The Best Week of My Life (8 page)

I didn’t comment, their quote seeming prophetic to me, my little world, the bubble I’d built over five days now was crumbling into dust. I’d fooled myself to believe Carter cared for me, even a little. All those words he’d said, I’m sure he’d meant them at the time.
But face it, Daphne, you are what you are.

Mom and Dad either didn’t notice my mood or chose not to comment on it. I’m sure they were thinking how Carter hadn’t come, but I doubted they had any knowledge of what’d gone on between us. Why would they? They probably simply thought the weather was disrupting things.

Mom fixed lunch, a collection of leftovers from meals and snack bags. She believed in being thrifty, hating to take anything home from the beach. Somehow in her mind it all had to stay here. It became tainted if we toted it the hour’s drive home.

I ate in silence, concentrating on my food, and afterward, decided to read the book I’d brought along. The one I hadn’t touched because I’d spent every waking moment with Carter. I made it two chapters in before I realized I hadn’t any idea what the story was about. I’d drifted away to thoughts of me and him.

Me in the pool sans shorts.

Us swimming in the ocean, skin to skin.

Him saying he had a crush on me.

Us at the aquarium, and his declaration, “I like Daphne Merrill for who she is, and I like her a lot. She makes me happy.”

Well, if I made him happy, then where was he? Was he thinking of me at all? Or had he simply done exactly what I thought all boys did after spending time with me – moved on?

The rain and my thoughts sent me to sleep. I awoke to the rumble of thunder and drone of the TV. Dragging myself out the door, I have hoped he’d be there, smiling and waiting. But instead, it was my parents, cuddled up together, backs to me.

I stared at them. Would that ever be me? Would I ever find someone who’d love me like that, in spite of everything I manage to goof up? Tears pushed at my eyes and I tried to hold them back. But soon it was impossible, and so lip trembling, cheeks warm and damp, my spirits as low as they could get, I stood there and wept.

***

He’d ended it wrong. First, he hadn’t followed through in kissing her, and then he’d simply walked off, leaving her confused. That’d been written all over her face, a kind of, “What just happened?” Which sadly wasn’t her fault. Daphne was simply Daphne. She couldn’t be anything else.

As far as he was concerned, he hadn’t lied to her. He
wasn’t
looking for a girlfriend when he’d come here. The pain of Carrie’s rejection was too fresh. He
did
have a crush on her. She was great – funny and honest and real. He
did
like her exactly how she was and she
did
make him happy.

Then why was he so upset?

Because he didn’t measure up. It all came back to that. Her dad had said to relax and give himself a chance, yet nothing in his psyche wanted to do that. It wanted to go over and over and over the problem, running through all the reasons maybe he was exactly like his father, why he might hurt her and damage her forever. And he could never live with himself if he did that.

He couldn’t hurt Daphne and her stop being like she was because how she was is what made him want to be with her so badly, to kiss her until his mind blanked and there was nothing else around but the two of them.

Carter folded his arms behind his head and gazed out the rain-smeared window. Red hibiscus flowers, crushed by the heavy drops, pasted themselves to the glass creating an abstract painting. A gust of wind sent them flapping out and smacking back again.

The rain had given him an excuse to stay away, to spend time alone thinking and make up his mind. Yet in all the hours he’d been here, avoiding conversation with his mom and Henry all day, locking himself in this bedroom, he’d only concluded one thing. He was afraid. Terrified.

No, make that two. He wanted Daphne. But maybe wanting her and being right for her were two entirely different things.

A knock on the doorframe flipped his gaze that way and his mom looked in. “What’s got you so glum?” she said. “I figured you’d escape to see Daphne.”

He exhaled slowly. “Needed to think.”

She crossed the room and seated herself at his side. “About?”

He didn’t reply right away, and so she did what moms do, she picked at his shirt and brushed his hair with her fingertips.

“About dad,” he said at last.

Her bearing changed. She hated talking about his dad, so they never did. But avoiding it was killing him and creating more problems for him to deal with.

“What about him?” she asked.

