Chapter 13
alternative spring break
21 days until i turn 18
“Don’t call me again.”
Will hung up on me.
When I called Drew, he sounded like he was choking on his tears. “I can’t talk to you right now. I really can’t. Bye.”
When I called Brian, no answer.
He quit his job. Because of something I basically forced him into, something I was ready to give up the moment I had feelings for Will. Brian’s right. I am immature. I try calling his cell, but he doesn’t pick up. He’s not on Skype, and he defriended me on Facebook! And after a couple of hours, he doesn’t return any of my emails. It’s after 6:00 p.m., so I open the church directory I stole and find his parents’ address. I Google map directions, and I’m on my bike and pedaling down the road in less than a minute.
At his house, I locate the stairs leading to the apartment above the garage, then lean my bike against a tree. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, take a quick look around the neighborhood to make sure no one sees me, then quietly climb the steps. I knock and knock and knock. I knock until my knuckles feel raw.
“He’s not here,” a man calls out from down below. I recognize him from the Forrest Sanctuary church directory. Mr. Hoffman.
“When will he be back?” I ask.
The man lifts both shoulders. “He went to Birmingham to visit a friend. I’m not sure when he plans to come back. He said he quit his job over at the high school. Any idea why?”
He left without saying good-bye? Without checking to make sure I was okay?
I’m nobody.
My mom left me.
My dad thinks I’m a big fat sinner.
My brother is on another plane of existence.
Drew’s angry with me.
Will…
Nothing. I’m nothing.
“You go to Forrest Sanctuary, right?” Mr. Hoffman asks, narrowing his eyes at me. “David Shelton’s daughter?”
“Yes, sir.” My hands shake.
“Can I give Brian a message?”
“No message.”
I turn and make my way down the steps and climb on my bike before anyone else sees I’m here. I pedal home, where I find Ryan curled up in a ball on the living room couch.
“Hi,” I say to him.
“Yo.” He rests his head on a cushion, not bothering to ask about my face. My tears.
Dad’s sitting in his armchair, reading the Bible. He looks up at me and shakes his head, then goes back to reading. Bags hang under his eyes.
“I wish you hadn’t given up on Veena so quickly,” I tell Dad.
He jerks his head up and finds my eyes. “What happened with Veena is none of your business. I prayed about it.”
“Prayer doesn’t solve everything, Dad. It’s not going to solve Ryan’s problems. Or mine. You had a good thing with Veena, but you’re so damned stubborn, and you have to listen to everything the people at church say. You only gave up because they told you to. I’m sorry you’ll keep on being lonely like this.”
Dad takes off his glasses and runs a hand over his Bible.
I focus on my brother. “And Ryan? I’m feeling shitty. Thanks for asking. And no, I’m not making you dinner tonight. Make it your damned self.”
He doesn’t open his eyes.
I stalk down the hall to my room, and without bothering to put on pajamas, I crawl under my covers and cry, cry, cry. Brian quit his job. Because of me. I might drown in the guilt. Neither Dad nor Ryan knocks on the door. I don’t get any texts. Drew doesn’t come over to read Cosmo with me. Will doesn’t show up by way of a lawnmower.
“Please, God,” I whisper. “Please. Tell me what to do. Please.” I clear my head of all thoughts. I imagine how good it feels to swing at a pitch. To connect. To send a line drive over the second baseman’s head.
God, please.
My cell beeps. I jump. Look at the text from Mom. It reads: I love you. Night.
Suck in air. Hesitate. I can do this. Squinting through my tears, I dial her number. It rings. She picks up.
“Mom,” I cry.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“I need you.”
She sucks in a breath. “I’m leaving now. I can be there in three hours.”
???
Mom wakes me the next morning.
Her light brown hair hangs loosely around her shoulders, and her lips are painted a pale pink. She’s as beautiful as ever, but something’s different. She’s glowing. She’s happy.
“French toast?” she asks, rubbing my shoulder.
