A Risk Worth Taking (6 page)

Summer

“Someday you
will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”
―C.S. Lewis

Casey’s
laughter trailed down the hall, announcing his arrival before he came into
sight. Mazie’s scolding response—too muffled for me to understand—made him
laugh even harder as he marched toward my door. I exited the spreadsheet I’d
been working on, happy for a distraction.

My
mom had called again last night. That made three times in the nine days since
I’d come home. I’d refused to speak to her—again—and I could tell it upset my
dad. He’d gone to bed shortly after and we hadn’t spoken yet this morning.

My
head wasn’t in the work today. Not when I still saw her everywhere I looked—in
my office and in this house. She was still here whether she lived across the
county or not. And my dad’s lack of anger only heightened mine. I kept waiting
for him to lash out or at least mutter something under his breath, but the tone
he used with her while they chatted about weather and crops and mutual friends
was pleasant, friendly even. How could he not be furious? How could he even
speak to her after leaving him like that after twenty-five years of marriage?

Fine.
He wasn’t going to be angry? I was mad enough for both of us.

I
looked up as Casey entered. In one hand, he held a toothpick that he twirled
between his lips. In the other, he held up a sheet of paper, yellowing at the
edges, and threw himself into the chair across from me. “Hey, remember this?”

“What
is it?” I took the paper and attempted to smooth out the wrinkles as I read the
contents. My temper and foul mood instantly vanished as I recognized the
handwriting. “I can’t believe it. Where did you find this?” I asked, running my
fingertips over the fading blue ink.

“I
cleaned out the spare room when Ford moved in. Found this in one of the boxes.”

“How
old were we when we made this list? Ten? Eleven?”

“Somewhere
around there.” He shrugged and leaned forward, reading the paper upside-down.
“It was hot as hell that summer. I think the only time we got out of the creek
was to make this damn list.”

I
smiled at the memory of summers spent on the farm. Growing up here had been an
adventure, always something to do, new places to explore. And Casey was a more
than willing sidekick. It wasn’t until I got older, wanted more than a midday
swim in the creek and an ice cream cone after dinner, that this place became
one to escape.

When
had life started to seem so much more exciting out there than it did here?

I
turned my attention back to the day Casey spoke of, the day we’d made our
“before I grow up” list. “We snuck into Dad’s office—this office—for paper and
pen,” I recalled.

He
spoke around the toothpick in his mouth. “I still don’t see why you wanted all
this written so badly.”

“It
came about from that conversation you and I had down at the swim hole. A lie,
if I remember correctly.”

“Pssh.
I would never do such a thing.”

I
threw a sticky pad at him.

“Ow!”

“You
told me you kissed Jenny Matthews.”

“Ahh,
yes. Jenny Matthews. Prettiest girl in the sixth grade.” He leaned back, a
dopey smile on his lips.

“You
gave me this elaborate story about fixing her bike chain after finding her
stranded. You said she almost swooned when you were finished. ‘My hero,’” I
mimicked, rolling my eyes and batting my lashes double time.

“I
wasn’t lying. She said that.”

I
snorted. “And then you said she kissed you.”

“She
did.”

“And
then never spoke to you again?”

Casey
opened his mouth, shut it again. “I can see how that would look suspicious, but
it’s not a lie.”

“Uh-huh.”
Fine. If Casey wanted to stick by his story, I’d let him. He knew
I knew
he was full of shit. “That was the day I realized I hadn’t had my first kiss. I
couldn’t be outdone by you. I needed that kiss. So, we made a list of all the
important things we needed to make sure and do before we grew up.”

“Right.
I remember you saying we needed categories.”

“And
I remember you wanted me to write so you could tie the rope to that branch that
hung out over the deep end of the swim hole.”

“Rope’s
still there too. I’m one hell of a knot-tier, if I do say so myself.”

“I’m
impressed.”

“Damn
right you are.”

I
picked up the paper. “Things to do before I grow up,” I read out loud. “One. Be
kissed.”

“Is
that your column or mine?”

“Mine.
Yours says ‘be kissed again.’”

“Right.
What else?”

“Yours
says drive a tractor, drive a four-wheeler, ride a dirt bike, get a
girlfriend.” I laughed. “You were definitely a ten year-old boy when we wrote
this.”

“Uh,
thank you? What else?”

“Fly
an airplane,” I read.

“Huh.
Still gotta do that one.”

“Shoot
a gun.”

“Check.
Next one?” he prompted. I read the last one to myself and chuckled. “What does
it say?”

“Never
get married,” I told him.

“It
says that? On my side?” He leaned in and peered down at the list. “Huh. I guess
I knew what I wanted even back then.”

I
stopped laughing. “You really don’t ever want to get married?”

Casey
leaned back and resumed chewing on his toothpick, turning it around and around
between his teeth. “I hate to say ‘never’ but … I just don’t see it happening.”

“Why?”

“Well,
for example, take the rest of that list. Four-wheelers, dirt bikes, tractors.”

“What
about them?”

“They
were what I wanted then and what I want now. What girl is going to be all right
with that? I mean, I don’t own a house, I barely own a car, and I play in the
dirt and work on engines for a living.”

“Case,
you’re a catch. You just haven’t met the right girl.” My lips twitched as I
added, “Jenny Matthews
sure liked it.”

That
seemed to pull him out of whatever deep thought he’d been following. He
blinked, the edges of a grin back on his face. “Damn right she did. What does
your column say?”

“Besides
being kissed?”

“Yeah,
I mean, you can cross that off after Danny-what’s-his-slobber in the seventh
grade, right?”

