Effortless With You (10 page)

“Good morning,” Justin says as I open the passenger door and shove my stuffed bag under the seat. Justin snickers. “I see someone decided to come prepared.”

“Better than not.”

“Like the other day?”

“You could have given me more of a warning of what to expect.”

Justin puts the car in reverse. “Hey, I offered you help. You didn’t want it.”

“But you knew that would happen, didn’t you?”

“I hoped not. I was banking on you listening to Alex.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “But you’re more stubborn than I thought.”

I purse my lips. “I wasn’t stubborn. I was thirsty. You can survive for a month without food but only a few days without water.” He laughs at me. My fingers clench. “I’m serious.”

He waves my comment away. “Well, despite your survival facts, Alex should have stopped you.”

“To his credit, Alex tried. He did.”

Justin shrugs and pulls onto the exit for the Cross-Town Highway.

“We aren’t going back to the yellow house?”

“Nope. We finished it yesterday. Starting a big project today, an association of homes. We’ll be based out there for a month or so.”

“Where is out there?”

“Minnetonka. About a fifty-minute drive.”

Forty-six minutes to go.

“Get comfortable.” Justin turns on the radio to some news station. The news is growing on me and it keeps Justin silent. He’s much more tolerable that way.

I zone out, watching the people in the cars next to us, all rushing. A man passes us on the right talking on his Bluetooth, already working for the day. A woman applies lipstick and sings while driving a red minivan that looks like an opossum, hood slanted like a nose to the ground. Toys litter her backseat. She seems happy to be having the drive alone.

Mom got rid of our minivan when I started on the high school basketball team. She called the van her “Tween Bus.” Filled with middle school girls, lip gloss, magazines, iPods, basketball bags, lotions, and ribbons, it earned its name. The van was old, with bench seats and no CD player, which is exactly why Mom bought it. She couldn’t handle our chatter and music. I guess I can’t blame her for that.

My heart aches. I really miss those girls. I drifted away during freshman year. I didn’t want to have to answer their questions—they were too good at asking them. I stopped answering phone calls and stood them up for our basketball dates. Eventually, the calls stopped coming. Instead of talking on the phone, I sat alone in my room and cried. What did I expect, them to rescue me? No one could rescue me from that situation ... except for Marissa, and she did.

No. I don’t need to feel lost today. What I need is confidence, dignity, and the ability to not fall flat on my face. I scroll through my iPod, skipping Marissa-made playlists and select Mozart. I crank the volume down, the perfect background track. He seems to fit the weather and general vibe of the day.

I peek at Justin, who sits back relaxed, attentively listening to the newscast. I wouldn’t have pinned him as an NPR listener. He hasn’t shaved this morning so his extra-thick stubble highlights his square jaw. My stomach flips in a girly way, and I make myself focus on the windshield. Okay. So what? He's gorgeous but still a jerk. I shift my eyes toward the clock, thirty more minutes, and then close them to rest.

NPR features two doctors and two nutritionists debating the Gluten Disease. I peek at Justin who’s strumming his fingers on the steering wheel, like this is a really great song. The NPR mediator takes a brief break and switches to a commercial. A frail voice cracks through the speakers. “I want to be a football player. Not have leukemia.” Another voice adds, “I was a ballerina … until leukemia.” Soft music begins to play, making my heart ache. Crap. I’m such a softie for these advertisements. I wait it out, listening to the celebrity call for action to help Children’s Leukemia Research. I thumb my phone, feeling guilty. But it’s not like I even have a credit card to give anything with. Heck, if I gave money every time I felt moved, my parents would be broke.

Justin, on the other hand, grabs his phone off the center console and scrolls through his contacts, pushing SEND.

Ha. He hadn’t even noticed the commercial. He’s probably calling Jennifer, arranging a hot date for the night. How insensitive! Not that I was planning to call in, but still.

“Kate, hey!” Justin’s voice is smooth. “Great to hear your voice again too.” He pauses, scratching that fabulous stubble. “Naw. I don’t want to go on air in Phoenix. Just put me down for the usual.”

On air?

The NPR mediator returns, announcing the next segment, a live research conference on Children’s Leukemia Research from Phoenix.

