Mark My Words (4 page)

Mom, however, had always been astute. She eyed me as if she didn’t believe what I said. But I held her gaze steady as if I had nothing to hide. Still not appearing completely satisfied, she went back to her meal. I sighed with relief, grateful to have dodged that bullet for now.

After dinner, I helped Mom with dishes while Ray went to watch TV in the family room. While leaning my back against the tile counter and drying one of the frying pans, my gaze shot down the hallway to my left. The doorway to my former bedroom came into view. It had since been turned into a guest bedroom, but in my mind I could picture it exactly as it used to be. Where there was now a wall filled with framed pictures of flowers, there once was a tall bookshelf overflowing with novels.

I thought of my conversation with Lennie about those choose-your-own-ending stories. Setting the dried pan down, I turned to Mom. “Hey, whatever happened to all my books?”

Mom’s arms were elbow deep in soapy water, the faucet spraying liquid down her arms. Using a sponge, she scrubbed a chrome pot. “We boxed them up years ago, remember? Ray tried to get you to take them awhile ago, but you said you didn’t have room.”

Nodding, I vaguely remembered the conversation. My apartment was too small for all of my books, so that made sense. “Where are the boxes now?”

“In the garage.” After turning off the faucet, Mom pulled her arms out of the water and reached for a dishrag. Droplets of water dotted the counter and splashed on the floor near Mom’s feet. She swiftly wiped her arms with the rag and then used a different rag to wipe the counter. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

As I followed her, I noticed a few silver strands of hair at the roots of her straight brown hair. I was sure they’d be gone by the next time I came over. Mom went to her hairdresser every month like clockwork. I knew that because she used to drag me to her appointments when I was little. Nothing was worse than spending an hour in a hair salon bored out of my mind. Amelia didn’t mind because she would peruse the glossy magazines and choose hairstyles she wanted to one day try. Mom always took us out for ice cream afterward, though, so that sort of made up for it. The garage smelled like tools and faintly of gas. Mom flicked on the wall switch, and yellow light bathed the chilly room.

Passing Mom’s compact car and Ray’s truck, Mom guided me to a shelf in the corner. Pointing to a few boxes on the bottom, she said, “There they are. Do you want to take them? I can have Ray help you carry them out.”

“Oh.” I shook my head. “No. I won’t take them all. I’m looking for a specific one.”

Mom grinned. “Something to help with your novel?”

I paused, studying her face. “Mom, do you honestly like it? Like, would you like it if I wasn’t your son?”

Her brown eyes appeared even darker in this lighting. Reaching out, she gently patted my cheek. “I don’t like the book just because you wrote it. I like it because it’s good.” Dropping her hand, she nodded. “Seriously.” My chest expanded at her words. Maybe I actually had something this time. “I can’t wait to see it in bookstores,” she added, and the tightness in my chest returned.

“I’ve been keeping my eyes open for a job,” I said. “You know, in case this doesn’t work out.”

“Nonsense. It’s going to sell.”

“I know, but in the meantime I need to bring in more than my freelance work is right now.”

“If you need anything, Ray and I are happy to help.”

“But you shouldn’t have to. I’m an adult.”

“An adult with a dream worth pursuing,” she responded. “You’ve got something special, Colin. I’ve always known it.” Shivering, she hugged herself. “Well, it’s too cold out here for me. I’ll go make some tea. Do you want some?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need any help finding something.” As Mom hurried inside, I knelt down in front of the boxes. Curving my hand around one of them, I scooted it toward me. My name was scrawled on top with Sharpie in Mom’s handwriting. Bringing it down to the floor, I pried the top open. Inside I was greeted with the scent of old books. It’s a smell that’s impossible to describe, but instantly recognizable. And a warm feeling swelled in my chest. I ran my fingertips over the spines, and when I pulled my hand back the pads of my fingers were coated in a thick film of dust. Cold from the cement seeped through my jeans. I readjusted my position, and dug into the box. After sifting through the books, I surmised that the ones I was looking for weren’t in here. Firmly closing the top, I shoved it back onto the shelf and reached for a different box.

