Bright Side (19 page)

(Kate)

There’s a post-it note stuck on the door of my dorm room when I get back from afternoon class. It reads,
Package at front desk for Kate Sedgwick.
It looks like John’s handwriting.

That’s strange.

I retrieve the box from the front desk and think there must be some mistake. It’s from an online sporting goods company that I’ve never heard of.

Back in my dorm room, I open the box. Inside, under two sheets of white packing paper, are knee-high, lightweight, insanely warm looking snow boots.

There’s a card inside, too.
Put these to good use. We’re glad it’s you and not us! Love, Gus and Audrey

I slip off my shoes to try on my new boots. They fit perfectly. Immediately my feet feel like they’ve been wrapped in a fur coat. They’re so warm. I feel like I’ve won the lottery. I
never would’ve been able to buy boots like this on my own.

I call them both. I get voicemail for both. I leave over-the-top, gushy thank
yous for both, because I am so very thankful, not just for the boots, but for the Hawthornes themselves.

(Kate)

Clayton texts me on my way home from the cafeteria.
Come with me to Spectacle tonight? Pretty please with a cherry on top.

It’s been so long since I’ve hung out with Clayton. I text back,
OK
;)

Spectacle is packed as usual. Morris is working so I get Clayton to myself most of the night. I’ve missed him. We sing, dance, and laugh for hours. Before we know it
, it’s 2:00am: closing time. We wait for Morris to lock up so we can all walk to the parking lot across the street together.

Just as we walk out the back door into the alley, Morris realizes he’s left his phone in his office
upstairs. “I’ll be right out. Ya two wait out front on the sidewalk. I don’t want ya waiting ’ere in the alley.”

The alley is dark
, there’s only one dim light bulb over the door. It’s kind of creepy. I grab Clayton’s hand and the contact relaxes him. We haven’t taken ten steps when I see two guys walking along the sidewalk we’re heading for. When they see us and stop, my skin begins to crawl. And when they turn and start walking toward us, my heart leaps into my throat. I’m scared.

A
fter one of them speaks I know why. “Look at what we have here. A little faggot.”

First I pray
.
God, please don’t let them hurt us.
And then I scream and turn to run, pulling Clayton behind me.

We don’t make it five feet before Clay is tackled from behind by both men.

I’m in full-on panic mode, but I don’t freeze up. Instead I start screaming, “Stop! Get off him you bastard! Stop!” I jump on one guy’s back as he’s standing up. I swing my right arm and punch him in the ear, because it seems like the most painful spot within reach. He smells strongly of alcohol and my stomach heaves. He sways under my weight.

After regaining
his balance he manages to pry my hands free from his head and throws me to the ground. “Bitch!” He spits on me.

I land on my sid
e, and the force of hitting the pavement draws all of the air out of my lungs. I wheeze trying to pull it in again. My vision is black at the edges; I must have hit my head. The pavement is rough and grates the skin on my cheek. Staccato bursts of pain pierce through my thigh and stomach and it’s all over before I even realize he’s been hitting or kicking me. He’s turned his attention back to Clayton, who I can vaguely see, crumpled beneath the other man’s knees. I fumble in my bag, which is slung across my chest, and when my fingers recognize the pepper spray, I grip it tightly. Before my attacker manages to assault Clayton again, I spray him in the face at close range. He cries out, clutching his fingers to his stinging eyes.

I lunge toward the
man sitting on top of Clayton and kick him in the side as hard as I can. “Get the hell off of him you son of a bitch!” I kick him again and again and again. I can’t spray him or I risk getting Clayton too. At least he’s stopped punching. He grabs my foot and pulls me off my feet.

Just then I hear Morris’s voice.
“Ge’ ya muthafuckin’ hands off ‘im.” From the ground, I can see Morris unbutton his suit jacket and pull it aside to reveal a handgun in a holster on his hip.

The guy straddling Clayton puts his hands up in surrender an
d stands slowly. The other guy’s already backing away. Even drunk assholes understand self-preservation.

