Inside Out (11 page)

It was about seven in the evening when Angie pulled into the drive behind trees that were still green in the middle of November. It had been easy enough to find the place after last night, even though she wouldn't have been able to get in touch with her brother for directions even if she wanted to. He had left his cell phone in the car and he hadn't been in too much of a mood for particulars the night before.

She still couldn't believe it, though she knew it was true. But still, not her brother. No, she wasn't going to think about it. She was just going to see how things went down. Rett came out to meet her, then took the keys from her hands and settled in the driver's seat while she got in on the other side. He didn't say anything. Angie just waited, knowing that wouldn't last long.

“Angie…” Yep, she knew her brother. “I brought you here last night because—”

“I know, I know. You brought me here because you thought she thought you were hiding her from me. You wanted to put her mind at ease. And I screwed it up.”

“No,” he shook his head slowly. “You're right so often you have no idea how to handle it when you've got it all wrong. I brought you here because I really care about her and I wanted you to get know her. Period.”

“You wanted me to—” She cut her own words off and frowned thoughtfully. “Rett, hon, I know we started talking about this last night, but if you're this serious about her, that's all the more reason why you want to think—”

“I don't care,” he answered solemnly.

“What?”

“I don't care right now about what anyone thinks. I know what I want and I don't care if anyone has a problem with it.”

“You should care, Rett. That's all I'm saying. And what if Momma and Dad—”

“Dad knows.”

“What?” Angie knew she didn't just hear that.

“He knows. Oh, we haven't talked about it out loud or anything, but he knows.”

“But not Momma.”

“No, not Momma.”

Angie didn't say a word. Rett went on, “I just wanted you to get to know her, that's all.”

Oh no, brother,
Angie thought,
that's not all.

* * *

“Angie, would you like something to drink?” Tracey offered.

It was a few nights later and Angie had just gotten there with Garrett's SUV. This time, she'd borrowed it to go home and pick up her futon. Tracey took the keys from her at the door and told her Rett was in the shower. Angie went on in, carrying a bag containing a burger and fries. She sat down in the living room without anybody inviting her. She figured since Tracey was so stiff, she probably wouldn't have ever gotten around to it. In fact, Tracey seemed frustrated as Angie sat on the floor at the coffee table and made herself at home.

“Yeah, what you got?” Angie asked.

“Probably whatever you like.”

Just at that moment, they both heard the bathroom door open in Tracey's bedroom. Rett was singing. Since Tracey was sitting in the leather chair by the wall, she could see him down the hall before Angie did. She nearly choked when she saw him. She shrieked, “Rett! Angie's here!”

It took a second for him to appear. He peeked around the corner and grinned at his sister. She could see his wet hair as he came into the hallway wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“I just got here,” Angie answered, biting into her burger. “Besides, I was just about to get a drink before you came parading around, tackle out.”

“I'll go ahead and take her home soon as I get dressed, Tracey,” he said before he leaned down to give her a quick kiss.

That was when Angie figured out what was eating Tracey. The chick didn't want her there. Unfortunately, she hadn't yet realized that Angie couldn't leave any sooner, even if she wanted to. She had no way to get home. Apparently, Garrett mentioning it eased her tension some because she looked a lot less stricken and wasn't staring at Angie as if she wanted to scream, “Interloper!”

“No,” Tracey answered, surprising both Angie and her brother. “She can stay for a drink.”

“How about a rum and coke,” Angie asked and stuck her tongue out at her brother.

“Dark okay?” Tracey asked.

“But of course,” Angie answered.

Tracey started to get up, but Garrett stopped her. “I'll get it, hon. What do you want?”

“I'll have the same.”

He passed her and stroked her face.

Angie felt as if she'd swallowed down the wrong pipe. There was her brother behaving like a sensitive, caring man again. Who knew he could do it?

“You're on the swim team, right?” Tracey asked her.

“Yeah. And, since I am one of the few people on the team who is
not
an Olympic hopeful, I've found it best to just show up on time every day and keep real quiet.”

“You're capable of keeping real quiet?”

Angie laughed, feeling that at last they were starting to warm up to each other. Then she remembered something. “Oh,” she yelped, finishing her burger and wiping her hands. She reached in her purse. “I have something for you.”

