The Heartbreak Messenger (19 page)

Laughing, Duke turned back to me and held up his hand for a high-five. “Righteous, little messenger.” I hit his hand hard, and then wished I hadn't.

“Take five, guys,” Duke said to his teammates. Half of the players collapsed to the ground, while the others trotted over to the drinking fountain.

It took a moment for my heart to slow down enough for me to talk. “Thanks, Duke. Sir. I really appreciate that.”

“No worries, man. Like I told you the other day, I think you're all right. Now that Gunner knows I got your back, he won't even look your way. He's all leather and steel on the outside, but I've never seen such a cream puff.”

“Well, thanks.” I stood there for a moment, wondering what else I could say. I felt like hugging the guy, since he'd just saved my skin and all, but I was afraid that might not go over too well, especially in front of the team. Instead I said, “So, hey, have you talked to Lisa lately?”

Duke's face fell and he sighed. Perhaps not the best question to ask, but at least he didn't start crying. “I've tried. I even sat outside her window all night long on Wednesday, at least until her grandma chased me away with a fire poker. She just won't listen. Won't even talk to me.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Once again, I had the feeling Lisa was missing out on something, that they were both suffering for no good reason.

“If there was just a way to make her understand,” Duke said.

Right then an idea popped into my head and snapped into place, like magnetic puzzle pieces finding each other at last. “Hey, Duke … there's something I want to talk over with you. I need to think it through first, and I'm late for an appointment right now, but I might be able to return the favor.”

His eyebrows scrunched together. “Uh, sure, man, stop by the house any time and we'll talk.”

“Okay,” I said as I headed off to grab my bike, my mind already whirling with ideas that hopefully wouldn't get me pulverized or threatened or make me feel guilty. Maybe. “And thanks again.”

 

Chapter 29

This time when I walked into the Pretty Bouquets flower shop, the lady behind the counter shook her head sadly. “I'm sorry, dear, but there was a funeral this morning. I'm all out of carnations.”

“That's okay. I'm actually here for something different.”

That made her eyebrows lift just a little.

“I need a rose. A really nice rose. It's for a friend. She's a girl. She's just a friend—my best friend, really—but, you know, maybe later on down the road … anyway. I need to apologize. I need to let her know I'm still here for her. As a friend.”

The woman gave a nod of satisfaction. “Now
that's
something I can help you with.”

She turned behind her and opened a glass door. The cold air flooded into the small store. She gestured to a collection of roses on the far right-hand side. “Now, a short-stemmed rose is something you want to avoid. It's what one gives his mother on Mother's Day. And they're usually cheap enough to buy at the grocery store, which is always a
faux pas
.”

“A phoo-what?”

But the lady was deep into her floral consultation. “No, what you need is a long-stemmed rose. These are usually fuller and larger than an average short-stemmed, and often last longer once they bloom. This allows the recipient more time to think about your kindness and devotion.” She moved over to the large buckets of roses on the left. “Always select a rose with a number of leaves still attached, as this suggests authenticity. As for color, in your situation, you may want to avoid red, since it tends to be indicative of romantic love. But a yellow rose is a sign of friendship, a white rose a sign of peace…”

She moved toward the display of long-stemmed roses and carefully pulled one out. “In your particular situation, I have a good feeling about this one here.” The rose was a deep lavender, with darker purple peeking out at the edges of the petals just starting to open up. Even to me it looked pretty cool.

“Can I get it plain like that, with a ribbon tied around the stem?” I asked.

She cocked her head to one side. “A very refined choice. But don't you want to know how much it costs first?”

“No. I'll take it.”

 

Chapter 30

I arrived at Mick's when the sun was just high enough to cast shadows over the picnic table. Abby sat there with Rob, just as he had promised me she would. As I headed through the parking lot, I glanced over at the garage where Mom was working on a Dodge Neon (spark plugs). She saw the rose in my hand and gave me a quick wink.

I stopped just short of the picnic table. Abby studied a page in her spiral notebook, a pencil in her hand. She didn't look at me. A five-gallon bucket of walnuts was on the ground next to Rob, a Tupperware on the table, and a metal nutcracker in his hand. He raised the nutcracker in greeting. “Hey, Quentin.” He nodded toward Abby and gave me a thumbs-up.

“Thanks, Rob,” I said.

“No problem.” He put a nut in the cracker and snapped it open.

I stared at him for a moment. “Rob,” I finally said.

“Oh. Oh, right. I, um, I'm going to go help your mom, uh, hold wrenches or something.” He tossed down the nutcracker and left.

I cleared my throat. “Abby, what I have to say…”

“Sit down, Mr. Chinetti.”

I immediately knew what kind of conversation this was going to be.

I sat down across the table from Abby and laid the rose right in front of me where it couldn't be missed.

“I have three questions for you.” Abby wrote in her notebook as she spoke. “If you can answer those three questions honestly, then there's a good chance I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”

Oh, boy, here we go.

She looked up and locked eyes with me, then raised her left index finger. “What were you doing on Monday afternoon when you stood me up for our homework session?”

I absentmindedly picked up the nutcracker and turned it over in my hands. “Well, I told you that Rob and I were out at the scrap yard.”

Abby's eyes narrowed, and I knew this was no time to fool around. I grabbed a walnut.

“I was there doing a Heartbreak Messenger job.”
Crack.

“You admit that you left me hanging so that you could break a poor girl's heart and earn a few bucks?

“Is that one of the three questions?”

“Don't question my questions, Mr. Chinetti.”

I pulled the walnut meat out and tossed it into the Tupperware. “Actually, it was a guy.”

“Who was?”

“The person I delivered the message to on Monday. It was a guy, not a girl.”

“Oh. Really?” Abby's district attorney mask dropped for a split second before popping back into place. “That doesn't make a difference. Why did you lie to me about it the other night?”