I love the smells wafting into my room. Fresh coffee. Eggs. Bacon. “No, thanks,” I reply. I don’t deserve French toast.
“How about you take a shower, and then we’ll get you some breakfast before your game,” Mom says, threading my hair between her fingers.
“I’m not going,” I reply, focusing on her beautiful face. It makes me feel better already. “How’d you know about the game?”
“Your brother told me you’re managing, and I found the schedule on the refrigerator.”
“I didn’t even know he and Dad noticed.”
She pushes hair off my forehead. “Why aren’t you going to the game? I’d love to come with you.”
Thinking of baseball makes me remember Brian and Drew and Will and Laura, and that makes the tears start up again. I cry so hard and for so long Mom has to get a towel from the bathroom because Kleenex isn’t doing the trick. She doesn’t press me, doesn’t do anything but rub my back and kiss my head.
“Did you bring your dog? Annie?” I ask, sniffling.
“She stayed home with Theresa. She’s a real sweet puppy—I hope you’ll come meet her sometime soon.”
“Mom? I’m sorry…for how I’ve acted. For not calling and all.”
For judging you. For not thinking about your feelings.
Mom pats my knee. “No apology needed. I understand. I’m glad you called,” she whispers. “I hate to think of you crying alone. What happened?”
I sniffle. Mucus clogs my throat. “When you hear what I did, you’ll hate me.”
“Impossible. Do you want to get out of the house and go for a walk before the game?”
“I’m quitting managing.”
“You’re no quitter.”
“I already quit softball, you know.”
“So you took a couple seasons off. Nothing wrong with that.”
“You shouldn’t be so forgiving. I’m an awful person.” I let out a sob.
“You’re one of the best people I know, Parker. You’re compassionate and you love so hard.”
“You don’t know me anymore.”
“People don’t change that much. You’re still the same loving Christian girl I’ve always known.”
“How can you care about being a Christian after what happened with church? With what you did?”
“God still loves me,” Mom replies quietly. “And He loves you too.”
“Laura and Brother John said that—”
“Nothing they’ve ever said matters,” Mom interrupts. “All that matters is your personal relationship with God.”
“God hates me,” I whisper, falling onto my pillow.
“I doubt that, but you need to work that out on your own. And no matter what, no matter what you’ve done, I’ll never stop loving you, okay?”
I look up at her. “I love you too.”
“I quit going to church,” Mom admits quietly, averting her eyes.
“Why?”
“I can talk to God while I’m walking the dog or running in the woods just the same as if I’m at church.”
I never thought of it that way. I guess it’s true that I write to God all the time, He just doesn’t listen. Or maybe He is, but He’s telling me what I don’t want to hear. I don’t have to be at church to do that.
“What did Dad say when you showed up?” I ask.
“He said that you’ve been ‘engaging in inappropriate activities with a guy named Corn Fritter.’” Mom laughs silently and shakes her head.
“Corndog. Will Whitfield.”
“Isn’t that the boy who drives you crazy? Always trying to beat you in school?”
“That’s the one.”
“Are you dating him now?”
“No.” Fresh tears stream down my face. Mom pulls me into her arms and rocks me. “I wish I were though.”
“Does he like you back?”
“He did…but I did something stupid. But you can’t tell Dad or anyone,” I mutter.
“I promise I won’t say a thing.”
Mom’s face never changes as I tell her about Brian and Will and Drew, but I can tell she’s upset because she squeezes my hand harder during the bad parts, like how I got myself involved with the coach of the baseball team.
“Did you sleep with him?” she whispers.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“We should get you a doctor’s appointment anyway. You’re old enough that you need to go.”
“Okay.”
“We should probably get you on birth control too.”
Holy embarrassment. “I won’t be needing it.”
“You should be prepared, just in case. I was seventeen once.” Mom’s mouth twitches in amusement, then goes back to sadness. “And you’re sure Dr. Salter isn’t planning a formal investigation?”