He settled his gaze on her face. He looked like his dad; she’d told him that often enough, so maybe that was part of her discomfort in talking, the memories she probably had of better times and their hopes for him and how he brought the pain back.

“Am I like him?”

She inclined her head to the right and dusted her hair from her neck. “In what way?”

“In the can’t-hold-a-marriage-together way.”

She flinched. “That’s unfair, son.”

“Well, he couldn’t.”

She glanced toward the open door and standing, moved back and closed it. She held in place for a minute, her palm on the surface, before turning back around.

“It takes two to argue,” she said evenly.

“So it was you that couldn’t hold onto things as well?” He was well aware he sounded bitter, but he couldn’t stop the force of his words.

She sighed. “It was both of us. He messed up; I messed up, and we were both too proud to say, ‘I’m sorry.’”

“Are you? Sorry?”

She nodded. “All the time. Your father was the most dashing man. He swept me off my feet within days of meeting him, and I could think of nothing but being his wife, having his children. But I was unprepared; he was unprepared. We didn’t give each other enough time to be friends.”

She squirmed a bit. “We should’ve slowed down, but then you came along …”

“So you married for me? It’s my fault?” Guilt bashed him in the head, and he wallowed in it. He’d destroyed his parents’ marriage. Him, by coming into existence.

“No. Carter …” His mom touched his arm. “Why are you doing this? The marriage wasn’t your fault. The divorce wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; it just happened, and now, I have to move on, to find happiness again.”

He pulled his arm back. “Yeah. I hear how you’ve moved on.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Carter Pruitt, that’s uncalled for.”

“Well, you’re not married, and he’s here, and you and him … I thought you believed what the preacher said. I did. Carrie wanted to; she begged me.”

Her face grew alarmed.

“But I said
no
, and so she said I was too ‘sensitive’ and she ‘couldn’t deal with it.’” The look on Carrie’s face returned as real as it had been that night, accusatory, hateful. He groaned and crammed his hands over his eyes.

His mother’s voice whispered in his ear and settled there. “But if you’d done that, then you wouldn’t have Daphne.”

His throat sealed, and he swallowed the lump forming. “I don’t think I have Daphne at all.”

His mother’s smooth palm caressed his cheek. “Look at me,” she said.

He forced his eyes open.

“Henry has asked me to marry him twice. I have refused. So don’t hate Henry. He didn’t want to come on this vacation; he said you didn’t like him. But I convinced him it’d be good for all of us, good to get away and find who we are again.”

“Who am I?” he asked, interrupting her. “What if I’m just like you and Dad and I hurt her?”

“What if you don’t? What if you choose to be a better person than your father and I? What then? Are you willing to give up Daphne out of fear?”

“Are you?” he asked. “Are you willing to marry Henry and make it right?”

A standoff, that’s what this was. Face-to-face they stared at each other, waiting ‘til the other broke. And his mom spoke at last.

“You aren’t me, and you aren’t him,” she said. “Your life is your own to choose to live. And I think you know what you want to do way down in here.” She patted his chest. “Give in. Give in and fall in love. It’s okay.”

She rose from the bed and left the room, unspeaking. He gazed at the place she’d been for a good while, then returned to contemplation of the window. Was it really that easy? He should simply let go and see where this takes him? Would the memory of what happened to his parents send him repeating their actions or keep him away from them?

And the answer glared him in the eye. He shook with it, curling his fingernails into his palm.

Maybe the best person to ask wasn’t his mother, Daphne’s father, or even himself. Maybe the best person to ask was Daphne. All he could do was speak the truth, and she’d either like him or hate him for it in the end.

He’d simply have to learn to live with the result.

***

My mom turned at the sound of my weeping, and arms extended, rose from Dad’s side and embraced me. I buried my head in her chest, breathing in the smells of soap and lotion, and the potpourri she kept in her clothes.

“What is it, sweetheart?” she asked. “Is it Carter?”

So okay, my parents weren’t dumb. I think all teens fall into this trap. They think good ‘ole Mom and Dad don’t actually know what’s going on, when all along they do. They’re simply biding their time for the right moment to say so.

I was too heartbroken right then to deny it. So I gave a nod and sobbed harder.

