Secret Girlfriend Part 21

Okay, I'd obviously stayed too long. I really did not want to know that. I mean, really. And I'd been feeling guilty over a pre-official breakup of the non-relations.h.i.+p kiss.

"Amy."

Oh, c.r.a.p.

I spun around hoping Chris hadn't heard what I had. Not for his precious ego, but because that was a conversation I really did not want to have.

"Amy, I swear to G.o.d, it isn't what you think."

I tried not to laugh at that. I mean seriously, was he trying to be the Ridge View Bill Clinton?

"Okay. It is what you think. But it was a mistake. I've been thinking all morning and I realized a lot of things. I've been stupid." He took a step toward me, his hand out as if to s.n.a.t.c.h me if I tried to run. "I realized The Plan was a bad idea. It was one thing to mess with someone like Cheryl, but not with you, Amy."

I don't know where Cheryl fell into all this. Maybe he was sorry because she dumped him. Maybe he was sorry and she dumped him. Who knows? But the real question had become, who cares?

"That's okay. I mean, we were not really on or anything." I hurried around the corner, hoping to end the conversation. Not to mention really, really hoping we weren't as easily overheard as the girls in the cla.s.sroom.

When he followed me, I knew I wasn't going to escape having The Talk there and then. Most of me didn't care. All that mattered was getting it done with and getting back to Luke.

I rested against the locker facing Chris. He hovered over me, looking a little unsteady. A flash of memory took me back less than two weeks when the same stance would have made my knees weak.

"Whatever this is-" I waved my hand between us. "I need you to know it's done. I'm not here anymore. In it."

His brows dropped over his eyes, confused. Worried.

"Amy, no. I want to work on this. And not just because of the team. I want to hang out again like this summer, but not like this summer." He shoved his hair out of his face with a nervous twitch I'd never seen before. "Give me a chance to do this right."

Wow. I could see he meant it. I could also see he had no idea what it meant.

"Chris, you may not believe this, but this isn't about you. I have a lot of things I could say. The honest truth, I'm not even angry with you." I smiled at him, the dream that had died a slow and slightly painful death. "I'm not mad because I'm too happy to be mad. I'm too happy without you."

He was shaking his head no through the whole thing.

Before I could stop him, he trapped me against the locker and kissed me. It was somehow sweet and desperate and angry and confused, and I had no idea how to get away until I heard something slam against the lockers next to us.

That something would be Luke's fist.

Chris did the most shocking thing. He stepped away from me, keeping his body between Luke and me in a surprisingly protective stance. His hands up, he looked... not annoyed... more worried. "Listen, Parker. I'm not s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with her. I'm serious this time."

Luke's fist still rested in the dented metal, snug and tight. I shoved past Chris, trying to get to Luke. Trying to explain.

"I swear this is not what it looks like," my voice squeaked. I wasn't even embarra.s.sed by that. I just needed Luke. "I was telling him I wasn't interested."

"You have an amazing way of expressing that." He pulled his fist down and brushed his knuckles across his pants. "I'm done."

"Luke, wait."

I tried to follow him, but Chris caught my arm, stopping me, and staring as if I were a stranger. Then his face changed, softened like I'd never seen and he fell back, looking at me as if he'd never seen me before. Maybe he hadn't.

"I really screwed that up for you, huh?"

I watched the corner Luke had disappeared around, hoping he'd come back. Hoping he'd be just angry enough to yell and not finally give up on me.

"Listen, I'll go after him. Tell him the deal. Say the word." Chris took my chin in his hand and turned me to face him. "But I'd rather you give me a chance."

Wow. Again.

Every dream I'd had of this boy for the last six years had just been handed to me on a silver platter. The only thing going through my head was Luke's voice as he said "I'm done." My eyes fell shut. Logic said take the boy who wants you.

Logic didn't win.

"I never thought..." He laughed an odd, grating sound and continued before I opened my eyes. "And that's the problem, isn't it? I never thought. It's too late, isn't it?"

I nodded, my throat overfull with words I couldn't say.

"I deserve that." His thumb rubbed across my cheek once, twice, and then it was gone. "I am sorry. I tossed away everything I should have kept."

He stepped away from me, his gaze never leaving mine, still asking me things I'd already said no to. "I'll talk to him. If I can fix it for you, Amy, I will."

