Jaded (10 page)

“I guess it never came up,” JohnScott said. “But this is Trapp, for goodness' sake. How could you not know?”

Grady beamed as though he had never seen us before. “Right.” He nodded as he turned to walk away, but he kept looking back at us. “My brother may need medical attention,” he said.

JohnScott looked at me and shrugged. “City folk are so quirky.”

Chapter Seventeen

“It's been too long since I treated you, little cousin.” JohnScott picked me up after work one afternoon in late October. “Let's go to the Dairy Queen and get a chili dog.”

I settled into his pickup, glad to be off my feet. “If you wanted to treat me, you'd buy me ice cream.”

“But you haven't eaten dinner yet.”

“Minor detail.”

In the past few weeks, JohnScott had taken the hint and avoided mentioning God, and I thought our relationship might get back to normal if only he would give up the Debate Club. He still considered Dodd Cunningham the best thing since Internet access, even though I insisted the infatuation wouldn't last.

As we approached the Dairy Queen, I groaned. “Tell me you didn't.” The parking lot held only two cars. Dodd's El Camino and Fawn's Mustang.

“Aw, come on.” He shut off the engine directly in front of the broad dining-room windows and raised a hand in greeting as four heads turned in our direction. “Humor me.”

“Why didn't you just ask me in the first place?”

“You'd have said no.”

“For good reason.”

He opened the driver's door. “Honestly, I had no idea Fawn and Emily would be here, but you have to admit, they're getting better.”

“Well, that makes it all okay, doesn't it?” My cousin was a twit.

“Fawn isn't going to stop me from getting a chili dog, but you can stay out here if you want.” He shut the door, then grinned at me through the window.

I contemplated staying in the truck to prove he couldn't push me around, but since he parked right by the windows, I'd look foolish. He had planned this strategically.

I caught up to him at the front door of the restaurant. “I hate you.”

“Cheese?”

“Onions, too, and a chocolate shake. You owe me.”

JohnScott scrunched his face. “I probably owe you fries, too.”

He ordered at the counter, and then I followed him to a booth where Dodd and Grady sat with Fawn and Emily. After JohnScott greeted them, we took an adjacent table, but he pulled his chair toward Emily when she asked him about a lesson he had assigned in history class.

The game of musical chairs continued as Grady moved to the seat across from me and plopped his cardboard container of onion rings on the table. “Hey there, Ruthie-the-checker-girl. I'm surprised you're not at work.”

“I got off early.”

“Of course.” He stuffed an onion ring in his mouth, chewed twice, then spoke. “You work at the store most days?”

“Evenings and weekends.”

“Doesn't leave much free time.”

“I manage.”

We reached the natural end of the conversation, and an awkward silence followed. Awkward for me, at least. Grady didn't appear uncomfortable at all. He kept munching onion rings—which smelled so good my stomach growled—while I focused on the menu behind him.

His silence finally drove me to small talk. “So how do you like West Texas?”

“I never knew land could be so flat. And barren.”

“It's not barren.” I frowned.

“Mesquite trees and cactus don't count.”

“Of course they do.”

“It's your home.” His eyes were kind. “I miss the trees back in Fort Worth. We had a huge live oak with a tree swing. Pretty relaxing.”

“What's relaxing?” Dodd joined us, turning a chair around to straddle it. His arm brushed mine, and I shifted away from him as a tingle shot to my ear.

“Our tree swing back home.”

“I liked the porch swing better.” Dodd's eyes watched me.

Touching a crumb on the table, I rubbed it between my finger and thumb before flicking it to the floor. “Well, we may not have tree swings in Trapp, but we sure enough have porch swings.”

“You've got one at your house, don't you?” Dodd seemed different tonight. Something about the way he talked.

I nodded and glanced at the next table, where Emily and JohnScott flipped through a history textbook. JohnScott said something about page fifty-four while Emily nodded, but she seemed distracted by Dodd or Grady—I couldn't tell which.

Fawn squinted at Emily, which gave me the impression she was none too happy to have the teenager forcing her way into Fawn's time with the Cunninghams. I smiled in a feeble attempt to make the best of a bad situation, but Fawn didn't return the sentiment, only shifted her eyes to gaze at me with a bored expression until I looked away, embarrassed.

A few minutes later, she slid from the booth and stepped to the counter for a drink refill, which spurred Emily to abandon her assignment and scurry to the counter with her own waxed paper cup. As Emily passed our table, she poked my shoulder. “Hi, Ruthie.”

She glanced at the preacher as she skittered away, hovering next to Fawn and peeking back. Curiosity compelled me to watch and see if she would keep making eyes at Dodd.

Grady mumbled without moving his lips, “Act like it isn't happening. That's what we do.”

