A Risk Worth Taking (11 page)

Summer

“Happiness is not something you
postpone for the future; it is something you design for the present.
”
–Jim Rohn

Twilight
had fallen over the edges of the treetops. Cicadas sang. The breeze picked up,
lifting my hair off the back of my neck and making the mid-June evening heat
bearable as I walked between the greenhouses. It should’ve been relaxing, but
instead my guts felt filled with dancing elephants. Driving go-carts. Singing
White Snake.

And
this was calm.

For
the past week, I’d almost pulled my hair out avoiding Ford and resisting the
little voice in my head that whispered any and everything that rationalized a
fling. I’d managed to block it out at first. But then, he’d shown up for dinner
a few days ago all sweaty and dirty from some overturned planter boxes he’d
hauled out front for Mazie, and all I could think about was what his skin would
look like in the stream of the shower. My shower. With low lighting. And the
ripple of my fingers over those six-pack abs. Even the angle of his damned
elbow as he forked food into his mouth turned me on.

In
no time, that little voice in my head started to make sense. I began to argue
with it to make it shut up. I’d moved home to figure myself out: what I wanted
out of life, out of relationships, what I wasn’t willing to settle for, and
most importantly, to figure out if passion was worth it. Less than a month in
and I was ready to throw all of that to the devil for sex. Granted, if the sex
was anything like that kiss, it might be worth it—

But
no, I’d told myself all week, I wasn’t going there.

And
then I remembered Casey’s challenge at our race last weekend. If I could man up
and cross this off my list—one date with Ford should be enough “evidence”—Casey
would let me have a do-over on that rope swing. I told myself that was the
reason I was currently on my way to Ford’s greenhouse on a Friday afternoon at
quittin’ time. I was finishing that damned list and then shoving it down
Casey’s throat. So why were the contents of my stomach roiling and shifting and
threatening to part like the Red Sea?

This
is stupid
, I decided as I marched closer to Ford’s greenhouse. I was
grown. An adult, making an adult decision to experience the freedom of a good
lay. God, I sounded like a man. Devoid of emotion.

No,
that wasn’t right. Ford O’Neal made me feel plenty. It just didn’t fit into any
of the boxes I’d created in my mind when it came to the opposite sex. I shook
my head, disgusted at myself. Boxes. Logic. Opposite sex. I sounded like a
complete nerd. Something like this was better accomplished without
overthinking—or any thinking at all.

I
paused outside the door and took a deep breath. Don’t think. Just act. Take a
risk.
Life’s more fun when it’s spontaneous
, Ford had said. I was about
to find out.

I
found Ford in his usual spot in the back corner, fan wedged in beside him, bent
over a planter box. His lips moved in silent conversation. I glanced around. No
one else was here, and he still hadn’t looked up and acknowledged my presence.
Either my entrance had been quieter than I thought or he was completely
immersed in whatever he was doing with his plants.

I
told myself I wasn’t spying as I crept quietly down the narrow aisle. Just like
the first time I’d been here, the walkway was littered on both sides with
planter boxes, bags of soil, and various hand tools. The only area that looked
remotely organized was the back corner where Ford worked. It was a testament to
his personality. Organized chaos. Limited priorities. Funneled attention.

What
would it feel like to have that sort of intense attention funneled at me?

Just
as I got close, my foot scraped against the uneven flooring, and the noise
startled Ford. He jumped at the sight of me then broke into an easy smile. “You
scared me.”

“We
should hang out,” I blurted before I could lose my nerve. Smooth, Summer. Real
smooth.

His
smile faltered. “Uh. Okay. Now?”

“Sure.”

He
looked around, clearly at a loss. I couldn’t blame him. I’d been ignoring him
for the better part of a week now. “You want to sit?” he asked, gesturing to
the bucket I’d used during my last visit.

“Thanks.”
I pulled it over, feeling ridiculous and awkward and like a pre-teen with her
first crush. “What are you working on?” I asked, cutting through the awkward
silence that followed.

“Seeding
a new herb, but it can wait.”

“No,
I don’t want to interrupt. Keep going.”

“Okay,”
he said, clearly unsure but eventually picking up the delicate stem that lay in
the dirt where he’d dropped it.

“Haven’t
seen you around much this week.” He said it off-handedly but the implication
was clear: my behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed.

I
rubbed the hem of my shirt between my fingers. “Things were left pretty undone
with the accounts,” I said. “I’ve had a lot of catch up to get things back to
where they were before …”

“Before
your mom left?” I blinked at him, my mouth open. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to
overstep.”

“No,
it’s fine. Casey or someone’s told you the story, I’m sure.”

“I’ve
heard the basics,” he admitted. “But not from you. And I seem to remember you
promising to tell me about it the last time we were here.”

“I
didn’t promise. You insisted.”

“Same
thing.”

My
smile faded as I realized he seriously expected me to pick that conversation
back up where we’d left off. “Ford, I appreciate the offer but I’m not just
going to unload all my problems on you.”

“Why
not? Isn’t that what friends do?”

“Are
we friends?” I asked.

He
looked up from the plant in his hands, his eyes trained intently on mine as he
asked, “Aren’t we?”

I
couldn’t tell him no, otherwise why had I come in here? And I couldn’t say yes
and still refuse to give an explanation about my mom. Not without looking
completely rude. “My mom moved out last fall. Right after Thanksgiving. They
didn’t tell me until I came home for Christmas break. By then, she had her own
apartment in town, was dating some guy she met online, which thankfully bombed
after a month or so. She also started her own business. Real estate.” I laughed
darkly as I remembered it—the obvious thrill my mom’s new life offered. You
could see it on her a mile away that day. She was happy. Joyful, even. Had her
old life with me and my dad really been that bad?

