He drove with one hand and reached over and squeezed her shoulder with the other. His tone was apologetic. “I was just checking out my competition, Melissa. A guy has a right to know what he’s up against.”
“There is no competition,” she said icily. “Brad Kessing is nothing to me.”
Ric’s grin was wide. “Good. Then there won’t be any obstacles to our relationship, right?”
“We have no relationship,” she told him, wishing he’d never come for her.
“I hope we will, Melissa,” he said.
It seemed to Melissa that dating Ric was inevitable. And once she got over her initial animosity toward him, she really did have a good time with him. Her mother was hesitant at first. “He’s older than you,” she’d said. “I’d rather see you date some boy from your junior class.” Melissa didn’t have the heart to remind her that most boys from her school avoided girls with cancer.
Michael, however, was more adamant. “Why the hell is he interested in a sixteen-year-old? Can’t he get girls his own age?”
“He likes me. Is that a crime?”
“He’s almost my age, for God’s sake.”
“You’re not my father, Michael. I’m old enough to choose my own dates.”
“If he comes on to you … ”
“Forget it. He’s really just a friend.”
Jory, on the other hand, had been philosophical about the matter. “I think you should date him and have a good time. Go enjoy yourself, but don’t forget: I want details of every date, every party. Do I make myself clear?”
Melissa did tell Jory everything, but she also wrote in her journal.
February 20
It’s been a month since Ric and I first went out—a fast month, too. I like being with him and it makes me even more positive that I want to go away to college. He took me up to his dorm room and I met his roommate, Doug, and Doug’s girlfriend, Cheri. Ric used a special knock before we went inside. It’s funny, the way everyone’s so casual about sex. It still makes me a little uptight. Ric and I aren’t doing it, of course, but everyone just assumes we are, and I guess there’s nothing I can do about that.
Ric’s frat parties get crazy at times. I don’t drink because of my medications, and when you’re the only sober person in a roomful of bombed people, it’s weird. Ric drinks some, but never as much as the other guys, and if things get too wild, we leave. Last Saturday night they had a toga party and some guy stripped naked, so Ric got me out fast. Jory would be having a blast, but I’d hate to see her waste herself that way.
Lincoln seems so tame by comparison. Brain Bowl is still my top priority. It hardly bothers me anymore to be around Brad. Maybe because I have someone else to concentrate on, or maybe because I know it can’t work out and that Brad still can’t accept me because I’m less than perfect. Ric accepts me, but sometimes I wonder what it is I really want. I like Ric, but …
Melissa did not write in her journal about the first time Ric kissed her because it would have seemed too juvenile and because the kiss was hard and deep, serious and a little rough. He tasted faintly of beer, and her heart thudded like a jackhammer. She didn’t want him to know how limited her experience was in that area, so she returned his kiss with far more passion than she felt. He pulled away, studied her briefly, then kissed her again, this time more lightly. He said, “You give me hope, Melissa.”
“Hope for what?” She was grateful for the surrounding cover of the night so that he couldn’t see the faint tremors in her hands.
“For us, of course.”
“I thought we were just having fun, Ric.” Rock music drifted from the fraternity house as they stood under the sprawling oak tree on the front lawn.
“We are. But there’s fun and there’s fun.”
She brushed aside his innuendo. “And I thought you were attracted to my fine mind.”
He chuckled and locked his arms around her waist. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned because of having cancer, it’s to go after what you want in life.”
“Why?”
“Because life’s too short to stand around and wait for things to come your way.”
She leaned into his palms, which rested in the small of her back. “Are you ever going to forgive life for dealing you cancer?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyes narrowed in the moonlight.
“Ever since we first met, you’ve seemed really mad about what’s happened to you. Why are you so angry all the time, Ric?”
“Why aren’t you angrier?” He fired back.
“I am angry. Every time I go to the clinic and see those little kids and know what we’re all going through together, I get very mad. But being mad doesn’t change it.”