So, this was fate. I thought I'd really liked him when he was an a.s.s, and now he'd turned into this sweetheart and my heart didn't even stutter-step standing this close to him. I laid my hand on his arm.

"Please don't. I think I need to see what I can do. But thanks."

He nodded and stepped away from me for the last time. I felt his gaze heavy on my back as I turned the corner and headed toward the gym.

I stood at the edge of the gym, watching for a tall, dark head shadowed by a bobbing shorter one. When I found him, he was moving his bedding to where a bunch of the team slept, his duckling behind him with blankets and pillows.

Knowing I couldn't do anything except humiliate myself further and p.i.s.s him off more, I made my way through the maze of cots to Rachel's family. Not surprised to find her asleep still, I crawled over stuffed animals and little sisters till I reached her cot and crawled onto it with her.

She blinked her eyes open and caught sight of me curled up beside her. Scooting over, she gave me my own pillow and took my hand in hers. Before I knew it, tears were flowing down my face and she threw her arm around me, capturing me in a tight hug.

"Wrong guy, huh?"

I nodded, wondering how she always managed to know.

"You'll fix it." She sounded so sure. I'd kill for that kind of confidence.

"I don't think so. It was bad. It was actually worse."

"Than what?" she asked.

"Anything." I thought about losing my mom and changed that. "Almost anything."

"Don't worry. He can't stay mad." She glanced across the gym to where the boys kicked a ball around. "He'll see you just needed time."

I coughed out a small bitter laugh. "I don't think it was the time that did it. I think it was the kissing him and then him seeing Chris kissing me."

"Oh, Amy." She let out a groan and threw her arm over her eyes.

"It all happened so fast. I was trying to tell Chris there wasn't anything between us and he turned into John Cusack in Say Anything and then he was kissing me and before I could do anything Luke was maiming lockers." I snuggled into the pillow, the tears coming again. "And he's right. I'd be mad too. And he's Mr. Manners guy so you know this was not something he'd see and go, oh yeah, oops."

I sniffed, trying to hold back the tears and waiting for her to say something, anything that might at least ease the pain.

"Amy?" A small voice came from the end of the cot. Tom stood there, the picture of child-patience with both hands behind his back, glancing over his shoulder occasionally. For one wild moment I thought Luke had sent him. "Amy, are you crying?"

I wanted to say no, but that seemed dumb, what with the tears, sniffles, and red eyes. Rachel pulled the cot next to hers closer to make one big s.p.a.ce and room for Tom.

"A little, Tom." I was surprised to find him in girl territory. "What's going on? Everything okay?"

He sat cross-legged at our feet and bit his lip. Sucking in a deep breath, he gushed, "Luke's really mad and I thought you could maybe come make it better. He's never mad when he's with you."

When I'd thought things were worse than anything, I hadn't really taken this into consideration.

"I don't think I can, Tom. Luke's mad because he thinks I did something. In a way I did, but not really." I glanced at Rachel wondering if I could osmosize all her years with little sisters. "And, he's right to be mad, even if he might not be mad for the right reason."

Tom's brows came down and he nodded. When he stopped, he met my eyes and said, "That makes no sense."

"I know, buddy. But it's the best I can do."

Tom sat there looking uncomfortable. I knew the little peacekeeper well enough to understand he was sorting through ideas to try to fix things. Just like me, he came up empty.

"I think I should go check on Luke," he said.

I nodded and thought, I should, too. But I couldn't seem to work myself up for heartbreak number two that day.

Chapter 26.

When Dad and I couldn't stand the idea of sleeping on those narrow Red Cross cots any longer, we drove down to the overflowing edge of the river. Dad pulled the car into the shade next to the Johnson's pickup truck and threw it into park. The engine sputtered in the heat before shutting down.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He'd been amazingly good about not asking the hard questions. I could tell he wanted to. I could see him trying not to make up for six-years almost-absence with a fast takeover of my life with questions I didn't even want to ask myself.

Like, what could have driven me and Luke from a three-inch cot-canyon to opposite sides of the gym? Yeah, even if he asked, what could I say? That the perfect guy had done everything to get my attention, rescued me from potential death and destruction, and finally lost patience with me when I kissed his mortal enemy? Yeah. Not so much.