It was a teeny tiny gift bag with delicate teal and lilac tissue peeking out from it. Inside was a silver coin charm. It was about an inch-wide circle with a fighting tiger embossed onto it. Tracey held it in her hand as if it were the most delicate something she'd ever seen. “I don't know what to say.”

“Nothing, I saw it and thought of you,” Angie answered before starting in on her fries. Eating like that was going to totally mess up her training.

“I don't think I can accept this. I mean—”

“Think of it as an apology for our rocky start the other night and, well, rocky times to come. You know, I have a problem thinking before I speak.”

“Think so?”

“Sarcasm.” Angie smirked wickedly. “I like it.”

Rett sauntered back in, still wearing his towel, and handed Angie her drink. She sipped liberally. After swallowing she closed her eyes and licked her lips, then let out a moan of appreciation and opened her eyes again. “Maybe I shouldn't have offered you a drink,” Tracey quipped, laughing.

“No,” Angie declared. “I'm not a lush or anything. I just have an acute appreciation, that's all.”

“I see. Your brother has an acute appreciation, also.”

“Don't I know it? We get it from our mother, who swears to this day she can't drink.” Tracey asked her why. “ 'Cause Dad can't and God forbid she out-man Dad.”

They both laughed over that as Tracey's phone rang. She answered it. “Hey, Moni. What's up?… Hmm, probably around six….” She cleared her throat. “Can't…studying…all right, see you tomorrow.”

“Monica?” Rett prompted. Tracey nodded. Angie knew he wanted to meet this friend of Tracey's as she had met his sister. Tracey had told him no. Angie glanced back and forth between them, sensing the tension.

“Are you pressuring Tracey to shout from the mountain top that you're her boyfriend again?” she asked her brother. He didn't say anything. Tracey didn't say anything.

* * *

As much as Tracey and Rett were probably hoping for Angie's appearance not to interrupt the dynamic of their relationship, it had. She called often. She came over even more often. And she learned more about Tracey and vice versa than either of them had predicted. Tracey figured out that part of the insane banter Angie spewed out all the time was just her sense of humor. She learned that whenever Angie felt bad about something she'd done or said, she tried to do something right away to fix it, like the charm she'd given Tracey that night. Angie learned that Tracey had traveled all over the world and had a story for every occasion. More importantly, she had a subtle, dry way of turning a phase that just had to make you laugh. In the end, Angie knew that though Tracey didn't want to, she was starting to like the lesser Atkins.

And Angie really liked her. That was why she worried over the mounting problems between the two.

One night she came over to work on a final project. They moved the coffee table into the spare room so she could spread out on the floor. In five minutes her supplies were all over the place, from foam core board to epoxy to a T-square. With her hair held fast in a tortoiseshell clip and her wire-rimmed glasses slipping on her nose as she bent over her work, Angie figured she looked damn scholastic.

In the middle of working on the project, she looked up at Tracey. “I don't suppose you have a three-millimeter technical drawin' pencil anywhere in the house?” She screwed up her nose hopefully.

“No.” Tracey shook her head. “Unfortunately, I don't.”

“Mine's broken and I just can't work with it anymore. I'm gonna have to go to the ANM. You need anything?”

“No. Garrett,” Tracey called to him. He was in the bedroom watching a court case broadcast on public television.

“Yeah, baby?” he called back and came down the hall to join them in the living room.

“You need anything from the store? Angie's going.”

“Which one?”

“The ANM.”

“Actually I need to pick up a case for Monday. I'll ride with you, Angie.” He went back down the hall, then reappeared wearing sneakers, a jacket, and a navy baseball cap.

“You want to come, Tracey?”

Angie noted how Tracey looked at them. She tried to imagine what she was seeing. Rett looked the preppie frat boy, as usual, but probably more so next to Angie, who looked deceptively normal in her studious glasses and Penn State sweatshirt.

“No, thanks, sweetie, but you can bring back a loaf of bread. We're almost out.”

He goaded her. “Come on, Tracey. It'll be fun.”

“Garrett,” she answered warily, “really, I don't feel like it.”

“You know what, Tracey? Screw it,” he lashed out. Then he shook his head and spat out, “As if anything would ever be any different with you. Look, I'm not sure I'll be back tonight.” He stalked out of the door.

Angie followed him but turned back to Tracey to mouth, “I'll talk to him.”

