chapter Thirteen
Clear plastic bins rattle on the wall. They’re filled with shapes of different sizes and colors. Above me, there’s only light. I feel only pain and the rumble of the world around me. Then, a familiar voice.
“Can I talk to her?”
“In a second. I need to assess her first. Miss, can you tell me your name?”
My reply is a groan. On the second attempt, I put the right sounds together.
“Julianne.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
I lose my grip on consciousness. After a time—seconds, minutes?—I answer.
“Don’t remember.”
I do remember, I just don’t want to spill family business to the mousy paramedic with coffee breath. Also, the pain. I’m the Thanksgiving turkey, and someone’s pulling my wing out of the socket.
“Juli, give it up. They know.”
R.J.? Can’t be. He’s on his way back to school. I crane my head to see, but the giant collar around my neck prevents it. Ouch. I close my eyes and work to maintain a grip on consciousness.
“Miss, can you tell me your pain level on a scale of one to ten?”
“How bad does it hurt, Sis?”
For him, I fight to the surface. “What are you doing here?”
“First, answer the lady’s question. How bad does your shoulder hurt?”
“Um, eight? Why are you here? Oh, my head, too.”
“Forgot to pack my laptop. Turned around when I remembered. Good thing I did, too. Could hear you and Mama yelling from outside. I was coming up the steps when I heard you scream. You were on the floor, and Mama was just…standing there.”
“Where is she? Is she okay?” My breath hitches.
“Shh, she’s in another ambulance. They had to sedate her to get her out of the house. She went wild when they tried to touch her. She’s on her way to the psych ward. It’s okay, she can’t get near you.”
“So glad you’re here.”
He squeezes my hand while the paramedic injects something into the port in my arm.
“Try to relax, miss. You’ll have to talk to the cops at the hospital, but for now, just go to sleep.”
***
According to the clock on the wall opposite my bed, I’ve been out the entire night and into the morning. I didn’t even dream. When I wake, R.J. is still with me and looks like he’s gone a couple of rounds with Mama, too. A day’s worth of stubble covers his normally smooth face, and his eyes are at half-mast.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
I look at him—really look at him—until tears blur my vision. I’ve done what I said I would never do…hurt him.
“Where’s Daddy? No. Don’t tell me. I know.”
“Don’t be mad, Juli. He had to go sign papers. Commitment papers. Mama decided she wants help.” R.J. scrubs his hands over his face. “He was here most of the night, but all we did was watch you drool. Should be back soon.”
If I could roll over I would, but my arm’s immobilized and there’s something funky going on with my hair.
“My head’s on fire. How bad is my hair?” It’s stupid, but if they shaved off my hair to repair the scalp…
“Chill. They cut a few places to put in the stitches, but you still look the same. I mean, it looks like you stuck your finger in a light socket, and there’s blood matted in it, but once you can wash it, I think it’ll be fine, you know?”
I reach up with my free arm to rub away the tears. “Okay, tell me the rest.”
He sighs again and folds his hands on his chest. “Your arm. She—it separated. You were out cold when they popped it back in. The muscles are strained but not torn, which they said was a good thing. No surgery. You might have a slight concussion, but they didn’t run a scan. They just watched you all night.”
He pauses, but he won’t look at me.
“Is that all of it?”
“Mostly.”
“Meaning?”
He looks toward the door.
“You have to talk to some people. They suspect this isn’t the first time you’ve been, uh, injured. They’re worried about…‘lingering damage’.”
“What does that mean?”
“Acute stress disorder and then post-traumatic stress disorder. Stockholm syndrome. Depression. And you show some symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder.”
That’s where he breaks. I’ve never seen my brother cry before, let alone sob. I don’t understand how I let this happen. Big, fat tears roll down his scruffy face, and his shoulders heave. I’m speechless, and I want so badly to make it all better for him.
Just as quickly as he began, he stops and blows his nose on the thin hospital tissues.
I try to lighten the mood. “Well, listen to you, Mr. Pre-Med, with all your fancy psychology terms. Guess I will have to call you Doctor someday.”
He doesn’t smile. “Juli, why?”
“Why what?”
“Your arms,” he says. “We saw your arms.”
Oh. Oh. I’ve dreaded this moment since the first time I scraped the dull blade across my arm. I’ve been outed. The paramedic must have seen the faint scars when she put the port in my arm.
“How long?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I can’t tell him. I can’t hurt him anymore.
“How long, Juli? I want an answer.”
“Since you left for college,” I whisper.
“Why?”