“He said he wouldn’t if Brian resigned. It’s all my fault.” The tears won’t stop. If I hadn’t pursued Brian like I did…
“I’ll call Dr. Salter here in a bit to make sure nothing will fall back on you. Brian is an adult and should’ve known better.” Mom clutches my hand. “He shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. This isn’t all your fault, okay?”
“I messed everything up,” I cry. “I lost Drew.”
“So Drew is angry with you because of Will?”
“Right. But I’m mad at him too. He wouldn’t even listen to me.”
“I’m gonna tell you something that took me forty-two years to figure out.” She traces the spiral pattern on my duvet. “Sometimes you gotta do what’s right for you and forget about everybody else. All that matters is what you want. What you need.”
What I had wanted was Brian, and look how that turned out. “That doesn’t seem very Christian-like.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But you only live once, and if something feels right to you and you want it, you should go after it.”
“Is that why you left us?” I cry. If she hadn’t left, things would be okay. Maybe Will and I would’ve fallen in love.
“I never meant to hurt you,” Mom replies, sounding so sad. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t done what I did, because losing you was the worst punishment possible.” Her eyes close.
Mom did what she felt was right for her. Maybe it’s about knowing what you want and going after it––and being willing to pay the consequences when everyone else thinks it’s wrong.
“You didn’t lose me,” I say, hugging her as tightly as I can. And if God’s watching us, maybe he’s saying, Sure, a bunch of shit had to happen, but a mother and daughter are back together. A mother can love her daughter even if she’s been sinning like it’s going out of style. A daughter can love her mother even if she acted selfishly.
“I hurt Will so bad,” I mumble, rubbing my face. It stings.
She pauses for a long moment. “Do you like him a lot?”
It felt like more than like. Something more, something real. Something like love. But now it’s gone.
???
After I told Mom about Ryan’s trip to the ER and what’s been happening with him, her face went white, her eyes glossed over, and she stalked off to find Dad. They’ve spent a good hour talking in the dining room, using hushed voices. Ryan and I are sitting in the living room, trying to eavesdrop, pretending to watch TV, glancing at each other from time to time.
I miss Ryan. I wish he had noticed I disappeared with Brian, and had come to save me like that time I got lost at Opryland when I wanted to drive a Tin Lizzie. Ever since Mom left us, I’ve cooked his meals. I’ve done his laundry. He needed me to rescue him, while I kept waiting on him to save me again.
“You should’ve called me!” Mom says to Dad, and I see my brother cringe. He shuts his eyes. He never meant for this to happen, I know he didn’t. Like me, he didn’t know how to deal. He couldn’t get the perfection back. So he changed for the worse. We both did.
I move from the love seat to the sofa where Ryan’s sitting and wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder. He rubs my back and presses his face against my hair.
???
Nobody talks to me at school on Monday.
Everybody’s too busy talking about me.
As if I don’t feel guilty enough.
When I walk through the hall between classes, I hear my name. Brian’s name.
“I heard she was sleeping with him,” says a younger guy I don’t know.
“Laura caught them doing it in the equipment shed!” says another.
“We lost our coach because of her,” Paul says to Jake Sanders. “I can’t believe we’re stuck with the damned music teacher the rest of the season.”
“She’ll mess around with anybody,” Matt Higgins tells Kristen Markum.
Dr. Salter calls me to his office after third period. He’s playing with his paperweight again. “I’ve asked the faculty not to discuss Coach Hoffman’s resignation with the students, but I’ve been hearing rumors all morning. Do you want to speak with the guidance counselor?”
“No, thank you,” I tell him, bowing my head.
“I don’t have any evidence anything actually happened…but I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, quietly.
“I hope this dies down before graduation. I’d hate to have these rumors be the focus of graduation, rather than your valedictory speech and the other students’ accomplishments.”
When I peek up at his face, he swallows and looks out the window.
