The Boy I Love (10 page)

I sat on the exam table, watching James unwrap my bandage. Mom waited outside. Ever since I ran over to Tim's, she and Dad had been strangely distant, almost like they were afraid of me and what I might do.

I wondered if anyone had told James about losing the farm. I sure couldn't bring myself to say anything. I didn't want to think about it
or
talk about it. Just saying it out loud would make everything
real
.

James cleaned my hand carefully and looked at it under lights. “How's the pain, Wren?” he said.

“It's better,” I said. “I hardly even need ibuprofen anymore.”

He stood there turning my hand this way and that, checking to see if it was healing the way it should, and while he stared at it so carefully I stared at
him
carefully, trying to figure if he was okay or still pining for Holly. James was the one person who might actually be happy to hear the farm—
the plantation
—was on its way out of our family for good. At the same time I knew he could never be glad about something that would cause us so much sadness. It all just sucked.

James's face looked full of concentration. Probably there should have been some kind of awkwardness, some kind of tension between us, but it only felt like two normal people, a grown-up and a kid, a doctor and a patient. James studied this injury of mine so carefully. He wished for me to be well and used his expertise to help that along. His hands felt chapped, probably because he had to wash them all the time. I tried to conjure up in my head all this history between us, the way we sort of came from the same place. But because of all the particulars, I couldn't bear to think about it for more than a minute.

James said, “That was a big sigh, Wren. Everything okay?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. I hadn't even realized that I'd sighed at all. “Sorry about that.”

“You don't have to be sorry.”

“I just wish life didn't have to be so complicated all the time.”

James smiled, but it was a sad smile. “I wish it too, Wren,” he said. “I wish it too.”

*   *   *

In place of my big bandage James gave me a package of fingerless gloves made out of gauze. I could change them myself as often as I wanted, and I could go riding again. Best of all for my mother, I could even shovel manure again. My fingertips were healed well enough that I didn't need anything covering them. Yay! I felt a lot more normal. Plus, it made it easier for me to hang on to the broom I had to dance around with during the “Necessity” song.

In the play, Caroline Jones played this girl named Susan who couldn't speak—she only danced. Watching her up there on stage, she was so graceful and perfect. One day she sat in the back row with Tyler and me and asked if she could see my burn. Even though I wasn't supposed to, I pulled off my glove. It looked a lot better than it used to—all the little blisters had flattened out by now—but even so she drew in her breath.

“I am never drinking another drop of alcohol,” she said. “Never in my life. At least not until college.”

Tyler snorted like he didn't believe her. I laughed. “It's not so bad,” I said.

“It's the worst thing I ever did,” Caroline admitted.

I racked my brain, trying to think of the worst thing that I had ever done. The first thing I came up with was dating Tim, even though we obviously weren't dating. It was just that I felt so bad about Allie and me not talking, and I made up my mind then and there to clear the air with her. I knew that if my mother hadn't been so wrapped up with the farm, that's what she would have told me to do. For the last couple of weeks, the two people I talked to the most—Allie and my mom—had been pretty much off-limits.

Because of that, the new main person I talked to was Tim. Just like Allie, everybody in the play seemed to think we were together. Caroline Jones even made a point of telling me she had no hard feelings about it, and that we made a cute couple. For some reason I found this very flattering, so much that I didn't correct her. I should have, but I didn't. That afternoon at Tim's pool, I told him about what Caroline said, and he liked it as much as I did.

“I always felt bad dating Caroline when I could never feel the same way she did,” he said. We sat up to our necks in the shallow end, me with my burned hand resting on the pool deck. Nobody else was there, being as it was almost dinnertime. “But with you, you know everything, so it works out perfectly.”

I could see what he meant. We never had to tell a lie, or even pretend; we just had to do what came pretty naturally, which was hang out together. So for Tim, it did work
out perfectly. For me, not so much. I liked the idea of what people thought, that Tim was my boyfriend, a whole lot better than the truth. At the same time I felt bad that Tim had to walk around hiding the truth. So I said, “Maybe it doesn't always have to be such a big secret. People might surprise you. I don't think anyone would really care one way or the other.”

