Asking for Trouble (3 page)

And then Alyssa walked through the door from the hallway
into the living room. Wearing her pajamas. Which would have been bad enough,
but her pajamas were a skimpy red T-shirt and low-slung flannel pants printed
with candy canes.

“Morning,” she said. She raised slim, strong arms over her
head and stretched, her lithe body curving, her young girl’s breasts rising with
the movement, proving to Joe beyond any shadow of a doubt that she wasn’t
wearing a bra. The little shirt rode up and showed a couple inches of flat
stomach, the devastating curve of her waist, the elongated oval of her belly
button, the dangling tapes of the untied pajama pants. Her hair was in a messy
ponytail, and when she straightened up, reached back to pull off the elastic,
and shook out the shiny hair that reached to her shoulder blades, he thought
his head would actually explode.

“Good morning,” Mrs. Kincaid
said, coming to stand behind her husband at the head of the table and sliding
three more pancakes from her spatula onto his plate, and Joe tore his gaze away
fast, looked down at his breakfast. He could feel his face getting hot, and he
didn’t dare look up.

“Go put a robe on, Alyssa,
please,” he heard Mrs. Kincaid say.

“I hate wearing a robe,” she
complained. “I’m always hot.”

Joe shoved himself closer to
the table, reached for his orange juice in desperation.

“Go,” her mother said
firmly, and Joe looked up for just a moment to see her walking away, a sassy little
flounce in her step, and then he could breathe again. For a while.

There was yet more hugging later that morning when Alec’s
twin Gabe arrived home from the University of Washington, where, Joe knew, he
was attending on a football scholarship. At least Alec and Gabe didn’t hug, not
beyond a grab at each others’ shoulders. Instead, Joe was amused to see, they
had a special handshake. Well, they were twins. He guessed a secret handshake
was part of the deal.

It got rowdy and noisy after that, Alec and Alyssa both
talking at the same time, Gabe interjecting, responding, and their mother
laughing and enjoying it all, clearly so delighted to have her family together.
It was exactly like some kind of sitcom family on TV, the kind Joe had always
thought was made up.

Alec’s hacky sack eventually made its appearance, and,
inevitably, a challenge was laid down. Alec acquitted himself pretty well, but
Gabe did better. And then Alyssa blew them both out of the water. She was
quick, and she was fluid, and if she played basketball like that, Joe thought,
she was probably pretty good.

“Here, Joe,” she said. “See if you can do better.” She
tossed the little crocheted ball to him, high, so he had to reach for it.

He grabbed it out of the air, popped it back to her. “I’ll pass.
Let’s see if you can beat your record.”

She stared at where his gray T-shirt sleeve had ridden up at
the movement. “You have a tattoo.”

“Yeah.” He smoothed his sleeve back down over the ink.

The blue eyes sparkled at him just a little bit more, her
mouth curving in a teasing smile. “Wow. Did all the guys on the football team
get drunk and do it together, or what? What did your parents say?”

He didn’t really have an answer for that one, so he didn’t
answer.

“Can I see?” She’d come closer, and he couldn’t exactly say
“no,” so he lifted the edge of his sleeve. And then it got worse, because she
put out her hand and traced the blue-inked pattern where it curved over his
triceps, the target superimposed on the shield, the missile streaking toward
the bulls-eye, the scroll beneath, on which you couldn’t really read the writing,
because the artist hadn’t exactly been the best.

“What is it?” she asked, bent close, and he could smell a
flowery scent that was probably her shampoo wafting up to him from the dark
hair, so shiny it gleamed, could see her scalp showing along her center part,
because he had a good eight inches on her, even though she was tall. “It’s not
a team.”

The light touch of her fingers was like a brand. “It’s the
57
^th
Wing,” he said, wishing his voice didn’t sound so strangled. “Of
the Air Force.”

“Did you want to join?”

“No. It was my dad’s unit.”

“Oh, I get it. That’s why you’re here for Christmas,” she
said. “Your dad’s in the Air Force?”

“No,” he said again. “He died.” He knew it sounded too bald,
but he didn’t know how else to say it.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She took a step back, confusion in her eyes,
and he felt like he’d kicked a puppy. Girls like this weren’t supposed to know
about the bad things, the hard things.