At lunchtime, I take a deep breath, and dragging my fingers across the white concrete walls, I head toward the cafeteria. I push the double doors open to find Will and Drew sitting together. I slowly walk to their table.
“I’m really sorry,” I whisper.
Will scrunches his forehead, stands, and leaves the cafeteria without saying a word, abandoning his sandwich, chips, and apple.
I sit down across from Drew. He’s still here. I hope that means he’s willing to forgive me. Or at least let me explain that nothing was happening with Will.
“Drew,” I say quietly. “I realize I’ve hurt you, but I need you to know I didn’t hook up with Will. I swear I didn’t.”
He starts tearing up his paper napkin. “I’m just glad I didn’t tell you that Corndog was interested in you.”
I close my mouth to swallow. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”
“Does that mean you liked him back?”
“Don’t my feelings matter as much as yours?” Just because he came out, I’m supposed to ignore everything I feel for Will? Is that what true friends do to each other? I touch my throat. “I wish I’d known he liked me.”
“But you had Coach Hoffman. You would’ve just hurt Corndog. Like you’d hurt our other friends.”
So this is what friendship is?
I thought friends gave you the benefit of the doubt. I thought friends stayed beside you through everything. I stayed beside Drew. At least I think I did. At least I tried. He’s acting like Laura did.
“I’m sorry I hurt you and your friends,” I say honestly. I stand up. “I’ll see you around,” I tell him.
I move to leave the cafeteria, wondering if Drew will blurt, “Wait.”
But he doesn’t.
I chose not to act on a relationship with Will for him. I wish Drew could’ve listened. I’m okay. It’ll be okay. I’m panting. I lean up against the wall next to the gym, shutting my eyes.
That’s when I decide to make Spring Break plans. To begin to try to heal from this mess, if healing’s even possible.
???
Dad is way old-fashioned, so when I was growing up, he never wanted Mom to work a job. He wanted to make ends meet so she could stay home with Ryan and me, to drive us to tee-ball practice and to piano lessons, to help us with our homework after school. To cart us to teeth cleanings.
Up until this year, Ryan and I were pretty great, and we’ve always had excellent grades, so Dad did us right by asking her to be a homemaker. But I always knew Mom was itching for a job.
She loves gardening. Our front yard won the Franklin Beautification Award six years in a row, thanks to Mom’s hedges and rose bushes. She wanted to learn topiary design but never got around to it because she was chauffeuring me to softball game after softball game.
I was so excited to find out that Mom recently got a job at a florist. It doesn’t pay much, but she loves getting her hands dirty. The store’s sales have skyrocketed since she started designing bouquets.
Mom and Theresa bought a place in Oldham, Tennessee, a tiny town smack dab in the middle of the Great Smoky Mountains. It’s a close drive to Pigeon Forge, home of Dolly Parton and a buttload of outlet malls. It’s also near Gatlinburg, where there’s ice skating and great skiing. The cabin smells of cedar, and Mom made me a room here, with a cast iron twin bed and a shelf full of books.
She follows in behind me, carrying a short stack of towels. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll cook and clean—all you have to do is relax.”
“Thanks,” I say with a nod. I give her a hug, and it feels better than being in any boy’s arms. “Where’s Theresa?”
“She went to visit her sister this week. I wanted some time to hang out with just you.”
I bite back my smile. “I’m glad. Not that I don’t like Theresa. Um—”
Mom waves a hand. “It’s fine.”
Annie the labradoodle follows me around as I check out the bathroom, kitchen, and dining room. I skip Mom’s bedroom, because I’m not ready for that yet.
Mom steams some vegetables and grills chicken for dinner. We sit on the back porch overlooking the mountains to eat. Annie lies across my feet. I cut my chicken breast in half and pick at it, and Mom comments that I’ve lost a lot of weight.
I nod, avoiding her eyes, and eat a bigger piece of chicken. I decide to change the subject. “Did you always know?” I ask, popping a carrot in my mouth.