Morris
’s voice is measured but strained with pure rage. His right hand hovers over the gun. “Ge’ outta my sight or I swear ta God I’ll blow ya bloody fuckin’ heads off.”

Both men
turn and run for the street without so much as a glance back.    

Morris kneels and
coaxes Clayton to sit up with his help. His lip is bleeding and he’s holding his ribs. His eyes are shut and his forehead glistens with sweat. Morris’s voice is soft and gentle, “Are ya okay, love?” but his hands are trembling.

Clayton’s cheeks are wet with tears.
“Um, give me a minute.” Clayton takes inventory of his upper body. “Nothing’s broken. I’m just sore.”

Morris
isn’t convinced. “We should take ya ta the hospital, Clayton.”

Clayton sniffles. The tears have stopped. “Sweetie, I’ve been beaten up so many times, believe me I’d know if I needed to go to the hospital. This is about a four on the beating scale. It’s probably just bruised ribs. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

I feel physically sick and my heart is breaking. I figured Clay’s had it rough, but I had no idea. “We should call the police. They can’t get away with this.”

Clayton looks at
me like I’m talking gibberish. “Katherine, my boyfriend just threatened someone with a deadly weapon. That’s probably not the best idea. Besides, we don’t even know who those guys were. I’m a random hate crime. Calling the cops would do nothing but waste my time at this point.”

I kneel down
on the other side of Clayton and dab the blood off his bottom lip with my shirt.

Clayton grabs my hand
. “Katherine, stop. You’ll ruin that shirt.”

My hand is shaking in his.
“Clay, I’m not really worried about the shirt right now.” I just watched one of my very favorite people in the world get singled out and beaten for his sexual orientation. People’s ignorance and capacity for violence sickens me.

“But that shirt’s one of my favorites. It looks great with your skin
tone.”

I have to roll my eyes, because only Clayton would say something like that at a time like this. “Dude, I can get another shirt. You can’t get another lip.”

Clayton huffs, but let’s me finish.

Morr
is’s eyes are running wildly over Clayton. He’s at a complete loss as to what to do next. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t ‘ave let ya two walk out ‘ere alone this time ‘a night.” His dark, wide eyes find mine and they’re way past anxious. “Ya all right, Kate?”

I gesture to the gun on his hip
and answer with a question. “Do you always have that on you?”

“Only when I work late.
Never thought I’d need it.” He’s making fists with his hands, looking like he wants to kill someone.

Clayton is visi
bly shaking. I wrap him delicately in a hug, careful not to hurt him, “Oh Clay. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

He pul
ls back and looks me in the eye. “Katherine, if you hadn’t been here I might not be breathing right now. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. You scared the daylights out of me jumping on that barbarian’s back. And when he threw you down, my heart stopped. Are you hurt? Did you bump your head? Maybe
you
need to go to the hospital.”

My back is
sore and my head is throbbing, but I lie. “I’m fine, sweetie.” I kiss him on the forehead before I stand and help him up. The hospital is the last place I want to go, especially when doctors start asking questions.

Clayton loo
ks to Morris. “I probably should head home. I have a History test in a few hours.”

Morris is back at his side and his face softens as he strokes Clayton’s cheek
. “What can I do for ya?” He’s quietly pleading. “What can I do?”

Clayton smiles sweetly
. “You can kiss me and tell me you love me and you can walk me to Katherine’s car.”

He does
all three.

When we arrive back at the dorms I help Clayton to the men’s restroom where I finish cleaning up his face. I check both his eyes and mine for dilation or any other signs of concussion. Nothing. Normal.

Next I help him to his room. Despite trying to be as quiet as we can, we wake Pete. He looks alarmed when he sees us both. I don’t blame him; we’re a mess. While I help Clayton change into his pajamas, because his ribs are so sore he can’t lift his arms over his head, Pete gets some ice from their mini refrigerator and wraps it in a washcloth. He offers it to me with questioning eyes, but doesn’t say a word. I tell him to go back to bed and promise to tell him what happened tomorrow. Pete nods sadly and returns to his bed. He gets back under the covers but never takes his worried eyes off of us. Clayton winces when I gently press the icepack to his lips and cheek, but exhales as the cold provides some relief.

