For You (17 page)

They'd fight about anything, from the dirty flip-flops Terry wore absolutely everywhere but to work, to the way my mother would have the radio and the television going at the same time, in different rooms. Terry worked at a bank, in mortgage lending. He had a good job that supported us. With skinny shoulders and a big overbite, he wasn't any woman's idea of a dream man, but he was beautiful to me, because he welcomed me into his nice home and never made me feel like I didn't deserve a decent life.

One day, not long before the baby was born, he took me for a long drive to get ice cream. He told me that no matter what happened in the future, he thought of me as family, and I could ask him if I needed anything at all. That was when I knew things weren't going to work out for us.

My mother had the baby and we left Terry with a broken heart and the hospital bill. The last we heard from him, he was trying to get a paternity test done, but my mother wouldn't cooperate. We moved out of state, with no forwarding address, and that was the end of Terry.

Bell had skinny shoulders, like Terry, but they suited her, and she was lucky she didn't get his overbite. Poor Terry.

Now I was in another country, and as I sat on the cream sofa across from Natalie, who perched on her coordinating plum-colored chair, I realized Terry kept living his life after we left. He wasn't one of those prehistoric insects trapped in amber the moment we left. He might have gotten a new girlfriend, and perhaps Bell had some half-siblings she'd never know.

Natalie asked me a question, but I had to ask her to repeat herself.

She said, “How old were you when you got pregnant?”

I had to quickly work backwards. I'd been telling people I was twenty-five, four years older than reality, so that would have made me eighteen when I had Bell, and seventeen when I got pregnant.

“Nearly eighteen,” I said. “It was scary, but her father had a good job at a bank, so we got married and had her.”

“But then?”

I reached down and pulled off my lie of a wedding band. “I mostly wear this to keep guys from asking questions. The truth is, I haven't seen Bell's father in a very long time.”

“Don't let me stop you from wearing that ring.” She held up her left hand, wiggling her fingers. “People started giving me way more respect once I got one of these. Oh, the men completely stopped looking in that other way, but I get great service in stores.” She grinned. “Another thing they don't tell you about life as a woman in our culture.”

I cocked my head, that alarm in my head going off to alert me that Bell was being too quiet. What trouble was she getting into? Then I heard peals of laughter. I still couldn't let go of my tense muscles, though, and the feeling something bad was about to happen.

I used to think a lie was a one-time thing, like an egg cracked against the edge of a pan, but a lie is more like a piece of string that you have to keep tying knots in so everything doesn't come undone.

We had a big dinner at Natalie's house, and I met her husband, Dave. He ran a landscaping company, putting in lawns and trees for new housing developments. Dave had a whole lot of ideas about the real estate market, based on the things he was seeing. I found out the house we were in was the fifth one they'd owned. He mentioned some other investments that were about to pay off, and plans to buy an even better house, but I could spot the lies. His face went blank when he said things that weren't true. He practically looked dead when he said the decision to sell their current house had been Natalie's idea.

She handed me the bowl of Caesar salad and gave me a wide-eyed look to confirm that he was bluffing.

After dinner, Natalie drove us home, and she got out of the truck so she could give us both a hug goodbye. She had insisted on giving us the small television from her daughter's room, further insisting that I think of it as a loan rather than a gift, and give it back any time. I could see by the look in Bell's eyes that she'd never let it go. I cradled the television in one arm and held Bell's hand with the other.

The sun hadn't set yet, and we were bathed in a warm, golden glow. Briefly, it was one of those perfect moments, the stillness after a big meal and togetherness.

Over by the entrance to my building, the wannabe-gangster kids were hanging out, smoking what smelled like pot.

As Bell and I approached the door, they cleared out of the way and kept a respectful distance. Though he wasn't with me, I felt Sawyer's protective presence.

The kids glared at me silently. I kept expecting something bad to happen, like for them to throw something at me or try to take the little television. I kept my body between them and Bell, but nothing happened.

Back up inside the apartment, I set the television on the coffee table, and as Bell danced around, I caught my breath. My heart raced from the stairs plus my nervousness about seeing the kids.

My cell phone started ringing with a call from an unknown number. I answered, sure it was a wrong number.

“Did you just get home?”

Sawyer Jones.
So he had gotten my number.

Warily, I answered, “I did just get home. Why do you ask?”

“Don't freak out, but I was riding past your building to see if those little shitheads were hanging around the front door. I know your place isn't on the way to my house, so I'm not going to lie. I was driving by… because I just was.”

I went to the window and looked out. Our unit was on the corner, and one side looked down onto the front street. “I see you.”

He waved up at me, leaning against his bike, his helmet taken off. “Now I know what apartment you're in. I got turned around last time I was here, and wasn't sure if you were in that one on the corner. Now I'm going to have to drive by accidentally-on-purpose and see if your light is on or not. Do you think that qualifies as stalking?”

I leaned my forehead against the glass, wishing I could see the expression on his face, but he was too far away. “I don't mind if you check in on me a bit.”

“I think I saw your daughter. Was that you just now, with a television in your arms?”