Tracey only nodded at her.

Outside Angie started in on him. “At least you could have given some warning. All I knew was that one minute you were asking her to go, the next you were teasing her about it, and in the next, you were so mad you were turning red and looking like you wanted to kill her. I know how much stress you're under, but was all that necessary?”

“You don't understand,” he grumbled.

“Then enlighten me.”

Rett swiped at his eyes, but thankfully Angie didn't mention the glistening tears.

“It just seems like this is getting old fast.”

“What? Being in love with her?”

Surprisingly, Rett nodded.

“That's not even the hard part.” Angie knew he needed support, but it had to be said.

Tracey was in the same position when they got back. Angie came in with a smile for support. Rett followed her with a frown. He didn't say a word to Tracey. He just plunked the loaf of bread he was carrying down on the kitchen counter, and went back into the bedroom.

Angie settled on the floor again. “He'll be all right.”

“But, I—”

“Listen, Tracey. I talked to him. He loves you. No matter what I used to believe, I don't think anything could change that. He'll be all right.”

On the night before Tracey and Garrett left for Christmas break, they exchanged gifts. Because she had already handed in all her work, Tracey volunteered to make dinner that night. By the time Garrett got into the house, her whole body tingled with hypersensitivity. She was breathing fast and the adrenaline was pumping. She wanted so much for that night to be beautiful and for it to please him. Lately, she hadn't really done anything, it seemed, that pleased him. She knew she loved him, though she had never told him. She knew he loved her, though he had stopped saying it. But it wasn't enough.

More than anything, she wanted this night to be special. So she wore that short, fitted black dress for him, despite feeling a little heavy. She flat-ironed her hair and let it hang against her shoulders the way he liked. She wore heels and makeup.

Standing there in the living room in a coal black suit, a soft grey shirt beneath, a bottle of champagne in one hand, and flowers in the other, he stared at Tracey long and hard. “Baby.” He swallowed. “Baby, you look so good.”

“How'd you do?” She asked him about his paper, barely recognizing her own voice.

“Fine,” he answered absently as he came forward to kiss her softly. They had always been so aggressive with each other and, now that she was getting used to the mild cardiac disturbance she got when he kissed her hard, he was changing things. Now he was kissing her softly and she felt like someone had a jackhammer smashing her in the sternum.

“I'm sorry I'm late.” He handed her the bouquet of fragrant wildflowers. She wondered briefly if anyone could get fresh wildflowers in December anywhere else but in the South.

“I hadn't noticed.”

“You always notice,” he answered wryly. She recalled that first night he'd come in late from intramurals and how angry she'd been.

“There's dinner in the kitchen.”

“I can't get over how beautiful you look.”

Tracey smiled. She couldn't help it.

“Are you blushing?”

She didn't say anything.

“You are! You sure picked a funny time to get shy.” He couldn't stop staring at Tracey. She felt giddy. He patted her on the bottom and said, “Hey, Angie told me what you got her for Christmas.”

Earlier that day, when she was handing her the envelope, she told Tracey, “I would just like to thank you in advance. I already know that this is going to be an excellent present because you have such good taste. But if it isn't,” she raised her voice, “then by God—”

“Just open the present, silly.” Tracey laughed. She had only known her for a couple of weeks, but the more Tracey got to know her, the funnier and more adorable Angie got.

“My God, you didn't do this. Not for me, you didn't!”

“I believe I did.”

She nearly tackled Tracey as she hugged her. “Ohmigod! Ohmigod! Ohmigod!” Angie squealed as she jumped around the living room. “You don't understand, Tracey. Fitts & Mahler is one of the best architectural firms in the country. They are at the very least, the best out of the South. I would be honored to kiss the feet of anyone there. I couldn't say ‘no' to this. How? How?”

“My mom does a lot of work with that firm. I've known them forever. I beat Brennie Mahler up in the first grade.” Tracey chuckled, remembering. “They needed an intern.”

Afterward, Tracey opened Angie's present. Wrapped in a soft silk scarf that faded from eggplant to lilac was a book of Tibetan proverbs.

“You know what she got me?” Garrett asked. Tracey shook her head. “A hardbound copy of the writings of Frederick Douglass.”

“Just a little heavy-handed of her.”

