A Girl by Any Other Name (8 page)

“Uh, no. I’m gonna hold off for a while.”

“Am I a bad kisser?”

“You’re not the best, but it’s okay ’cause it was your first time. You’ll get better.”

She peered her head over the side of the bed, staring at me as I lay sprawled on the floor. “How

many girls have you kissed?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Lots.”

“Like who?” she demanded.

I tapped my fingers on my chest and smiled with measured cockiness. “Wendy Watson for one.

Now that girl’s a good kisser.”

“Ew, she wears a ton of lip gloss.” It was an ironic statement coming from a girl who caked her

face with white powder, but even at twelve, I knew better than to say that.

“Yeah and her lips taste like the sweet cherries at Durbin Farms.”

“So, you’d rather kiss her than me?”

Shit.

“I didn’t say that. It’s just I can’t kiss you right now. You ruined the moment and you’d be

expecting it.” I almost wanted to pat myself on the back for pulling that one out. The truth was I really

wanted to kiss her, but I was too scared to admit it.

“So, you’re going to surprise me?”

“Yeah, I am. When I kiss you, it’s going to be the best kiss you’ve ever had.”

She laughed. “Cal, I’ve only had one kiss. Just now. I think you were there.”

“Shut up, smartass. I’m saying it’s going to be the best kiss you will ever have in your entire life.

No other kiss will even compare to it.” I was really talking out of my ass on this one, but I was on a

roll of bullshit that just wouldn’t quit.

“So when will I get this kiss?”

“Jesus, Sylvie, have some patience. All good things come to those who wait.”

“’Kay,” she sighed.

I picked up a baseball that was wedged in her nightstand. I knew it was from one of my Little

League games, but I was surprised she had it. I started throwing it in the air, looking for something to

occupy me from the conversation.

“Are you leaving?” she asked after a while.

“Do you want me to?”

“No. Can you stay for a while?”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to be alone.” There was something heartbreaking in that. It was apparent she was

suffering. I just had no idea why.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

“Funny, smartass. I’m being serious.”

“Well, spit it out then.”

“Does your daddy ever hurt you? You know, like more than a punishment?” It was something I’d

wanted to ask since I’d heard the rumor, but I’d never had the courage to.

She turned so she was on her stomach, leaning down toward me. Her hair brushed across my

face, forming a tent between us. It was soft and silky like feathers raining down on me. I thought she

was going to kiss me again. She flicked her fingers against my forehead instead. “No, Cal Tanner. He

does not. He loves me very much.”

I winced, rubbing the area. “Okay, geez, I get it. I was just wondering because he’s different than

other dads.” I wasn’t just referring to his alcohol problem, but there was something off about the way

he treated her. It pissed me off.

She sat back up on her bed, taking a deep breath. I wished I’d kept my big mouth shut. “I remind

him of my mother. I look like her. I guess I should stop wearing her clothes. He probably thinks he’s

seeing a ghost…or maybe a raven.”

“You wear your momma’s clothes?” That explained a lot when it came to her wardrobe choices.

“Yeah, it’s all I have left of her. He’s just sad that she died.”

“How did she die, Sylvie?”

“She got cancer. I don’t have anything else to say on it.”

“I’m sorry. Do you want me to go so you can get to sleep?”

“Will you stay with me until I do? I sometimes have nightmares.”

“Sure, but I’ll stay on the floor, okay?”

“I promise I won’t kiss you again.”

“I’m not taking any chances, girl.” I chuckled, trying to lighten her mood.

“Whatever.” She threw me a pillow and one of her blankets.

She turned off her lamp and we lay there in the dark silence for a while.

“Cal,” she whispered, right before I dozed off. “I’m sorry you missed the game for me.”

“You can make it up to me.”

“How will I do that?”

“Don’t move.”

* * * *

The next day, I came home after several exhausting games of football to find Sylvie helping my

momma in the kitchen.

“What’s going on?”

“Sylvie’s joining us for dinner.”