She held me tight, rocking me gently back and forth. “Did he say something?” she asked.

“No,” I choked.

“He was rude to you then?”

I shook my head.

“He forgot something? Or … or what?” She was flustered like she gets when I’m making no sense.

I sagged in her arms and choked out the words. “He … just … left ….”

“There, there,” she patted my back. “He’s a nice boy. I’m sure you’ve misunderstood.”

My dad cleared his throat. “I had a talk with him.”

This brought my mother’s head over her shoulder and mine up from her chest.

“You did?” my mom asked. “About what?”

“Well, he had some questions. I think he has doubts about himself. Reminds me of myself a lot at the beginning.”

I pulled myself free of my mom and moved to the couch. Sitting, I crossed my legs beneath me. “Wh-what did he say?” I rubbed my damp cheeks. My breathing was snotty, so my mom handed me a tissue.

Dad smiled. “He said he likes you a lot.”

“He … he said that?”

Dad nodded. “Yes, said he wants to fall in love with you, but what if he can’t?”

“He … he …” I couldn’t say it. Carter
wanted
to fall in love with me? Then had he meant all those things he’d said? He hadn’t lied?

“What did you tell him, Howard?” my mom asked.

She would ask that. She was always practical.

“I told him to relax and give in. That I think he just hadn’t had time to realize how he really felt.”

“But he hasn’t come all day today, and so I thought …”

“Daphne, dear.” Mom petted my head. “It’s pouring outside. Maybe he simply needed some time to think. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, as the saying goes. You get that from your father.”

“I do not do that,” he said, his voice growing deep.

“Yes, you do. All the time. Why you’re the one who thought the Pederson’s didn’t invite us at Christmas because we ate too much, when all along it was only because their daughter was sick. And you thought we didn’t get into the Club because our income was too small. But they simply weren’t taking members until they got into the new building.” Mom made a broad gesture. “I always say look positive about things, and this is no different. It’s raining. The boy’s had a lot on his mind, and he needed to work through it. The sun will come out tomorrow.” She said that almost in a sing-song way to the familiar tune. “And he’ll come back, and it’ll all work out. I feel it in my bones.”

“Well then,” my dad said. “If you feel it in your bones, then it’s true. I’ve always trusted your bones.”

This made me giggle, and I covered my mouth. Then Dad’s lips curved up, and my mother began to laugh.

CHAPTER 8

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

I stood in the doorway, facing Carter unsure what else to say. “You … want to come in?” I asked.

He looked past me and then at the landing. “I was thinking we could go for a walk. Talk, you know.”

“Okay.” I glanced behind me and Mom smiled and waved a “shoo” gesture. I closed the door.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets for lack of anything else productive to do with them. Carter started walking, and I followed. We didn’t talk until we’d reached the pool. A rather large lady in an immense black swimsuit floated in the deep end, looking to me like a giant jelly donut. It would’ve been funny, except I was so nervous.

“You wanna sit here or go down to the beach?” he asked.

“The beach,” I said. I didn’t like the thought of donut lady hearing us.

He opened the beach gate and we padded into the sand. We were both huffing and puffing too much for conversation until we’d reached the water. Then he let me set the pace and fell in at my side.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” he said. “I shouldn’t have freaked on you, but I want to explain.”

I stooped to pick up a sea shell and rolled it around in my palm. “Go ahead then,” I said.

He took a deep breath. “I’ve had these doubts, about me, I mean. What if I’m like my dad, and I hurt you? I couldn’t stand that.”

I came to a halt. The sun was in my eyes, so I squinched up one side of my face.

“But probably that isn’t fair to think because I might not be like him at all. I talked to my mom, and I think it helped. But I gotta be honest, I’m afraid.”

Afraid? Carter was afraid? Yet hadn’t my dad said that last night? I waited.

“I’m afraid I can’t be all the things you think I am.”

But he didn’t see. I squeezed the shell harder. “You … you can’t
not
be all those things,” I said.

His brow furrowed, and he scratched his neck. “I don’t understand. You think I’m so perfect, but I’m not. I
am
sensitive, like Carrie said, and …”