“And being so accepting doesn’t make it any easier,” he challenged.
“I don’t think I’m accepting of it, Ric. I’m not sure what I am about it.”
“I know one thing you are,” he said, his voice softer, smoothing over the anger that had reared between them.
“What?” She asked suspiciously.
“You’re pretty.” He brought his mouth to hers.
She caught her breath. “Don’t do that.”
“Why?” He traced the outline of her lips with his finger. “Sometimes I think this is all there is, Melissa. Feeling, hearing, tasting, seeing … What else can there be?”
She slipped from his grasp and waited for her pulse to stop racing, her blood to stop pounding in her ears. “I don’t know what else there is, but I just think there’s more.”
His expression grew cynical. “Well, even if there is ‘more,’ this is where I want to start—with what I can touch and hold on to.” He took her by the waist again and pulled her against him. She felt the hard outline of his body against the length of hers. Where their legs touched, she sensed his prosthesis through her jeans, and Ric relaxed his hold, knowing that she felt it. “Sometimes I forget my leg isn’t there,” he said. “Even a year after the amputation, I can still feel pains in my leg, still feel my foot. Ghost pains they call it.”
Eager to help him forget, she said quickly, “I remember my hair in the same way. I sometimes reach to lift it when I sit down like I used to do so it wouldn’t get caught on the back of a chair. And when I brush my wig, I often drop the brush because I expect my hair to be longer. Just for a moment I wonder why it isn’t. Then I remember.”
Ric fingered the tips of the wig. “This doesn’t feel false,” he whispered, burying his face in the side of her neck. “And it smells like you. Like fresh flowers.”
The tingling sensation started in the pit of her stomach and diffused through her body with the warmth of his breath on her skin. “Thank you.”
His mouth found hers again and this time his kiss was long and slow. She slipped her arms around his neck and let him stroke the contours of her body. She felt like satin inside. “We’re a lot alike, Melissa.”
He’d told her the same thing months before, when they’d been in the hospital. At the time, she’d resented the comparison. Now, she agreed with him. Their illness bound them together with invisible bands and they were alike. More alike than she and Brad would ever be. “Let’s go inside,” she said to him while her mind swirled and spun with the sensations his touch was arousing.
“All right,” he said, his voice husky. “But I won’t always let you back off this way, Melissa. I’m not some high school kid, and I know what I want.”
Melissa understood, but she didn’t know what she wanted. She only knew she wanted. Deep inside her heart, she wanted.
“So how’s college life?” Jory asked, taking a bite of apple.
“Why do you ask?”
“We never talk about you and Ric, that’s all. I’m curious.”
Melissa picked at the thick pile carpet in Jory’s family room, ignoring the VCR movie that blared in the background. “There’s not much to talk about.”
“Come on, Melissa. You can talk to me. I’m not your mother. Haven’t I spil
led my guts about every date I’ve had this year? I expect the same courtesy from you.”
Melissa smiled. “I don’t know what you want to hear. I’ve told you all about the frat parties. I’ve told you where he takes me, what we do.”
“But not how you feel,” Jory said. “Do you care about him?”
“In a way,” Melissa said.
“Ugh! You talk but you say nothing!”
“It’s a good trait for a lawyer to have,” Melissa joked. She knew she was putting Jory off and it bothered Melissa because they’d shared everything over the years. But these were thoughts and feelings she’d never known before, until Ric had brought them out. She couldn’t talk it out, she couldn’t share it, not even with her best friend. Jokingly, she raised her right hand and said, “I solemnly swear to tell Jory Delaney all my future plans from this day forth, so help me Hannah.”
* * *
By the middle of March, the Brain Bowl drills were going like clockwork. Melissa and Brad and a science whiz named Lyle Vargas were the backbone of the team. She hadn’t really known Lyle until Brain Bowl started, but she liked him. He was not only sensitive to her, but he seemed to like Jory, and Melissa thought they would make a nice couple if only she would give him the time of day.
