This Much Is True (18 page)

My mom studies him intently as if he is the last man on earth and some kind of god besides. I’ve got my hands full with just these two in the same room when I hear my dad call us from downstairs.
Great.

We sail down the stairs. Well, Lincoln Presley and my mother sail down the stairs, arm-in-arm.

I haven’t seen my mom act this happy in a long time. There’s a part of me that is seriously reluctant to disrupt the strange dynamics taking place between the two of them on any level. Savoring the moment, I trail behind them a good five feet and attempt to contemplate my next move; because, clearly, this is going to get out of hand, and I need to be ready.

Linc is shaking hands with my dad, who is still completely enamored with Lincoln Presley already, and proceeds to tell him he’s met him briefly once before at the Stanford versus Oregon State game during his long stint in the autograph-signing line waiting for the baseball star to sign Tommy’s glove. Before I can even steer the conversation back in the right direction and remind them all that I have plans with Marla and Linc really needs to go, the guy is telling my mom and dad that he brought steaks for the grill, and he’s prepared to make dinner for all of us. That he wants to.
Here
.

My mom openly sighs because
I know
she was just being polite earlier about even considering the possibility of going out dinner with Linc and me. Because as we all know, except for the baseball player, she hasn’t exactly left the house in months. My dad is busy offering Linc a beer which he judiciously declines. We all settle in on the offer of sodas within two minutes at the lovely Tessa Landon’s suggestion. My dad and I exchange glances but even Linc seems okay with the idea of drinking diet soda to keep my mom on track for the evening.

I take a breath because I’ve been holding it again.
For obvious reasons.

Ten minutes later, Linc is out on our back deck grilling steaks while my mom and dad are rushing around clearing the patio table since we haven’t used it since last year; because,
oh yeah, my sister died and the world literally stopped at the Landon house. It’s impossible to explain. It really is.

“What are you doing?” I ask guardedly as soon as my parents go back inside to get the rest of the stuff.

He’s standing over the grill, tending to the steaks like he’s taking care of a newborn child. I’m taking advantage of the opportunity—now that we’re alone—to chastise him properly for this ambush of me and subsequently, my parents. Thank God, Tommy is spending the night at his best friend’s house. My little brother would be beside himself at the thought of the Lincoln Presley in our house because now he is a huge lifetime fan of said star pitcher.

“I’m grilling steaks.”

“What are you doing
here
grilling steaks for me and my parents?” This is so not okay—what he’s doing.

My parents
like
him. They’re practically in love with him already.
This is not good at all.

“I thought we were friends. I guess, since you said we could be friends; I thought we could start that up before you left for New York. I wanted to give you your charm bracelet. And frankly, Tally, I like your parents. You really should spend your last night with them and me. You’ll see Marla all summer, whereas you won’t see your parents or me that entire time.” He smiles wide, pleased with himself that he’s got it all figured out. He rewards me with this
determined-to-win
look while I shake my head at him.

“I believe I said we could be friends before the fight at the guest house front door where I essentially told you—
warned you
might be a better description—that I don’t do relationships. And you have a lot of
friends
already.”

He looks disenchanted with what I’ve said. “How many?” he finally asks. “How many
friends
have you had?”

“Oh.” I’m stalled out. This could get messy but my mind already starts to do the tabulations. My face gets hot and the heat spreads downward to my neck. He’s looking at me intently now. I shrug. “How many innings are there in a baseball game?”

“Nine.
Why
?” Then he lets out a deep sigh as he begins to understand what I’m getting at. “
Nine
friends?” He looks incredulous.

Now I decide to mess with him. “How many games have you pitched?”

“Don’t mess with me, Tally.” He looks decidedly unhappy.

It appears the whole Nika thing has run its course with me. I don’t feel as threatened by her anymore. I laugh nervously. “How many for you?”

“Before you?” he asks.

Stalling.

I roll my eyes.

“Easy. Four. I’ve been pretty focused on baseball,” he says.

“Longest relationship ever?” I ask.

“Two years in high school. She dumped me for my best friend. We weren’t friends after that.”

“All right. My actual number is seven. Not as high as you imagined, right?”

“You’re younger than me,” he says miserably and then looks at me intently. “How long was your longest relationship?”