I raised an argumentative finger in protest. “I didn't lie. Everything I said was true.”

“Don't give me that,
Messenger.
You used words to send the message you wanted me to hear. And you didn't want me to hear the truth.”

There was no way around logic like that. I nodded slowly and grabbed another walnut. “You're right. I'm sorry. But you said if I'd been doing a Messenger job, that you wouldn't speak to me until next Presidents' Day.” I gave her a tiny grin. “And that's a long ways off.”

She stared at me for a moment and then looked away, but not before I saw a smile dance through her eyes. “Okay.” She placed a checkmark next to something in her notebook and then studied the page for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes were hard once more. She raised a second finger. “Why did you agree to Justin's job? Why did you break up with me for him?”

I took a deep breath. I'd actually rehearsed an answer for this one. But Abby's picnic table interrogation made me stop and think a little harder. She wanted me to be as honest as possible. I owed her that much.

I slowly moved the walnut through my fingers. “Well, the best answer is that I was being selfish. I needed the money and Justin was willing to pay…”

Abby's eyes grew wide.

“But that's not the only way I was being selfish,” I quickly added. “I guess I was thinking a lot more about my own feelings than about yours.”
Crack.

The hard lines on Abby's face softened. “What feelings?”

“Well, I've never really liked Justin. I kept trying to convince myself that it was because he's so … Justin. But I think maybe it was something else all along. I think I was jealous of him. All I could see was him stealing away my best friend, you know? I wanted you back. So when the opportunity came, I took it.” I loaded the metal cracker with another walnut.

“So you were jealous of Justin. Because you missed me as a
friend
.” It was both a statement and a question, with a force behind it as gentle as a hemi-head engine.

Weeks before, I might have missed what she was saying entirely. I would have taken what she said at face value and replied, “Yep.” But now, I could feel the mental tumblers fall into place as a lock snapped open in my mind. It wasn't a Rosetta Stone, but it did give me a tiny glimmer of insight into what her message really meant.

And I knew what I said next had to be completely honest. No movie script, no one-liners. From the heart.

“Kinda. That was only part of it. There's also something else that's a little more complicated and it took me awhile to figure it out.”

“What?” She almost whispered the word.

My whole body itched. The walnut slipped and hit the table with a hollow smack.

“I've tried to tell myself that I wasn't jealous you were his girlfriend, just that I missed having you around. Missed hanging out with you, seeing you everyday, just being there. And I did miss that. But … I
was
jealous that you were his girlfriend, too.”

“Why?” This time it was definitely a whisper.

I picked up the walnut again. My hand shook just a little. I took a deep breath.
Be honest
.

“I like you, Abby. A lot. That's probably the biggest reason I had problems with Justin.”

Abby looked at me across the table, but my eyes kept slipping away from hers. “How long have you known?” she asked.

I looked at my watch. “Consciously? Probably about forty seconds. But a lot longer than that, you know, underneath.”
Crack.

I risked a glance her way. She seemed to be holding back a smile. No, a whole river of smiles. The dimple in her left cheek was getting deeper.

I plunged ahead. “But, Abby, the problem is … well, I don't think I'm ready to do anything about it.”

Abby's eyebrows furrowed, bringing a dam down in front of the river. “What do you mean? How can you like somebody—a lot—and not be ready to do anything about it?”

“Mostly, I guess I feel like I'm too young to have a girlfriend.”

“Too young? Quentin, we're thirteen years old. In a few years we'll be practically almost adults. What's too young about that?”

“Just what you said. Someday we'll be adults, but not right now. Right now we're kids. Kids hang out and have fun. And that's what I want to do. I feel like if we start dating now, it'll just be another game.”

“Are you saying my feelings are just part of a game?” Abby raised her voice. This was not going according to plan. Heck, I had lost track of any plan a few miles back.

“No, Abby, that's not what I'm saying. I mean … well, what do you want a boyfriend for?”

She paused for a moment. “I don't just want a boyfriend. I want to be with someone because I like them. I guess.” She looked hard into my eyes. “But it's not a game. It's serious. When you—Justin, whoever—broke up with me, it hurt. A lot. And that was real.”

I stared back, trying to understand the storm of feelings inside of me and explain them at the same time. It was like reading a newspaper caught in a whirlwind. “You're right. It
was
real. And it
is
serious. I didn't see that when I started doing the Heartbreak Messenger thing. I watched a lot of people who thought that love was about class rings, or about little black books, or being seen by everyone, or getting what they wanted. But that's not what love's about. It's not a game. If you treat it that way, people get hurt and…” I choked up, something catching in my throat that I had to cough past. “You shouldn't fool around with love, you know. It's a commitment, to be together in something permanent. To take care of each other and stick together, no matter what.”

My eyes were watering for no logical reason, except perhaps that I had delivered a message so meaningful to me that it hovered just outside of my ability to understand, but not my ability to feel.

“And I don't know about you,” I said as I wiped at my eyes. “But I'm not ready for that much responsibility yet.”

If I had just been sitting in front of a girl that I liked—a lot—then I probably would have felt like a complete dweeb. But as it was, I sat in front of my best friend. Abby dropped her counting hand and placed it on top of mine, sending a comforting, static warmth through my body.

“How old were you when your dad left?” she asked. Her eyes were softer now. “Five?”

“Six.”

“Do you think he loved your mom?”

I glanced briefly over toward the garage bay and sniffled. “Maybe in his own way. But for him it was a game.”

Abby nodded. We both knew she was right. And that I was right, too. Somehow, we were both right together.

After forever, she lifted her hand from mine and picked up the nutcracker and a walnut. “You know, after Rob and I ate too many Holey Doughs the other night, I went over to Justin's house to force him to talk to me.”