Melissa was sure that the Lincoln High Brain Bowl team had a shot at advancing through the round-robin. Following a grueling practice session in late March, Melissa trudged out onto the grassy area in front of the school and looked around for Ric’s van. It wasn’t parked in its usual place, which meant he was late. She crossed her legs and dropped to the ground, running her palm over the spring growth of fine green grass. The soft blades reminded her of the hair sprouting beneath her wig.
The sun beat warmly on her shoulders, and she could smell the rich, loamy earth she sat on. She saw someone approaching and squinted. The girl stopped a short distance from where Melissa was sitting.
Melissa tried to place the face. Sarah. The girl waved, and a bronze Firebird pulled up alongside of her. But it wasn’t the car or its driver that caught Melissa’s eye. It was the gleaming gold ID bracelet locked on Sarah’s wrist. Sarah was Brad’s girl.
Chapter Eighteen
Brad drove off and a lump wedged in her throat. “This is stupid!” she said out loud, standing and dusting her jeans furiously. Hadn’t she known for months about Sarah and Brad? It was silly for her to react to it.
A horn blew and Ric hailed her. She jumped into the van, slamming the door hard. “Who rattled your cage?” Ric asked.
“No one. It was a long day.”
“Brain Bowl didn’t go well?”
“I said it was a long day. Don’t go reading something into nothing.”
Ric shrugged and pulled away from the curb so fast that the tires squealed. “How about a hamburger?”
“Mom’s expecting me for dinner.”
“How about going out later to the library at the university? I’ve got a research paper to get moving on.”
“I need to spend some time at home. Mom’s starting to get on my case about going out all the time.”
“You’re avoiding me.”
She gritted her teeth. “I just need some time to myself, Ric. That’s all.” Without warning, he pulled the van onto a small, dusty road that wound its way into some woods. “Where are you going?” she snapped. “I told you I needed to get home.”
He ignored her until they reached a clearing and he shut off the engine. Opening her door he hauled her out. “Come on. Let’s walk.”
“Ric … please, I don’t want to walk.”
Taking her elbow, he led her along, past trees dripping with Spanish moss, toward a river, where he stopped and turned her to face him. “It’s nice out here, Melissa. I sometimes come here to study and think.”
Still angry, she took a few deep breaths before scanning her surroundings. Wild azalea bushes burst with fuchsia and pink blossoms, and water gurgled over rocks. “You’re right. It’s very pretty out here.”
He lifted her chin and looked hard into her eyes. “I’m sorry you had a bad day.”
“I overreacted. Forget it.”
“But you still don’t want to tell me about it?”
“There’s nothing to tell. Honest.”
He let it drop and Melissa was grateful. They stood in the clearing, quiet except for the sounds of the woods. Ric finally broke the silence, his voice hesitant and gentle. “Melissa, I want to ask you something. I was going to wait till Saturday, but I’m going to ask you now.”
Suddenly she was alert. Her mouth went dry, but she forced some levity. “Ask away.”
“Spring break’s coming up.”
“I know.”
“Some of the guys from the house and the dorm floor are planning a trip down to Sarasota to spend a few days on the beach.”
“I thought everyone went to Fort Lauderdale.”
He grinned. “Highly overrated. Who wants to be stepping over bozos from Michigan and Ohio?” He brushed a wisp of her hair off her cheek and the gesture moved her. Ric never thought twice about her hair being a wig. “Doug’s aunt has a place on Sanibel Island and he’s taking Cheri there. Doug wants me to come along. And I want you to come with me.”
Startled, she stared into his dark, coal-colored eyes. She knew what he was asking. She dropped her gaze and stared at the ground, where she unearthed a rock with the toe of her shoe. “I … I don’t know …”
“I want to make love to you, Melissa. I want to sleep with you and wake up with you.” He’d slipped his hands into the back pockets of his jeans but he somehow made her feel as if he were holding her.
