Josh nodded, looking cool and thoughtful.
I ached. I preferred anger to that cool and distancing response. “You’ve nearly got it mastered, that professional look,” I said.
“What look?”
“That one. The same one you had two Mondays ago, when the big M told you I was all yours. You’re a pro and know how to hide your feelings, but just for a second, I read your face. It was like, Don’t do this to me!”
Josh’s reply was to rub his forehead.
“Now you’re doing that headache thing you do when I’m around you.”
He dropped his hand to his side.
“Noelle probably has some aspirin.”
“Probably,” he agreed.
“I know this is none of my business,” I began, then bit my tongue just in time.
Josh’s eyes pinned me to the spot. “Go on.”
“Never mind.”
“Please,” he said sarcastically, “I love it when people get into something that is none of their business.”
“I think you should either be more discreet or come right out and tell Sam what’s going on between you and Noelle.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s kind of heartless of you, Josh. Sam’s had a crush on her for a long time, and he’s your teammate. Your friend! Either be discreet or be honest with him, but don’t be making out with Noelle under the school pines. He might see you.”
Josh stared at me. “Well, thank you for that piece of advice,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
Josh took a step closer. “You saw me kissing her under the pines? You were there? Why didn’t you come over and say hello?”
His sarcasm sliced me to the heart. “I saw you and her…on a blanket,” I began.
“And what was the kiss like?” Josh asked angrily, his face inches from mine. “You should be good at descriptions like that after hanging around with Andrew.”
My cheeks felt like they were on fire. “I didn’t wait around,” I said. “I didn’t need to watch and take notes. I already knew what it was like to be kissed by you.”
“Damn it, Jamie!” he said, his eyes blazing. “I hate the way you turn things around!”
I lowered my head. “Me too. I hate it, too,” I said, squeezing past him and hurrying off.
Chapter 25
When I arrived home that afternoon, I found my mother in the middle bedroom, the room that had been filled with gym equipment, a scarf wrapped around her head and a putty knife in her hand. “Hi. What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to paint. Filling holes and cracks.” She held up a plastic container. “Spackling. It works miracles.”
I wondered if it was medically approved for the heart.
“I’m going to Lowe’s and Home Depot tonight to look at paint chips,” she went on. “I thought we’d have an early dinner. What time are you leaving for the game?”
“I’m not going.”
She dabbed a bit of gooey stuff on a nail hole, scraped it flat with her knife, then turned to me. “Why not?”
“I don’t feel like it.”
“If you’re doing this for me, baby—”
“I’m not. Really. I like looking at paint colors, Mom. Dad and I used to spend a lot of time at home improvement stores.”
Her fingers traced the line of a crack, then she smoothed on more spackling.
“You look like you’re feeling okay,” I observed. “Is it, uh, getting any better for you?”
“It will,” she replied, with a determination familiar to me. Josh was right: She and I were really alike in some ways.
“Is it getting any better for you?” she asked.
She had caught me off guard. “You mean Andrew? We’re not seeing each other anymore. It’s no big deal.”
“I meant whoever has been on your mind—and it has never been Andrew,” she added.
I bit my lip. “How did you know there was someone else?”
“Jamie, my one-hundred-percent-cotton, no-frills girl, hides a pink satin rose in her softball glove.”
“Well—well, that doesn’t mean—”
“I see it in your eyes.”
I glanced away. “I’m not good at talking about feelings, Mom.”
She nodded. “Neither was your father. And I have tried hard to keep from prying into things that are very private to you. Eight years ago, when Dad and I decided that it was best for you to be raised by him, and when I decided I couldn’t live in a small town where the high school coach was more important than the mayor, I lost the privilege of asking my way into your life. I love you with all my heart, Jamie, and I’m interested in whatever is important to you, but I don’t want to invade your privacy.”
“It’s Josh, Mom. And he’s got a girl.”
She waited to see if I would say anything else. I just couldn’t.
“For what it’s worth, baby, you’ve got fabulous taste.”
I laughed. She set down her putty knife and gave me a shy, one-armed hug.
“Listen, your father called,” she said, “about fifteen minutes ago. I told him you were going to a lacrosse game tonight, and he said to tell you that he was extremely jealous. Why don’t you call him now? It’s going to take an hour for me to clean up this mess and get myself fixed up. After that, if you would like dinner and an evening of excitement in the paint aisle, that would be wonderful.”
“Sounds good!”
Downstairs, I pulled my cell phone from my gym bag, fixed a tall glass of ice water, and took them out to the back porch. Sitting on the top step, I pressed the button for the address that said “Cabin.” The phone was picked up immediately.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Jamie-girl!” he greeted me.
“How are you doing?”
“Good,” he said. “Great. It’s wonderful to hear your voice. How are you doing?”
“Uh, good. I just got home from camp.”
“How did basketball go?”
I described my players, and as I did, my enthusiasm for coaching took over. I told him funny stories, including some of my more challenging moments with Camille.
“I wish I could have been a fly on the wall,” he said, when I’d finished.