“Oh.” This was surprising. Sylvie would come over and play with Mandy, but despite the

constant invitations to Mr Cranston to join us for supper, he always declined. I guessed my mother

should have just asked Sylvie by herself. It wasn’t like he would have cared.

“Go take a shower, Cal. You smell like a gym locker,” Momma said, pinching her nose.

She was right. I reeked something awful, even I could smell it.

When I came back down, the table was set and my dad was home. “Hi, gorgeous, whatcha

cooking for me?” It was his usual greeting to my mother, followed by a big hug and kiss. Gross.

“Meatloaf,” she replied, smacking his hand away. “Let’s eat.”

“Daddy!” Mandy squealed, bounding out of her room like a tornado.

“Hey, princess,” my daddy said, scooping her up in his arms. He spun her around until her

giggles turned into shrieks.

He suddenly stopped in mid-turn, noticing Sylvie. “Hello, Sylvie.”

“Good evening, Mr Tanner.”

“You’re joining us for supper?”

“Isn’t that obvious, John?” my mother interjected.

“I suppose it is. Happy to have you.” I could tell my daddy was not happy. He regarded Sylvie

and her father with reserved caution. I knew he disagreed with my momma’s opinion of her, but he

wasn’t the kind of dad who would prohibit my friendship with her unless he saw a reason to.

We sat at the table. My father said grace. I opened one eye to stare at Sylvie. She had her eyes

closed tightly and was squinting her face like she was praying extra hard.

“Sugar, this is really good,” my father complimented after he took his first forkful of food.

“Sylvie helped me. She’s a very good cook.”

“I helped too!” Mandy interjected.

“Yes, you did. You did a very good job with shucking that corn for me, princess.”

“You ladies all did a great job,” my father responded.

“How was work?”

“We caught some speeders on the south end of town. Nothing too exciting, but guess what

happened after work?”

“What?” my mother asked.

“I headed over to Walmart to buy some batteries and I ran into Mona Simms. Boy, let me tell you

she sure had an earful for me about our rude son.”

I had almost forgotten. I cringed at the punishment that would surely follow my disobedience. I

caught a glimpse of Sylvie. She looked more frightened than me, and I was the one who was going to

get my ass beat in a few minutes.

“What did Cal do?” my mother asked, narrowing her eyes at me.

Before my father could answer, Sylvie interrupted. “Mr Tanner, please don’t be mad at Cal. He

was defending me, sir. It was my fault. Miss Simms made fun of my outfit, and he was just taking up

for me.”

My father stared at Sylvie for a moment. I winced, hoping he wouldn’t ban her from our house.

Instead, the corners of his mouth quirked like he was trying to keep from grinning.

“Is that a fact?”

“It is,” she said, staring down at her lap.

He turned to me. “Cal, although I appreciate your sentiment, it was still inappropriate. You don’t

have to defend one lady by insulting another. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Although I wouldn’t exactly call Mona Simms a lady, but I knew better than to voice

that opinion.

“I want you to write her an apology note and hand-deliver it.”

“But—”

“Or should I give you another punishment? Either write the note or you can’t go to Friday night

football for the rest of the season.”

“He didn’t even go yesterday, John,” my mother replied.

My dad put his elbows on the table, leaning forward. “What? You didn’t go?”

“No, I had other stuff to do,” I replied contritely.

My father placed his hand on my forehead. “You feeling okay, son?”

“I’m fine,” I replied, matching his wide grin. The tension was broken and I started relaxing. I

even heard Sylvie exhale a deep breath.

The rest of the dinner was mostly Mandy hijacking the conversation as she always did, talking

about her favorite television shows, dresses she wanted to buy and all the other boring random stuff

my sister talked about that I’d learned to tune out. My parents and Sylvie listened with rapt attention

as if she was reciting the formula for turning garbage into gold. I did my best not to yawn.

My father leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach, staring down at his empty plate.