Holy crap.

He’s donating!

“We should definitely catch up. When are you in town again?” He motions for me to open the glove box. He points and smiles at a small black notebook and pen. I hand it back. Seriously? Is he always this prepared?

“A month? Great. I’d love to help. What’s your cell?” He jots her name and number across his pad. “Fantastic. Thanks for the opportunity. You’ve got my number?”

Stupid question. Of course she does. He’s freakin’ Justin Marshall.

“Sounds good. Have a good one,” he says before hanging up.

That short conversation adds a whole new dimension to Justin. He’s a regular donator. But why? How?

He hands the notebook back to me. “Thanks.”

As I place it back in the glove box, a political advertisement for his dad catches on my finger. Ahh, right.

“So? Are you commissioned to donate to research facilities on behalf of your dad’s campaign or something?” The question flies from my mouth before I can stop it. Horrible, rude. But then again, it is Justin. It’s not like he hasn’t ever been blunt with me.

Justin’s green eyes snag my breath with their intensity. “No,” he says. “I donate my own money and time to leukemia research.”

“Are you prepping for your own run for senate soon?” This all makes sense. A future politician. He’s smart, keeping his record clean. Already building a foundation.

“Ah, I see you have me all figured out.”

“Pretty much. It’s not a bad thing to be so transparent though. I’m sure you’ll make a great senator someday.”

“Do I have your vote?”

Ha. “Probably not.”

“I didn’t think so,” he says with a slight smile. “I’ll have to change that, huh?”

“Good luck trying.”

Justin nods as he switches into the right-hand lane, before slowly pulling off to the shoulder of the road and throwing on his hazard lights.

“You better not be giving me a campaign speech or something. I’m locked in here. Totally not fair.”

His green eyes find mine again. “Lucy, what do you know about my family?”

“Why are we on the side of the road?”

“Just answer the question.”

I sigh, debating how much it’s appropriate for me to reveal. From Marissa’s obsession, I already know far too much. “Well, your dad’s running for governor. Your mom runs charities.” He nods along. “Doesn’t your sister have a home design business or something?”

“Sort of. Fashion, actually.”

“Right. You kind of have the perfect family.” It's true. Everyone knows it.

“We all love each other and aren’t afraid to show it.” His words fall gently.

“You’re lucky.” Bitterness bites on my tongue as my stomach clenches. My family dynamics are so far from that.

“Yeah, well, tragedy brings a family together.”

I swallow. “What happened?” My stomach tightens. I can’t believe I asked that.

He nods to the radio. “My older brother, Jackson, died from leukemia when I was four. He was seven. I was his bone-marrow donor. I gave it twice. … It never took.”

My hand flies over my mouth. I’m such an ass. Here he’s been being real, and I’ve been a total jerk. I reach out and touch his arm. “I’m sorry for your loss and that that happened to your family.”

Justin blinks the redness away. “Yeah, well, our family doesn’t really advertise it. We give quietly. It’s not that we aren’t proud or wanting to keep the memory of Jackson alive. It’s just our thing that the media doesn’t need to know about.” He smiles at me, but not his fake smile. It's real, relaxed.

“You must think I’m horrible, assuming you donated for political gain.”

“It’s an interesting insight.” He glances down at my hand still resting on his arm. Oh, right. I pull it back as he says, “You never know what the future may hold. But, preferably, I’ll go into the business of medical research.” He shifts the truck into drive and pulls back onto the highway.

Silence hangs between us. It sucks. This is the first time I’ve ever wanted Justin to speak to me and I’ve given him every reason to close up. I take a deep breath. He’s got to at least know I care.

“I really am sorry about your brother.”

He nods. “Thanks. That means a lot. It’s alright though. I’ll see him again someday.” His confidence surprises me. I don’t know any guy who talks about faith so frankly. “In the meantime, I’ve got my sister and my parents. We’re lucky.” He pulls back onto the highway. “Tell me about your family.”

I freeze, not knowing what to say. My relationship with my parents isn’t like his. He wouldn’t understand it. I mean, how am I supposed to complain about Mom controlling my life when he has such a different perspective?