“What are you talking about?”

He put his hand over his mouth. “Emily …”

Dodd rolled his eyes. “Grady, a little discretion goes a long way.”

I snickered in spite of myself, forcing my eyes away from the teenage girl.

“Like I said …” Grady raised his voice, ignoring Dodd's scolding. “There aren't many trees in West Texas that could support a tree swing.”

“Except the dead tree behind the shoebox,” reminded Dodd.

“True.”

I lifted a hand. “What do you mean? What shoebox?”

“You've seen our house,” Grady said. “It's as small as a shoebox, right? The dead tree is probably bigger than the house.” He looked at Dodd. “You think it ever could have supported a swing?”

“Depends on the swing, I suppose.”

The brothers continued their banter for a few moments, but when I didn't join in, Dodd leaned on his elbows. “Hey, some of the folks from the church are meeting at the Blaylocks' house after the carnival on Saturday. Would you like to come?”

I blinked.

Disbelief pressed against my eardrums, making me slightly dizzy as Fawn spun to face us, but Dodd and Grady continued to search my eyes, anticipating an answer.

“No.” I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

Dodd shrugged but didn't look away. “JohnScott might go. You could ride with him.”

I knew what was different about the preacher. Usually his eyes bounced around the room, landing on me occasionally but looking at other people, too, especially JohnScott. He had always looked back and forth between us. Tonight he kept watching me … like he did when nobody was around. Like he did at the school office. Like at the
car wash
. Suddenly I remembered bumping into him and the feel of his arm around me.

Fawn closed the distance between the counter and our table. “Ruthie said she can't make it. Don't hound the poor girl.” She reclaimed her seat at the booth just as a waitress set JohnScott's order on the table in front of me.

I considered accepting Dodd's invitation simply to rattle Fawn's cage, but I would only be torturing myself. Picking up my portion of the food, I gripped the milkshake so tightly, it squeezed out around the straw, and I glared at my imbecile cousin. “Time to go, JohnScott.”

He must have sensed my determination, because he didn't argue. “I guess we'll take our grub back to Ruthie's place.”

“Oh, come on, stay awhile,” chimed Grady.

Dodd protested as well, but I was already pushing through the glass door, and the electronic bleeping mechanism drowned out his words.

JohnScott hurried to follow me, and when he opened the driver's door, he lowered his head and gave me a reprimanding look. “Was it that bad?”

I plopped my chili dog on the seat next to me. “Absolutely.”

“Why?” His door moaned, and I wanted to do the same.

“Dodd asked me to a party at Fawn's house.”

“No way.” He laughed out loud. “He asked you out?”

“Not like that, you idiot. He invited me to some church thing, but Fawn told him I couldn't come.”

He frowned.

“Well, not in so many words, but she got her point across.” I studied the dining room, where Fawn now laughed animatedly. “I'm not part of the Debate Club, you know.”

He started the truck and revved it, but then dropped his hands to his lap. “Ruthie, I don't know what's up with Fawn, but the Cunninghams are important to me.”

My empty stomach reacted to the scents filling the truck, and I felt sick. “The Cunninghams or the church or God?”

“I don't know yet.” He ground the truck into gear but left his foot on the brake. “But even if Fawn's a jerk, I don't think you should be afraid of her.”

“I'm not afraid of Fawn Blaylock,” I clarified. “Or her parents, for that matter. Or the other Christians.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

My hands trembled. “What am I afraid of?” I spit the words across the truck. “I'm afraid of good manners and fake smiles and friendly words. I'm afraid of people who don't know me but might believe any lie they hear. I'm afraid of the day they'll turn on me, because that day
will
come, JohnScott, and they'll make life in this stupid town even worse. Why can't you see that?”

“You mean the Cunninghams?” he asked quietly.

My temper boiled over. “Of course I mean the Cunninghams.”

He raised his hands in exasperation, then floored the truck in reverse.

As we pulled away, I glanced into the restaurant to glare at JohnScott's important people.

And Dodd's eyes bored into mine.

Chapter Eighteen

By the time I got to school the next morning, my temper had downgraded from a category-five hurricane to a severe thunderstorm. I grudgingly accepted the fact that my cousin would never understand, and I spent twenty minutes filling out an online scholarship application while John Mayer crooned from the speakers.

When JohnScott entered the office, he stood cautiously in the doorway as though expecting an explosion. “Still mad?”

“Pretending it didn't happen.”

“Things aren't that bad, you know.” His casual tone failed to mask his concern.

I pulled a tissue from a box on the corner of my desk and used it to wipe dust from the computer screen. He honestly was not the same person. “Didn't happen, JohnScott, go along with me, please.”