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do. Now tell me. No bullshit.”
“Because I was in control of the pain, okay? I decided how much it hurt. Not…her.”
He closes his eyes and nods. We don’t talk for a long time. A nurse comes in to check my vitals and fill my water pitcher. It’s the same type of pitcher I filled for Mr. Cline all those months ago. It seems like a lifetime.
When the nurse leaves, R.J. starts in again. “When did she get really bad? How long has she actually been hurting you?”
I reach for the water to stall. If I tell him, it’ll break his heart. I thought if I could just make it to graduation, if I could just be strong enough, if…if I was good enough, she’d love me. My love could make her stop. She’d see I wanted to please her. I tried so hard that I missed out on the last two years of my life.
Until Isaac entered the picture. Until the NEC became an obsession.
“How long, Juli?”
“Don’t make me answer that, R.J. It doesn’t matter. It happened, okay? Isn’t that enough?”
“Why won’t you give me a straight answer? Dammit, Juli, don’t push me away! If you’d let me in, maybe none of this would have happened. You lied to me. I asked you over and over if everything was okay, and you lied to my face. I think I deserve to know why. Now I’m going to ask you again, when did she start hurting you?”
I take a deep—and painful—breath. “Since you left last year. She got a little better over the summer when you were home. But as soon as you left again… R.J., I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. It’s not your fault.”
“No?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “If it’s not my fault, then it’s not yours, either. I know what you’re thinking.”
Daddy chooses that moment to walk in. Maybe it’s because I haven’t really looked at him lately, or the past twenty-four hours have taken their toll, but the lines on his face are so pronounced that it makes me wince. The skin around his eyes sags, and his hair has more gray than red. When did that happen?
He comes to an abrupt halt when he sees I’m awake. He raises his chin to R.J., who gives me a look before he leaves as if to say, “Go easy on him.”
I don’t want to deal with Daddy, but since I’m trapped in bed there’s not much choice. I look straight ahead at the clock on the wall. Six in the morning. Six-oh-one, tick, tick, tick. Six-oh-two.
“Look at me, sweetie. No? Fine. Here’s the deal. Your mama’s in a treatment facility. She—she wants help this time. I know you don’t believe me, but that wasn’t her that hurt you. She wasn’t always like that. Anyway, she’s there indefinitely, until they figure out what’s wrong with her and how to fix it. It’s more than depression. That’s what they called it the last couple of years.”
All he can do is talk about her. No I’m sorry. No Gee, I wish you would’ve told me it was so bad. I would have protected you.
Six-oh-four, tick, tick, tick. Six-oh-five.
“What do you want me to say, Juli?”
“You’re sorry? That would be a good start. That’s what normal people would say.”
“Fine. I’m sorry. Thought it was obvious.”
“It’s not.”
“Huh.”
His head is still in the sand.
In the afternoon, Mr. Cline appears in the doorway with a small bouquet. He has his cane, but he doesn’t lean on it nearly as much as before. I giggle at his patterned button-down shirt and old-man sweater vest.
“One never visits a lady without a token of appreciation.” He sets the flowers down on the side table.
I snort. “Appreciation for what? My pleasant personality? This rockin’ sling on my arm?”
His little smile is the first I’ve seen in my hospital room. I watch him take in the IV, the sling, and finally, the patches that cover the stitches in my head.
His chin quivers. “For your candor and wit, and the lovely, talented girl who lies beneath all that bravado.”
And I’m done. I break. As soon as that hairline fracture in my armor appears, I crack wide open. Everything I’ve held inside pours out in a torrent of shame. Drops of it coalesce into tiny rivers that trickle down my cheeks. When I reach for the box of hospital tissues—the same one R.J. used earlier—Mr. Cline clucks and hands me a clean handkerchief.
While I pull myself together, he scrapes a chair to the side of the bed. He patiently waits for me to finish, then takes my free hand in his. I’m struck with such a sense of déjà vu that it nearly overwhelms me. His hands are still papery, his knuckles still knobby, but mine have changed. They no longer belong to a hopeful, naïve girl. That girl died in my room last night.
“So tell me, dear, what will you do? You have a few more obstacles to overcome now, but I know you too well to think this will stop you from achieving what you’ve set out to do. Tell me how I can help.”
I swear he knows what I need to hear more than I do.
“Can you wave your magic cane and make everything better?”
“I’m afraid not. But I can tell you a story.”
“A story?”
“Indulge an old man.”