Justin watches me. “That’s okay. We’ve got the whole summer.”

I shrug.

“So, what’s it like dating Zach?” He asks instead. “I bet you’ve never felt so appreciated.” His sarcasm can’t be missed.

“Seriously, you follow up your story with that?”

“Aw, come on. It’s got to be awesome to listen to him talk about his lacrosse stick constantly.” He snickers at his implication.

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s Zach. I don’t care what you think, kid. But it’s like that.”

I actually huff. Kid? My blood pressure rises. I want to throw my iPod at his face. “Thanks,” I say with as much confidence as I can fake.

“For what?”

“For reminding me why I despise you.”

He chuckles while I reach over to turn on the radio, flipping it to my favorite music station. I turn the volume up and settle back into my seat. I can feel his eyes on me. He chuckles again.

I hate that chuckle.

Justin relents, leaving me to my thoughts and my top-40 music.

Lacrosse stick.

No. Zach isn’t like that. He likes to make out but he never hinted at more than that. My legs grow antsy. Is he hoping for it, though? He's a year older than me. Maybe that's his goal? A hole carves out in my stomach.

Marissa lost her virginity on a beach during spring break in Panama City. She kept saying how fun it was to fool around and that it’s essential to do before seventeen. “A girl needs experience before she finds
the one
so she can do it right.” I totally agreed at the time. But now that hole has doubled into a huge pit. She’d made it sound so casual and free.

Can I do that with Zach? Immediately I taste bile in the back of my throat. I swallow it.

No. That’s something I can never give him. I'm not ready for it. I couldn’t be that girl even if I tried. I sigh and Justin glances my way. I sink down in my seat.

My face heats. Not even in theory am I ready for sex.

***

The universe is kind to me. My first few days back on the job are uneventful. I manage to stay on my feet and the ladder. Alex welcomes me like an eager younger brother, claiming me as his partner for the entire project at the association.

The association is larger than I’d expected. Seventeen single-family homes with extensive landscaping strategically positioned around a community pool, park, and tennis court. Alex explains that these homes are considered a pioneer in home associations in the Twin Cities. Each home is at least three thousand square feet and, unlike the association where I live, each home’s exterior and floor plan are completely unique.

BMWs, Porsches, and Escalades decorate many of the driveways. Luxury living. I picture myself spilling a bucket of paint in one of the beautifully landscaped gardens below. My lack of gracefulness does not accompany “luxury” well.

Thankfully, we don’t start with paint. Alex scores one of the power washers and some scrapers to restart my education. He meticulously shows me how to power wash and follow up with the scraper, scraping away any loose paint that the wash did not remove. Once I am proclaimed proficient, Alex leads us in a rotation between power washing and scraping so our arms won’t get too tired and we won’t get too bored.

I enjoy power washing. Blasting away old paint is as satisfying as picking off nail polish. I love the loud, constant hum from the air-compressor supply. It leaves me alone with my thoughts and sometimes, when I'm lucky, the sound will take them away as well. Whenever I get tired, I play the
William Tell
Overture. It may as well be a power-washing anthem. I forgot how much I enjoy classical music. The songs used to be part of my morning pre-game ritual. They relax me like nothing else.

Alex and I prep ten houses in three days. At the end of each day, I climb back into Justin’s truck and pull my hat down over my eyes. Justin, as exhausted as I am, seems to get my message and leaves me to myself on the drive home. He listens to ethereal rock music that’s strangely beautiful and always lulls me to sleep. It seems that as long as I work hard, Justin is willing to leave me alone. After two pleasant drives, I start to hope that maybe Justin is finally done bothering me and we can maintain this casual, professional relationship.

It isn’t until the third night when I finally collapse into bed that I have a nagging feeling of disappointment. I toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position. I'm exhausted. Why can’t I fall asleep?

The disappointment answers me. Isn’t the real question why isn’t Justin being annoying anymore?

Justin hadn’t done anything on the drive that morning to bother me, other than occasionally glancing my way. I turn to the window, looking out at the tree I climbed down just two weeks before. Am I not interesting to him anymore? My heart sinks deep into my chest, hiding away.