Forever Ours (5 page)

I wait a moment so I don’t seem too eager, then I nod. “Yeah. Sure. I mean, today’s … the anniversary of the day my mom died, so I usually do something.”

He seems torn between being excited about doing something and pitying me the way Mrs. Grohl did.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” I continue. “I just thought maybe you’d want to hang out or something. If not, that’s totally cool.”

“I’d love to hang out. Can I take you somewhere on my bike?”

“No,” I reply quickly and he laughs. “Sorry, but that thing scares me.”

“All right. We’ll stay in.” He stares at me across the table. Finally, he smiles. “I know what we’re going to do. And we’ll do it right here.”

Something about the way he says that sounds a little naughty, but I try not to blush. Instead, I take our plates inside and wash the dishes while he gives Mr. Miyagi a bath in the upstairs bathroom. We watch TV for a while as the dog naps on the sofa between us. As requested, Chris doesn’t say anything to his mom about today being the anniversary of my mom’s death. Just before nine, Jackie goes upstairs to take a bath and go to bed so she can get up at four a.m. for work the next morning.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she says as she heads up the stairs.

Chris and I don’t usually stay up too late. It makes me nervous being alone with him when I’m sleepy. Like I’m going to say something stupid.

“Let’s go,” Chris says, nodding toward the backyard.
 

Mr. Miyagi leaps off the sofa at Chris’s command and I follow after him. “What’s outside?”

He opens the sliding glass door and waits for me to exit before him. “Just wait right here and I’ll be right back.”

He heads back inside the house, then he returns a few minutes later carrying a patchwork blanket and a couple of pillows. And a guitar. He lays the blanket and pillows down on the grass and motions with his hand for me to sit down.
 

I take a seat on the edge of the blanket and hug my knees to my chest. He sits next to me and smiles as he pulls the guitar into his lap. He plucks the strings a bit as he tunes the guitar, then he looks up with a soft gleam in his eyes.

“I’m going to sing one of the songs I wrote for you. It’s called ‘Blue Fields’.”

I hug my knees tighter as I lay my cheek on my knee and watch him play. The song is actually pretty upbeat and I wouldn’t know it was about me if he hadn’t told me. The lyrics are metaphorical. And his voice, that soft rasp, is like the ribbon that ties it all together.

But even though the lyrics aren’t literal, I’m pretty sure the song is about loving someone as much as you love the sky.

When the song is over, he looks a little embarrassed, so he quickly lies down. “Come on,” he says, patting the blanket behind me. “You have to lie down to look at the stars.”

I take a deep breath and lay back until my head lands softly on the pillow. Chris’s arm is pressed against mine and I find myself wishing there were more parts of him touching me. Then I find myself wishing that I could do this every June 7
^th
for the rest of my life.

“Thank you,” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

His arm moves a little, then he grabs my hand and squeezes. “Any time.”

When we wake up on the grass at six a.m. the following morning, all I can think is that we’re lucky
 
Mr. Miyagi is lying between to us instead of begging to be let out into the backyard. And Jackie isn’t the type to check on us in the morning before she leaves to work. So we’re safe.

My arms are wrapped around Chris’s right arm like a boa constrictor, the dog snuggled between our legs. Chris smiles at me, then we head inside to have breakfast.

Chapter Nine

Claire

Forever Holding On

august 9, 2009

There are moments in life that you know will be burned into your memory forever. Chris calls these “movie screen moments” — where everything slows down and you know that something important is about to happen that will change the course of the story. He says that the best songs are written about movie screen moments. I don’t know if this is true. All I know is that this is one of those moments.

I can feel it in the air. And I know that when I look back, I’ll remember everything about this moment in time; the smells, the tastes, the sounds, and the touch. The touch.

Chris and I are both sitting on the carpet with our backs leaned against the sofa, our fingers woven together as MTV plays in the background. This is something we’ve done every day for the past eight weeks, ever since the night we fell asleep in the backyard. As soon as Jackie leaves for work in the morning, we both get up and have breakfast together. He usually makes me a bowl of cereal or I make us both some scrambled eggs. Then we hang out in the living room for a few hours until his friends come over. Sometimes, Chris plays his guitar for me. Sometimes, we sit here and pretend to watch MTV, holding hands while Mr. Miyagi lays out across both of our laps, begging to be petted. Well, I don’t know if Chris is pretending to watch MTV, but I know I am.
 

All I can seem to think about when I’m near Chris is whether or not this will last or if he will be just another person I have to lose. But this doesn’t stop me from enjoying these hours spent together. I’ve never been happier in all my life. Not even when my mom was alive.

I’ll admit. I was sort of hoping today would be different than all the other mornings Chris and I have hung out. Not that I don’t like this small moment of closeness we share every day. But today’s August 9
^th
. My sixteenth birthday.
 

I guess I figured that would make today even more special for us. I was kind of hoping I might get my first kiss.

“Tristan’s coming over in half an hour and we’re going to the mall. You want to come?”

My heart sinks a little. Chris knows that Tristan and I don’t get along very well. He hasn’t even wished me a happy birthday and now he’s leaving to hang out with Tristan.

I try to let go of his hand and he tightens his grip. “What’s wrong?”