I'd like to say I didn't know where Luke stayed while I laid next to his empty cot each night, but that would totally be a lie. I was aware of him every second. It was as if that kiss connected us, tied me to him in a way I could never have antic.i.p.ated.

I finally replied as we walked over the hopefully stable bridge. "Not really."

We trudged down the sloshy mud lane to the house, both of us slowing before we made the final corner.

Dad rested a hand on my shoulder. He'd touched me more this week than in the last six years. "Whatever we find, it's going to be okay."

He sounded so sure. If there was ever a time I needed to not think, to just let someone take the reins and allow me be a thoughtless teenager, it was then. Thank G.o.d my dad had finally come home.

With a hard shove, he pushed the front door open, the ankle-deep mud collected in the foyer slowing the process. He squeezed through and I followed, not squeezing as much, but still having to turn sideways.

The thick mud soaked through my sneakers and clung to my ankles as I slogged over to where he stood making slow, surveying circles.

"Amy-girl?" He glanced over his shoulder to look at me. My shadow caught him across the face camouflaging his expression. "You brought this all in here?"

The heavy furniture I couldn't get up the stairs surrounded us. The water had made it about an inch up the first step, but everything above that was dry and whole. Dad pointed to the oversized chair on the landing above us.

"How did you get that up there?" I could hear the awe in his voice.

"Luke."

I studied mom's chair holding court over the lesser furniture below and teared up. Luke couldn't have given me a greater gift, but that was Luke. He was always giving you stuff whether you realized it or not.

It was odd, my dad had only been back a few days, but he knew how hard that one word was. He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into his side. We stood in the foyer looking at the mess where only sterile tidiness had been before. With a deep breath my dad shrugged.

"I'll go get a shovel."

The week of clean up went really, really, really slowly. Digging dirt out of your house isn't how any girl expects to spend what was supposed to be the first week of school. But, my dad and I kept at it-reclaiming the first floor inch by inch.

I'd brought home some of my paintings and escaped into them when my arms weren't too tired to lift. They were quiet. They didn't ask questions.

"That's..." My dad's voice trailed off before he could even form the next word. When I faced him, I couldn't help but notice his eyes. The joy and pain reflected out as if he had no option but to bleed emotions through those soul-windows. He shook his head, forcing his gaze to move to me. "I had no idea."

I glanced back at the painting of my mom. The one I'd been working on for three years. During the evacuation, I'd gone to the art room and gently wrapped it in canvas to lug it home. I'd realized, standing there studying it one more time, that it was done. Part of the perfection was the fuzziness. There were still those perfect places in the curve of her neck, the angle of her stance, the sun-kissed wheat of her hair. But the fuzziness was what made it complete.

This was my mom. She was gone and my memory would s.h.i.+ft and grow for the rest of my life, in and out of focus as thoughts of her washed over me and receded.

"It's okay, right? To bring it home?" It suddenly dawned on me my father had walked into the back room looking for me and run directly into what he'd been hiding from for the last six years.

He slid an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side, his gaze locked again on the painting. "It's more than okay. I think, once the house is fixed, we should hang it in the living room. So she's there with us."

He stepped away from the painting and drew me down on the lawn chairs we were using for furniture, his hand wrapped around mine.

"Amy-girl, you look just like her." His eyes welled up, but his gaze never left my face. "I'm so ashamed that I let my pain hurt you so much, but every time I looked at you I felt so lost. In trying to ignore losing your mom, I lost you too. Only, that was my own fault."

For someone who hadn't cried much since she was eleven, I sure was making up for time. My dad pulled me into a full hug, his long arms wrapping around me, holding me tight, not letting me go. Just letting me cry it out.

"This is one of the best gifts anyone has ever given me." He said when he let me go. "Not only getting you back, but knowing how you see your mom and that she really is still here with us in so many ways."

We stood there together for a moment, both of us in our own minds till my dad gave me one last squeeze and headed toward the kitchen. It wasn't that I no longer cared, or that the sadness had gone away, but I'd learned that nothing brought back the past and that the present was more precious than grudges or walls.

I lifted a fresh canvas onto my easel. There was a new moment that burned in my memory. It twisted my heart so badly it left it limp like a soggy rag doll. The paint spread over the canvas one agonizing brush stroke at a time, the urgency not flowing from my fingers quickly enough. Pus.h.i.+ng me to save the moment before it died inside me.