Where You Are (26 page)

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Authors: J.H. Trumble

BOOK: Where You Are
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Chapter 35
Robert
 
I log in to Facebook. I haven't even added a profile picture to my page. And then—I probably shouldn't, but I do it anyway—I add a relationship status to my profile:
In a relationship
. It feels really good. And then it feels really stupid, and I change it back.
I check out Andrew's page, but it's protected. If I send him a friend request, he'll just ignore it; so I don't, so he won't have to. Then, just for the heck of it, I check out my fan page.
Those little turds. They took a photo of me talking to Luke in the band hall the other day. And not only that, but there's a photo of me looking very chummy with Erick Wasserman at a football game, when I know for certain I never sat next to him. I am baritone sax. He is alto. We don't sit together. Creeps.
 
Caleb Smith
Dudes. I almost touched him. I was soooo close.
 
Oh my God, I about wet my pants.
 
Erick Wasserman
Where, dude? Where?
 
Caleb Smith
Band hall. And then he left with Luke Chesser.
I wanted to be Luke soooo bad.
 
Zach Townley
I want to be his sax. He can finger me any time.
 
Caleb Smith
He can blow my horn.
 
Erick Wasserman
I want to blow his horn.
 
Zach Townley
Ha, ha. Hey, I saw him last night. At the pavilion.
 
Caleb Smith
Oh my God. Did you just die? Who was he with?
 
Zach Townley
Don't know. Some guy.
 
Caleb Smith
Nic Taylor?
 
Zach Townley
No way.They broke up.
 
 
I feel sick. Mom sticks her head in my room, and I quickly minimize the window.
“Robert. Just so you know, your aunt Whitney's on her way over.”
“Do we have time to move?”
“We could try.”
If only she weren't kidding. “No. Please, I can't take any more Aunt Whitney. Is she bringing the brats over?”
“Probably.”
“Then I'm leaving.” I have plans anyway, but Mom nixes that real quick. Apparently, Aunt Whitney has specifically requested that I be here. I protest, but Mom tells me just to hold my nose and let's find out what she wants. I'm actually surprised that Aunt Whitney would brave another visit after the bed incident.
I have no choice but to shoot Andrew a text and let him know I might be a little delayed.
Lonely . . . waiting for you.
I smile at the abbreviated Heart lyrics.
Me too.
By the time Aunt Whitney pulls into the driveway, I'm pacing. I open the door for her.
Let's get this show on the road.
Sure enough, she's got both her kids and Aunt Olivia's, and she's clutching Happy Meal boxes in both hands. She holds them high as the kids jostle past her into the house, then she sends me to get the drinks from the car. When I get back inside, the kids are settled around our dining room table and the younger ones are arguing over their Mc-action figures. Franny is missing, and I suspect she's taken her food into my room.
I pass out the drinks. Mark immediately knocks his over, sending Mom dashing for paper towels. Matthew sees a spot of ketchup on his burger and bursts into tears. I take his top bun to the kitchen to scrape off a layer of bread. I consider using the knife on Aunt Whitney, who's sneaking fries from Jude's stash as he, unaware, carries on a battle across the table with his older brother.
The door to freedom is just paces away.
Finally, the kids are settled and she gets to the point. “I've been so busy with your dad these last few months that I haven't been keeping up. I know you got early acceptance. I want to make sure you've confirmed with LSU that you
are
coming. And we need to make living arrangements for you. I can't believe we haven't done this already. I don't even know if we're going to be able to get you in a dorm—”
Since when did
she
become my mom? “I haven't even decided whether or not I want to go to LSU, or med school for that matter. I got accepted to A and M too. I'm thinking about veterinary medicine.”
“Veterinary medicine?” She laughs. She
actually
laughs at me. “You can't be serious. One, you're never going to make a decent income working with animals. And two, the trust is strictly for four years of premed study at LSU, four years of medical school, and two more if you decide to specialize.”
“Are you telling me, no medical school, no trust?” I already know this is the case, but I want her to say it. I want her to speak the words. I want her to own the message.
“That's exactly what I'm telling you.”
“Then I'll get a job and pay my own way.”
“Yeah, I hear volunteer work at the animal shelter pays really well.”
“Fuck you.”
She slams the drink she's holding down on the table, making the kids jump, then she rounds on me. “You know, I don't know why my dad thought the Westfall name was worth the investment he wanted to make in you, because frankly, you're not worth it.”
“Whitney—” my mom says sharply, but I cut her off before she can finish.
“No, Mom, let her say it.”
Aunt Whitney looks from my mom to me, then drops her eyes and shakes her head slowly. “I'm sorry.” After a moment she lifts her eyes again and fixes them on me. “I know you have some romantic notion about working with animals, but it's time to put away childish things, Robert. You're going to LSU, and you're going to honor your grandfather's legacy.”
The hell I am.
 
