Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart (10 page)

We walk in silence for a while before Kennedy finally speaks. “What’s the boy toy like?”

“That’s the question you choose to start with?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. Did the kid have a death wish? He shrugs. “Why do you care so much?” I ask.

“You’re an interesting girl, and I’m curious to see what kind of man you spend your time with,” he answers, taking the camera from my hands and snapping a few pictures himself.

I don’t know why, but my face feels hot. “Well, I spend time with you, and you’re a complete weirdo. Does that answer your question?”

“Right. You spend asexual time with me. I’d like to know—”

“I hope you aren’t asking me to discuss my sex life,” I reply, cutting him off. “A lady doesn’t speak of such things.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything about sex. I was just wondering what kind of man breaks through that wall,” he replies quietly.

“I don’t know. He’s just a guy. N-normal,” I stammer. My hands feel all jittery again. I snatch the camera back, knuckles going white.

“No normal guy would ever be good enough for you,” he says.

“He’s fine. We’re fine.”

“Yeah, I guess that sounds about right. ‘Fine’ seems like the perfect word for you two.”

I stop dead in my tracks and spin around to face him. “Why does that sound like judgment? Are you going out of your way to piss me off tonight?”

Kennedy shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. It might do us both a little good if you got a little mad. Maybe then we can actually talk about something.” When I don’t answer, Kennedy sighs and kicks at the ground.

He stares at me silently for a moment before whispering, “Go with me to the music festival, Annabel.”

“You know I can’t,” I whisper back.

“All I know is that you won’t.”

…

This makes three nights that I haven’t been able to sleep. I keep checking my phone to see if Kennedy has texted me, but of course, he hasn’t. What reason would he have to do so?

Yesterday morning, a set of luggage appeared in my room. I’m not sure who put it there. Possibly Grandma or possibly my parents. A passive-aggressive push toward starting school. Orientation is a few weeks away, and on paper I’m ready. Mom and Dad have paid my tuition. I’ve signed up for classes, using my AP credits to comp out of most freshman classes and diving headfirst into my major: history. I even signed up for a photography class.

I just can’t bring myself to start packing. And it’s not just Grandma being sick. The insane number of times I’ve checked my phone in the last couple of hours proves that. As if sensing my inner turmoil, my phone bings, alerting me that I have a text message. I practically fly out of bed and grab the phone from the dresser.

It’s a message from Kennedy.

I bite down on my bottom lip and open the message. It’s the picture that first brought us together. The one of the trash cans. Laid over it is the logo of the band he said was interested in using it for their cover art. Underneath the picture is a simple message:

So, you ready to be a paid working photographer? I think it looks pretty badass. But it’s not up to me. I need a yes or no.

I shuffle over to my bed, cradling the phone in my hands. Plopping down, I try to decipher any hidden meaning between his words. Is this merely a business correspondence? Does he just feel bad for me? Is he using the picture as an excuse to talk to me? Why is he texting me so late at night? Is he having a hard time sleeping for the same reason as I am?

Yes
,
I text him back.

I’ll need you to sign some paperwork.

My stomach flutters a bit reading his text. If he needs me to sign some paperwork, does that mean he needs to see me? Do I want to see him? I glance over at the suitcases that sit in the middle of my room, staring at me and judging me. Of course I want to see him again.

Ok.

Can you stop by the construction site around noon?

He could have easily emailed it over to me. I knew that.

Sure.

I go to sleep with a smile on my face.

It’s a miracle I’m able to escape the house with matching clothes on, as this morning was a particularly intense freak show. It all started with the twins. Not cool with the fact that I decided to grab a shower before feeding them, they took it upon themselves to attempt to make pancakes. I thought they would be all right with Grandma for ten minutes. She had been having a few really good days and, judging by the number of insults she hurled at the politicians on C-SPAN, I thought she was in full feisty-mode, able to handle anything…including the Wonder Twins. When I came downstairs, there was milk all over the floor, flour covering every inch of the counter, and a fully lit burner with a smoking piece of bread stuck directly on it. Grandma was asleep in the chair.