This time I found what I was looking for right away. The choose-your-own-ending books were on top. Yanking a few of them out, I spread them out in my lap. Opening the first one, I was surprised that after all of these years I could still remember the story and the ending I’d chosen. Satisfied, I set aside a couple of the books and then shut the remainder of them into the box. After securing the box back on the shelf, I tucked the books under my arm and stood up.

I headed back into the house armed with my books and a plan.

I’d overslept.

Every morning, I woke up at six a.m. like clockwork. I never needed to set an alarm. It was as if my body was internally set to that time. But this morning I slept peacefully until eight o’clock. When I rolled over, and saw how light it was outside I was confused. Blinking profusely, I stared at my clock in disbelief. Then again, I had stayed up late. I was busy reading through the books I’d brought home from my parents’ house. It was reminiscent of when I was a kid. Of all the nights I’d hide under my covers reading with my flashlight. As an adult, my mom had confessed that she knew what I was doing all along. However, when I was younger I thought I was so clever, pulling one over on my parents.

Sliding out of bed, I padded into the bathroom. Yawning, I turned on the shower. As steam rose around me, filling the tiny bathroom, I contemplated staying home today. I mean, wasn’t that the beauty of not having a job? Whenever I fantasized about becoming an author, I pictured myself staying in my pajamas all day, forgoing showers and going out for the sake of my craft. But as I stood under the steady stream of water allowing the heat to penetrate my back muscles, I decided against it. What if this was the one day Lennie came into the coffee shop again?

In my experience, that was the way it worked. It was like when you were waiting for a package and the UPS guy finally showed up the one time you went to use the restroom. So I hurriedly scrubbed my body with soap, determined to get out of here as quickly as possible. When Lennie had shown up, it was around eight or eight-thirty, so time was of the essence.

After hopping out of the shower, I wrapped the towel around my waist and brushed my teeth so fast it was like I was involved in some type of contest. My window to possibly seeing Lennie was quickly dwindling. It took me only minutes to throw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Not wanting to bother with my hair, I grabbed a hat and my jacket, and flung them on. I slid into my shoes, slung my laptop bag over my shoulder, and raced outside.

I didn’t bother driving to the coffee shop because I didn’t want to waste an hour searching for a parking space. It was faster to walk. And I certainly wasn’t paying for a space in a parking garage. Besides, it wasn’t raining today. In fact, the sun was even making an appearance. Not a huge one. Mostly it was hidden behind the clouds, but it peeked out every once in awhile, teasing and alluring, like a wink.

With my laptop bag thumping against the side of my thigh, I walked swiftly down the street. Cars zipped past, kicking up cold wind that blew over my neck. Shivering, I bent my head and continued on. Men carrying briefcases, cell phones pressed to the ears slid around me. A teenager bumped me because she was too busy texting to notice I existed. One morning, I almost saw a teenage boy get hit by a car because he was doing the same thing.

The coffee shop came into view, and hope sparked the same way it did every day. Picking up the pace, I made my way to the front door. I had almost reached it when it popped open. Reacting, I stepped back, my eyes widening at the sight of the person walking through it.

“Lennie?”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Hi, Colin. I thought maybe you were writing somewhere else today.”

Had she been looking for me? Hoping to see me?

“I…” overslept. “…had some things to take care of this morning.”

“Well, I’m on my way to another appointment.” Holding a white paper cup in her hand, she moved away from the door.

I followed her. “I take it the last one didn’t go so well.”

She shook her head. Today she wore a different beanie. This one was dark blue, almost navy, and it brought out the color of her eyes. Her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck, the strands whipping in the breeze. “Not so much. No.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Me too.” Her lips curled downward in a frown as her eyes shifted back and forth. “I need to get going or I’ll be late.” Glancing down at my laptop bag, she added, “Have a great writing day.”