“I love it, Dad.”
“So, are you going to be doing another session?” he asked.
“Well, like I said before, they’re not running basketball next week and someone else is signed up for the afternoon. And we’re, uh, we’re not sure if we’re going to have the enrollment for the following week.” It was a small lie. Having just gushed about how much I loved coaching, if I decided not to do it, he’d want to know why.
“So why don’t you come home, Jamie?”
“What? What do you mean, home?”
“To the cabin, to the lake, like always. It would be just you and me, and whoever comes by for a visit. Some of the football team and their dads are coming Thursday to camp out for a few days. It would be terrific if you could be here.”
I was silent for a moment, picturing summers past when I was sitting at a campfire, swapping stories and jokes with the football team. It seemed like ancient history. And then I thought, someone was missing from this scenario. “Where’s Miss Matlock?” I asked.
“With her sister in Boston.”
“Boston! Was there an emergency?”
“Of a sort. She said if she didn’t get away from the cabin she was going to lose her mind.”
“Oh.” When it came to love, the Carvellis were obviously star-crossed.
“She said she might swing by for a few days later this summer. She wants to enjoy city life for a while.”
“I see.” Did I dare give my father advice? “You know, Dad, if you really like her, maybe you should meet her halfway. Maybe you should swing by the city for a few days. It can be really fun, especially when it’s got a harbor.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said. “In the meantime, why don’t you come home, Jamie? We could have a great time. The fish
are biting.”
“I—I don’t know, Dad. I have to think about it. I’ll let you know soon, okay?”
“Sure, sure,” he replied. “You should do whatever you want, sweetheart.” But I could tell he was disappointed that I didn’t jump at the chance.
I put my cell phone in the kitchen, grabbed my basketball, and went down to the corner of the alley to shoot. Memories of the afternoon playing Josh flashed through my mind, giving a whole new meaning to the sports expression “playing through the pain.” I kept shooting, trying to figure out what to do. I had the perfect excuse now. “I’m sorry, Ms. Mahler, but my father needs me.” I could disappear without another word to Josh—that would be satisfyingly dramatic! I could e-mail Mona and Ted, then see them when I returned in the fall. I could end up with the summer that I had been so mad about losing. I could show up in time to swim and hike and barbecue with the guys, just like always.
Except I wasn’t sure the same Jamie would show up. Except I really loved coaching. Except there were a few things I might want to talk about with Mom.
I played another ten minutes, then dribbled up the alley, went inside, and picked up my cell phone. Glancing at the clock, I punched in the right numbers, then waited.
“Stonegate PE.”
“Ms. Mahler? This is Jamie. Sign me up for that job.”
I called Dad back right away, because I didn’t want to keep him hanging. He asked me about coming for just the week, since I didn’t have camp scheduled, but running back to Michigan seemed too much like running away. Things will get better, I thought, and suggested that he look into plane reservations for Baltimore. “I’ll treat you to the Orioles and a pro lacrosse game.”
Friday night, Mom and I looked at a million paint colors, bought some primer, then went to Barnes & Noble. She picked up a book on container gardening; I picked up Stephen King’s latest. We both avoided the romance section. On the way home we stopped at Blockbuster and loaded up on silly comedies, like Naked Gun 2½. We were set for the weekend.
Saturday’s forecast called for hazy, hot, and humid weather, so we spent the morning sanding and spackling the middle bedroom, which had no air-conditioning, and expanded our efforts to the long skinny hall that led to the back room. After lunch, we each holed up in our own air-conditioned spaces, Mom downstairs in the room behind the living room, and me in the jungle room. I was starting to become fond of the fake leopard-skin spread.
I stretched out in my favorite position, lying back on the bed, my bare feet up on the wall, which was accumulating footprints. With the AC whirring away, I cracked open my new book and descended into psychological terror.
Chapter 26
“Baby, are you awake?” my mother asked from the other side of the door two hours later.
“Mhmmn.”
“Are you dressed?”
“Yes, I’m just reading, Mom. You can come in.”
The door opened.
“Jamie—”
“One more page,” I told her, my nose buried in the book. “I’m at the end of the chapter. It’s really scary.”
“As you can see, my daughter didn’t get her legs from me,” Mom said.
I turned my head, then quickly swung my feet down from the wall. “What are you doing here?”
Josh gazed at me without answering. Mom shook her head slightly, as if to say, “I didn’t invite them.” The older woman between Mom and Josh smiled apologetically. “We’re sorry to disturb you. I’m getting a tour of my favorite writer’s workplace. I didn’t realize I’d be invading your room.”
The woman had iron-gray curls, a large round face, and eyes the color of Josh’s. His gran. I kept my gaze on her and away from Josh as I stood up.
“Jamie, honey, this is Josh’s grandmother, Ellen Stein.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the woman said, taking my hand in her broad one. “Josh tells me you’ve earned an athletic scholarship to Maryland. Congratulations! I am so proud of Josh, I know how proud your folks must be of you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.” I swallowed hard, remembering Josh’s offer to help me get through the preseason jitters, just being a kind friend.
