Of All The Ways He Loves Me (9 page)

“Books?”

“Books.”
I wiped my eyes. “Beneath his bed, and half of what was in them he’d already tried on me.”

“And the other half?” she asked.

The photo I’d seen rose up in my thinking and the words beneath it. He hadn’t done any of that, but it was after all the others he
had
done, so wasn’t it next?

“Maybe he blew it,” Penny said. “Maybe the books were a prop. You know?”

She waited for me to respond. When I didn’t, she continued.

“Who’s to say?
Well, him really.” She corrected herself. “You promised him five minutes, and I imagine he’ll explain it to you. But my point is, even if he shouldn’t have done whatever he read, he didn’t hurt you. He took you home. He let you inside his place the next day. You said his mom was there. Honestly, what’s he gonna do with her around?”

She tapped my forehead. “You’re not thinking this out. His folks know your folks. They live right over there.” She waved that direction. “And way down in here …” She jabbed me in the chest. “You know him better than anybody else. You’ve
gotta listen to your heart, Nat, not the mess in our head.”

She laid herself down on my bed. “Honestly. I don’t ever want to fall in love because it makes a person so goofy.”

I stared down at her, a catch in my throat. “I never said I was in love with him.”

She blew out a puff of air. “Oh, please. Look at yourself.
Crying over him. Upset because you think it’s over. And don’t tell me you haven’t replayed the kiss in your head a thousand times.”

I had, and a thousand more than that. A laugh escaped. “Am I really that bad?”

“The worst,” she snorted. “A complete basket case. I knew it was coming one day.”

“Y-you did?”

“Of course. He’s a great guy and you’re a great girl and you both have to grow up. Nothing ever stays the same for long. Your problem is you expected it to.”

I looked away from her and out the window. The limbs from an oak tree shaded the glass. Paterson had said the same
thing, that I hated change and didn’t want to grow up. So maybe not everything he’d said was wrong then.

“You’ve got a week,” she said. “I suggest you spend some time thinking about what you want the most.”

I glanced back down at her.

“Do you want to be in love, the happiest you’ve ever been in your life? Or do you want to cry for a month and wish you’d been different?
Because that’s how this works. You can’t not love someone once you do, especially when they’re trying so hard to love you back.”

She rolled over and in the process, landed on my cell phone. Lifting it into her hand, she brought up the screen. She smiled and spun it around. “That should tell you something.”

I gazed at the photo I’d placed there, me and Paterson cheek to cheek at Frizelli’s. “Happy times,” she said, “and if you’ll let him, happier times to come.”

CHAPTER 7

Evers’ Small Appliance Repair was a tiny cube of an office in a building built circa 1910. The locals always joked that Arnold Evers, the owner, had been around since then, and on entering for his first day at work, Paterson almost believed it. One look at the counter sent him back to an age way before his time – Rolodex, carbon copy receipt machine, telephone with a long twisting cord and a finger dial, and the most up-to-date item, a hand calculator that had seen better days.

Yet Ever
s’ was the most popular place for locals to bring anything because for all those years of his work, for all his time behind the old counter, you believed he knew what he was doing. He was trusted.

But he was also getting up there in years, and that had led him to hire someone as help for the first time in decades. Paterson had had to prove
himself to get the job, too. He’d taken apart and reassembled both a toaster and a hand vac as part of the application process.

The bell on the door chimed and Mr. Evers looked up from the disarray on his desk. “There you are. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Paterson nodded and circled the main counter. “I’m not late. Am I?”

Mr. Evers gazed at him over the rim of his reading glasses. “You’re always late if you’re not early.” He set the small self-seal bag down and wiped his hands. “Need you to start by alphabetizing the invoices.”
His feet shuffled across the well-scuffed floor to the counter.

The counter displayed its age in the worn places in the finish, dark spots where arms had laid, abrasions in places equipment was slid across, and the stain
and press of many a pencil or pen. In three stacks on the left was a mishmash of paper. Mr. Evers slapped his hand down on top and gathered a handful.

“All of these need doing. Probably take you ‘til lunch.” He set the papers in front of Paterson. “Lunch is at twelve. You get thirty minutes.”

“And don’t dare be late,” said a female voice from behind.

Paterson glanced back.

Mrs. Evers was a petite woman with fluffy white hair and a kind, wrinkly face. The broad smile on her lips betrayed her statement as anything harsh.

Her eyes sparkled as she stepped forward. “Arnold, dear, don’t give the boy a hard
time today. I know you hate alphabetizing, but honestly, you hired him for his hands, not his eyes.” She pursed her lips.

Approaching Paterson, she patted his arm. “I know your father. Good man,” she said.
“Very stalwart and faithful, unlike this old coot.” She prodded her husband in the shoe with her toe.

He narrowed his gaze at her, but a smile crawled on his lips. “See how she treats me, Son? I slave away here to keep her
wearin’ all them purdy clothes and get abused for it.”

Paterson pulled in a grin at their banter.

“She snagged me that way, too,” Mr. Evers said.

“Wasn’t no
snaggin’
. You were too busy staring.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you had on them fancy clothes.
Hoowhee,” he said. “She was a piece of work. Now, here we are sixty-two years later, and I’m just as blown away as I ever was.”

Mrs. Evers cheeks pinked.
“And as smooth of a talker. Could talk a minister out of his pocket change, that one,” she said.

She squeezed Paterson’s arm. “You got a girlfriend?” she asked.

Paterson swallowed hard. “No, ma’am.”

