Outside the Lines (9 page)

“Other than the fact he started off our conversation by irritating me, there wasn’t much. Though he did manage to talk me into volunteering there on Tuesday night.”

“Really? Doing what?”

“Cooking. He said the best way to find my dad was to get to know the kind of people he spends time with. Build relationships with them. Like maybe they’d keep an eye out for him or something. Or maybe my dad would just show up there.”

“Makes sense. You’ll have to let me know how it goes.”

The waitress arrived with our plates, which really should have been called platters. Mine was overloaded with the cinnamon roll French toast I’d been craving along with a huge mess of scrambled eggs and maple link sausages. Georgia had gone for broke and ordered the strawberry blintzes with eggs and sausages, too. It all smelled heavenly.

“Oh, holy yum,” Georgia moaned as she closed her eyes and took the first bite. “My trainer is going to
kill
me for this.”

“So don’t tell him.”

“I don’t have to. It’s like he
smells
the extra fat cells on my ass.”

I snickered, trying not to spit out my food. “Yet another reason I don’t have a trainer.”

“You don’t have a trainer because you have a freak-of-nature metabolism. It’s a miracle I put up with you.” She winked at me, then looked thoughtful. “So, I think this guy irritating you is a good sign.”

“Really?” I mumbled with my mouth full of warm, sweet bread slathered in syrup. I felt my serotonin lifting, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the sugar rush or just spending time with Georgia.

“Yep,” she said. “It means he pushed your buttons. No buttons pushed means there’s no sexual energy going on. It’s classic psychology.”

I sat back against the padded booth and twirled my fork. “Do tell, Dr. Freud.”

“Oh, it’s not Freudian. It’s experience. My best lovers have been the guys who irritate the shit out of me. Remember Dean?”

I laughed. “Our sexual-harassing kitchen manager? I still can’t believe you actually slept with him. Yuck.”

“I know. It was sick.” She stuck a strawberry in her mouth and chewed, waving her fork in the air as she spoke. “But he was hellishly good in bed. A total asshole. But you know, whatever a girl has to endure to get off.”

At Georgia’s loud pronouncement, the couple at the table across from us stopped their conversation and turned their heads in our direction.

“Nice!” I said, ducking my head down and shaking it in disbelief. “Have you no shame?”

Georgia ignored my question. “You know who else pushes my buttons, don’t you?”

“Men with big fingers?”

She ignored me again. “Your hot little brother. That boy is getting
fine
.”

“Um, ew? He’s my brother, Georgia. He’s a kid.”

“A kid with massively multiplying muscles, my friend. I’m working out at his gym, remember? You should see him look at himself in the mirrors. His cocky attitude pisses me off.”

“And you find this appealing?”

“I know, I’m twisted. But can you say ‘boy toy’?” Her eyes sparkled as she took an entire sausage link in her mouth.

The guy at the table across from us hadn’t taken his eyes off her. His female companion noticed this and kicked his leg under their table. “What!?” he exclaimed, and she shot him a dirty look.

“I’m actually going to Bryce’s competition today,” I said. “I promised my mom if I didn’t have to work I’d find a way to fit it in, so I asked Juan to cover the first part of my shift. Want to come?”

“Can’t. I have an appointment.” Since many of Georgia’s clients ran Fortune 500 companies during the week, she had to make her coaching services available pretty much 24/7. Their schedule was her schedule.

“Who is it this time?”

“Some start-up geek who wants to learn to be more assertive with his staff. He’s practically twelve, so
that
shouldn’t be a problem. His balls should drop any day.” She rolled her eyes before glancing at her watch. “In fact, I need to get going.”

“What about our walk?”

She motioned to the waitress to bring our check. “I’ll have to take a rain check. Call me later?”

“Sure. We’ll dissect your date with the lawyer.” I paused to hand the waitress two twenty-dollar bills and told her to keep the change.

Georgia waved her hand at me over the remains of her breakfast, dismissing the idea. “Eh, there’s nothing to dissect.”

“He didn’t irritate you?”

“Not even in the slightest.”

“That’s too bad,” I said, laughing as I stood up to pull on my coat.