“Okay. Is it all right if I close my eyes? The pain meds make me sleepy. Seriously, this stuff is good. But don’t leave! Please, I mean. Please don’t leave.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Close your eyes and listen to what I have to tell you.”
The hospital pillows are unfamiliar and smell of disinfectant, but I nestle in the best I can and wait for Mr. Cline to begin.
“A long time ago, there was a boy who lost the most important person in his life. This hurt him deeply, but he dealt with it well for his age. He was headstrong from the time he was born, so he pulled himself up and went on with life. He experienced all the normal ups and downs of childhood, but when he became an adolescent, it became obvious that he carried around a great deal of hurt. He didn’t trust people, always kept them at a distance. His family knew what a caring, loyal person he was, so it pained them to see him so alone.”
Isaac had made it sound like he was fine after his daddy died. I guess not.
“Then, in a matter of weeks, he blossomed. He’d met someone with whom he felt comfortable, someone who accepted him despite his perceived shortcomings. His family could see him struggle. He wanted to believe she was someone he could trust completely, but at the same time, he’d spent so many years guarding himself, it was hard to break old habits,” he continues.
“Mind you, he was still rather young, but then they were both quite mature for their ages. After a time, their relationship progressed to…an adult one. Her mother discovered them and forbade them from seeing each other again. She was furious at her daughter for associating with someone so damaged.”
I hear the disgust in his voice.
“She saw no advantage in the match. Her daughter rebelled, so the mother hurt her by hurting the boy. She accused him of heinous things, things he would never dream of doing. All the trust he’d put in the girl and their relationship came to a terrible end. From then on, he trusted no one.”
No wonder he stayed in Boston so long.
“He went to college far away, where he didn’t even have his family to fall back on. He tried to keep his hard, protective shell in place, but he met some wonderful people who shared his interests and challenged him. By the time he graduated, he was well-known in his field, but his life was still empty.”
Mr. Cline sighs.
“He met a lady. Unlike the first girl, she was damaged much like him. They both had walls around them, but he eventually let his down. She did not. When he tried to breach those walls, she ended the relationship. Shortly afterward, a…stroke of fate brought him home again, to his family and the city he loved. His family barely recognized him. Gone was the loving, loyal little man whose persistence made his family proud. Instead, he was withdrawn, cold, even resentful. Time had not healed his wounds,” he says.
“Fortunately, he was presented with a challenge in the form of a young talent much like he had been. Like him, she had been betrayed, hurt, and alone for much too long. Like him, she was also headstrong, persistent, and confused. Now, unlike him, she had a keen wit and an unassuming air, despite the beauty she carried both inside and out.”
I open one eye and make a face at him.
“Although she was unaware, she had a dramatic effect on him for the better. Anyone close to him could see he was excited about this new endeavor. He composed again. He reached out to old friends and the community and found that what he thought was a scarlet letter on his chest had been forgiven and forgotten. Time often brings perspective to these matters. He enjoyed mentoring this young talent and took genuine pleasure in seeing her improve and succeed.”
Warm blood rushes to my cheeks.
“Unfortunately, not everything in his life was set to rights. There were complications that threw him back into his old melancholy habits. He began taking things out on those he cared for. Eventually, he became paranoid and angry. The walls he had dismantled went back into place, brick by brick, until he drove everyone away.”
Half-in, half-out of consciousness, I listen to my own, regular breath.
“Julianne?”
I’m so sleepy, I have to fight to answer him. “Mmm?”
“Don’t give up,” he whispers. “Don’t give up on yourself, and don’t give up on him. You both need a friend right now, and something constructive to work toward. You are the two most stubborn, hard-headed people I know, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. You will put that trait to good use to get yourself into the NEC, and you will make me proud. You will get through this, and I will help you if it’s the last thing I do.”
When I squeeze his hand, we seal an unspoken deal.
“And now, if I don’t get home and take my medication, it might be sooner rather than later.”
I want to tell him “I love you,” but the pain meds are pulling me under and I don’t know if the words make it to my mouth. The last thing I remember is a cool hand brushing back the hair from my forehead, like Mama did when I was little.
***
“For the love of Shakespeare, kitten, call me! Ike won’t answer his phone, and I can’t get ahold of you. Please call me back and at least let me know you two didn’t go all Romeo and Juliet. Ciao!”
After I convince R.J. to sneak in my cell phone—his final brotherly act before he heads back to school—I listen to six messages from Dave, each more frantic than the last. When I call him back, he picks up on the first ring.
“Julianne!”
“What, dost thou not lovest enough to call thine own pet kitten?”