“No,” Tim said, his voice so firm he hardly sounded like himself. “They'd care. They'd see me different. I mean, you've heard Devon.”

“Yes, I have heard Devon,” I said. “Doesn't that bug you? It sure bugs me.”

Tim waved this aside like it was nothing. “Devon's just being Devon. I think he says those things so nobody will think
he's
gay.”

“Do you think Devon's gay?” This thought really surprised me.

“No,” Tim said, “I don't. But since he knows it's pretty much the worst thing anyone
can
think, he makes sure and says those things. You know? Anyway, friends would be bad enough, but what would be really bad is if my parents found out.”

“You think they'd mind?”

“Wren. They'd go nuts. Our church is already freaking out because of the gay ministers. So our pastor is going to split from the national branch and join this new bunch of
Lutherans who pretty much say they hate all gay people.” Tim got quiet, then added, “I don't think my father would ever speak to me again.”

“Come on,” I said. “You're his
son
.”

Tim looked at me like I didn't know what I was talking about. I couldn't think of anything I could do, ever, that would make my parents not speak to me. Even though things at home were tense, I knew that I could rob every bank in Williamsport and my mom would still show up at the jail every Saturday with a stack of horse magazines and a box of pralines.

“Here's how I figure it,” Tim said. “When I go to college, maybe then I'll meet someone. And I'll have to tell my parents, tell everyone. But until then, why rock the boat?”

I could see his point about this. “But you know,” I said, nodding my head in agreement, “one person who wouldn't care at all would be Allie. We could tell her.”

“She'd tell Devon.”

“She might not tell him, if we told her not to.” But even as I spoke I wasn't absolutely sure about this, not like I would have been even a month before.

“Still,” Tim said. “I don't want to risk it. Okay? Look at that poor kid Jesse. No way am I going to be
that
guy.”

Jesse Gill hadn't made the play. Every time I saw him, he was all by himself. I heard that guys in gym class wouldn't let him in the showers, and I saw myself that someone wrote
a gross word on his locker. It was too bad he hadn't just stayed at Cutty River, where you could get detention just for using the word “retard”. A girl I knew called
herself
a retard and got three straight days of detention. Thinking about this, I felt anger brewing. Why shouldn't Jesse be able to be at Williamsport and not get harassed?

So I could sure see why Tim would want to avoid Jesse's fate. Since pretty much everyone in the school adored Tim, he had a long way to fall. So I assured him I would keep my promise and never say a word, not to anyone. Tim still looked worried, almost like he wished he hadn't told me, so I added, “Promise!” And I vowed then and there not to ask him again if I could tell anyone. I wondered if he had any idea that Allie had a big crush on him. I felt like telling him, and might have—but that would have shown I couldn't keep a secret, which was the last message I wanted to get across.

I moved a little closer to Tim, and he draped his arm around me. It's hard to find words to tell you how good it felt, and I closed my eyes and reveled a little bit in the moment. When I opened my eyes, I saw a proper-looking blond lady in high heels open the pool gate and come click-clacking over to us. She wore lipstick and had kind of poufy, perfect hair.

“Well, hi, honey,” she said to Tim. I couldn't see her eyes because they were shaded by big, dark sunglasses. I scootched a little away from Tim, and his arm slid off my shoulders.

“Hi, Mom,” Tim said. “This is my friend Wren.”

“Hello, Mrs. Greenlaw,” I said.

Mrs. Greenlaw knelt by the pool and held her hand out to me. I reached over and shook it, even though I was dripping wet. “You're the girl who hurt her hand,” she said, looking at my gauze glove. “How's it healing, honey?” She had one of those deep, melodic North Carolina accents, like she'd grown up close to the mountains.

“It's much better,” I told her.

“I'm so glad. Would you like to come back to the house and have dinner with us?”

“I'd love to, ma'am, but I'm expected home. Thank you for asking me, though.”