“No worries,” she said. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

By the time I had dropped Georgia off, driven home, and walked Jasper, I arrived at the community center where Bryce’s competition was being held about ten minutes after the event began. I spotted my mother and John sitting on the bleachers before they saw me, and the sight of my mother’s chemo-induced short hair didn’t fail to throw me. I had watched it disappear. I cried with her the first time she brushed her thick blond locks in front of the mirror and huge chunks fell to the ground. Now it was layered on her head in a fashionably spiked mess, similar to the style Rita wore. Even with the weight the steroids had packed on her she looked beautiful. Luminous, really. Nothing could disguise the light in her eyes as she looked up and laughed at something John had said. I had no memory of her looking at my father that way. I knew that she must have. I knew their life together wasn’t always filled with despair.

I pushed my way through the crowd and climbed up to their seats. “Hi!”

“Hi, honey,” my mom said, giving me a quick hug and a kiss. Out of habit, I gauged her temperature with my cheek against hers. She felt cool. Healthy. I sent off a little thanks to the universe for keeping her alive.

“Eden!” John bellowed. “How’s my girl?”

As usual, I cringed internally at his claim on me.
I’m not yours,
the child in me said, pouting.
I’m my daddy’s girl.
I was well practiced at not letting this feeling show on my face. The few times I had shown it when I was younger, my mother made me regret it.

“You will show your stepfather respect, young lady,” she’d said one time. “Do you understand me?” When I didn’t respond right away she gave my arm a little shake.

“Fine!” I pouted in a manner only an adolescent girl could pull off. “Okay! I understand!” I liked John, but it bothered me how hard he tried. Everything was over-the-top. His Hawaiian-print shirts were too loud; he was jolly when just happy would do. He insisted on taking me to Mariners games and I didn’t even like baseball.

I squashed my irritation now and sat next to my mother in the bleachers. “I’m good, John. How are you?” Since marrying John, my mother was happier than I’d ever seen, so I did my best to be nice to her husband, if only for her sake. She was an entirely different person than she’d been with my dad—serene, relaxed, and cheerful. She still worked, but only part-time, and she wasn’t the only person responsible for paying the bills. Worry didn’t constantly pull at the muscles in her face; she no longer cried more than she laughed. There had been a fundamental shift inside her.

“Good, good. I’m great. Kickin’ ass and takin’ names.” He grinned at me. John was a bear of a man, well over six feet tall, and packing enough flesh to make me wonder how he could continue to pass the firemen’s physical fitness test. Didn’t they make him climb a ladder? He was always clean-shaven and I didn’t think I had ever seen him without a perfectly sheared crew cut. From the day my mother told me she was going to marry John, I couldn’t help but compare him to my father. And while he was the physically bigger man, in my eyes John always came up short. My father taught me things; John liked to boast about how much he knew. John was loud, but my father had a pizzazz my stepdad could never match.

I searched the stage for Bryce but instead saw four incredibly well-muscled men in Speedo-type bathing suits striking various poses. “Did I miss much?” I asked. “I had to take Jasper for a walk.”

“No,” John said. “He isn’t up yet. We’ll see him in the next round.”

“How was work last night?” my mom asked.

“It was good.”

“Did you go out afterward?” She prodded me, fishing, I was sure, for whether or not I’d changed my mind and gone prowling for a new boyfriend.

“I did go out, but not to a club, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said. I didn’t want to bring up my visit to the shelter, since I knew it would only upset her. I watched her pale eyebrows furrow and knew she was going to push the issue.

“Where did you go, then?”

I sighed, then leaned in toward her. “I went to a shelter to see if I could put a picture of Dad up.”

My mother averted her gaze from me to the stage. “Um-hmm,” she murmured, tilting her head toward John, indicating that she didn’t want me to talk about my father in front of him. I knew this, which was why I’d tried to avoid telling her, but honestly, her reluctance to mention my father in John’s presence was a little ridiculous, considering John was one of the firefighters on the scene the night the medics took my father away. He sat with my mother and me in our living room, rattling off soothing words and nodding empathetically when she cried about losing her husband to his illness. Six months later she was pregnant and John had a son on the way and a stepdaughter. It’s not like the man didn’t know what he was getting himself into.

“I met a guy,” I said, knowing this, at least, would pique her interest.

