yard and down the street.

  “Yo. Turbo.” DeShaun moved his shoulders. “Can’t slap your hand, bro. I’ve got a package.”

  “That package is a good imitation of a live baby.”

  “Yeah. My dad kicked my mom out and brought this new chick home. She claims this is his. If that’s true, I’ve got a sister I didn’t know about until Tuesday. Where ya been anyway?”

  “Working. Some of us do that, you know.”

  “Shut up. I’m gonna work when I get old enough.”

  “You better.” Turbo smacked him on the head, because he didn’t want to bump his shoulder. “Why are you walking around with the baby?”

  “They told me to take her.”

  Turbo looked closer at the wrapped bundle. It didn’t look very old. “You have anything to feed it? Wasn’t there a stroller that comes with it? Diapers?” Not that he was changing any.

  “It’s a she. Be respectful,” DeShaun said with a sniff.

  “Stuff? Does she come with stuff?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s all she came with?”

  “Yep.”

  “Holy frig.” Turbo didn’t know much about babies, but he did know, from watching his brother’s kids, that when they got hungry, they needed to be fed immediately, or things got very loud, very fast.

  “I’ve got it,” DeShaun insisted.

  “You’re, what, fourteen?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I guess this is legal.” He turned, making a mental note to have Harris call Kelly, who was in social work, and talk to her about a small visit to DeShaun’s house. No need to mention that to DeShaun. “Come on. Let’s eat. Miss Winsted has play practice, and I guess I’m in it again.”

  “Thought you quit?”

  “How’d you hear that?”

  “I’ve been sitting in the back, watching. Wish I could be in it.” He shrugged. “I’m gonna be in the next one. Miss Winsted said I could.”

  “Oh?” He hadn’t realized there was going to be a next one, and he hadn’t realized DeShaun wanted to be in it.

  “Yep.”

  “Well...” He eyed the baby again. At least it was sleeping now. “Come on. Gotta eat.”

  DeShaun carried the little bundle close to his chest, and they walked to the house.

  Pap took one look, whipped his glasses out of the case in the pocket of his shirt, and looked again. “What do you have there, DeShaun?” He peered a little closer. “Looks like one of them real-life doll things.”

  “A baby?” Miss Beulah said with a raised brow.

  “Yeah. One of those,” Pap said with a nod.

  Harris peeked at the baby. Turbo’s heart melted at the sweet longing on her face. Visions of little red-haired babies running around all over the place filled his active mind.

  She looked up, blinking and meeting his eye. The look disappeared as though it never was.

  “We’d better get in and eat before that casserole burns.” She smiled like she didn’t have a care in the world, tucked her arm in Miss Beulah’s, and started toward the back door.

  Chapter 19

  TURBO SAT ON THE PEDIATRIC playroom floor with his head bent over a plastic tablecloth. The buzz of the dog clippers rang sharply in his ears. He squeezed a piece of gauze against his right ear where Quincy had accidentally caught the lobe. That was one good thing about cutting his hair in the hospital—plenty of first-aid bandages to stop the bleeding.

  Forcing himself not to flinch as the blades hummed slowly by his left ear, Turbo studied the big clumps of hair that had already fallen to the plastic. The feet of several children topped off his line of sight. More kids than he’d expected had come to see him “get bald.” He should have but hadn’t considered the kinship they would feel with him as his hair slowly fell from his head.

  “Okay, let’s see that,” Quincy said as she snapped the clippers off.

  The kids tittered. Quincy held up a mirror. His entire head was bald except for one horizontal section halfway up the side of his head, which stuck out like the lone survivor of a terrible shipwreck.

  “We should dye that blue.”

  He gave the nurse that had spoken a flat-mouthed look. “Daddy Warbucks did not have blue hair. I ought to know. I’ve seen the movie at least twenty times.” At least.

  “Well, it’d be funny.”

  “Hilarious,” he deadpanned.

  “Leave it there!” a couple of the little boys shouted.

  “Next time,” Turbo promised. It was high enough that his hat would cover it. And it’d be worth it to see the kids smiling again. They hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. If he’d realized that something as simple as him shaving his head would cause so much excitement and laughter, heck, he’d have done it years ago.

  “All right. I’m going to finish it off. I even left your ear attached.”