After making sure Grandma was all right and cleaning up the twins’ mess and sending them off to preschool, the last thing I wanted to do was hang around the house. I tried talking to Grandma, but she kept falling asleep midsentence, and it was killing me. So when Mom and Dad finally emerged from their room, I bolted.

While I was supposed to meet Kennedy at noon, I showed up to the construction site a tad bit earlier. The construction company Kennedy worked for mostly did renovations. As the town didn’t really see a lot of newcomers, there wasn’t a need for many new homes or buildings. Instead, the construction company spent most of its time on fixing the crumbling buildings that had stood for generations and generations.

Today, Kennedy was helping to add a new wing to the hospital. A large portion of the town’s population was getting older, so there was an increased need for space there.

Sitting in my car outside the construction site, I try to kill some time playing on my phone. But the last thing I wanted was to see pictures of Jason’s work retreat. Every time he texted me, I now felt guilty because it wasn’t the person I really wanted to hear from. I couldn’t break his heart. I had zero proof that anything was going on with him and the girl from work. Zero. And until I asked him, until I tried to see what the hell was going on with us, I couldn’t purposely break his heart when he made sure never to break mine. What kind of cruel world was this? A world where I pined for a boy who would most definitely break my heart. He would run. I would go to college, things would get complicated, and he would bolt. It’s what he did best. I couldn’t give up the stability of being with Jason for that.

I pull down the visor and check out my appearance in the mirror. I’ve certainly looked better. My hair’s curling like a mad scientist’s because I didn’t take the time to tame it. I’m not wearing any makeup. I’m definitely not going to be winning any beauty pageants, but why should that matter? I’m just here to sign some paperwork.

But of course, it does matter. I start digging in my purse, praying to God that I have some lip gloss down in its hidden depths, when I hear a commotion from behind me.

“I need you to work extra hours,” a deep voice bellows.

“Yeah, and I need you to pay me for the hours I do work,” answers back a voice I have become very familiar with. I glance up and spot Kennedy and the foreman going at it.

Holy goodness! Gone are the usual jeans and obscure band T-shirt Kennedy wears. Replaced with cargo pants and wifebeater. I always remember cringing at the concept of a man wearing one, but he makes even questionable fashion choices look good.

“I said I’ll pay you, and I will,” the man counters.

“When? You’re like two months behind.”

“Look, you’re lucky you even have a job.”

“Excuse me?” Kennedy asks, balling his hands into fists.

“Don’t make me say it, kid.”

“First, I’m not a kid. Second, if you have something to say, then I guess I have something to hear.”

“Fine! This is the only option you got. This job. You know no one else will give you one. You’re a loser. A burnout. More interested in smoking pot than actually doing something with your life. You never took school seriously. In fact, I can’t think of anything you have taken seriously except maybe screwing girls. So maybe you should be a bit more thankful,” the foreman spits out.

One of the worst things about living in a small town is that everyone knows everything about you. Or they think they do. None of that is Kennedy. Sure, it was how I used to view him, but he isn’t that guy. I don’t think he’s ever been that guy.

I twist all the way around in my seat. I’m pretty sure Kennedy’s going to punch his boss in the face. At least, that’s what I’m hoping he’s going to do because if he doesn’t want to, I’ll be happy to do it for him.

Kennedy takes a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fist. “I quit,” he replies.

The foreman’s eyes go wide. “You quit?”

Kennedy doesn’t answer. He’s said his piece and it’s clear he doesn’t feel like the man deserves another minute of his time. Kennedy stalks right past my car, so lost in his own thoughts that he fails to see me.

A moment later, I get a text message. It’s from Kennedy asking if I can meet him later this evening instead. There’s no mention of the incident with the foreman.

I contemplate going after him and seeing if he needs someone to talk to, but I know I would want to be alone, so I decide to give him some space. When I pull back into my driveway at home, I spot Grandma sitting on the steps of the front porch with a glass of iced tea in her hand.

I think about backing out of the driveway, but Grandma raises an eyebrow at me. She’s ready to talk, and I’m ready to listen. Once the car is parked, I get out and take a seat next to Grandma. I wait for her to speak. She hasn’t really talked to me in nearly a week, so I figure I’ll let her steer the ship.

