“You can tell there’s something I want to say?”
“Of course I can, Trev. You don’t stop sighing.”
“I sigh?” My observation disgruntles him.
“You sigh,” I confirm. “So talk.”
He sighs again, realizes he’s doing it, and tries to stop mid sigh, which only causes him to start coughing. When he’s done coughing and glaring at me—which may have something to do with my laughing at him—he finally clears his throat and takes a breath.
“Well . . . you haven’t said anything . . . you know, about . . . about your . . .” He hesitates, searching for a word. “About your visit, I mean. And I was just wondering . . . not details, those are none of my business, of course . . . but just wondering how it went, how you’re doing.”
I knew that he would want to know how my visit with my mother went, but I also knew he’d wait until I brought it up. I guess for the last week his curiosity has gotten the better of him and he can’t wait any longer. I want to tell him, but at the same time, I’m hesitant. So I shrug.
“The Grants are going ahead with the whole adoption thing,” I say, striving to sound as if it doesn’t matter either way, when the truth is that I want it more than almost anything. Trevor knows me almost as well as I know myself.
“That’s great,” he says, and he means it. “So will you change your last name?”
“Yeah, it’ll be nice to have a real name, you know?”
“Jones isn’t a real name?” He’s being facetious, but there is an answer to his question.
“No, it’s not. Jones is a name I picked out myself when I first went into the system. The last name that I’d had before was too infamous, what with all the press coverage, so it was thought that a different last name might help me to find placement faster.”
“I didn’t know that. That kind of sucks.”
I laugh at his assessment of what had seemed so traumatic at the time.
“Yeah, well, life sucks and then you die, right?”
“How depressing. Do you really think that?” He looks at me, genuinely curious.
“It’s been my mantra my whole life,” I tell him. Then I grin at him. “But lately I’ve been changing my mind. Someone has been convincing me otherwise.”
“Well, then good for that someone.” He smiles at me, and I melt at the sight of the dimples coming out to play.
“Raindrops keep falling on my head . . .” I sing, softly.
“What’s that?”
“You know, that old song. I heard it once and thought it had been written about my life because I feel like there are always raindrops falling on me, and just when I get them dried off, new ones hit.”
“I guess it could be your song,” he says thoughtfully, “because even though raindrops keep falling, the song is about getting back up, refusing to let it get you down.”
“That’s what it’s about?”
“Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head,” he begins singing, pitch perfect. “That doesn’t mean my eyes will soon be turnin’ red/ Cryin’s not for me/ ’Cause I’m never gonna stop the rain by complainin’/ Because I’m free/ Nothin’s worrying me.”
“Huh,” is all I can really say because I don’t know the words, only vaguely remembered the tune and the first line.
“Or something like that,” he says. “I’m not sure those are the exact words, but they’re close.”
“I met He-Man and She-Ra,” I blurt out.
“Okaaay, that’s random. Are you trying to change the subject?”
“No, I’m serious.”
He studies me, but I know my sci-fi geek as well as he knows me. I wait.
“All right, I’ll bite. Where did you meet He-Man and She-Ra?” he asks, with one eyebrow cocked. The gesture is so cute, I smile and lean over to kiss it. Then I decide that’s not enough, so I kiss his mouth. He kisses me back, sitting up taller. Then his arms are around me, and he flips me over onto my back, straddling my belly, and pinning my arms above my head.
“Trying to distract me?” he asks, grinning.
“Maybe,” I say. Once, someone much larger than Trevor and with harmful intent held me down just like this. It shows the trust I have in both Trevor and myself that it doesn’t bother me to be held so again. I’m proud of this. His hold on me is ultra light, and I know that if I move a fraction of an inch he will let me go. I close my eyes, and for a brief second, my mother’s face flashes through my mind, and I imagine her being pinned down cruelly and repeatedly by first my father and later her second husband. With that comes a ping of sympathy.
I quickly open my eyes to let the pure sight of Trevor fill my vision and replace that of her.
“It would probably work if I weren’t so strong, so immune to your charms,” he says in a mock tough guy voice.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, giving him my best seductive look. “Kiss me, Trev.”
Without any hesitation, he says, “Okay,” and leans down to accommodate me. He backs up a few inches. “Now tell me about He-Man and She-Ra and whether or not you got me their autographs.”
I laugh at him.
“Are you kidding? I was afraid of saying anything but ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, ma’am’ to them. They’re guards at the prison.” My voice catches unexpectedly on the last word. Trevor pulls back, dragging me up with the gesture until I’m sitting cradled in his arms.
“Are you sure it was them? It could have been Hercules and Xena.”
I smile, grateful as always for Trevor’s instinct in pulling me away from dangerous emotional territory. I still can’t figure out how he manages that, but I sure appreciate it.
“No way. I’ve watched their TV shows with you. They are both beyond gorgeous.”
“You think Hercules is gorgeous?” he asks, looking down at me with mock jealousy in his eyes.
“Don’t you?”
His face changes, and he shakes his head.
“I’m taking the fifth on that.”
“Chicken,” I accuse.
“Tell me about He-Man and She-Ra.”
“Changing the subject?” I tease.