“Know what?” she asks.
“That you were different. That you didn’t love Dad.”
She chews and wipes her mouth. She stares straight ahead at the mountains. “I love your father. But yes, I think I’ve known for a long time. You need to understand that I was raised to believe I needed to marry a man, raise a family, and go to church.”
“That’s how I was raised.”
Mom squeezes my hand. “And I’m telling you now that you should do whatever you want to do.”
“That doesn’t sound Christian. I want God to love me again.”
“God does love you, sweetie. What I’m saying is, is if you want to be a Christian and have a relationship with God, you can do that. You have free will.”
“Isn’t there such a thing as too much free will? I shouldn’t have gone after Brian. And look at Ryan.”
“What happened with Brian is not your fault, understand? He’s an adult.” Mom’s face goes hard. Sad. “And I don’t want you to worry about your brother right now, okay? It’s up to me and your father to help him. I know you care about him, but you’re seventeen and have so many exciting things to look forward to. Graduation. Prom.”
That’s not technically true. I can’t think of anything to look forward to. I lost Will. I lost Drew. Brian left me and didn’t look back. I have no friends.
“How did you meet Dad, anyway?” I ask, spearing a piece of broccoli with my fork.
She smiles and sips her water. “I met him on the first day of college. We lived in the same dorm, on the same floor. He helped me carry my boxes up three flights of stairs.”
“Then you got together?”
“Heavens, no. We were best friends for two years before he asked me out on a date, and he asked me to marry him senior year.”
“But something felt off?”
Mom bows her head to think. “Your father and I should’ve stayed best friends instead of getting together. I still consider him my best friend now, even though I’ve hurt him so much I’m worried he’ll never forgive me. I wish I had known back then that I had options. But my parents loved him. They still do. I thought marrying him would be enough for me.”
I love the idea of having options and doing whatever I want, but do I have the courage?
The next morning while Mom takes a nap, when we should be at church, Annie and I run down a patchy dirt trail and through thick trees and alongside yellow daisies. I inhale the outdoors. Being out here in peace almost lets me forget about Will. I stop at a country market, where a little bell jingles against the glass door. I buy a bottle of diet lemonade, then walk back into the woods, sit down on a log, hug Annie’s neck, and listen to a waterfall beating down on rocks.
“Pretty dog,” I say, scratching her back. She pants and barks at a cardinal.
I pull the romance novel I brought out of my back pocket and settle in to read about lords and servants and corsets. This one duke guy is sleeping with the maid, but he can’t marry her because she’s the help, and aristocracy isn’t allowed to have relations with the servant class, but no one knows she’s really the Duchess of York or something. I hope she’ll admit her heritage so they can get it on and have a legal marriage and all that jazz.
Annie rests her chin on my thigh, and I turn page after page, reading, but I can’t stop thinking of Will. In these novels, all the problems could be solved if characters would talk to each other. I pull out my cell and send Will a text: I’m staying with my mom for Spring Break. Maybe we can talk when I get back? I miss you.
I sit on that log and finish the novel. The duke and the duchess end up together (obviously—the key to any good romance is a happy ending), but Will never texts back.
Dear God, I think, Please…will you give my story a happy ending?
I don’t deserve a happy ending with Will after I used him to save Brian. To save me. But why hasn’t he told Drew the truth? Have they talked about it?
I grab Annie’s leash and trudge back to the cabin. Thinking of Will sucks, and it makes my eyes sting, but I’m okay. I like being outside with the dog. Maybe at college, I’ll study to become a vet. I’d work hard for that. Annie looks up at me and barks, and I’m glad that she likes me.
At Mom’s cabin, before I put the romance novel back on the shelf, I study the cover, the duchess’s sweeping blue gown. I want to wear Mom’s white dress to prom, regardless if I have a date or not. My cell rings, and I pray it’s Will calling to forgive me, or Brian calling to check on me, to find out if I’m okay. To tell me he’s okay.