 
“You hassling
Joe, Liss?” Alec said from the couch. He got up, started to grab for the hacky
sack, trying to wrestle it from her, and she was turning, twisting, and
laughing again. “You are such a brat.”

They fell on the couch together, and Alyssa tossed the
little ball to Gabe, who caught it with an elbow, kicked it with the side of
his foot back to her, and the game was on. Soon all four of them were involved,
Joe drawn in despite himself, because when it came his way, he couldn’t spoil
the party, could he? And they were irresistible.

Their mother came through the room as the little ball sailed
through the air, whipped her white plastic laundry basket around and caught it
inside in a deft movement. “You guys. Four short months away and you’re
savages. The work of a lifetime undone. No playing ball in the house.”

“Hacky sack isn’t playing ball,” Alec objected.
“Football’s
playing ball.
 
Hacky sack’s like—playing yo-yo in
the house.”

“All right,” she said. “No playing yo-yo in the house.
Honestly. You need to get
out.
Come
on, now. A little peace and quiet here.”

“Oh, nice,” Alec said, making a sad face. “We’re home a
couple hours and you already want to get rid of us.”

“I don’t want to get
rid
of you. I just want you to run around a while, run some of that energy
off.”

Alec and Gabe looked at each other and laughed. “It’s like
we’re three, Mom,” Gabe said.

“Well, really,” she said tartly, “it’s
like you
are
three
sometimes. And people wonder why I already have to dye my hair.”

“Do you want some help?” That was Gabe. “Sorry. I should
have asked.”

She took one hand off the heavy basket where it was balanced
on her hip, rubbed a palm over his broad shoulder. “Thanks, sweetie. Later I
would. But for now, just go outside for a while, OK?”

“We’ll take Joe for a walk, show him the town,” Alec
decided. “That’ll be a fun-filled time.”

“And then basketball,” Alyssa said. “I’ve got some new moves
to show you, Gabe. And Joe’s here, so we can have teams. Can you play?” she
asked Joe.

“Of course he can play,” Alec said. “Every guy can play
basketball.”

“Well,
I
don’t
know,” she flared back. “He can’t play hacky sack.”

“Hey,” Joe protested. He had to smile a little. “I did it.”

“Huh.” She tossed her head so her ponytail did a flip. “You
kinda stunk.” And he had to smile a little more.

“I play basketball better than that,” he promised. “A little
better.” Actually, a lot better. Thank goodness.
 

There was a fairly organized scramble for shoes and coats,
and Joe went back to Alec’s bedroom, pulled his jacket out of his bag, went
into the laundry room for his boots, leaned against the doorjamb between
laundry room and kitchen to pull them on and tie the laces.

Mrs. Kincaid stood back from the fridge, where she was taking
vegetables out of the bin and piling them onto the counter, and looked him
over. “Hold on,” she said. “You can’t go out like that. It’s cold out there.
Don’t you have something warmer? And what about a hat? And gloves?”

He straightened up, stuffed his hands into the pockets of
the worn black leather bomber jacket. “I’m good.”

“It’s supposed to drop into the thirties today,” she said.
“It’s probably there already.” She shoved the refrigerator door shut and hustled
into the laundry room, taking Joe by the upper arms and moving him out of the
way as if he were one of her own boys. She shooed her children out the back
door and onto the porch before opening a worn pine dresser in one corner of the
room, dug inside for a while and came out with a black watch cap and a pair of
brown gloves, handed them to him, then flipped quickly through pegs of coats
and sweaters, pulled a brown plaid woolen jacket out from underneath a couple
rain jackets, and shoved it into his arms as well. “There. All set. You can
keep the hat and gloves. I wish you could keep that ratty old jacket too, but
that’s Dave’s leaf-raking jacket. I’ve been trying to get rid of it for years,
but he won’t let me.”

He pulled the jacket on over the black leather, because she
clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer, and under her watchful eye, put the hat
on as well. “Thanks. I’ll borrow them, then. But I don’t need a hat. Or
gloves.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said impatiently. “I don’t even
know whose those were. Some friend of the boys’, probably, leaving his
belongings behind and driving his mother crazy. You’re doing me a favor, saving
me donating them like I should have already.”

He was outmatched, so he mumbled his thanks and went out to
join the others as the proud new owner of a hat and gloves. And it was probably
just as well, because the air
had
turned
colder, must have been down into the thirties already, like she’d said. Low
clouds had turned the sky to a leaden gray, and a dampness in the air spoke of
rain to come.