Oh. He’s backed me into a corner now.
I take my time in answering and watch as he turns the steaks and then still waits patiently for my answer. I’m reminded of Marla. “I’ve never had one—a relationship,” I finally say. “Honestly. That’s the truth,” I say hastily at his questioning look.

“I told you, I don’t
do
relationships. I’ve never really trusted anyone that way before.”

We stare at each other, clearly assessing and weighing one another for just about everything.

“Don’t you have a game or something? Isn’t it baseball season somewhere?” I ask softly.

“I signed some stuff today. Uniforms and a workout for the press are in store for tomorrow. I’ve got some press conference and a photo-op with the local hometown press with Kimberley. Then it’s back to L.A. with Kimberley. She’s a friend of the family. My dad’s publicist and now mine. We’re friends. Real friends. She used to go out with my brother Elliott years ago.” His voice breaks after he says this. I’m caught off-guard by his unexpected emotion.

“Elliott. Your brother?”

“He died. In a car accident along with my mom. Eight years ago. I don’t usually—”

“Talk about it,” I say, finishing the sentence for him. I study his face. Sadness reverberates from him. “I’m sorry about your mom and your brother.”

“Yeah. It’s tough.”

He glances over at my mom and dad who both traipse through the back door carrying supplies. When I hear my mom actually laugh, I turn to savor this sweet sound and get a glimpse of her serene face. It’s an unexpected gift. Lincoln Presley is full of surprises. He’s like this living glimpse of Wonderland eliciting all these small miracles all around us.

My dad comes over to check on the steaks and us. “So, Linc, don’t you have a game tomorrow? Regionals?” he asks.

Exactly, Dad.
I flash my dad a grateful smile.

“I gave up my scholarship with the Cardinal a few months ago before the season started so there wouldn’t be a conflict of interest. It’s not been made public everywhere yet, sir; but I’ve signed with the Los Angeles Angels. They flew in with the contract this morning, and I leave for L.A. tomorrow afternoon and then on to report to their minor-league team in Salt Lake City. According to the coaches, they’d like to see me in the line-up by the end of next week. I’m ready to go.”

“Wow. Congratulations. I’m glad about the Angels, but I was really hoping the Giants would come through.”

“Me, too. The Giants showed a lot of interest, but I went early, the seventh pick.”

“Wow. Congratulations, Linc.” My dad shakes Linc’s hand and goes in for a guy hug. I’m kind of surprised by the level of enthusiasm. My dad seems to sense my confusion. “Tally, it’s a big deal. Your friend here is going to be a superstar—actually already is a superstar. It’s incredible. An incredible opportunity. Wow. The Angels. The big leagues. That’s amazing, Linc.”

“I know, Dad,” I say with a little petulance. “He’s a great pitcher. I’ve seen him play.”

“The seventh pick is a big deal, Tal,” my dad says giving me this stern look.

“Oh, congratulations,” I say, turning to Linc. “But I thought you wanted to play for the Giants?”

“I really wanted to play for San Francisco. My dad played for them. The Giants were his preference, too; but, like I said, it goes by team rank and where you go in the draft.”

“That’s right. You went to Paly. A few years back.” My dad runs his hands through his blond hair and gets this contemplative look.

I think he’s beginning to go through the age difference between Linc and me that I’m not sure even the baseball player has calculated exactly. I wince at watching my dad make those calculations in age difference. Adam Landon is a handsome guy. And it’s so great to see my dad smiling again and watch the stress of the past several months leave his face for a little while. I quickly tabulate that he and Linc are about that same height.
Why am I thinking of that? Why does it matter?

I get uneasy. What am I doing? I can’t like Linc. I can’t be involved with anybody.
Stop it, Tally. Stop it, right now.

“Five years ago. I graduated five years ago from Paly,” Linc says, sounding completely apologetic.

Now I can definitely see my dad doing the math.

“Wow. So Tally would have been an eighth-grader when you were a senior.”

The statement hangs in the air between all of three of us for a few minutes. I glance down at the ground in embarrassment at all the lies I’ve told this guy. Linc probably would have talked to me all of five minutes and clearly moved on if he knew I was still seventeen to his twenty-two. He could have picked up some college girl that night instead of me. Or called Nika. Jealousy resurges at that wayward thought.

I glance up and over at Linc and discover that he’s watching me closely. He kind of smiles and inclines his head at me. I return it and then scold myself for doing it.
What am I doing? We’re just friends.