“Absolutely.”
I give him a kiss on the jaw, then turn my attention to his hands, twisting my fingers through his. No eye contact for this conversation is what I need.
“Not much to say about them. They were huge and not a little scary.”
When I remain silent for a minute, he gives my hand a little squeeze.
“And her?” I know exactly who he’s talking about and decide not to play dumb.
“Much smaller than I remember, actually.”
“Smaller?”
“I guess in my mind over time, she had grown to monstrous proportions. Of course, I wasn’t all that old, so she probably was bigger than me then. I’m a little bit taller than she is now.” I pause, remembering my first impression of her. “She looked like a stranger. I didn’t recognize her at first.”
“Were you scared?” he asks with his uncanny perception.
“Only to death,” I tell him with a humorless laugh. “So she gives me this big sob story about her life and how rough it was for her, and why she had to leave me with my father and how much she hated me.”
Trevor stiffens behind me.
“She told you she hates you?” He’s righteously indignant on my behalf.
“Down, Chewbacca,” I say, patting his arm. “She said she hated me then because I was the reason she was with him all along. When she left, she didn’t want me.” My voice breaks again at the pain of the words, the confirmation of what I had known all my life, that I was unwanted. I try to cover it with a sad excuse for a cough, but I’m not fooling him. He leans his forehead against my back.
“But then, she had to take me after he . . . well, you know. And she claims that she learned to love me.”
“You don’t believe her?” Trevor can hear the doubt in my words.
“I don’t know. I guess I do, because at this point she has no reason to lie to me. But I’ve sp
ent my whole life thinking I was worth less than nothing to her, so it’s a little weird to try to change my thinking now.”
“Are you okay with all of this?” He’s worried about me, I can hear it.
“Yeah, I think I am. I can understand a little why she did the things she did. Not that it makes it okay,” I clarify when I feel him stiffening again. “But I do understand a little. By the time she was my age, she was pregnant and living with a violent person far away from her home. I can’t imagine that. I’d probably hate the baby for putting me in that situation also.”
Trevor spins me around to face him, hands bracketing my face to be sure I’m looking directly into his earnest eyes.
“You are not the reason she was there. She made her own decisions. You were an innocent baby.”
I nod, ignoring the tears that pool in the corners of my eyes.
“You’re right, I was. And I’ve paid a heavy price for both the decisions she and my . . . father,” I stumble over the word, “made. But she’s paying the heaviest price of all. She killed to protect me, and now she’ll be in prison until she dies. I’m free. I can change my life.”
Trevor releases my face, hands moving up and down my arms as he smiles at me.
“You have changed, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” I groan. “I hardly recognize myself anymore.”
Trevor smiles. “I’m not talking about your hair. I’m talking about you. You seem a lot happier now than when I first met you. You seemed a little, I don’t know, bitter back then, I guess.”
“Well, I’m surrounded by ultra-happy, sunshine-spouting people all the time now. Some of it had to rub off.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a little geek going in you now as well.”
I laugh. “That’s my favorite new part of me.”
“So, are you going to see her again?” he asks somberly.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I told her I’d write her. She seemed happy about that.”
“And you’re okay?”
I smile at him. “I’m very okay. I have a real family now, one that chose me rather than one I was thrust upon, and I’ve got this really great guy I happen to be in . . . that I really like a lot.” I say, shocked at the words I almost said.
“Where is he?” he demands, looking around the empty yard. “I’ll kill him.”
“You are such a—”
“Yeah, geek, I know.”
“I was going to say great guy, but if you prefer geek, then . . .”
Trevor pokes my side, in the one spot that I’m most ticklish and that he knows so well, and I spasm away from him.
“Okay, uncle! Uncle! I give up,” I laugh.
“You’d be horrible in a torture situation,” he accuses.
“Remind me not to join the armed services, then.”
“Oh, I will. With you in the service, our national security would be at serious risk.”
He stands, pulling me up with him in one graceful motion, grace being something I don’t think I could master if I spend a thousand years practicing. He starts jumping and holds my hands tightly since we have learned the hard way that I can’t match my jumps exactly to his—being launched off the edge of the tramp once was enough for me.
“You are a pretty great guy, you know,” I tell him.
He flushes, embarrassed.
“Yeah, whatever. Don’t try to soften me up,” he teases, but underneath that, I can see my words make him happy—which seems like a fair trade since he’s constantly making me so happy.
20. The Thunder Rolls
The southern sky is dusky blue, spattered with light gray clouds. To the north, however, there is a black wall, dark clouds nearly indiscernible in the roiling sky. Occasional flashes of lightning throw bleak illumination through the storm. That’s the side of the sky that reflects my inner turmoil. I settle in Trevor’s car and try to pretend that I can’t feel the tension coming off him.
He hasn’t said much, smiling and kissing me when he picked me up, but I can feel the difference anyway, no matter how hard he’s trying. It’s mostly silent in the car, the only sound my voice as I give him directions to Kyle’s house. I know how much he hates these parties—and how much he dislikes Kyle—but Beth called and ran the guilt trip over me, which I in turn ran over Trevor. So here we are, because he will do almost anything to make me happy.