You don't realize what a small world it is until you try to get lost in it.
“So he really Photoshopped a photo of you and him together?” Andrew asks as we explore a large two-story house under construction in a new development a few miles away.
“Yep.”
“You know, that's starting to make me a little nervous. Maybe you should confront them about the page. Tell them to take it down. You can complain to Facebook if they don't.”
“Yeah, I thought about that. But at least with the page I know what's going on.”
“And so does anyone else who looks at it.”
“As far as I can tell, it's just the three of them. I'm gonna wait. Maybe they'll get bored and move on. But I don't want to be wondering what they're up to.”
“Speaking of being up to things . . .” He presses me into some not-yet-painted drywall in the master bedroom.
“You have a pretty strong libido for an old man,” I say.
“You call me an old man again, and I'm going to hurt you.”
I want to laugh, but I'm thinking about Aunt Whitney's visit again.
“Do you think I should take the money and go to medical school?”
“I don't know. The money
would
be hard to turn down. Eight years of tuition and living expenses. That means you'd not only finish with a highly lucrative career, but you'd finish debt free.”
While that is true, it's not really what I wanted to hear.
“Look,” Andrew says, tugging on the short hairs in my sideburn, “no one can make that decision for you. You've got to decide what's most important to you, then pursue it with everything you have. Make it happen.”
The sound of a car engine cuts through the still air.
“We have company,” Andrew says, pushing out his bottom lip and sighing heavily.
On the way back to his Civic, however, he has an excellent idea.
Chapter 36
Andrew
 
Tuesday morning I call Mrs. Stovall to let her know I've fallen gravely ill and won't be in. She says she hopes I feel better—even though the tone of her voice says she doesn't believe for a minute that I'm sick—then assures me she will find a sub. I tell her my plans are on my desk (right where I left them Monday in anticipation of my grave illness).
At seven thirty, I'm pretty sure it's safe to return, but I wait another half hour just to be sure. At eight o'clock on the nose, I head home. The garage is empty. I leave the door open and park in the driveway.
All clear. Get over here, baby.
As I wait, I calm my nerves with a litany of assurances that our secret day together will remain a secret. Neither Kiki nor Maya showed a hint of coming illness this morning. There is nothing broken in the house that might mean an unexpected call from a serviceperson. The homes in the neighborhood are small, modest, and owned by mostly single people, all of whom work. Maya is in an all-day training session half an hour away with lunch provided. And the weather is beautiful. It's going to be okay. It has to be okay.
Robert is not far away. In three minutes he's pulling into the garage. I push the button as soon as he's clear and the door closes behind us. Within seconds he's in my arms again.
It's the first time we've had this kind of freedom, and we take advantage of every moment of it, starting in my bedroom. By the end of second period—even when I'm playing hooky, the teacher in me can't help but measure time by my school schedule—we're pleasantly sated. By fourth period, we're on the couch challenging each other to Devilishly Difficult Sudoku races in our underwear. I win the first, he wins the second, but on the third puzzle he keeps gripping my erection with his toes. I call foul and he accepts a boxer penalty. We never finish that third puzzle.
It's my idea to play Truth or Dare in the shower during fifth period. I throw a washcloth over the drain, and the water slowly backs up to make a shallow tub. We plant ourselves opposite each other on the tile floor, our knees drawn up, our feet locked together in the middle. Sophomoric as it is, the game serves two purposes: It involves no physical activity beyond talking (a much-needed rest), and it allows me to get an answer to a question that's been dogging me for weeks.
So here's my twist on the game, as I explain it to Robert: You can only choose Truth.
“Okay,” I say to him. “Truth or Dare.”
He rolls his eyes and grins. “Truth.”
Here goes. “That first time, you know, you wrote on my whiteboard that I lied too. What did I lie to you about?”
His grin slides away. “Dare.”
“No. You can't choose Dare. That's not the way we're playing the game. Truth. Let's hear it.”
He eyes me through the spray and pushes his wet hair back from his forehead. I'm beginning to think that he won't answer, and then he does. “When I asked you why you brought me to your apartment, you said you were more concerned about me than you were about yourself. And then you freaked out over a two-month discrepancy and . . . you just walked out on me.” He bites down on his lips and looks away. I don't respond until he looks back at me. He shrugs like he's just admitted some big secret he's been holding on to. And I guess he has.
“I got scared,” I tell him.
“Are you scared now?”
“Yeah. But I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere. Okay?”
He nods his head, and gives me a wan smile. I return it.
“All right. Your turn,” I say.
“Truth or Dare.”
“Truth.”
“Have you ever had a crush on another student?”
“No.”
I think my quick response may have been too quick. He looks unconvinced, as if that word
no
is just a knee-jerk response not tied to any kind of truth, the kind of knee-jerk response I see in the classroom all the time. I say,
Stop.
Kid says,
What? I didn't do anything.
It wouldn't matter if I'd captured the entire thing on video. The response is always self-righteous indignation.
Is that the way I sounded to him just now? One way or the other, I intend to find out.
“Truth or Dare.”
“I don't want to play anymore,” he says. He stretches out his legs and draws one of my feet into his lap, then threads his fingers through my toes.
“Come on. One more.”
He sighs, a note of resignation. “Truth.”
“What's bothering you?”
His eyes meet mine, and I'm not so sure I want to hear the answer anymore. I steel myself for whatever's coming.
He takes a deep breath and lets it out as he flexes my toes back and forth. “I guess I'm afraid that everything's going to change one day. That you'll outgrow me. That I won't be able to afford college unless I go away and do something I really don't want to do. That if I go away, you'll meet somebody else. That somebody will find out and the whole thing will blow up in our faces. And that if it blows up in our faces, you'll go away.”
“That's a lot to worry about.”
 