“Done.” He came around the counter, shuffled through papers in his teacher mailbox, then leaned against the wall behind my desk. “Uh-oh,” he murmured. “Is this going to be a problem?”

I followed his gaze to see Dodd enter the building through the front doors and make his way across the foyer in front of the trophy cases. I growled. “Didn't. Happen.”

“Alrighty, then.” JohnScott raised his palms in surrender. “By the way, I can't take you to work this afternoon. I'm cutting out early to help Dad with the cattle.”

“No big deal. Maria can probably give me a ride.”

“Maria, the Family and Consumer Science teacher?”

“That's the one.” He didn't even know me anymore.

Dodd opened the glass door and stuck his head into the room. “Morning, you guys. Ruthie, can I talk to you?”

I wanted to talk to the preacher like I wanted a bad sunburn—and JohnScott knew it—but my cousin only strolled past my desk with a teasing grin. “See you later, Ruthie.”

Of course he would leave.
JohnScott undoubtedly had some twisted agenda to get me to befriend the Cunninghams, but I wasn't falling for it. Just because my cousin had bought into Dodd's campaign of forgiveness and kindness didn't mean I had to.

I pushed my chair away from my desk as a subtle hint to Dodd that I would grant him no more than a few moments of my time.

His gaze dropped to my arms, crossed firmly over my chest, and he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ruthie, I don't want you to be afraid of me. You're not, are you?”

What kind of question was that? Dodd Cunningham may have made me nervous—and irritated and angry and disgusted—but I wasn't afraid of him, and I couldn't imagine why he would ask. “No …”

“I didn't mean that like it sounds,” he said quickly. “I just want you to know I would never intentionally hurt you.”

What on earth was he talking about?

He said nothing else, just leaned with his elbows on the counter, holding my gaze. He nodded, smiled gently, maybe even sighed.

I stood abruptly. “I'm on duty in the gym this morning, so if that's all you need, I should get down there.” I tossed my purse in the drawer, stomped past him, and escaped to the gym before he could ask me any more senseless questions.

Dodd was acting strange today.

And JohnScott, too.

I took my usual post beneath the scoreboard and frowned at the shiny hardwood floor. What were they up to? The gym buzzed with student chatter, but my mind buzzed with apprehension, and my imagination sent possible scenarios spiraling around my body in a surge of dread.

“You look upset, Ruthie-the-checker-girl.”

Grady's interruption jerked me out of my thoughts. “Why would I be upset, Grady?” I clenched my lips together.

“I haven't the slightest idea.”

“I'm confused about something your brother said, that's all.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Whatever happened to my plan to avoid the new guys?
It had sounded simple. Stay away from Dodd and Grady to keep Momma calm. I never intended to be unfriendly or hurtful, but the droop of Grady's eyes told me I had done just that.

But I couldn't talk to him. Not about this. “I'm afraid not, Grady.”

He leaned toward me. “But, Ruthie, I don't want you to be afraid.”

A spark ignited. Dodd had just asked about my being scared of him, and now Grady didn't want me to be afraid. As it all began to make sense, a surge of rage flamed across my skin. What had my cousin done?

“Ruthie?”

“JohnScott talked to you about last night.”

The boy's mouth hung open, but he shook his head in denial.

When the bell shrilled and students drifted down the bleachers, I locked my arms across my stomach, gripping my elbows to keep from screaming at him. “You shouldn't believe everything my cousin tells you, Grady.”

Heat crept up my spine as a thought occurred to me. If JohnScott had told the Cunninghams about my fears, what else had he told them? I followed the last of the students through the doors and walked briskly toward the office, but Grady ran to catch up.

“Ruthie, wait.”

I didn't slow down. If I made it back to my desk, I could drown myself in work and ignore all this mess.

“Let me explain.” He reached for my arm, but I jerked away. “Coach Pickett didn't tell me anything—”

“You don't have to explain. It's between JohnScott and me, and I'll talk to him later.”

“You're wrong. It has nothing to do with him.”

“Grady, go to class.”

One more turn and I'd be at my desk. I increased my pace, but he ran after me and barked, “Dodd can read lips.”

I took three more steps, then came to a sudden stop, confusion and curiosity dampening my anger. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath. “Well, you see, when he was a kid, he lost his hearing and—”

“I know about that,” I snapped.

“How do you—”

“Doesn't matter.”

He pressed his lips together and studied me before continuing. “It took a while for anyone, including Dodd, to realize what was happening. At first he watched people's mouths to be sure of what they said, but as his hearing worsened”—Grady shifted his books—“he almost didn't recognize his hearing loss because he already read lips fluently. They say he has a knack for it.”