They set off, Joe behind Alec and Gabe on the shoulder of
the quiet street. More of that 1950s sitcom stuff. No sidewalks, just the big
trees lining the street on both sides as far as he could see, a final few
leaves still clinging that would fall in the coming storm. And Alyssa next to
him, of course, a blue knitted hat with a perky pompom covering the dark hair,
a puffy blue jacket zipped against the cold, seeming to bounce on her toes as
she walked.

“They’re in Twin World,” she said, nodding ahead at her
brothers. “Bonding time. It’s what they do. No outsiders allowed, back to the
womb.”

Joe shrugged. “That’s OK.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“A sister. Half-sister.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older. Four years.”

“So . . .” She hesitated, then went on. “Is your mom far
away, then? And your sister? Is that why you aren’t home for Christmas?”

Here they were, the questions, and even though he’d been
expecting them, he tensed all the same. “Yeah. My sister’s in Alaska.”

It diverted her, as he’d hoped. “You mean she lives there? I
never think about people actually living in Alaska. Did you live there too?”

“No. She’s in the Air Force. On a base outside of
Fairbanks.”

“Have you been there? To visit her?”

“No.”

“So do you get to see her? I can’t imagine not seeing my
brothers. Not at
Christmas.”

“Not for a while.” Not for a few years, and then it had been
quick, a couple hours at the airport during a layover on Cheryl’s way to a new
duty station. But he didn’t tell Alyssa that. “You’re on the basketball team,
huh?” he asked, trying to think of something new to talk about. Conversation
had never been his strong suit. “Varsity?”

She laughed up at him. “I wish. JV, but I really hope I can
make Varsity before I’m a sophomore. There’s this girl, Colleen Fitzhugh? She’s
a sophomore this year, but I know she made Varsity in her freshman season, so I
think I can do it. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

He was barely listening. “You’re a freshman?”

“Well, yeah. Halfway through freshman year,” she hurried to
add, as if that would make a difference.

A freshman in high school. Alec had probably told him that,
but Alec had told him a lot of things. “How old are you?” he asked. Alec had
told him that, too, he was sure, but at the time, it hadn’t mattered.

“Fifteen. But I’ll be sixteen in March,” she hastened to
add. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“This is my old school, up here.” She gestured with a
mittened hand. “I played basketball there, too. That seems like such a long
time ago, you know?”

From the standpoint of six months, or whatever it was.
Chico Junior High School,
he read in
two-foot-high letters stenciled onto concrete block. He was hot for a girl who
had just graduated from junior high school. What kind of a pervert was he?

“This is my favorite tree in the world,” she was saying now,
reaching out for a trunk and swinging herself around it with a laugh. “Aren’t
the leaves gorgeous?”

Joe looked dubiously up into the mostly-bare branches.
“Well, I can’t really tell.”

She was scooping a few up from the concrete. “Gingko. See,
they’re fans.”

The graceful leaves, a rich golden yellow, were indeed
shaped like delicate fans, and she was arranging them like a deck of cards,
fanning herself with one hand, then holding the whole arrangement close to her
face, peeping over them, her eyes flirtatious. “Why, Rhett. Sir, how dare you.”
She fluttered those black lashes, and he could see her smile behind the blue
mitten, and he was struck dumb.

“Liss.” Alec and Gabe had wheeled around, and Alec was
calling out to her. “Are you teasing Joe? He’s thanking God right now that he
doesn’t have a little sister.”

No, Joe was wishing that Alec didn’t have one. Or wishing
that she wasn’t quite so little. Or something.

She was fifteen, he was still telling himself desperately an
hour later as he played basketball with the three of them, watched her
dribbling, showing off her jump shot, laughing at him, bumping him, killing him.
Fifteen.
She was a
child.
And he was nineteen going on
fifty, and if her brothers, if her parents could read his mind, he’d be right
out of that house and out of their lives. Out of the warmth, the light, the
laughter, hell, minus some teeth, probably, and on the Greyhound bus straight
back to Stanford. He would just have to ignore her, and the way she moved, and the
way she laughed, and the fierce, insistent craving she stirred in his body. He
could do that. He’d done tougher things. Although, at this moment, he couldn’t
remember exactly what.