The afternoon passes by too quickly. Robert leaves at two, a little before the end of seventh period, and after a long, tight embrace that we are both reluctant to end. Dressed in corduroy slacks and a light knit pullover, I head over to pick up Kiki at Ms. Smith's Village. On the way, I text Maya to tell her I'm not tutoring today.
 
Robert
 
“The school called and said you were absent today.”
I'm holding my phone with one hand as I let myself in the garage door with the other. Damn, I should have called the school myself this morning.
“I just didn't feel good when I got to the parking lot, so I turned around and came home. I should have called you. Sorry.” I'm trying very hard to sound pathetic.
“And you didn't answer your phone either.”
“I think I had it on vibrate,” I mumble convincingly. “I went back to bed and slept all day.” Which is exactly what I'd like to do right now. In fact, I'm already kicking off my shoes and pulling my shirt over my head as we talk.
When she gets home, I've got the quilt drawn over me and I'm reliving the day in my head, but I'm also thinking about the future. What's going to happen next August? Baton Rouge is hours away. Five or more. Even College Station is almost two hours, although it's unlikely I could come up with the tuition for A&M this late.
Mom leans into my room to let me know she's home.
“Hey, Mom?” I say as she starts to leave. “What if I don't go to LSU? What if I don't study medicine?”
“If that's not what you want to do, Robert, we'll figure something out. Okay? Don't let Aunt Whitney or your late grandfather bully you into something that's not right for you. But I do think you're going to have to make a decision pretty soon.”
 
Andrew
 
Maya tosses her bag and her keys on the counter and gives Kiki a hug.
“Mommy, look!” Kiki holds out a fistful of shredded parmesan cheese that she's been throwing into a salad bowl, mostly.
“I like cheese,” Maya says, taking a small bite from Kiki's hand. “How was
your
day?” she asks me.
“Good. How was yours?”
“Well, they haven't cut my job yet, so pretty good, I guess. Thanks for picking up Kiki. No tutorees today?”
“Nope.”
“Yay you. What's for dinner?” She crosses the kitchen to where I'm turning chicken breast cutlets on a small grill.
“Chicken Caesar salad. Okay with you?”
“Perfect. I'm going to go change, okay?”
When she comes back, she's dressed in plaid flannel pajama pants and a snug white T-shirt. I'm cutting the chicken into thin slices to throw on the salad. Kiki has moved on to croutons.
Maya reaches into a cabinet and pulls out two shallow salad bowls. “Did you take a shower when you got home? Your bathroom's all wet.”
Why were you in my bathroom?
“No, actually. I started to. I turned on the shower, then forgot all about it.” I nod toward Kiki like I blame her.
“So how did the towels get all wet?”
She doesn't sound suspicious. They're just questions, I tell myself. Questions that she wouldn't even have if she were respecting my privacy. “I didn't have the curtain closed good and by the time I remembered the shower, there was water all over the floor. I mopped it up with the towels. I'll throw them in the washing machine in a bit.”
“Oh,” she says.
I'm about as clean as a person can get, but after dinner and after I read to Kiki (
Robert the Rose Horse,
of course, of course) I stick with my regular routine and shower again. I send Robert a quick text first.
Sooo tired ;)
I delete the sent text, then lay the phone face down on my bed and get into the shower. When I come out ten minutes later, my phone is face up. I notice it immediately because I always place my phone face down—it's a weird habit—and there is zero chance that I didn't this time. I even specifically remember thinking if anyone were to come into my room, they wouldn't see the screen if for some reason it were lit up.
I pick up the phone and check my messages. Robert has texted, but only his number shows up now, and the message hasn't been read. I'm relieved, but I can't believe that Maya is snooping in my room. This is
not
okay.
I pull on some clothes. I'm ready to confront her when something grabs my ankle. And then a giggle.
“What are you doing under my bed, baby girl?”
Kiki crawls out clutching Spot. I pick her up. She's wearing Little Mermaid pajamas tonight and her dark hair is tousled. “
You
are supposed to be in bed, little one.”
She sticks her thumb in her mouth and smiles around it. “I hide.”
“I know you hide. You scared your daddy half to death.” In more ways than one.

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