“I
take it you don’t approve of her choices?” Ford asked when I remained silent.

“I
don’t understand them,” I said, shaking the image away. “They were married
twenty-five years and then
poof
. One day, she wakes up and she’s done.
It doesn’t make any sense.”

“A
decision like that isn’t always as instant as it seems,” he said. I would’ve
argued if not for the strange note in his voice when he spoke and the way his
eyes saw far beyond the walls of this greenhouse. I wondered what decision he
meant.  And who it belonged to. “I’m sure the decision to leave your dad was
something she considered for a long time before going through with it.”

“She
didn’t just leave him. She left me,” I said. My voice softened, giving way to
the hurt behind my anger. I hadn’t meant to let it slip through, but I couldn’t
take it back, and Ford didn’t miss it. His eyes cleared and he refocused on me.

“Parents
are just people who get put on a pedestal. We expect more from them because
they mean so much to us. But they’re only human.”

I
shifted, uncomfortable at the truth in his logic. “We expect more because they
commit to more when they have a child,” I said.

“Can’t
argue that. She was here last week, wasn’t she?”

“Only
to pretend to be my mom again. She had months to do that.”

“So
she never called or wrote you when you went back to school?”

“It
didn’t matter. She left the business in the lurch, left Dad with no help and no
knowledge of how things were run. I couldn’t—well, I just couldn’t. Twenty-two
years of thinking they were made for each other. Perfect. Best friends. Soul
mates, even. They defined love for me and now … Love feels like a lie.”

“For
you or for them?”

“For
everyone.”

Ford
rubbed a hand along his chin. It made a light scuffing sound as his palm ran
over the flecks of stubble. “How many times have you seen her since then?” he
asked.

“She
showed up at school twice but I sent my roommate to make her leave.” I stared
down at my hands, my cheeks burning with the effort to keep the tears at bay.
“Last week was the first time,” I added.

He
was quiet so long, I wondered if he would answer at all. Maybe he didn’t know
what to say. Guys usually didn’t when it came to the hard stuff. And if my
suspicions were right, maybe Ford had never experienced anything hard enough to
hurt him. Maybe he couldn’t even relate.

I
sighed. This had been a mistake. If he said anything at all, it would probably
be a grunt or something equally apathetic.

“Sounds
to me,” he said, “like you have to figure out what kind of daughter you want to
be before she can know what kind of mom it is you need.”

I
stared, stretching the silence.

“What?”
he asked.

“I
just didn’t—You impress me.”

“How’s
that?”

“Not
only was that the truest thing anyone’s said to me in weeks, but you meant it.
You get points for that, Ford O’Neal.”

“I
didn’t do it for points,” he said, his brows rising in amusement.

“I
know, which is exactly why you get them. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you
were speaking from experience about the whole parents-letting-down-the-child
thing.”

“Nah.
I guess mine’s more of the parents letting down themselves.”

“What
do you mean?” I asked. Part of me didn’t want to pry, but hadn’t I just
unloaded on him? It was only fair that he share too.

“My
mom and dad were high school sweethearts. Got together junior year, got
pregnant with me a couple of months before graduation, and married that summer.
My brother came along a year later, and my sister the year after that. Don’t
get me wrong, they’re still together and couldn’t see it any other way, but …”

“But?”
I prompted.

“My
dad works a lot. Gave up a lot so they could have a family and make it work. He
was always talking about the stuff he would’ve done or didn’t do because of
settling down so fast. Not that he wishes it went any differently. He’s happy,
I just … I wish he could’ve done more of that stuff before he had to set it
aside to work fifty hours a week, you know?”

“He
could do it now,” I said. “You guys are all grown up and gone.”

“My
sister has one more year of high school, so yeah, after that. Still, it’s not
the same.”

“You
can’t carry his regret for him,” I said.

Ford
gave me a look. “Oh, you mean how you carry your dad’s anger and betrayal for
him?”

I
scowled. “No, I don’t.”

“Neither
do I,” he shot back. “Instead, I channel it as sort of a ‘what not to do with
my life.’ I’m going to make sure and have all my grand adventures before I
commit myself to someone.”

“I
get it.” I leaned over and bumped his shoulder with mine. “You’re a good
listener. And thanks for telling me your stuff. I didn’t expect all that.”

“What
did you expect?”

Something
about the way he said it struck me as much more serious than the usual banter
between us suggested. I chose my answer carefully. “Fun. Spontaneous. Light.” I
shrugged. “Meaningless.”

His
expression darkened. His blue eyes filled with something—not anger. Heat.
Intensity. He leaned close. “Summer Stafford, you could never be meaningless.”

Any
other moment with any other conversation and I would’ve melted into a puddle
from that look. But right now, I couldn’t get past the emphasis he’d put behind
those words. And the contradiction it made when put to our situation. I leaned
back, putting distance between us as my brows creased in confusion. “You say
that, but how can it not be meaningless if you’re leaving in a few months?”

“My
leaving in the future doesn’t take away from the fact that we’re both here
right now. In this moment. With these feelings. That has all kinds of meaning.”

His
words, although bittersweet, made sense even as I told myself they shouldn’t.
It was those blue eyes of his, darkening with meaning when he spoke to me that
way. Looking back at him, I knew whatever he wanted from me right now I
wouldn’t refuse. And it would cost me. I stood up and backed away. “Ford—”

He
shot to his feet, cutting me off. “Don’t say it.”