“It's just a stupid ceremony,” I protested.
“No. It's more than that, because it means something to you. It's something you've earned and no one can take it away from you. This journey hasn't been an easy one for you, and you deserve this moment, maybe more than any student out there.” Wilson pointed toward the football field that lay beyond the walls of the cafeteria.
“Nobody will miss me. I don't have anyone out there waiting to see me walk across the stage.”
“I'll be there, and I'll clap and holler and yell your name.”
“If you do, I'll kick your ass!” I snapped, horrified.
Wilson busted out laughing. “There's the girl I know.” He pointed to my cap and gown. “Let's go.”
I ended up attending my graduation ceremony after all. Turns out, I hadn't missed much. I walked out onto the field, Wilson by my side. I held myself stiffly and didn't hurry, and I made my way to my empty seat without flinching, although heads were swiveling right and left. Wilson sat with the row of teachers and true to his word, whistled and yelled when my name was called. I have to admit I kind of liked it, and my classmates and the other teachers laughed, most likely thinking Wilson was clapping because he was glad to get rid of me. I tried not to smile but, in spite of my best efforts, at the last minute a huge grin split my face.
Chapter Fourteen
I spent as little time in the apartment as possible. It reeked of cigarettes, and although I tried to keep my door shut off from the rest of the apartment and the windows to my room open at all times, May in Las Vegas is hot, and my room was unbearable. My little storage unit at the back of the complex was just as hot, but I had fresh air and my projects to distract me. I was lost in my latest creation – filing and sanding and grinding away – when a car rolled up beyond the sliding metal door. I turned to see Wilson step from his grey Subaru and slam the door behind him. I walked out into the bright sunlight, shading my eyes as he approached.
“Your aunt said I would find you out here,” he offered by way of greeting.
“She answered the door? Wow. Wonders never cease.” She'd been asleep on the couch when I'd slipped out. I tried not to pull at my red tank top and my shredded jeans shorts. My belly had just started to round, but it wasn't noticeable in my clothing. I looked down at my flip flops and curled my painted toes. I had showered and shaved my legs, but my hair had still been wet when I had come outside, and I had pulled it up in a high ponytail to keep the wet strands off my neck. I hadn't even looked in the mirror. I didn't know what bothered me more: Wilson seeing my like this or the fact that I cared that Wilson was seeing me like this. He had stopped walking and was staring at me. I cringed and then immediately got defensive.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Wilson stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows lowered quizzically over his somber gaze.
“You look different.”
“Well, yeah!” I scoffed self-consciously. “I look like crap. No makeup, my hair's not done, and I'm wearing these scruddy clothes.”
“Scruddy?” Wilson's eyebrows shot up.
“Yeah, you know. Cruddy and scummy make scruddy.”
“I see,” Wilson nodded sagely. “Like scrummy, only . . . scruddy.” He tipped his head slightly. “It suits you.”
“Scruddy suits me?” I tried not to be hurt. “Why thank you, Mr. Darcy!” I said in my southern belle accent and fluttered my eyelashes. “You are as romantic as your namesake.”
“Natural suits you. You wear too much makeup,” Wilson shrugged and turned away.
“A girl can never wear too much blue eye shadow,” I quipped, trying to pretend that I didn't care what he said or what he thought. I ran my hand over my hair, feeling the rumpled strands and the off-centered ponytail.
“Tell me what you're doing.” Wilson moved to stand next to me. He reached a long finger out and followed a groove that widened into a hollow space.
“I'm never sure what I'm doing,” I answered honestly.
“Then how will you know when you've done it?” Wilson smiled.
“That's always the question. When to stop. I usually start to get a feel for the shape as I work. It rarely comes to me before. The inspiration comes through action.” I bit at my lip in concentration. “Does that make sense?”
Wilson nodded. “If I squint it almost looks like a cello that has been melted down and pulled . . . like taffy.”
I didn't tell him that I kept seeing a cello too. It seemed too personal, as if it would again introduce the feelings that had risen within me when I had first heard him play that night in the high school, the night I'd vowed to change.
“What's that?” Wilson indicated a small hole whorled into the now smooth surface of the wood.
“A worm hole.”
“Will you sand it away?”
I shook my head. “Probably not. I'll just fill it with a little putty. The problem with fixing one problem is that sometimes you uncover two.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well this is a relatively small worm hole, right?”