I wavered in the middle of the hall, urging my addled brain to process what he said. “He can read anybody's lips, if he wants to?”

“As long as he can see their mouth.”

The fight drained from my body. “So he, more or less, heard me last night?”

“He tries not to eavesdrop, but apparently you're a pretty big temptation.” Grady shrugged. “And he's trying to figure out why you don't like him.”

My mind fast-forwarded through the conversation in the truck, and I inadvertently covered my mouth with my hand.

“Please don't kill him, Ruthie-the-checker-girl. Life wouldn't be the same without my big brother.”

 

At lunchtime I positioned myself with my back to the Debate Club. Maria tried to get me to talk, but she soon accepted I didn't have it in me.

“Rough morning?” she asked.

I crinkled my empty sandwich baggie in my fist. “Rough life.”

“Sounds like you need chocolate, girl.” She folded her rectangular pizza and fell into a respectful silence while she ate.

Three emotions crowded my lungs. Anger was the strongest—toward Dodd for eavesdropping, toward Grady for listening while he repeated it, and toward JohnScott for taking me to the Dairy Queen in the first place. Alongside the anger, insecurity swelled in my chest, suffocating my measly self-esteem until I felt short-winded. But the dominant emotion settling into my heart, as usual, was fear.

When Dodd tossed a soft drink can in the trash barrel by the door and left the lounge without looking at me, the tightness in my chest eased, but only slightly.

Maria inspected the remaining Debate Club members. The group had grown to around five, give or take, but I still turned up the radio to avoid hearing the conversation. Maria never objected, and I liked to think she understood. “What's your favorite candy?” she asked.

“Butterfinger, I guess.”

Maria dug change from her purse. “Help yourself.”

I fingered the coins, clinking them against each other before picking them up. Maria really was a good person. “Thanks.”

The Debate Club, short one member, took turns charting my progress, first to the trash can, then to the sink, then out the door. As I rounded the corner to the vending machines, I felt a sense of relief to have all their eyes off me. I stood before the candy machine and took a deep breath, but when the preacher appeared by my side, the tension returned, tenfold.

“Did Grady explain?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry, Ruthie. I invaded your privacy.”

“It's no problem. Really.” We stood side by side, inspecting the chocolate options. He apologized, I accepted, so now he could go back to his classroom.

I noticed his reflection in the glass front of the machine. He was watching me, and I diverted my gaze when he spoke again. “I pride myself on not eavesdropping, but … suddenly you were right in front of me.” He slipped quarters into the machine, then abandoned the effort and turned toward me. “This morning I saw JohnScott say you needed a ride. If you're willing to let me take you to work, I figured it might be a good chance for us to talk.”

I didn't want to talk. I didn't even want to know him, much less ride in his car. I jabbed the button for a Butterfinger.

He glanced at the machine, startled. “I don't really like Butterfinger.”

“I don't care.”

He slowly retrieved the candy from the machine, clattering the trap door. “You're angry.”

I shoved Maria's change into the slot. “I don't know what I am.” My concentration couldn't keep up with my emotions, and I blurted the first thought that popped into my head. “I don't appreciate it when people do things behind my back.”

He paused for several seconds, and I imagined him counting to ten. “I don't blame you, Ruthie. If I were you, I'd be angry.” He pushed the button for a Reese's. “But I'd get over it so we could be friends.”

I stood there mesmerized by the rotating coil releasing the candy, which dropped with a thunk. I took two breaths, then retrieved the candy and offered it to him as a trade for the Butterfinger. A chocolate-covered olive branch. He accepted the candy bar and walked away.

I listened to his slow footfalls and the thump of his classroom door as it closed, and then I returned to the teachers' lounge. My muscles turned to mush, and like a second grader, I laid my head on the table. Anger, insecurity, and fear had caused me to behave badly, and shame covered me like a damp quilt.

I knew the church would eventually pressure the Cunninghams to avoid me. But I could no longer sit idly, waiting for that to happen. Unfriendliness no longer felt right.

The shrill ring of the bell tone jerked me out of my puddle of regret, and I got up and plodded to the office. I could do better than this. I could act better. Bigger. Even though I recognized Dodd's kindness as a ploy to get me into his church, it wouldn't kill me to befriend him and Grady. After all, it was only temporary. I'd never be like JohnScott, and would never
want
to be, but I could try to be civil in the meantime.

I hesitated at the corner and looked back. Dodd stood in the doorway of his classroom, watching from halfway down the crowded hall. He leaned against the doorjamb with his arms crossed, but when our eyes met, he dropped his hands to his sides and took a tentative step.

I whispered across the expanse, “I'll wait for you after school.”

He bobbed once on his heels and nodded.