We pull up next to the curb even though there’s still some room for parking in the large dirt front yard under the oversized willow tree. The house is a nice, two-story Cape Cod–style, which seems to take Trevor by surprise. I’ve been here before, so it’s no biggie to me, but I try to see it through his eyes. I think about the last house we went to for a party and then this one and realize he probably expected run-down slum-type houses both times. I try not to be offended.
Trevor looks good tonight. He’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeve weave Henley with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, not quite fitting in with the crowd we’ll be with tonight, but not looking like the geek he is either. It hasn’t escaped my notice how differently he dresses now, many times wearing T-shirts or Henleys. Even when he wears his button-up shirts, he generally leaves the top three or four buttons open now, and, most importantly, doesn’t tuck them in.
He opens my door and grabs my hand as I climb out, not letting go. The air is weirdly silent in the face of the oncoming storm, electric, not even a breeze to flutter the leaves. It feels ominous.
As we near the house, the silence is interrupted by the beat of the music coming through the door. There’s no point in knocking so I push the door open, and we’re assaulted by the blaring, pounding stereo and the smells of smoke and beer. To me it is the sound and smell of comfort and acceptance, but Trevor’s shoulders tighten just the barest hint. I glance at him, and he smiles at me calmly. I can read the doubt in his tight eyes.
“Jen!” Kyle calls as he weaves down the stairs toward us. “And you brought my friend Trevor! How are ya, man?” he yells, pumping Trevor’s hand. Kyle’s eyes are glazed; it’s pretty apparent that he’s had more than one or two beers—and probably something more than just alcohol as well. But Trevor is nothing if not polite.
“I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”
Kyle laughs and smacks Trevor roughly on the back.
“You’re priceless, my friend. Come on in and make yourself at home. You know the drill, sweetie,” he says to me, dropping a sloppy kiss on my cheek. I wait until he’s turned away before I wipe it off. I look up at Trevor, laughing at Kyle’s ridiculousness, and see the flash of ire in Trevor’s eyes.
“How did you say you know him?” he asks loudly, leaning down to be heard above the music and people talking.
I shrug. “I met him through Ella and Beth.”
“He’s not worried his parents will come home?”
I point into the den off to the right, where an older man is lounging on a leather couch, football game on the TV, earplugs in.
“His father?” Even with the noise I can hear the stunned disbelief in Trevor’s voice.
“Only on the weekends,” I say. Trevor processes this, never quite losing his look of incredulity. I’m not surprised. When you’re raised in a house where happiness blooms all around, it’s hard to imagine people living like this. This isn’t so bad. There are worse ways to live. I should know.
“What if someone calls the cops?” he asks worriedly.
“Relax, Trev. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
As if to belie my words, a sudden clap of thunder shakes the house.
“Come on,” I pull on his hand. “Let’s go downstairs.”
Kyle’s basement is a sort of makeshift dancing area since it’s mostly unfinished, with cement floor and walls. Only a bathroom, laundry room, and small bedroom are completed. The latter is sparsely furnished—only a mattress sits in the middle of the floor. I’m well aware of its purpose, and that it had been finished by Kyle himself for nights such as this. I always steer clear of it—I might not be a para
gon of virtue, but there are certain things that are mine alone that only I have the right to give away, and I have no desire to lose it to some sloppy drunk boy who wouldn’t even remember me the next day. It’s the very thing that was nearly stolen from me by my stepfather, which has only made it that much more precious to me.
Trevor seems eased by the somewhat normal scene down here, seeming almost like a school dance. The music drops into a slow blaring ballad, and Trevor pulls me into his arms, relieved, I think, for something to do. Everyone around us is pressed closely together, and though Trevor now holds me much closer than he did for our first dance, it is still modest compared to the others here. I smile up at him. It’s just another Trevor quirk that makes him completely unique.
After one song, the music moves back into a throbbing, upbeat tempo, and Trevor moves slightly away, keeping his hold on me. About half of the couples start bouncing with the new music while the other half continue to grip one another in oblivion. Trevor looks around at them, smiling wryly. We stay through a few more songs, dancing, then the heat becomes overbearing.
“Wanna go up and get something to drink?” I yell in his ear.
“What?” he yells back, but I only know what he’s saying by reading his lips. I point toward the ceiling and imitate drinking. He nods, and we fight our way through the crowd, which has definitely thickened, to go back up the stairs. We squeeze our way into the kitchen, and Trevor pushes through until he reaches some cups. He grabs a nearly empty bottle of Diet Coke and fills two cups. I raise my eyebrows questioningly, but he just smiles and shrugs.
The pop is warm and not especially thirst quenching. My head begins to ache a little from the overbearing noise. Trevor snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me close and dragging me toward the back door.
We spill out into the backyard, which is nearly as crowded as it had been in the house, but at least the air is cooler now that the storm is near. A breeze lifts my hair off my neck, and it’s somewhat quieter.
I look up at the black sky, where lightning silently shoots beams into the darkness. Thunder rolls slowly on the heels of the flashes. I normally love rainstorms, but I’m a little disappointed that it will force us back into the house when it breaks.