My dad watches the exchange between us and slowly nods. “I guess that’s the same age as your mother and I.” My dad gives me this twisted yet extraordinary look of approval.

“Dad,” I say, touching his arm. “We’re just friends.”

“
Please.
Give your old man a little credit. Okay? Even your mother isn’t going to buy
that
story.”

My dad inclines his head towards my mom, who is busy setting the table with our better China. Yes, the Landons have three kinds of China: good, better, and best. Holly always liked the better China. It’s this intricate sage-green Lilly pattern on white with a silver lining. I’m glad my mom chose it, and I give her a grateful smile as I walk over to help her set it out.

“Truly, Dad. We’re just friends. Right, Elvis?” I turn and give Linc a quizzical look, daring him to disagree with me.

Linc gets this defiant look before he turns to look directly at my dad and says, “Sir, I think you should know that I think your daughter is amazing and if being her friend is all I can be then I’ll take that. Although I want to be completely honest with you, I want to be more than just friends with your daughter in due time.”

In due time? What is he? A lawyer negotiating a deal for me with my father?

“Well, I appreciate your honesty. I really do.” My dad sighs, “Tally has a mind of her own. She does things her own way but I can already tell that you understand that about her.” My dad laughs and shakes his head side-to-side and leans over towards Linc and says, “Probably more than a lot of the guys that follow her around do.”

“Hey, Dad? I’m right over here. I can hear every word you’re saying about me.”

“Good,” he says to me and winks before turning back to Linc again.” Tally’s one of a kind.”

“I know that, sir.”

I can’t listen anymore. The soul-bearing statement from my father just about does me in. But then my mother picks that moment to drop one of our prized dishes. It crashes to the cement patio and splinters into hundreds of pieces in a single instant and serves as a stark reminder of how fragile life can be. How one moment you’re whole; and then in the next, you’re shattered. It almost feels like Holly is here and just forcefully pushed the plate from my mother’s hands in some cosmic way. My mother—in our newest sphere of normalcy—should have burst into tears, but instead she starts to laugh.

Eventually, we all do. In that powerful few seconds, I know we actually take a step forward in life for the first time since Holly died.
Together.
We effectively breathe as a trio. Although it’s a silent communiqué between the Landons, it’s the first time in months that we actually have done this together—breathed. It’s a miracle that we all quietly acknowledge when we finally manage to look at one another.

All because Lincoln Presley dropped by. Eventually, all four of us smile.

* * *

It’s a little after ten when my parents finally go upstairs to bed. My heart rate speeds up as soon as I hear their retreating footsteps along the upstairs hallway because I am now essentially alone with Lincoln Presley. He’s completely won over my parents and I’m beginning to wonder if that wasn’t the entire purpose of his impromptu visit upon us.

For the last ten minutes, he’s been strangely quiet and there’s this little crevice between his brows as he frowns slightly and then looks over at me with such a palpable intensity. I sit across from him in one of the opposing chairs by the fireplace in the living room. We came in here after my mom served him a second piece of chocolate cake. Up until that point, I’d done a pretty good job of eating everything that was put in put in front of me but I had to draw the line at the chocolate cake. Now I can tell he has a problem with it.

“What?” I finally ask.

You need to eat, Tally.”

“I do.”

“You need to eat
more
.”

“I will.”

“Starting when?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Funny. You leave for New York, where it’s bound to be twice as competitive for you from a dance perspective, and yet you’re going to sit there and tell me you’ll try when you won’t.”

“I’m not going to fade away, Elvis. I’ll be good.”

“How good?” He gets this thoughtful, determined expression.

It becomes clear that we’re not talking about chocolate cake or my diet regimen anymore.

“You want to ask me something? Then ask.”

I stand up because I’m in dire need of control and power. He’s fast because he stands up, too, and grabs my wrists from either side pulling them into his chest. I can feel his heart race.

“I want you to wait for me.”

I let his request sink in on me for a few minutes. And for a long while, that’s all there is—the two of us breathing. We seem to be taking it all in. Most likely, we’re both beginning to wonder where we can actually go from here.

“What does that involve, exactly?” I finally ask, swallowing hard. He’s so close I can feel his breath as it stirs my hair. His cologne begins to drive me crazy, and it does all kinds of things to my body from a heat perspective.