Mentally I cursed myself for oversleeping this morning. Of all the mornings. Man, I had crap luck. “Actually, I was just out taking a walk, so I’ll join you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “With your laptop?”

I shrugged. “I take it with me everywhere. You know, just in case inspiration strikes.”

“Does it really strike that often?” There was a teasing gleam in her eyes that reminded me of my imaginary Lennie. More like the girl she used to be.

“Depends on the day.”

“But you have a feeling it will strike today, huh?”

What was happening here? Was she flirting? Taking a chance, I stepped closer to her. “Oh, I know it will.”

She backed up, almost running into the glass window behind her. The look on her face was one of discomfort. Maybe I’d misread it. Perhaps I’d taken it too far. I stepped away.

Swallowing hard, she slinked out of reach. “It’s okay. I don’t mind walking alone. Besides, I don’t want to stunt your creativity.”

She was doing it again. Pushing me away.
What was the deal?
Every time it seemed like she was letting down her guard, she quickly threw it back up again. Something scared her, and I wanted desperately to know what it was. But I wouldn’t force myself on her. If she wanted to walk alone, I had to respect that.

However, I still had one more card to play. I only hoped it worked.

“Wait,” I called after her, stopping her before she could get far. “I have something for you.”

She spun around, pointing to her chest with her free hand. “For me?” The wind kicked up, her scarf lifting from her chest. She grabbed it, held it down.

“Yeah.” I unzipped my bag and dipped my hand inside.

“But you didn’t know you’d see me,” she said slowly.

She probably thought I was a stalker. Most likely that was the reason she kept running away. I took a breath. “I know. I um….just had something I thought you might like. It was a coincidence.” I prayed that she bought my lie. Before she could call my bluff and high tail it out of there, I pulled out the book. “It’s one of those books we were talking about the other day - a choose-your-own-ending one.” I flashed it in her direction. “I was just thinking about it after we talked, so I found my old ones. I was reading this one, hoping for inspiration for the ending of my book.”

“Ah.” Her eyes widened. “And did it help?”

“Maybe.” I nodded. “Anyway, I happened to have this with me, and when I ran into you I thought maybe it was fate.” Thrusting it forward, I said, “Like maybe you’re supposed to have it.”

Her hand folded over it, our fingertips brushing lightly. It made me shudder. If she noticed, she didn’t acknowledge it.

“Thanks,” she answered quietly. “You sure you don’t want to keep it?”

“I’m sure.” I nodded.

“But how will you come up with your ending?” The slight teasing was back.

Seriously, this girl was hard to read. It was almost as if she was at odds with herself. As if she were two different people. Like the old Lennie was hidden deep inside fighting the new Lennie for dominance. I wondered what it would take for the old Lennie to win.

“Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out,” I assured her.

She held up the book. “So did you stick to one ending or did you read them all?”

“I stuck to one.”

“Was it a happy one?”

“It was,” I told her honestly.

“Did it convince you to write a happy ending in your novel?”

I waggled my index finger. “No way. I’m not giving away my book that easily. You’ll have to wait.”

A curtain of darkness passed over her eyes. She dropped the book I gave her into the purse hanging from her shoulder. When she looked back up, she winced, lifting her hand to touch her temple.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. I just have a little headache.” She forced a smile, but it came out more like a cringe. “Thanks for the book.”

“I want to hear what ending you choose,” I said.

“What?” I could tell by her expression that she regretted taking it now.

Not allowing her to give it back, I walked toward the coffee shop. “Next time you get coffee, you can tell me what ending you chose.” With a quick wave, I turned around.

“Are you here every day?”

Her words stunned me. Peering over my shoulder, I nodded.

“Okay.” She smiled. “I better get reading then.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I smiled swiftly and then stepped into the coffee shop. Once inside, I blew out a breath.
Did that just happen?
  My heart pounded loudly in my chest. It wasn’t exactly the same as getting her number, or even securing a date with her. But it was something.