  “Yeah, I appreciate that. You reshaped my other one. Maybe it won’t stick out so far now.”

  The kids laughed as Quincy snapped the clippers back on. Soon all his hair had fallen to the sheet. Turbo removed the garbage bag from around his neck and helped Quincy put the clippers away.

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Sure. It was fun. Maybe I’ll cut hair when I get out of here.” She gave a shy smile.

  “You’d better cut mine for free, since I’m the one who helped you find your calling,” Turbo joked.

  “Hey, we need everyone to line up over there, so I can get your picture with Turbo and his bald head.”

  The kids cheered and laughed and ran over to the brightly painted wall the nurse indicated. Turbo allowed the kids who wanted to touch his head to do so and goodnaturedly went over with them.

  What would Harris think of his decision? He’d not really spoken with her about it. He’d meant to, but she’d been busy, and while she seemed okay with him, and they’d said “I love you” to each other, he didn’t feel like their relationship was back to normal, whatever that was. He didn’t want to make it worse, if there was the possibility to make it better.

  Too late now. He couldn’t glue the hair back on. He smiled for the picture, wishing he’d made sure to talk to Harris first.

  After slapping a couple kids high five, thanking Quincy again, and picking up his garbage, he pushed open the double doors and headed out to his truck.

  His phone buzzed before he made it to the elevator.

  It was a text from a number he recognized as his biggest account. He clicked through the familiar sequence to get his phone to read it.

  “We have an emergency load of corn that needs to be delivered in Spring Glen by two o’ clock this afternoon. Let me know right away if you can take it.”

  He closed his eyes and did some figuring. If nothing went wrong, he’d be back with an hour to spare for the dress rehearsal.

  If his truck hadn’t been down longer than he expected and if this weren’t his most important vendor, he wouldn’t even consider it. But he couldn’t risk it. Too many things could happen, and he wouldn’t let Harris down.

  He clicked on the texting speaker and spoke a quick sentence telling them to give the load to someone else.

  HARRIS PEEKED AROUND the curtain. She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t even look, but she couldn’t help it. On one hand, she was glad people showed up, on the other, the more people, the more nervous she got. Her insides felt like a chicken on a spit—roasted and slowly turning.

  At least looking around the curtain took her mind off her biggest problem. More than remembering her lines, more than making sure everything was ready, more than this being her first public performance, ever, there was one thing that was killing her.

  Turbo wasn’t here.

  All cast members were supposed to be onsite at five. They were supposed to be dressed and ready for their performance by six. The play started at seven. They’d spent some of the last two hours going over various sticky parts. With
out Turbo.

  Where was he?

  He’d been very dependable. He’d taken her seriously. He’d done his best for the play, and after she’d found out that he couldn’t read, his performance had been all that much more amazing.

  Still... She checked her phone again. Five ’til seven. Her lips pressed together, and her stomach rioted. She put the phone down on the small table where she always kept it during rehearsals. The busyness and rushing behind her reminded her that she needed to be helping put things together.

  She turned. Still not sure what, exactly, they’d do if it were time to start and Turbo still hadn’t showed up.

  Her phone buzzed.

  She grabbed it off the small table.

  Gonna be late.

  Turbo texted? She knew there was a speech-to-text app, but he’d never used it for her. She supposed it was more because of the effort of having the reply read to him. So she didn’t answer, even though she wanted to send a barrage of questions. How late? Why? Are you okay? Will you make it in time?

  Her phone buzzed again. Start without me. I’ll be there for my entrance.

  That didn’t exactly reassure her, but it was better than what she had. And it must mean that he was okay?

  She had to pull herself together. Surely he had a great excuse, and this wasn’t some kind of prank.

  Focusing on the other actors, Harris was able to get the play started only five minutes late. Better late than early. It would give Turbo more time to get there, wherever he was.

  When it was time for the scenery change to the Warbucks mansion, she waited backstage with Camila, looking around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Turbo. This was the scene. He should be here. Somewhere.

  “Where’s Turbo?” Camila whispered to her, for only the third time all evening. A fact for which Harris was grateful.

  “He was running late. He said he’d be here.” She hoped her smile was reassuring, even though her face felt like hard wax.

  Camila pressed her lips together.