Mrs. Greenlaw stood up and smoothed out her skirt, even though it hadn't wrinkled a bit. I knew from Tim that she worked in real estate. I pictured my own mother with her baggy Levi's and dirty fingernails and tried to imagine what it would be like to live in a house with someone who looked so picture perfect.

“Honey,” Mrs. Greenlaw said. Tim and I looked up at the same time, since that was what she'd been calling both of us. “Why don't you take my car and drive Wren home? It's almost time for dinner, and I'm sure you both have homework.”

Mrs. Greenlaw's car smelled like perfume. It was the cleanest I'd ever seen, not a single crumb or envelope or CD case anywhere in sight. I asked Tim if it was new.

“No,” he said. “She has to keep it clean because she drives clients around.”

“I could never keep anything this clean,” I said.

When we pulled up to my house I saw Aunt Holly's car, but the only person outside was Mom, on the front stoop, talking on the phone. I said good-bye to Tim, then went over and sat down next to her. My conversation with Tim had made me feel a little warmer toward my own mother. I could tell she was wrapping up the call, with lots of “okays” and “thank yous.”

“Good news,” she said to me, when she hung up. “A man up in Virginia is going to adopt Vixen and Maurice. He's going to come get them this weekend.”

“What man?” I said, amazed. People didn't just pop out of the blue to adopt horses. It had always been Mom's strictest rule not to let anyone take a horse until she inspected their facility.

“Oh, a man who just bought a farm and wants a couple horses. He sounds really nice.” She tried to make her voice all bright and enthusiastic, but the minute she finished talking she burst into tears.

“Oh, Mom.” I put my arms around her. If it made my heart hurt—thinking how it would be these next months, watching trailers come to take our horses one by one—I couldn't imagine how it was for my mother.

From inside the house I could hear Dad and Holly
talking. Their voices sounded light and airy. I'd noticed lately that a change had come over Dad. You'd never guess he'd just lost his job and his family home. He looked like the whole weight of the world had been lifted. He had this little spring in his step, and Holly's voice sounded happier than I'd heard her in months.

“I get it,” Mom said, like she'd been reading my mind. “I understand why it's a relief for them. But I just can't be happy about it. I can't be.”

“It feels like the end of the world,” I said, though I wish I hadn't, because Mom started in crying all over again.

*   *   *

Lately, in American history, Allie sat next to Devon instead of me. But on Wednesday I decided I was sick of the whole thing and plopped down right beside her. Devon wasn't there yet, and neither was Ms. Durand.

“Hey,” I said to Allie, like nothing had ever happened.

“Hey,” she said, like she didn't sound too sure.

“So what I want to know is,” I said, “after twelve million years being best friends, are you really going to break up with me because of some boy?”

“God, Wren,” Allie said. She laughed a little, but she still didn't sound invested in the conversation. As usual these days, she was dressed in a careful outfit—a little shrug over a T-shirt and flowy skirt, her hair all braided, plus eye shadow and lip gloss. “You can't break up with a girl.”

“Well, that's what it feels like,” I said. “It feels like you broke up with me, like you're just . . . gone.” I thought about saying something about the farm, but that didn't seem quite fair. And then Devon Kelly walked in. He gave me a happy little wave hello, then sat down in the desk on the other side of her. I realized she'd been saving it for him when I saw her slip a book off it and back onto her own. Then I had a bizarre thought. It was like Allie and I had suddenly traded each other in for guys—me for Tim, her for Devon.

Ms. Durand called the class to order and announced that we would start our section on the Civil War today. There were plenty of groans, and one of them was mine. The last thing I wanted to think about these days was any topic along Civil War lines. If everything was so much better now, why make ourselves feel terrible by dredging up the past?

I thought how maybe that's what Allie was doing these days, avoiding the past by avoiding me. That made me so sad I had to put my head down on the desk. After thirty seconds or so a hand patted me softly on the back. Of course it was Allie, and it gave me the strength to pick up my head and listen to the lesson, my face fixed like nothing at all was bothering me.