But it’s Tate.
“I missed you today at church,” he says.
“I’m spending some time with my mom.”
We chitchat until he asks, “Have you talked to Drew lately? He stopped answering my texts and emails.” Tate sounds so sad.
“I messed up bad,” I say, and explain everything that happened with Brian, Will, and Drew.
“You didn’t mess up bad. Sometimes things happen,” he replies. “People make mistakes.”
“I don’t understand why Drew’s acting like this. Why won’t he talk to you?”
Tate says, “It’s a hard thing—explaining to everyone who you really are. I’ve only told a couple of people.” We stay silent for a bit before he speaks again. “Frankly, I think it’s kinda hot you seduced an older man. Can I have one, please?”
I giggle, then go quiet. I stare down at the blue gown on the book cover and think about how much I want to wear my white dress. Maybe this is a chance for me to do what Mom said. Take care of myself. Do something for me.
“Hey, Tate?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you go to prom with me?”
???
Since Mom’s still at the florist, I root around in the basement for more romance novels or a deck of cards, to play a game of Solitaire. It’s Thursday of Spring Break, and nobody except for Dad and Tate has called. I’m so bored, I might borrow Mom’s bike and try to find a movie theater. The nearest one is probably twenty miles away. I drag my finger over piles of board games and nonfiction books and baskets of linens. That’s when I see it.
Mom’s glove.
Her old softball mitt is sitting on a shelf next to a dusty vase. I hesitantly pick up the glove and slip my hand inside. I hunt around for a softball and find one behind a box of CDs. I pull a deep breath and start pounding the ball into the glove, loving the release, loving the energy whipping through my muscles. I rush up the stairs, taking two at a time, and jog out into the front yard. Giving Mom’s tulip beds a wide berth, I throw the ball up into the air as high as it will go, then catch it. I do this over and over again. It never gets old.
Mom’s car pulls into the driveway right when the sun begins to set.
“You didn’t happen to bring your glove?” Mom asks as she steps out of the car.
“No.”
She slides her tote bag onto her shoulder and comes to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I’ve missed her doing that so much. “That’s too bad. We could’ve played catch.”
“Next time.” I smile at her, but it’s a pained smile. I wish I hadn’t quit the team last year. I wish I hadn’t let my former friends influence everything I did. I wish I had understood that people will always interpret my actions in different ways.
“There are public batting cages not too far from here,” Mom says, pulling her glove off my hand. She slips her hand into it and pounds a fist against the pocket. “You pay for rounds of balls. It’s fun—I go there sometimes.”
“By yourself?”
“Yup.” She beams. “Sometimes I even bat on the Major League Baseball setting. The balls come at you at 90 miles per hour.”
My mouth falls open. “How many have you hit? Balls going at 90 miles per hour, I mean.”
“A couple.” She laughs softly and brushes her hair over her shoulder. “I usually out-bat the men who go there. It makes them all upset. And then they hit on me.”
I grin. “Let’s go.”
“Let me change into sweats.”
We hit ten rounds of balls apiece, blowing way too much money. I even try the MLB setting, but I only manage a foul-tip. I’m proud of it, though, considering how rusty I am.
Then Mom and I go out to this healthy buffet she likes, where we build giant salads full of tomatoes and squash and avocado to take home to eat in front of the TV. And for the first time in over a year, I watch a Braves game.
???
Dear Lord,
On Monday morning, when I get back to school, I’m going to talk to Coach Burns and Dr. Salter. I want to see if they’ll give me another chance to play softball this year. I pray you’ll be there with me when I ask. I know that being on a team means acting like a team player, which I haven’t been this year. I’m the last person who deserves to play softball. But I want to. I want to try. And I hope I can help the team win some games.
Thanks for the great Spring Break.
Written on March 19 while overlooking the Great Smoky Mountains. Burned using a candle.