“A rose by any other name, blah, blah, blah. Now tell me what the hell’s going on.”
I fill him in but leave out some of the more embarrassing particulars. When I finish, it’s silent on the other end, and my stomach drops. I said too much. This is how it goes, I guess. I should be used to it. I say too much and get that wordless pity stare from people. Then, because my problems make them uncomfortable, they avoid me. I thought Dave was different, but I guess some things are universal.
“When do you get out of the hospital?”
“Tomorrow, why?”
“I’ll see you then.”
“Wait, what? Tomorr—” But he’s already hung up.
***
True to his word, Dave’s in the driveway when we get home the next afternoon.
“Who—is that—what’s he doing here?” Daddy’s knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.
“Good to see you again, sir. Sorry it’s under these circumstances. Hope you don’t mind, but I thought you might need some help. From what Julianne’s told me, you have a lot on your plate.”
Daddy blinks a few times but recovers his long-buried Southern manners. “Um, yes. Well. Guess you could get the suitcase out of the back while I help Juli into the house.”
Dave doesn’t say a word to me, but he winks on his way back to the trunk. Fifteen minutes later, Daddy’s back out the door to visit Mama, and I’m settled on the couch in the den. Pillows support my shoulder, and Dave attempts to boost my morale. I want to be cynical, but Dave makes it difficult.
“So, you just dropped everything and jumped on a plane?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but why?”
“You’re welcome.”
“Thanks. Yeah, thanks, but really. Why would you do that? For me, I mean.”
“Kitten, come on. I’m a jerk but I’m not heartless. Listen, you helped Isaac out of a funk. He’s my best friend, and I appreciate what you did for him. Now you’re my friend, too. Believe it or not, even a self-centered schmuck like me has a heart. Plus, you need me. Your brother’s at school, Ike’s…being Ike, and your dad doesn’t seem like the warm-fuzzy type. But I have to tell you, there are some things I won’t do for you. No matter how much you beg, I will not wipe your—”
“Dave!”
“You love it, admit it. I’m so thoughtful that I brought a collection of movies for your viewing pleasure. I also brought microwave popcorn and noticed you have sodas in the fridge.”
“So what movies did you bring?”
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I packed a bunch. I have quite the personal collection. You’re laughing. You thought all I owned was porn, huh? Common misconception. I actually have quite varied tastes. Here’s National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, comedic gold. Oh, but it probably hurts to laugh, huh? Okay, no comedies. Fight Club? Oh, no. Sorry. That was insensitive. How about something classic? Oh, I’ve got it. Everything I learned about the South, I got from this movie.”
“As God is my witness,” I quote, “if you pull out Gone with the Wind, tomorrow will not be another day.”
“No, no. A Streetcar Named Desire. Tennessee Williams. Hey, Stellaaaa!”
“I had to read it in school, but I’ve never seen the play or movie.”
“Oh, kitten, you’re killing me. But I have to warn you, Vivien Leigh is in this one, too. So if you go postal over Gone with the Wind—”
“Just put it in.”
The disc drops from his hands to the floor. “I never get tired of hearing those words.”
I giggle, but it hurts and I can’t even hurl a pillow at him.
“Oh, oh, sorry. I’ve been a bad boy.” He wags his eyebrows at me but starts the movie.
“Whoa. Like…whoa.” I can’t take my eyes off the screen.
“What?”
“Who is that guy?”
“What guy?
“What do you mean, what guy? That guy. Stanley.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Who is he?”
“Uh, Marlon Brando?”
I draw a blank.
Dave looks incredulous. “You know, Julius Caesar? On the Waterfront? The Godfather? Superman?”
“Sorry.”
“Born in 1924, died in 2004…”
“Still nothing.”
The guy who plays Stanley in the movie is crazy hot. Dead, according to Dave, but hot.
“You gonna go jump the TV screen?”
“Shut up.”
“So he does it for you, huh? That’s the type you go for?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The strong, moody, broken type. A fixer-upper. Since you’ve read the play, I don’t have to tell you what happens and how it ends. The guy’s an uber ass. Me? I’m more like Mitch.”
“Oh, please. You’re more like Don Juan. Or Hugh Hefner.”
“I’ll accept Don Juan. But Hugh Hefner? Give me a little credit.”
“Oh, right. He doesn’t have a problem with age differences like you do. My bad.”
“No, I just believe good things come to those who wait. And I’m willing to wait,” he says, suddenly serious.