“Woman, I knew I was destined to marry you when I first tasted your meatloaf.”

“Is that the reason you married me?” Momma asked, smirking.

“One of many, sweetheart. One of many.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Like, for instance,

how you always help me when I’m struggling to remember something.” He started humming then. I

tried not to roll my eyes, knowing what was in store for us.

“Oh no, not again,” my mother said. “You have a song stuck in your head, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sugar. Can you please help me out? I know you’ve heard it.”

My mother sighed. “Okay, what is it?”

“Something like ‘walk away’ and a girl’s name. It’s like ‘walk away, Sarah’. You know what

I’m talking about?”

“No, I have no idea.”

My father loved music, especially old music. He’d actually been in a rock band when he was

younger. They’d tried to make it to California. They’d got as far as Dallas. He played the piano and

the guitar. He’d tried to teach me, but I wasn’t so musically inclined. I’d snapped off his guitar strings

and my piano playing had induced a series of headaches for Momma. It was decided his instruction

would be better saved for Mandy.

“C’mon, honey, you know it. It’s like a one-hit wonder from the Sixties. I think we danced to it

before. Hell, I might even have the record.”

“No swearing, John. Children are present,” my mother chided, although I didn’t think hell was a

swear word. It was in the Bible after all.

“Sorry,” my father grumbled, walking over to the piano. He strummed a few notes, trying to find

the right combination for the elusive song that had grasped hold of his mind and wouldn’t let go until

he figured out the name.

“Come on, family. Surely you have to have some idea here?”

“No idea, John.”

“Don’t look at me,” I said, holding my hands up.

My father sat down at the piano bench and hit a few more keys. Sylvie wiped her mouth, stood

up and walked over to him. “May I?” she asked, gesturing to our old Suzuki mini-grand. My father

regarded her with surprise, but moved over on the bench.

“Be my guest.”

She sat next to him and started playing. His shocked expression was gradually replaced with

awe as Sylvie expertly hit the right keys, but I’m not sure if I ever recovered. When she started

singing, I thought my daddy was going to fall right off the bench. Sylvie was a damn good singer. Who

knew? The sounds of
Walk Away, Renee
began filling up the room.

“That’s right,” my father said, slapping his knee. When she got to the chorus, he joined her. My

mother walked over too and added her voice. This was weird. My father sometimes sang and played,

but we didn’t sing together as a family unless it was Christmas carols. Mandy ran over and jumped on

my daddy’s lap. The four of them looked so happy. I guess music had a way of bringing people

together like that. I walked over and stood next to my mom. I sure as hell wasn’t singing, but I didn’t

mind standing with them.

When Sylvie finished, she turned to my father nervously. “It’s by The Left Banke and it is a one-

hit wonder, although the Four Tops and Linda Ronstadt have covered it.”

“Where did you learn that song, Sylvie? And where did you learn to play like that? You’re really

good.”

She looked down at the piano. “Thank you. My mother taught me on both counts. My father used

to sing it to her. Her name was Renee.”

My momma leaned down, patting Sylvie’s shoulders. “It’s a beautiful song, and all the lyrics

came right back to me. You have an angelic voice, young lady.”

“Thank you, ma’am. It’s better than my piano playing. I haven’t played for a while.”

“You could use some practice, but you definitely have a strong basic framework. You should

take lessons,” my father suggested.

Sylvie beamed at the compliments so much that I wondered if anyone had ever said a nice word

to her. “Is there anyone in Prairie Marsh that gives lessons?”

My father and mother both grimaced at the same time, chiming out in unison, “Mona Simms.” We

all laughed. “Look, why don’t I give you lessons? I usually give Mandy lessons after dinner. You’re

much more advanced, but I’m sure you girls could learn from each other.”

Sylvie widened her eyes, regarding my father with some kind of crazy gratitude so that even he

blushed—and this man never blushed. I didn’t see what the big deal was. “I would really like that,

sir.”

“Great. We’ll start tomorrow night.”