“At a
homeless
shelter?” she asked, swinging her face around to look at me. Her eyes widened as she put her hand on top of my leg. “Please, tell me you’re joking.”

I laughed. “It wasn’t a resident, Mom. It was the guy who runs the place. He suggested I volunteer my cooking services so I can get to know the clients better. See if any of them know Dad.”

Before my mother had a chance to respond, John stuck his fingers into his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. I looked to the stage and there was Bryce, standing under the lights wearing nothing but a tiny purple spandex bathing suit. His skin was tinted the approximate shade of an Oompa-Loompa’s and his light blond hair looked neon in contrast. He began what I supposed was his routine, working his way through poses similar to the ones the men before him had performed.

I giggled, and my mother elbowed me. “Be nice,” she said under her breath.

“I’m trying. But he’s . . . my
brother
. It’s a little weird to be ogling him.”

“All right, Bryce!” John yelled above the rest of the crowd’s cheers. “Show ’em what you got!”

“Can he not show so
much
of it?” I whispered in my mom’s ear, and she chuckled.

“Well, he does take after his father,” Mom said.

“Aaahh! TMI, Mom!”

Oblivious to our amusement, John continued to hoot and holler for his son. After Bryce’s weight class left the stage, the three of us made our way down the bleachers. John made sure my mother’s arm was hooked tight into the crook of his elbow before taking a step; his hand pressed hard on top of hers. I felt an overwhelming sense of tenderness toward him in that moment, grateful for his unfailing strength when my mother needed it so much. John had his faults, but his devotion to my mother was something I would never question.

We waited outside where Bryce had told John he would meet us for about fifteen minutes. Both Mom and John went to the restroom, leaving me alone when Bryce approached. I was happy to see he had changed into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.

“Sis!” He gave me a hug. “You made it. Mom said she wasn’t sure if you would.”

“What, and miss my brother in a banana hammock? No way.” Even though Bryce wasn’t more than a couple of inches taller than me, I felt like a child in his substantial embrace. He’d been a strong but sinewy teenager, all long, gawky arms and too-big feet. Now his obsessive work at the gym was paying off. It was good to see him coming into his own.

He laughed, flashing a set of unnaturally brilliant white teeth. “You are one of the chosen few.”

“You’re paying for my therapy, you know. That image is forever burned on my retinas.” I punched his arm, then pulled back my fist, shaking out the stinging sensation the contact with his muscle had ignited. “Ow!”

He grinned. “I know, right?”

I grabbed his bicep with both hands and didn’t even come close to my fingers touching. “You are getting
huge
. How much weight have you gained?”

“About twenty pounds.” He flexed under my touch and my hands popped off. “All muscle, baby.”

“Wow,” I said. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

“Ah, I love you, Ed. You never piss me off.”

“That’s a lie. And don’t call me Ed.” Bryce couldn’t figure out how to say “Eden” when he was learning to talk so I became “Ed” by default. John made it worse by adding a “Mr.” before the nickname. I was thirteen and in the midst of a great deal of adolescent angst. Bryce was two and made a habit of toddling around, pointing at me and saying, “Mr. Ed! Mr. Ed!” to anyone who’d listen. I was already struggling with gaining a sibling after ten years of only-child-hood; this did not further endear him to me.

“Okay,
Ed,
” Bryce teased.

I punched him again and the pain in my knuckles reminded me why I shouldn’t have. “Ow!”

He cracked up just as John walked over and grabbed Bryce in a bear hug, lifting him off the ground. “My son, the bodybuilder!”

“Pops, knock it off!” Bryce struggled and managed to drop back down to the floor.

Our mother hugged Bryce. “You looked fantastic up there, sweetie. Very good job.”

Bryce scowled. I could tell he was not happy John had picked him up, and I didn’t blame him. For a man in his early fifties, John could be as exuberant as a Great Dane puppy.

“What’s with the tan-in-a-can?” I asked Bryce, trying to lighten his mood. “Did you lose a bet?”

“Ha-ha,” Bryce said. “Very funny. I haven’t gotten the right formula yet. You have to do it in layers and all the other guys who compete say it’s a bitch to get it perfect. You want to help me put it on next time?”