“A little.” He kissed her again. “Where's my present?”

Tracey smiled and handed him the only box beneath her tree.

While she was trying to figure out what to get him for Christmas, extravagant things crossed her mind. She thought about a cruise or a laptop or a car or something. She was going through a guilt thing at the same time she was going through an insane love thing. She wanted to get him something that would make him forget all the tension between them. Unfortunately, the gift she ultimately decided on made her even more guilty. He opened it. It was a supple, chic brown leather jacket made of the softest Italian leather she could find. It never really got cold enough for a heavy leather jacket, but this one he could wear all year round if he really wanted to. And she thought he would look a lot less “frat boy” in it as opposed to the bomber. A lot more metropolitan. This was why she felt guilty. Still, his eyes were big as he pulled it out. He looked like a little boy as he held it. He slipped it on. He definitely looked like a full-grown man. Tracey didn't know he would look so damn good in it. Guilt gone.

At that moment her heart started breaking in her chest. Garrett went through the pocket of the jacket he'd taken off and produced a box that couldn't be anything but a ring box. Tracey started shaking. Her whole body just started shaking. She took the box in trembling hands, already thinking to herself that she had to find some way to give it back to him. She didn't want to give it back, but she certainly couldn't accept it, no matter how desperately she wanted to say yes. She felt tears welling up and she could barely open the box.

When she managed it, she started bawling out of just… The ring was an amethyst surrounded by citrines. Her birthstone surrounded by his. The lilac and gold gems were set in a thick gold band and the ring looked like an antique. She took it and held it in the palm of her hand and just cried like a baby. Finally, he took the ring from her palm and slipped it onto the ring finger of her right hand. The way he looked at her as he put that ring on her finger said more to her than the position. She couldn't breathe. She grabbed onto him and kissed him so that he could give her life.

Afterward, they shared a virtually silent meal. He cleaned up the dishes, and Tracey waited on him with remote in hand, pretending to watch television. He walked in and gently took it from her. He turned off the set, and then took her into the bedroom laid her on the bed. He pulled his shirt over his head then lay down next to her. He rubbed her cheek with the backs of his fingers and said, “I'm officially off the lease at Woodlands.”

Tracey swallowed. Whatever her parents would think if they found out, whatever the world would think, it just didn't matter then.

“I'm glad.”

They lay there in silence until he put his arms around her and squeezed tight. Tracey held him hard and for some reason wanted to cry. “Tracey, I love you,” he whispered.

She whispered back, “I love you, too.” It was as if those words had to be kept in hushed tones so that there was no possibility of anyone else ever hearing them. But Tracey didn't want to think about that, and she didn't have to because he was kissing her softly again, and making love to her like a man in love.

* * *

The following morning, Monica stopped by to give Tracey her gift before she went to her parents'. Tracey had completely forgotten she was coming and so, even though Garrett had cleaned up her kitchen the night before, a champagne bottle and wrapping paper were still laying in the living room. Moni noticed.

“Girl, my feelings are hurt. Looks like you had a party here last night and didn't invite me.” Though she was smiling as she spoke, her voice told Tracey she truly was disappointed.

“No, it was really just my study group. We met over here last night and gave each other some gag gifts, that's all.”

“Oh,” she answered, but hurt and suspicion still creased her brow.

They exchanged presents then. “I didn't know what to get you,” Moni complained. “You have everything! So I have to admit that Rico picked it.”

Tracey started laughing even before she finished unwrapping the box. She leaned over to hug Moni, still laughing. “Why on earth did he get me a handheld gaming system?”

“He said he saw you playing video games with the kids. You looked like you were having fun. Besides, he enjoys his, too.”

“I was, and you're right, I don't have one. Woo-wee, I can't believe you got me this. I love it. It's going home with me.”

“So you like it? I can take it back if you don't.”

“No,” Tracey yelped, more pleased than she should have been to get the system. She got three games with it to boot. “I want it! Open yours.”

She opened her present, an envelope. “Oh, my! Damn, Rico's gonna die! Thank you, Tracey!” She hugged Tracey and kissed her on the cheek.

“Every time I come over there, you and Rico are arguing about this, so I'm helping you out. Now he has to do it.” Tracey had decided on twelve weeks of ballroom dancing lessons with a Latin specialist. “And take these for the little ones. Give them my love.”

