Secret Girlfriend Part 11

"It isn't what you think," I said. "The Chris stuff."

I tried to bite back the words, angry at feeling the need to defend my actions. Especially to someone who in all likelihood had a girl somewhere else who still considered herself taken.

He nodded. Not in agreement, just a general nod.

And didn't that just tick me off?

"It isn't. You just have this really bad opinion of him." I flinched as he dug a rock out of my palm. "He isn't always that compet.i.tive guy you see."

I waited for Luke to raise his head, to look at me, even if the challenge in his eyes wasn't one I wanted to face. He just kept digging things that belonged in nature-not in skin-out of my hand.

"And, I mean, who are you to judge when you've left some girl thinking she has a boyfriend? Your brothers told me you didn't have the guts to break it off with her."

The towel swept over my hand again as he asked, "Is that what you think Chris is doing? Not telling you you're not his girlfriend?"

How did he do that? How did he turn everything back on me, back to me? Couldn't he see I was being Take Control Girl and asking the questions here? And anyway, what did I care about Luke and his maybe-girlfriend? Fine.

Before I knew it, the words were pouring out, justifying, answering.

"When I was eleven, we'd just moved here and things were... things were bad. And Brian Murphy picked on me all the time. Chris stood up for me when I needed a friend. When no one else would. He was... nice."

There was no way I was going to tell him how un-nice everyone-everything-else had been.

Luke's head was lowered, the dark lashes closed in on his eyes, but I could have sworn he rolled them. I'd recognize my signature move anywhere.

"I know he's gotten a little self-centered, but you can't tell me a bad guy would have done that. And then we worked together this summer at the Rec Center, and I thought *this is my chance for him to see me again.' And he did."

My skin heated in an all over blush and I wondered if my hand warmed in Luke's. And still he didn't look up. He carefully swept the damp towel back and forth over my palm, clearing away dirt that was no longer there.

I wanted to stop talking. To keep it all to myself. But I needed this one person to understand. This person who saw me when I was invisible, before I morphed into this hazy, nearly discernible self.

"The more time I spent around him, the more attention he gave me until it was just the two of us each night talking. It was his idea for me to be the stats girl so we could keep hanging out."

Luke dipped the rag in the bowl and rung it out before attacking the dirt on my other hand.

"He has this plan-"

Luke snorted. The first thing he'd said, and it wasn't even a word.

"He does." I wasn't stopping now. I couldn't stop. "It's a good plan. To get into Monroe State, he needs to be really well rounded since he's not top of the cla.s.s-an alum basically made him a list. So he needs to win things like Homecoming king and stuff. And he knew he'd have to have the right girlfriend to do that."

I looked away, down at the floor and thought about how not the right girlfriend I was for that.

"And so, he's kind of seeing Cheryl for, like, you know, the proper image. Like JFK marrying Jackie."

Luke stood so quickly he knocked the chair over backward. He stared long and hard into my eyes, that same wordless searching look he'd given me the first day-only anger washed over me this time. And then he threw down the rag. It hit the edge of the bowl and splashed water over the side.

"He isn't good for you. He's using you for something and you're letting him. I don't care what he did in fifth grade. He's an a.s.s. And you're a blind fool."

Before I could say anything, Luke kicked the chair out of his way and stormed out of the house, slamming the front door as he went. I waited, listening to the sound of his truck as it sped down the drive, and knew that maybe sharing the story wasn't the best idea I'd had that day.

As I sat staring at the door that had fallen shut behind Luke, my phone text sounded.

Sorry about today. Lunch was dull without you. See you tomorrow.

I wondered if that was supposed to make me feel better. I wasn't invited to a dull party.

I hit my speed dial hoping I'd finally be able to get some Rachel time on the phone.

"You've reached the middle of nowhere. Leave a message after the beep."

BEEP.

"Where are you? Seriously-seriously." I looked down at my wrapped hands. "Luke and I had this huge fight about Chris and he has this girlfriend that he didn't even bother to break up with before he moved here-Luke not Chris-and he-Luke-said I'm a fool and I don't know what to do because he feels the same way about Chris that you do and now he said he's using me-Chris not Luke-and you aren't here and my dad is MIA and tryouts are going really badly. I think they're going to kill each other and Coach said that if I-"

BEEP.