Bending over him, I
kiss his forehead. “Good night, Clay.” I’m mentally and physically exhausted. I need to get to bed.

Clayton’
s whisper stops me at the door. “Katherine?”

I whisper back, “Yeah?”

“Thank you. No one’s ever stood up for me before.”

My heart tightens
. “Anytime.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now get some rest.”

(Kate)

When I arrive at work the bell on Three Petunias door tinkles lightly and I’m met by two sets of eyes taking me in with what can only be described as extreme concern. They’re laser-focused on the bruise that bloomed down the left side of my face while I slept last night. It doesn’t hurt as bad as it did when I woke up this morning, but it looks angry from temple to jawbone. What really hurts is the rest of my body … all of it. If I could put ibuprofen in a drip and mainline it, I would. Though my body did agree to let me sleep for almost four hours, it was unhappy with me on a whole new level when I dragged it out of bed for class. Needless to say, my body and I aren’t on speaking terms today. I hope we can be friends again someday.

Clay’s face crumples and tears pool in his eyes. “Oh Katherine, I’m so sorry. Look at your face.”

I haven’t seen Clay yet today. He was still sleeping when I left for class this morning and he wasn’t in his room when I stopped around noon to check on him. “Clay, how are you doing today?” I don’t want to talk about me.

“I feel like I got run over by a steamroller and left on the side of the road to die.”

I can relate.

“Well, no offense, but you look like you got run over by a steamroller, sweetie.” The cuts on his face aren’t as bad as they were last night, but his bottom lip and right cheek are puffy and unnatural shades of red and purple.

He smiles a little. “I just wanted to say thank you again for everything you did last night.”

“That’s not necessary, Clay.”

He kisses me on my good cheek. “
It is
. You’re the first real friend I’ve ever had, Katherine. And I’m quite certain that when I’m sitting in a rocking chair somewhere as an impeccably-dressed elderly gentleman, I’ll look back on my fabulously successful life and know without a shadow of a doubt that I could not have been blessed with a better friend than you.”

If I open my mouth to let words out, tears will come with them. I don’t cry. I nod instead.

Clayton turns and wiggles his fingers at Shelly. “Toodle-loo dancing queen,” he says as he walks away.

Shelly doesn’t even have a smar
tass comeback. She just looks sad.

I know by the way Shelly’s watching me that Clay told her what happened. Everything. I’d rather no one knew, but at least I don’t have to re-hash it. “Shelly, I’m fine. Can we talk about something else this afternoon?” I smile so she knows I’m not trying to be a bitch. “Let’s get to work.”

She nods and I know it’s killing her not to say anything, but I love her for it. “I need to make a few deliveries this afternoon. Can you handle this place on your own today?”

“Absolutely.” As she’s walking out the door I add, “Please don’t tell Keller about this,” gesturing to my face. “I’ve been barraged with pity glances all day.” I hesitate, then add, “Like you’re doing right now.” She looks away. “And it makes me uncomfortable. I hate pity. It drains the life out of me.” It really does.

She exhales loudly. She sounds more defeated than irritated. After a few beats she nods agreement and walks out the door.

I settle into my work. I’m slower than usual given the fact that I’m moving at the pace of a 90-year-old recovering from double hip replacement surgery.

The bell rings; customer alert. My back is to the door and my hands are temporarily held hostage by the ribbon I’m trying to fashion into a bow around a vase of roses. “I’ll be with you in just a sec,” I call over my shoulder.

“So, you didn’t come to see me this morning. What gives? Do I need to resort to blackmail or bribery?” It’s Keller.
What’s he doing here?

I keep my back to him as I respond. “Dude, my addiction is strong, but can also be sated with free, though considerably less tasty, coffee from the cafeteria. Besides
, I was running late.” Bow in place, I turn to face him and brace for the shock. “What’s up?”

He sucks in a breath. “Christ, Katie, what happened to you?”