“That was us. I made a friend through Bell. Well, she made a friend, and I met her mother, and they loaned us a television.”

“Friends are good. Am I your friend?”

I didn't know how to answer that—didn't like that he was asking—so I said nothing.

The phone beeped to warn me the battery was low, then Sawyer said, “I wish you could come down, so we could go for a ride.”

“Gotta give the kid her bath and get her ready for bed, but she's already got the TV plugged in, so… good luck to me with that.”

“What's the bath thing all about, anyway? Why don't little kids have showers in the morning before school, like regular people?”

“It calms them down before bed. You should try it sometime.”

He ran his hand over his hair, turned to look behind him, then back up at me in the window. “I already know what calms me down before bed.”

The sexy gravel in his voice sent a shiver through me.

My phone beeped again, its final warning. “My battery's about to die.”

“So, are you going to invite me up or not?”

“Not tonight,” I said.

I didn't get his last words, because the phone completely shut down.

Down below on the street, Sawyer shook his phone and jokingly pretended to throw it away, across the road into the trees. Then he stood still and stared up at me. I waved goodbye. He gave me a quick wave, then put on his helmet and disappeared into the night.

I stood at the window for a long time, even though Bell was squealing for my attention. Why hadn't I asked him to come up? Then he'd be inside the apartment with me, and not red taillights streaking away under an orange sky.

My chest ached with loss. If he'd called me from his house, it wouldn't have been so sad, but he'd been right here, and now he wasn't.

Bell probably wouldn't have minded him coming up. She was outgoing, and every new grown-up was just a friend she hadn't met. She was more cautious around kids her age, but now she had a friend in Taylor. Taylor seemed like a normal, sweet kid, and I could imagine the two of them being friends for life.

What would that feel like, to have a best friend? Natalie had opened up to me so quickly, as though she'd never been let down before—as if the simple willingness to become friends was all it took.

Natalie wouldn't want to be friends with me if she knew I snooped in her medicine cabinet when we were at dinner, or that I'd stole from her jar of expensive-looking eye treatment. It was the stuff that came in individual gelatin capsules. I hadn't put it under my eyes, but stood at her sink and squeezed a gold capsule between my fingers. Gently first, and then harder. I squeezed until the capsule burst open, and then I washed the gel away under the hot water, until nothing was left.

Why had I done something like this? I couldn't explain it. When I was not much older than Bell, something happened while grocery shopping with my mother. One day after my mother had yelled at me about something, an idea came to me from nowhere. It was a familiar-feeling idea, whispering in my ear like something I'd always known. I wandered off from her and found the cleaning products aisle, and then I found a nice row, six across, of plastic bleach bottles. The bottles were blue, and the label had a rainbow that made me angry. My mother had called me bad names, and I felt myself being the things she said I was. One by one, I unscrewed the caps on the bleach bottles and removed the protective seals, then put the caps back on, tight enough that the caps wouldn't fall off, but loose enough that the contents would leak if they tipped over.

There was a darkness inside me, a destructive force. My mother could see it, which was why she hated me. This darkness convinced me that if someone picked up a bottle of bleach and spilled some on their clothes, it would be fair. That bad things only happened to people who deserved what they got.

I was in bed that night, treading water near that waterfall edge of sleep, when my cell phone beeped with an incoming text message.

Ever since I'd gotten the phone, I'd had more wrong numbers than right, so I rolled out of bed with a groan, because the phone would just keep beeping until I checked or it died.

The text was from Sawyer, and read:
How was bath time?

Me:
A few tears. Shampoo in the eyes.

Sawyer:
That's always my excuse when I cry
.

I grinned at his text and jumped back into bed, cradling the phone in my hand. I had never understood why people enjoyed texting so much, but as I read Sawyer's joke, I imagined his voice and face a bunch of different ways, from serious to corny.

Me: :-)

Sawyer:
Holy shitballs! Are you saying I made you smile?

Me:
It wasn't quite LOL but close.

Sawyer:
I have the whole day off tomorrow
.

Me: …

Sawyer:
And I talked to Bruce so of course I know you have the day off. What I am trying to say is we should go to the beach and make sand castles
.

I set the phone down and pushed it away from me. I lay back, facing the ceiling in the dark, ignoring my phone as it beeped again. We'd had two sorta-dates already, and they hadn't gone so well. The first time, he'd tried to kiss me, and then he'd gone cold when I didn't let him. The second time, we'd nearly had full-on sex, but then got into that argument over my neighbor kid. Things were definitely headed somewhere, and it promised to be dramatic.

The phone beeped again, so I grabbed it.

Sawyer:
Hellooooo?

Sawyer:
Battery died again?

Sawyer:
I'll just swing by and pick you up at ten tomorrow morning
.

The phone beeped again in my hand, and I made a startled noise.

Sawyer:
I'll be there at ten, so just text me and say yes.

Me:
Yes. Ten sounds fine.

Sawyer:
Good. I hate it when you ask out a cute girl and she makes some dumb excuse instead of just telling you you're despicable.

Me:
I'm in bed.

Sawyer:
Well, that escalated quickly! We're already in the sexting phase?