"Your message has exceeded the maximum time. To re-record, press one."

"Arg!" I threw the phone down, almost as disgusted at myself as the cell service and its stupid time limits.

I was tempted to pick up the phone again just so I could throw it across the room, but I'd either break it or a window with my luck. Instead, I threw myself across my bed and did my best not to become a pouty-pouting girl. But everything was just... too much.

Luke and his pushy, bossy, all-seeing ways. Chris and his not so all-seeing density. The run, the argument, the little Parkers. But the thing that kept running through my head every time I thought of Luke storming out on me, the thing that had me lying on my bed wanting to cry, was that warm, safe mom-hug from Mrs. Parker.

Sometimes a girl just wanted her mom.

Chapter 13.

The last time I'd had my mom was my most beautiful memory. The moment in my life I felt the most love at one time-in one place-from one person.

The last time I'd had my mom was also the absolutely most gut wrenching memory I could recall. Well, except for the betrayal of losing my dad, too.

It was only five quick months after that spring day they told me. School had started and Indian summer was slipping into fall. I know now that my mom's words that day weren't just a good-bye. They were that hug she'd known I'd need over and over once she was gone.

"Amy-girl." My dad still called me that then. Even after Mom got really sick... which was only two months after The Picnic. We didn't even get to keep her with us for most of that time.

And so there he was, standing in my doorway, a bag in one hand, my jacket in the other. "Ready?"

I hadn't wanted to be ready. I'd wanted to stay in my room and pretend things were the same as they were last spring. I wanted to ignore everything and close my eyes and wait for my mom's gentle tap on the door telling me to get ready for school.

Instead, I reached for my jacket and gave my dad a quick hug before following him out to the car.

We drove in silence to the hospice. Neither of us turned on the radio, each holding our thoughts in our heads. Like we'd closed out the real world and all its issues.

"Grab the blanket from the trunk, sweetheart."

I threw a glance in my dad's direction, still having no idea what the plan was. But, this didn't seem like the day to argue.

We pa.s.sed by the front desk and the nurse gave us a smile and a nod. One thing I'd noticed weeks ago-the worse Mom did, the less people talked to you. Even the nurses gave you more room. Like you needed it to carry your sorrow around with you.

In my mom's room, everything felt smaller, quieter. Even my dad's typically booming voice had dropped seventeen decibels when he greeted her.

I crossed to the other side of the bed and carefully wrapped my arms around her, inhaling the scent of her.

"Sweetheart, Amy-girl and I have a surprise for you."

She glanced my way and I couldn't help but smile. "It's a surprise for me too."

"Amy-girl, spread that blanket out. Careful though."

I unfolded the picnic blanket over Mom's legs, letting some drape down on each side. While I did that, Dad moved the bed tray over and started setting out our favorite picnic foods. Everything we'd ever loved. Probably not one healthy thing in the bunch.

The smile on my mom's face made the silliness of it all seem worth anything. I'd give up anything for those smiles.

We talked like we were sitting under the tree at home. Just normal stuff. Mom asked about school and Dad's work. She pushed me to go out and make friends. She asked if I'd vacuumed my room and reminded me not to throw dirty clothes in the closet and forget about them. It made me bite back laughter.

It made me fight tears.

After fifteen minutes of Mom watching Dad and me eat, she turned that smile on me again. "Amy, sweetheart, can you run downstairs and get your dad some coffee?"

I was about to tell her no, to say I didn't want to leave even for a few minutes, but she gave me The Mom Look and I knew it wasn't a request.

I hurried to the cheap coffee vending machine and back, not wanting to miss any time with my mom. But when I reached her room, the low murmur of her voice and the ragged sound of my father's weeping froze me. I'd never been so afraid in my life.

Even without being able to hear their words, the moment felt too private to interrupt. I walked down to the nurses' station and sat on one of the overstuffed chairs, Dad's coffee cooling beside me.

"Amy-girl?" I looked up from my shoes to my father, studying the red-rimmed eyes that looked back at me. "Your mom wants to talk to you. I'll be out here. Okay?"

I nodded, my throat already closing up.