* * *

When she was a teenager living at home, it drove Tracey crazy that her mother was always in her room doing something. She was always scared Carolyn was in there reading her diary or snooping for God knows what. By the time she went away to college, Tracey was over that. As nosy as she was, her mother had a serious respect for the privacy of others, even her daughter's. She came in there because it was her way. Compelled to assess the aesthetic, she was always changing color schemes, changing styles, changing everything in the house. She'd gone through every style except French Provincial. “I can't stand French Provincial!” she'd said. Whatever the genre, she always refined it to her own clean style.

Now Tracey's room was completely blue. Almost electric blue. The hardwood floor was now stained blue. The walls were covered in light blue satin with a
fleur-de-lis
design that appeared when you moved a certain way. The dresser was blue. The chaise positioned under a window and beside the television, was blue. The table the TV sat on was blue. Tracey's bed, which was thankfully the same bed she had always had and always loved, was now covered in linens of bright, robin's egg blue with muted blue stripes. The only other colors in the place were some hints of white and silver. It was gorgeous, fit for a magazine, but not for a person's actual bedroom. Shrugging, Tracey reminded herself that no matter what color the lines, that was the most wonderful bed ever created by man, and it called to her. She went to lie down. She didn't expect to sleep into the next day.

* * *

“Nice to see you decided to join the living,” her mother said to her before cutting into a pancake. Carolyn sat at the table in the kitchen wearing a soft yellow and red floral shirt over dark green yoga pants. The sun filtered through the window into a room completely decorated in forest green, lemon, and tomato. Completely coordinated with the room, she looked perfect, as usual.

Tracey grunted at her in response. As soon as her mother got tired of wearing green to breakfast, she'd probably change the kitchen again. How practical was that?

“You must have been very tired,” her mother started again. Regular old pleasant words, but Tracey knew her mother. She was like a bull scratching at the ground.

“I was,” Tracey answered, sitting down next to her mother. “Thank you, Petey.”

Petey, the jack of all trades at their house since Tracey was little, set a warm plate of eggs, bacon, and grits in front of her. He knew she saved her pancakes for last.

“You've been tired a lot lately, apparently. You've been too tired to come home in the past three months. You've been too tired to call like you should. And I mean on a day besides Thanksgiving. You've been too tired for a lot of things. I hope you're not too tired to graduate this spring.”

“Mama—”

“Don't
Mama
me. Eat your breakfast.”

“I'm a grown woman—”

“Don't tell me what you are. I'm the one that gave birth to you almost twenty-five years ago. You would think that a grown woman would be a little more thoughtful. Now
eat
your breakfast.”

Tracey finally dug in, but her mother kept watching her. “Slow down, Tracey. You're eating like you're starving and I can tell by the two or three extra pounds that you aren't starving.”

“Mama!”

She shrugged one shoulder and tried to assuage Tracey's outrage by saying, “You're fine, baby, fine.”

She was surprised when her mother only raised an eyebrow when Tracey went back upstairs to lie down again.

* * *

On Christmas Day Tracey opened her present from her daddy, which was an envelope. Inside, she found two round trip tickets and travel packets for a trip to Paris next September. She squealed.

“Shouldn't I be getting this later on in the year, Daddy?”

“Hey, if you knew you were going to get a trip anyway, what was the point of waiting? You'll get something else for graduation, girl. Now come over here and hug my neck.” She threw her arms around him.

Her first thought was going with Garrett. Then it occurred to her that there was no way Garrett was going to be able to go to Paris with her. First, her parents would want to know, of course, who she was taking. Second, she didn't think he would accept the trip, even if indirectly, from her parents without them knowing about their relationship. She would have to take someone else. She thought of Monica. She might go, but she did have three children to take care of. Tracey thought of Angie; Angie would go and they would have fun. But again, how would Tracey explain her to her parents? A friend she met at school? Maybe. Lucky for Tracey, she didn't have to make that decision right then.

Her mother gave her a new laptop, then promptly told her she expected her to go to church with her on Sunday. Yeah, well, even a Christmas gift from her had its price.

“You are going with me to Colleen's tomorrow, right, Tracey?”

“Yeah, what time?”

“I told her we'd be there around ten.”

“Breakfast first?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I'm gonna go to bed now.”