I attempt to pull my hand away again and this time he lets go. “I don’t want to go to the mall.”

“Are you okay?”

I stand up and he immediately stands with me. “I’m just tired. I think I’m gonna go back to bed.”

I take a few steps, but he grabs my hand to stop me. When I look over my shoulder at him, he’s wearing a crooked smile. “Can you take Mr. Miyagi upstairs with you?”

My shoulders slump as I turn toward Mr. Miyagi where he’s lounging on the sofa.

Chris chuckles. “I’m only kidding. I’m not going anywhere with Tristan today. I’m taking you for a ride.”

“What?”

“On my bike.”

“I’m not going on that thing.”

Chris got his motorcycle license the week after he turned sixteen less than three months ago. He’s been trying to get me to ride with him on his crappy racing bike ever since the first time I let him hold my hand.

“Come on,” he pleads. “I have something I want to show you, but I want to do it alone. I don’t want to ask Tristan to take us. Please?”

I stare into his eyes for a moment and he tilts his head. His brown hair always looks calculatedly messy, the way it’s just long enough to cover his ears yet still sticks out in all the right places. His skin is so smooth; I often find myself wishing I could press my lips to his cheek just to feel the softness of his skin. And don’t even get me started on the metal stud in his tongue. The way he plays with it when he’s tuning his guitar makes the butterflies in my stomach cry tears of joy. I don’t know what Chris sees in me other than the way my hand seems to fit so perfectly in his.

He pulls me a little closer and lifts my hand to his mouth. My heart races as he lays a soft kiss on my knuckles. “Claire, it’s your birthday. And I know you probably haven’t had a whole lot of birthdays you want to remember for the rest of your life, but I want this birthday to be the one you never forget. Let me take you for a ride.”

I stare at his lips as he says these words and that’s when it happens. This is that moment; the moment where everything slows down and nothing is ever the same.

Chapter Ten

Claire

Forever Floating

Chris pulls the motorcycle out of the garage and onto the street in front of the driveway because I’m afraid we’ll fall if he goes down the driveway with both of us on the bike. It’s a regular old racing bike that he picked up from a neighbor’s house
 
on his birthday; the day I went with him to Shayla’s house.
 

The body is lime-green with a black racing stripe that’s peeling off. He claims he’s already saving up for a new bike. And if he can just score a few well-paying gigs this year, he’ll get it for his next birthday.

“Come on.”
 

He nods toward the back of the bike as he squeezes the handlebar and revs the engine. The exhaust pipe coughs out a small cloud of gray smoke that smells like gasoline. He pats the seat behind him and smiles.

I double-check the strap on the helmet Chris bought for me a couple of weeks ago, then I grab his waist and swing my leg over the back of the bike. My stomach vaults when my body is pressed against his back.

“Hold on tight!” he shouts so he can be heard over the sound of the engine and through both of our helmets.

I lean closer to him and wrap my arms tightly around his waist. He reaches back and slides his hand down the side of my thigh until his hand is behind my knee. Then he pulls my leg up to prop my foot on the spoke. He does the same with my other leg and I can hardly breathe from the embarrassment as something pulses between my legs. It’s the engine. It has to be rumble of the engine.

He grabs both my hands and pulls them tighter around him, then he gives me a thumbs-up. Now we’re all set.
Great
.

I close my eyes and lean the side of my helmet against the back of his right shoulder. I let out a soft scream when he takes off, but I’m quiet the rest of the way. He takes it easy on me the whole way there; going extra slow on the turns and easy on the acceleration. But I’m still ecstatic when he arrives at Moore Square in downtown Raleigh.

My thighs are still humming from the vibration of the motorcycle engine as I stand next to the bike, waiting for Chris to remove his helmet. He hangs his helmet from a hook inside a compartment hidden beneath the seat cushion. Then he turns to me and smiles as he reaches for the strap on my helmet. The tips of his fingers are a bit calloused, probably from playing the guitar without a pick. He hates using guitar picks when he’s practicing.

Goosebumps sprout over my arms and I try not to look at his face as he finally gets my helmet strap unhooked. He gently lifts the helmet off my head and I can feel him staring at me. I bite my lip and try to regulate my breathing. This is it. He’s going to kiss me.

I muster the courage to look up into his eyes and he lets out a soft chuckle. “You did good. I think I only heard you scream once,” he says, and I let out the breath I was holding as he turns around and hangs my helmet on the same hook where he hung his.

He locks up the seat compartment, then he grabs my hand and nods toward the park area where dozens of white tents are set up for some type of blues music festival. Closer to Blount Street, there are some animal petting zoos set up with billy goats and lambs. The grassy smell of hay hangs thick in the humid summer air as we pass the animal pens.

“You want to ride a pony for your birthday?” he asks.

“I think I stopped qualifying for pony rides when I stopped dotting my I’s with hearts.”

He laughs and lifts my hand to his mouth to plant a kiss on the backs of my knuckles. “I — That’s why I like you.”

Suddenly, he looks nervous. As if he almost blurted out something he thought he’d regret.

I squeeze his hand twice before he looks at me. “I like you, too.”

He chuckles as he shakes his head. He knows I know what words almost slipped off his tongue. That perfect pierced tongue. And now he knows that I feel the same way.