In her room, I pushed the door closed behind me and crossed to the bed, taking her hand as I sank into the seat beside her.

"Amy." I could hear the smile in my name as she said it. I could hear all the love. "I wanted to talk to you about a few things."

My eyes were so filled with tears I couldn't see her anymore. She was just a hazy picture floating away from me. So, I nodded and gave her bone-fragile hand a light squeeze.

"First, I want you to know, I love you more than anything in the entire world. You and your dad, that's all there ever was for me. I know that's not very PC. I was supposed to be ambitious, chase a career, but I only liked my job. I adore you."

"I love you, Mom." I had to make sure she knew. I'd told her enough, right?

"I know sweetie. No matter what, I know." She smiled. I have no idea how. "I know things have been hard, but there's a lot to say. Listen. Okay?"

I nodded and leaned my head against the bed beside her, looking up at her. Being as close to her frail body as I felt I could.

"You're growing up and things are changing. Hold onto Dad. Love him a lot. Love him for both of us.

"Always be true to you. No matter what you want to do. If you want to fly to the moon, do that. If you want to be a teacher or a doctor or a lawyer, do it. Don't let anyone ever tell you that you can't. I know you can do anything."

I thought about my new school and my lack of friends and my bad grades and nodded, promising I'd do it all. Promising I'd find these things for me, and then do them to make her proud.

"Be careful with yourself. Not just things like falling off your bike or looking both ways to cross the street. Guard your heart. Don't give yourself away body, heart, or soul to just anyone. But when that love comes, hold onto it. Like I'm holding on to you. Like your Dad held on to me and then both of us. The real deal. Look for that, never settle. You understand?"

"Yes, Mom." I'm not sure she could understand my answer it was so choked, but she nodded.

"Promise me though, of all these things promise me you'll never forget just how much I love you, that there's nothing big enough in this world to measure it. There was never a moment I didn't love you. And that love is going to stay with you. Always. Longer than always."

Adults think kids don't get stuff. That just because I was eleven meant I didn't know what this was... that it was my mom saying goodbye, trying to squeeze in years of love and advice.

What a lie. I knew this moment and I held on tight.

"Mom, I love you so much. I don't want you to leave. Dad and I ..." I wiped the tears again.

"Honey, if I could stay I would. I'd do anything if I could. You remember me on special days and I promise you'll feel me there. Every time you get ready for your first day of school. Or when you meet that great boy. When you need to be teased about your first kiss or go shopping for your prom dress. Walking your college campus for the first time. Getting married. When you have kids-when you have my grandkids-remember me, and you'll know I'm right there." I felt her hand just barely squeeze mine. "I'm right there."

I laid my head down next to hers, buried in the picnic blanket, and sobbed while she stroked my hair telling me over and over how much she loved me.

Some time before the tears stopped, she fell asleep. I left the blanket with her so she wouldn't feel alone when she woke up.

In the hall, my dad waited in the chair I'd sat in. His gaze, tired and sad, met mine. I went straight to him as he rose, diving into his arms.

"Oh, Amy-girl, I know. I know." He rocked me back and forth, ignoring the people brus.h.i.+ng by us. Ignoring that it was just the two of us.

We got the call the next morning. Even now it's hard to believe that was the last time I'd ever see my mom.

Chapter 14.

I thought about calling Coach and telling him I was hurt. I mean, I had the blood soaked bandages to prove it. But that seemed not only stupid but wimpy. I'd given up my spot on the CC team for this and I wasn't going to be embarra.s.sed out of a perfectly good stats girl position. Unfortunately, I strongly suspected neither guy would be picking me up for the evening session.

Only I could go from two guys with cars to no guys with cars. I gave myself twice as long to get there and walked, toying with the oversized bandages on my palms as I went.

No matter what Luke thought, the situation with Chris and me was more complicated than I'd antic.i.p.ated. I'd been foolish and blinded by how great things were through the summer. I was beginning to suspect Cheryl wasn't on the same page as me-and Chris-when it came to The Plan, which seemed unfair to both of us. Rachel's dislike of him nagged at my mind, more annoying than a bad hangnail. For most of the walk I practiced approaching Chris, asking the imaginary him about Cheryl without ticking him off.