“Ric … I … just can’t take off for a weekend. What would I tell my mother? Michael?” She tried to swallow her rising panic.
“If you asked, I know your friend Jory would cover for you.”
He’d already thought about the details for her, but she shook her head. “I don’t know … ”
Then Ric touched her, taking her gently by the shoulders. “You don’t have to answer now. But will you think about it?”
“Ric … I don’t—” She stopped, groping for the right words. “I mean … I’ve never … ”
“I know you haven’t, Melissa. But when you do, I want it to be with me.”
Her cheeks burned, not from modesty, but from the overwhelming emotions she felt. Hadn’t she wondered about what making love would be like? Hadn’t she read passages in books that told how it felt? Watched old movies that aroused romantic feelings? “I don’t know … ”
He unbuttoned the top button of her blouse and gently ran his fingertips over her skin. Her knees went weak and she thought her heart might explode. “I’ve always thought you were pretty … from the first time I saw you. You were sitting in that hospital bed and you were combing your hair. That beautiful hair …”
She took a step backward, surprised that her legs could support her. Her brain whirled back to some long ago conversation, and she asked, “Who was Megan?”
Ric let his hands drop. “Why do you ask?”
“You mentioned her once. I wondered at the time, but didn’t ask.”
“She was just a girl I was dating when I was first diagnosed.”
“And?”
“And she couldn’t handle it.” His expression darkened and his mouth pressed into a hard line.
She thought of Brad. Big and blond and so totally attractive to her. “Why can’t anyone ever handle it?” she asked, but she didn’t expect an answer. She raised her hand and laid her palm on Ric’s cheek. “I will think about it, Ric. I’ll think about it very hard.”
He turned her palm and kissed it. “Two weeks,” he told her. “We’ll leave the weekend after next.”
“You awake, Mom?” Melissa peeked into her mother’s bedroom. Mrs. Austin was reading, propped up with pillows, a pile of file folders scattered over the bed.
She smiled and pushed her reading glasses on top of her head. “Come on in, honey.” She shoved aside the folde
rs, making a place for Melissa to sit. “This is a nice treat. To what do I owe the honor of such a visit?”
Melissa curled onto the bed and shrugged. “No reason. Do I need one?”
“You never needed one before. Actually, I’ve missed your visits. Remember how you’d always come in after dates and fill me in? And we’d pig out on cookies and milk?”
Melissa remembered. So much had changed for her over the past six months. “I guess most of it sounded pretty stupid.”
“Au contraire … it kept me young.” Melissa allowed a comfortable silence to stretch between them. Finally, her mother asked, “Got a problem?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Between school and Ric, you’re very busy, honey. Is everything going all right for you?”
Melissa felt her inner defenses go up. She wasn’t sure why she’d come into her mother’s room. She certainly couldn’t bare her soul about Ric’s invitation to spend the weekend with him. “Everything’s fine, Mom. Don’t make a big deal out of a simple little nighttime visit.” Melissa felt guilty for sounding short. “I was lonesome, that’s all.”
“No need to feel lonely. I’m always here.”
Melissa nodded. “Yes. You’re always here.” She longed to tell her mother about Ric. Longed to have her tell her what to do. She’ll say no, she thought. It was a mother’s place to say no to such things. But I have leukemia, her reason argued. I might never face this choice again.
“Is this a private party or can anyone come?” Michael asked.
“Boy, this is my lucky night,” Mrs. Austin said with a warm smile. “Both my kids at once. Come share the bed,” she said.
“Can’t—I’m too grubby,” Michael said, sinking to the floor. “So what’s up?”
“Nothing,” Melissa said. “Just girl talk.” Her heart went out to him. “How’s your balloon club?”
“You make it sound like a kiddie club.” His grin was impish.
“That’s what I get for making polite conversation with a man.” She emphasized the last word as if it were a dirty one.