He skims his fingertips down my arm and turns my hand over to brush the inside of my wrist. The scars are visible, but he doesn’t say anything about them. I try to pull away, but he holds tight. He lifts my wrist to his mouth and places the lightest kiss there.
“When you’re done with him, or he’s done with you, or whatever it is you’ve got going on, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I take it we’re not talking about Marlon Brando anymore.”
“You tell me.”
“I…I haven’t talked to Isaac since—”
“I know.” Dave suddenly stands and heads to the kitchen.
When he returns with two glasses of soda, I tell him, “I’m a Taurus, did you know that?”
“An April birthday, huh? That’s not too far away.”
“Well, I don’t know how many redheaded Tauruses you’ve met in your life, but I can tell you, if you think I’ll drop a subject just because you walk into another room to avoid it, you’ve seriously underestimated genetics and astrology.”
He chuckles. “I’d expect nothing less.”
Vivien Leigh flutters on the screen like a broken Southern belle. She waves her hands and covers her face.
“So. He knows you’re in Mobile? Are you staying with him?”
“Yes to the first question, no to the second.”
“Did you talk to him about what happened at Felix’s?”
“Yes, I did.”
I raise my eyebrows and wait for him to elaborate. He watches the screen. Marlon Brando grabs Vivien Leigh, throws her down on the bed.
“I told him to stay the hell away until he can stop acting like a psychotic prick. Sorry. Don’t mean to be territorial—I won’t lift my leg or anything—but he was really out of line. In a few days, he’ll probably show up here like nothing happened. He doesn’t know the extent of…he knows the basics, but unless his uncle told him, he doesn’t know details. Are you able to, um—”
“Am I able to play? I don’t know. Not for a while. I’ve got physical therapy tomorrow, and other kinds of therapy every day after school.”
“And your audition’s coming up, right?”
“Yeah. Next month.”
I don’t tell him that when the pills wear off, the muscle pain is excruciating, like someone’s twisting a hot branding iron into my shoulder socket. I have two black eyes and my head aches.
Vivien Leigh throws herself to the floor, writhing and moaning. A stout woman tries to force her out the door, but she won’t budge. The doctor who’s come to take her away uses a different tactic. He’s kind and patient, and gives her his hand to help her up. When she’s upright, he offers his arm, which she takes. Then she utters her iconic line: “Whoever you are…I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”
***
That night, Dave stays at Mrs. Laroche’s house. He refuses to ask Isaac for a bed—“I’m making a point”—and Daddy doesn’t offer him R.J.’s room, though it would be the polite thing to do. I’m not sure what I think or feel about that. There’s so much to go over, so much the therapists want me to talk about. I don’t have the energy to sort this out, too.
Dave stays for three entire days. He makes me lunch, doles out my bevy of new pills, keeps me company, and lightens the mood when I slip into darkness. I tell him everything. I’ve never had a friend I could tell everything, except R.J. And Dave listens. Sure, he flirts a lot and makes plenty of dirty jokes, but more often than not, he just listens and nods. If I ask, he tells me what he thinks or gives advice, but he doesn’t offer it if I don’t want it.
There’s something that’s bothered me these last few days. I want to ask him about it, but I’m afraid he’ll get mad, and the last thing I want to do is offend him. He leaves for the airport in a couple of hours, but for now he’s still in full nurse mode.
“Where’s your lotion?” he asks.
“Like, hand lotion? There’s some in the cabinet next to the microwave.”
He trots into the kitchen, returns to the sofa in the den and pulls my feet onto his lap.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I figure your feet are about the only parts of you that don’t hurt right now, so why not make them feel fabulous?”
“Fabulous?”
“Fabulous, darling.”
Hmm, it’s now or never.
“Can I ask you something, without you getting upset?”
“Go for it.” He warms the lotion in his hands and picks up my left foot.
“Dave, are you…I mean, it seems like…have you ever thought you might be…”
“Gay? No, though you’re not the first person to ask me that.” He works his thumbs up the middle of my foot, loosening the arch.
“It just seems like, well, you’re awesome. You actually listen to me, and now you’re massaging my feet, for crying out loud. You’ve been so…fabulous these last few days.”
“I also look great in an apron.”
“Yes, you do.” I giggle. Yesterday at lunch, he found Mama’s apron and grabbed a wooden spoon to do an impression of the Swedish chef from The Muppet Show. I almost snorted milk out my nose. “So, you’re not mad?”