She studied him, her soft gray eyes framed on his face. “Ah, trouble in paradise? It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, but you care for her. Yes, I see that.”

“How?” he asked. “I mean … you don’t know me.”

Her lips curved up. “Because I’ve lived my life already, that’s how, and I know what it’s like to love someone.” Mr. Evers wandered by and kissed her on the cheek.

“And I also know how to keep it going. It’s all the little things that count,” she said. “Big words and fancy moves are fine. Arnie used to take me dancin’” She did a twirl.

“We cut the rug, too,” he called out.

She laughed. “But in the end, it’s that he can stand me when I wake up in the morning and my hair’s a mess, that I overlook his inability to pick up the towels in the bathroom, that I fix him breakfast, not forgetting he likes toast, and he doesn’t expect me to eat cantaloupe … ever. Things like that are what makes it all tick. He loves me for me, and I love him for him; and we both look past all the everyday things into the heart of each other.”

She patted his hand. “I’m thinking you need to tell her that.”

The chime of the bell turned their gazes. Paterson gulped again. Nadia’s dad stood in front of the counter, a large mixer in his hands.

“Good morning, Arnold,” he said. He nodded to Mrs. Evers. “Betty.”

“Morning, Robert.”

“Wanted to have this looked at. The powers that be say it’s wobbling.”

Mrs. Evers grasped an invoice and slipped it from the stack. Sitting it in front of Paterson, she glanced at him. “I think our new employee here can fill this out for you. Arnold has his hands full, and I have to be on my way. Havin’ brunch with the ladies today,” she chirped. She disappeared out the back door, and Paterson looked ahead.

Mr. Asbury’s face told him a world of things, and he was partially glad the counter was between them.
He took the mixer and set it on a small table to the side then searched for a pen.

“Wanted to talk with you,” Mr. Asbury said.

Paterson slowly filled out the invoice. Name. Address. Product. He paused then. “Yes, sir.”

“A father never wants to see his daughter unhappy. Someday maybe you’ll understand that.”

Paterson didn’t speak. After all, what could he possibly say? That she was unhappy was his fault, no matter if what she believed about him was untrue.

“
What I can’t figure out though is if she’s unhappy because of whatever came between you or if it’s because she cares about you and doesn’t like being apart.”

“Sir, I …” Paterson
began, unsure of what he was going to say.

Mr. Asbury held up his hand. “No. No need to reply. But if I might make a suggestion?”

Paterson nodded. “Of … of course.”

“
Don’t let this fester. The friendship you both had is far too valuable to throw away.”

Friendship?
Is that what he would be left with? And if so, could he even go back to simply being her friend? No. Because to look at her was to see all the things like Mrs. Evers
said. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking, the fact she nibbled her fingernails when they got too long, the curl of her toes into the carpet in the Asbury’s living room every time she walked in barefoot.

Mr. Asbury reversed himself a few steps
. “Two days?” he called to Mr. Evers.

Mr. Evers nodded.
“Sounds good.”

Mr. Asbury placed his hand on the metal door handle and pushed. The bell chimed.

“Wait,” Paterson called.

Mr. Asbury hesitated, one foot propping the door open.

“I don’t want to only be her friend,” he said. His hands shaking, he clenched the ink pen in his left tighter. “I love her.”

Nadia’s father smiled. “I know you do.” He turned and was gone.

***

I did as Penny suggested and spent my entire week thinking about Paterson and what I wanted out of our relationship. Was I willing to give it up? Or would
I give him a chance to explain? Of course, I distracted myself with other things. I couldn’t dwell on it all day every day without getting depressed. But by Sunday morning, I’d made up my mind. I knew exactly how I’d react, and no matter what he said to me, I’d stick to my guns and stand up for myself.

This didn’t keep me from being powerfully nervous about it or from changing and re-changing my clothes. In the end, I selected a simple
black skirt and white blouse I’d worn many times before and put a hair band in my hair. I held myself steady on the ride there, refusing to think too much about Evelyn or Penny or Jenn. Today was all about seeing Paterson and letting him know how I felt.

My stomach lurched funny as we parked and my heart skipped a beat. I climbed out of the car, my gaze focused on the sanctuary, and entered the lobby determined to stay strong.
Jenn found me first. She hugged my neck, not saying anything, and we walked to a pew together. Penny showed up next.

Penny had lots to say, but then that was how she was. She babbled about her cat having kittens, her grandmother coming to visit in a week, inconsequential
stuff that I had the strongest feeling she’d planned out to divert my attention. I was grateful to her and did my best to reply.

But then I spotted Evelyn. Evelyn looked like a queen. She’d brushed her hair until it shone like g
old and worn this amazing dress, all frou-frou and sequins. She came up beside us and perched on the edge, twitching her nose, looking a great deal like a rabbit.

“So you’re here,” she said.
“Haven’t seen your
boy
friend.”

She
kinda snarled the word
boyfriend
.

I stared at her. “He’ll be here.”

I’d look her straight in the eye, I’d decided earlier that morning. I wouldn’t cry or be upset. Evelyn Fitzpatrick would
not
get to me.

“I see you dressed up for the occasion,” I said.

She gave a snotty sneer. “Only the best for such a momentous thing.” She stretched out her fingers one at a time, admiring her own perfectly painted fingernails.

Really, I couldn’t see what she thought was so special about herself. As pricey as her clothing was, as shiny as her hair, none of it made up for having such a bad attitude.

Penny’s clearing her throat and nodding toward the door made me turn, but I made the move slowly, sucking in a lungful of air. I’d hold it together. He wouldn’t get to me this time.