I wanted to burrow under the bedspread. I wondered what this room looked like to Josh, what I looked like in one my favorite Peyton Manning shirts, a big blue tank top with his number on it, flowing over a pair of pink boxers with little ribbons on them. I knew my ponytail hung more on one side of my head then the other, and hair was falling out of both sides of the clasp, but there was nothing I could do about that now. Besides, I reminded myself, what was the point? He wasn’t here to admire me.
“So, Rita, I see that you like to work facing the wall,” Josh’s grandmother said, noticing how my mother’s desk was built into the closet area.
“Yes, since I use a laptop, I can always turn my chair around to look out the window, but sometimes I need this kind of space to focus better. Here, I live totally in the world of my characters.”
“The way I do when I’m reading,” Mrs. Stein remarked.
And so they went on, comparing notes as reader and writer.
Josh and I stood there awkwardly. I kept my eyes on his gran and Mom, but I could feel him there as if he were the only person in the room. I started wondering if I had made a huge mistake by signing up for more camp.
“So you do like Stephen King,” Josh said, his voice polite, almost cautious.
“Yes.”
“That’s his new book, right?”
“Yes.”
There was a long silence between us. My mother was showing Mrs. Stein the floor plans and photos she had used for the setting of her first novel.
“What other authors do you like?” Josh asked.
“Elizabeth George. Nora Roberts.” My mind went blank. “I can’t think of any others.”
“The Brothers Grimm?” he suggested. “Are those yours?” He gestured to the pile of fairy tale books next to my bed.
“Yes, from when I was a kid.”
Curious to see what was in the pile, Josh picked up my softball glove, which was resting on top, then noticed the bit of shiny pink folded inside the leather. He opened the glove. I snatched away the rose, moving so quickly that I caught the attention of his grandmother.
She and Josh looked at me questioningly.
“It’s just a rose,” I said, which certainly didn’t explain the way my hand had shot out to retrieve it—to protect it. The satin rose was the only bit of real romance I had left, a sweet and sincere gesture that hadn’t been ruined later on by something else. I was afraid that if Josh looked at it or asked me about it, something new would be added to the rose and its memory. I was desperate to keep its magic.
“It’s pretty,” said Mrs. Stein. “Is it from someone special?”
“No. Yes. Sort of.”
She looked directly in my eyes as if she were trying hard to understand.
“Not really,” I said.
I reached for my glove, but Josh held onto it, pulling it back a little, making me meet his eyes for a moment. As soon as Mrs. Stein turned her back to look at Mom’s stuff, I said quietly, “Please give me my glove.” He did and I slipped past him, aware of the exact spot where his arm brushed mine.
Outside, the stoop was sun-baked and hot, but I sat on it, hunched forward, clutching the glove and rose to my chest, shivering like I was in a freezer. The shivering stopped when I saw the door of Andrew’s Jeep swing open.
He climbed out and grinned. “Looking for me?”
“No, just sitting outside for a few minutes.”
Andrew studied me, perhaps guessing from my appearance that I had fled some kind of scene. “Viktor isn’t back, is he?”
“No. I didn’t know you knew his name.”
Andrew smiled. “I was home Thursday for the big fight—we’re at the end of prime landscaping season, and I got off early. You should have been here for it, Jamie. It was better than a soap opera.”
I imagined the
scene could have won a Daytime TV Emmy, but I didn’t like his joking about it.
“Does your mother already have another boyfriend?”
“No. Josh—Josh Hammond—and his grandmother are here. She wanted to meet my mother—she’s a big fan of her books,” I said. “One of Rita’s millions of readers.”
Okay, the millions-of-readers part may have been an exaggeration, but I wanted to let him know: Rita Carvelli didn’t have to hand out her writing for free at a school dining hall.
“More likely they’re here because of Ted’s phone call,” Andrew replied.
“What call?”
“I heard him talking to Josh. He said that Mona told him to keep quiet, but he was worried about you and your mother. He told Hammond about the fight, and said you seemed very upset.”
I shut my eyes for a second. I realized now what had happened. Mona had known I was upset about Josh and thought it best for Ted not to call him. Being a loyal friend, she probably didn’t tell him why. Ted got worried and called Josh, anyway, and Josh had found an excuse to pay us a visit and make sure everything was okay.
It was thoughtful of Josh. It was touching. It was enough to make a grown girl bawl.
“Jamie,” Andrew said. “We haven’t talked since Wednesday. I was giving you some time to cool off and think things through.”
“Think what things through?”
He laughed. “There was such fire in your eyes that day! You were magnificent!”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“That’s precisely why I’m falling for you,” he replied. “You’re so real.”
“The problem is,” I said quietly, “I’m not falling for you.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re still angry.”
“I’m not. I’m just not falling for you, okay? I don’t want to date you. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I don’t know how to make it any clearer.”
“It’s Hammond, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“I saw the way he looked at me when I came to your camp.”