“No. But you have to remember that I have three sisters, two older and one younger. Then there’s me in the middle. The older two tortured me. They only let me play with them if they could dress me up—barrettes, balloons up the shirt, lipstick, the whole nine yards. I guess you could say they put me in touch with my feminine side.”
I groan when he shoves his knuckle into a knot.
“Then there’s my younger sister, Madison. I’m closest with her because she was my baby doll. My older sisters were witches, but Maddie let me snuggle her, tuck her in at night, and read her stories. When we got older, I screened her boyfriends, helped her with homework, and went with her to pick out prom dresses. She’s married now to a great guy and has a little boy. I’m his godfather.”
I bet Dave’s really good with kids.
“But no, back to the original question, I’m not gay. I just have a healthy appreciation for women. That includes the one right here.”
There goes that theory. I thought maybe I could salvage a little of my pride after his refusal in December at the beach. Maybe he’d say It’s not you, it’s me. And I’d be totally cool with that, but I’m back to square one. It’s still my fault. Something about me is flawed beyond redemption.
“Dave—”
“Listen, Juli, I need to tell you this. Not just because I’m trying to hit on you, which I totally am, but because you really do need to hear it. You don’t take compliments very well, which makes me think you didn’t get enough of them growing up.”
He finishes the left foot and starts on the right one. I squirm.
“You’re obviously talented. You’re strong. You’re resilient. You’re loyal—even when you shouldn’t be, it seems. You’re pretty mature for your age. I think that’s why it’s easy to forget you’re seventeen. Probably because you’ve had to deal with a lot more serious shit than the average teenager. And I get the feeling you’re alone a lot. I’ve seen it the last few days. Now I know why you throw yourself so whole-hog into your piano. It also helps explain why you weren’t able to connect with the music on an emotional level.”
“Are you done, Dr. Dave? You sound like my shrink.”
He stops rubbing. “Say that again.”
“What?”
“Dr. Dave. I really, really like that.”
“Shut up.” I smack him on the shoulder.
“No, I’m not done yet. Something you said at the beach in December stuck with me. Maybe you don’t remember, you were a bit tipsy, but when I tried to compliment you, you called yourself a freak.”
Oh, God, here it comes. I cover my face with my hands. I want to sink into the couch cushions.
“Don’t.” He drops my feet on the floor, gently grasps both wrists and pulls my hands away from my face.
My cheeks flame like five hours in the sun. He moves closer.
“I said you had amazing legs, smooth skin, and gorgeous hair. I still think that’s true. But now I know you’re just as gorgeous on the inside, which is why I have to tell you this.”
Dave moves even closer so his thigh presses against mine. He drapes a possessive arm over the back of the couch. My stomach tightens.
“I don’t mean to sound like an after-school special, but I’ve seen this before. I’ve seen girls like you who have everything and don’t know it, so they look for it in other places, from other people. The wrong people. It’s not healthy.” Dave shakes his head. “You don’t need to go down that road.”
“You lost me.”
He loops one of my curls around his finger and for just a second, I wonder what the hairs at the back of his neck would feel like on my fingertips. “You’re a people-pleaser. A bit volatile, but still. You’re like Stella. Can you guess who Stanley is in this equation? Like I said, I’ve seen this before, and the ending ain’t pretty.”
Oh. This close, I can see flecks of green in his brown eyes.
“Now, because I’m more of a Mitch than a Stanley, I couldn’t kiss you properly in December. You were a little drunk and it wasn’t right. But I’d like to make up for that now.” He leans in and, just before our lips touch, he whispers, “May I?”
I part my lips in answer, but a memory floats to the surface.
“No.”
“No?”
“Not after what happened at the beach. I’m no older now than I was then, and you pushed me away.”
“Juli, that’s not—”
“Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done the last few days. You’ve been fantastic, and you’re my best friend. Truly, I love you as much as I love R.J., but I really don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to set myself up again just to have you find some other reason for it to be wrong. I don’t want to be strung along like all your other girlfriends between here and Boston.”
For a long time, he doesn’t say a thing. I guess no one’s ever told him no before. The back door slams open and shut, and Daddy breezes in. I can’t decide if his timing is perfect or terrible.
Dave clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “I was saying goodbye to Julianne, sir. My plane leaves in two hours.” He stands in front of Daddy to shake his hand, just like he did when I came home from the hospital. “I hope I’ve been a help this week, Mr. Casquette. Please give your wife my regards.”
“Will do. And thanks for your help. It took guts to jump on a plane and show up here. I respect that. Safe travels.”
With a peck on the cheek for me and a promise to call when his plane lands in Boston, Dave’s gone.