“Ugh.”
I shook my head. “If I promise to believe you about Jenny Matthews, will you
promise to pretend you didn’t see that?”

“Look,
I’d just as soon lose that memory myself. But the image of that boy literally
trying to suck your face off is permanently embedded inside my skull. What’s
that thing in the Harry Potter movies that sucks the life out of people?”

“A
dementor?”

“Yeah,
he reminds me of one of those.” Casey leaned in and made a wet, sucking sound.

“Ass,”
I laughed.

“You
know … you could update it.”

“Update
what? The list?”

“Sure.”

“What
for?”

He
shrugged. “I mean, we made it to push ourselves to take risks so we could
experience new things. Things that mattered to us. Before life took hold and we
forgot what was important. Right?”

“I
guess so,” I said, uncertain where this was going.

“So,
add something new. Take a risk.”

My
eyes narrowed. “What sort of risk?”

He
shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him one way or another. “Since that first
kiss went so horribly, maybe you should risk another one.”

“A
kiss,” I repeated, squirming in my chair at the face that immediately popped
into my head. Ford, lips puckered, blowing softly on my hand. I’d lain awake last
night thinking of those lips. And the way I’d turned them down when he’d asked
me out. I still believed I’d made the right choice, but mother of hell, it was
hard saying no to that mouth.

“Sure.
A better kiss. With someone who’d make you forget all about
Danny-what’s-his-slobber.” He paused and then added, “Ford asked about you.”

“Ford.”
It seemed all I could contribute to this conversation was an echo of Casey’s
words.

“Yeah.
Kiss Ford.”

“I
am not kissing Ford.”

“Why
not?”

“Because
… it’s… Well, it’s …”

“A
risk? Exciting?”

“Not
going anywhere. He’s only here for a few months.”

Casey’s
brows lifted, and he suddenly looked much more interested in the conversation.
Damn, why had I said that? “So, you’ve thought about kissing him,” he said. It
wasn’t a question. “And who cares that he’s leaving. Makes the kissing even
better. You can kiss him all you want until October, check it off your list,
and move on.”

“You
make it sound simple.”

“Isn’t
it?”

I
opened my mouth, closed it again. “I’m not kissing Ford,” I repeated.

“Whatever.
It’s your choice. But, seriously, you should add something to the list. Some
sort of new experience. Otherwise, if the list is finished, it might mean
you’re a grown up now, and that’s just lame.”

“What
about you? Your list is complete too.”

“Nah.
I’m gonna fly an airplane.”

I
glared, but Casey had grown immune to that long ago. I huffed. “Fine, I’ll add
something to the list.”

“Kissing.
Add kissing.”

“Only
if you do. And I get to pick who.”

“Go
for it.”

“Kiss
Jenny Matthews. For real this time.”

He
grinned. “What else does it say?”

I
looked back at the list, shoving aside thoughts of kissing. For now. “Learn to
shave my legs. Build a tree fort. Beat Casey in a creek race.”

Casey
hooted. “Not in this lifetime.”

I
scowled.

The
tree fort had been something just for my dad and me. I’d purposely waited until
Casey had been away at motocross camp the summer before we graduated. I hadn’t
wanted his help; it made checking it off the list less exciting.

As
for the creek race, I’d come close many times but never actually won. It was
the only item on the list yet unaccomplished.  “Whatever,” I muttered. “It’d be
different now.”

“Are
you challenging me to a rematch?”

I
blinked. I hadn’t been, really, but I couldn’t back down now. I sat up straighter,
exuding confidence that wasn’t actually there. “I could beat you in a creek
race with my eyes shut.”

We
both looked up at the sound of footsteps in the doorway. My stomach leapt at
the sight of Ford. I hadn’t seen him since I’d walked out of his greenhouse
days ago. He hadn’t been at dinner the past few days nor had he been to see
Mazie for lemonade refills. I wondered if it had something to do with our last
exchange when I’d turned him down for a date—or whatever it was he was
offering—but always followed it up with a stern lecture to myself. Whatever
kept him away wasn’t my problem. He was a guy working for my dad. And I was a
girl who didn’t know what she wanted.

But
standing there in the low light of the hallway, he was just as gorgeous as I
remembered.  Maybe more today, with his T-shirt clinging to his abs and his
jeans slung low on his hips.

“What’s
a creek race?” Ford asked. He held a half-filled water bottle in one hand and
with the other, he swiped his damp hair off his forehead.

“What’s
up, man? You look a little warm,” Casey said.

Ford
took a swig of the water. “Something’s wrong with the ventilation inside my
greenhouse. On top of that, it’s damn hot out there. The devil decided to rain
humidity and the fire of hell down on your little farm this week.”

“Who
you tellin’?” Casey asked.

“Can
you take a look at the system for me?” Ford asked.

“Sure
thing,” Casey said.

“So,
what’s a creek race?” Ford repeated.

Casey
and I shared a look. “It’s sort of like our version of a triathlon,” I explained.
“We made it up when we were kids and it became its own thing. If you can do the
creek race,” I shrugged, “you’re cool.”

“And
if you can win the creek race, you’re a rock star.” Casey winked.

“I
take it you won a lot?” Ford asked him.

Casey
raised his fists over his head. “Undefeated champion of the world.”

“That’s
because you haven’t done it lately,” I said. “You probably can’t even see your
feet with that beer gut in the way.” A blatant lie. Casey was chiseled—even I
could see that and I wasn’t looking. Not in the way other girls looked at him.