“I heard Kennedy no longer has a job,” she finally says. My mouth drops open. “Do I need to remind you how small this town is? I heard it from Ms. Wilkins. Told me all about how that asshole disrespected that poor boy, and how you were sitting in your car watching it happen.”

“What should I have done?” I ask, unable to miss the note of accusation in her voice.

Grandma reaches over and grabs my hand in hers. “It doesn’t matter what you should have done. Now all you can worry about is what you should do.”

“What can I do?” I ask. “Like you said, the guy’s a real asshole. I doubt he’s going to listen to me. Besides, even if I could get Kennedy’s job back, I don’t think he would take it. How could anyone go back and work for a man who speaks about you like that?”

“I’m talking about the music festival,” Grandma replies.

I sigh. “Look, if you really want me to consider going to school this fall, I certainly won’t be missing my last few weeks at home to go to some music festival.”

“Because you think I’m going to die at any second, and you want to be there for me?” Grandma asks before taking a long swig of her iced tea.

I bite down on my bottom lip and start pulling on the grass growing up between the cracks of the sidewalk near my feet.

“Look, Annabel Lee, you didn’t go to school last year when things were real bad. And I didn’t stop you because, well, I wanted you around. I wasn’t ready to give you up. I was being selfish—”

“No, Grandma, you weren’t—”

Grandma hits me on the back of the head. “Don’t interrupt an old, dying lady when she is speaking. I was. After Stephen died, I clutched too tightly to you.”

I can’t help but crack a smile. I’m going to miss her sass.

“Honestly, I thought I would be gone by now,” she continues. “I could die tomorrow or six months from today. We just don’t know. What I am sure of is I won’t be getting better. I can’t keep you here waiting.”

“But I want to be here with you,” I reply, squeezing her hand. My parents lost me when they had the twins. Kennedy gave me away, but Grandma kept me with her, and now she thinks I’m strong enough to be on my own.

“I truly think you do, my girl. But I also think there are other reasons you don’t want to go to school and that music festival,” she replies. She hands me her glass of iced tea.

It’s only when I’m holding it that I realize it’s not iced tea. The smell of whiskey almost overwhelms me. I raise an eyebrow and Grandma nods. I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip. At first, it feels like liquid fire down my throat, but a fuzzy warmth fills my chest.

“I think you’re scared shitless about going out into the world,” she continues. I try to hand her back the glass, but she refuses to take it. Knowing Grandma is about to get real with me in the way only she and maybe Kennedy can, I take another sip. “You’ve succeeded at everything you’ve done in this town,” she continues. “Top of your class. President of any club you decided to join. Hell, most days you even run this house. I think you’re afraid that if you leave here, you won’t be able to control everything.”

I want to tell her she’s wrong, but all I can do instead is sip on the whiskey.

“One of the best things about being an old, dying lady is you get to say whatever the heck is on your mind.”

“Come on, you’ve always said what was on your mind. Even before you were sick,” I say as I hold up the glass in a toast to the woman who has been the single biggest influence on my life.

“I guess that’s true, but now I can say whatever I want and people aren’t allowed to get mad at me,” she amends. “So you sit there and remember that when I say what I need to say.”

I nod, bringing the glass of whiskey back to my lips.

“Some of my best memories involved things happening that were out of my control. For example, when I was young, I just knew I was going to marry Michael Page. I pursued that boy till the cows came home, and that little dipshit didn’t want nothing to do with me. I was a mess. And your grandpa, who I never thought of as anything more than a friend, was right there by my side to pick up the pieces. I let him see me at my worst, and he didn’t run. There aren’t a lot of people like that in the world.”

I nod, remembering how Kennedy told me he wasn’t going anywhere…even after the deplorable way I had acted. The thing was, I just didn’t know if I believed him.

“You need to go to that music festival, Annabel. I could sit here and try to guilt you into it by telling you how much Kennedy’s going to need it, considering he’s no longer got a job. I mean, writing is all he has left. But mostly, you need to go for yourself, girl.”