I’m thankful the bruises on my stomach and hip, which are yellowing spectacularly, are hidden beneath my clothing and not on full display or he’d really freak out. “Would you believe me if I told you I fell down a flight of stairs?”

His lips are pressed together so tightly that they become a thin, white line; there’s both fear and rage in his eyes. He shakes his head.

“Took up bull riding?”

“Nope.”

“Underground fight club?”

“We’re getting warmer. Who’s the bastard that did this to you?”

Why is it that when a woman has bruises, especially on her face, people assume they were put there through domestic violence? I’m guilty of jumping to the same conclusions myself. It’s a societal assumption unfortunately born out of too frequent reality. “It’s not what you think.” I let out a huff of exasperation. “There was a disgusting mixture of ignorance, hatred, and alcohol unleashed on my friend Clayton very early this morning.” I point to my face. “This was a little spillover. I’m fine, Keller.”

The fear and anger has vanished from his eyes and protectiveness floods in. At least it’s not pity. “This is
not
fine.” I look down and see that his hands are gripping the edge of the counter so tight his knuckles are white.

I reach across the counter and rub my palms over his clenched hands. “Hey, relax. I’m okay. Really.”

He shakes his head and pulls off his wool knit hat and his hair sticks up in all directions. I’m distracted. Even hat hair looks good on him. I can’t help but smile.

“What are you smiling at?” he asks, head tilted.

My smile widens. “Your hair. You have great hair.”

He reaches up and runs his fingers through it, trying unsuccessfully to tame it down.
Still, I think his hair is one of the most attractive things about him. He clears his throat and his cheeks flush.

“What can I help you with, Keller?” Now that the whole bruise unveiling is out of the way I can’t deny that I’m happy to see him.

He bites his cheek like he’s not sure how to answer or maybe he’s just not done with the previous topic. “You sure you’re okay? Because I hurt just standing here looking at that bruise.”

I put it to bed. “I’m okay.”

He nods but he still looks torn. He proceeds anyway. “I’ve been sent on a romantic errand by Rome. He asked me to pick up an orchid for Dan. It’s their anniversary and he wants to take it home to him tonight. He was going to come down here at lunch, but he couldn’t get away. So, do you have anything like that?”

I come out from behind the counter and together we pick out a white orchid from the display shelves.
After he pays for it, I fashion a thick tube of craft paper around it to help protect it from the cold.

He hesitates at the door. “So,” he clears his throat, “you should stop by Grounds tomorrow morning. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. You know, so you don’t have to drink that poison from the cafeteria two days in a row.”

I laugh. “I try to keep myself on a fairly strict rotation to avoid that. I’ll see you tomorrow. But, I’m paying. Besides, I still owe you for the Milwaukee trip—”

He interrupts
. “No, you don’t.”

I smile. He doesn’t know me. Though he insists on not taking money, I’ll find a way to make it up to him. “Pretty soon I’ll be so indebted to you you’ll have to take me on as your personal slave to work it off.”

“Mmm.” His eyes brighten. “There’s a lot I could do with that.”

I smile. “Not so fast. I’d prefer to stick to a cash deal. I don’t have a lot of free time to do your dirty work.”

His smile goes crooked. “Dirty work? Even better.” He winks and opens the door.

I shake my head, but my insides have turned to mush. I know nothing can ever happen between the two of us, but God I love flirting with this boy.

“I need a haircut. Cut my hair and we’ll be even.” He offers from the door.

“I don’t know how to cut hair. A bad haircut would
definitely
not make us even.”

“I trust you.”

That makes me so happy to hear. Trust is important to me. “You do?”

“With my life … and my hair. You free Friday night?”

I nod. “Yup.”

“Eight o’clock?”

I nod again. “Sounds good.”

“Your place or mine?”

I know it’s not a date, but you don’t know how much I like Keller asking me that question. “Friday nights at casa de Kate and Sugar are unpredictable. So yours.”

He smiles. “Excellent. Bye Katie.”

“Bye Keller.”