Painting Sky (26 page)

T
he light coming through the window woke me up at around seven and I noticed two things at once: I wasn’t cold and Keith was aroused. My legs and arms were tangled with Keith’s. I was facing him with my head on his right arm, and my own arm was resting on his stomach. My leg was hugging his body. When I noticed the second thing, I jumped off the bed and got stuck in the sheets, which made me fall to the floor with a loud thump.

I knew it was normal for men to wake up aroused, but feeling Keith hard against my knee had been startling, to say the least.

He sat up in the bed, looking around with wide eyes. “What? What is it?”

I winced. Of course I’d had to squeal when I fell. Now he was going to believe he’d shocked me. If Keith hadn’t made fun of me before for being naive, he would now.

He realized why I’d jumped off the bed and surprised me by looking shocked, himself. He ran to the bathroom and shut the door without another word.

He took half an hour with his shower, and I wondered why the hell he was taking so long. I thought maybe he was taking care of his little problem—or big problem, really. I snickered to the empty room. I had seen him naked before: this shouldn’t have surprised me.

What was surprising was the fact that he hadn’t actually had a lot of girls over to the house. The only girl in three months that I’d known for a fact he’d slept with was Shelby.

Keith didn’t leave the house often, and, when he did, it was usually only to go to classes on campus. I had to assume he wasn’t as much of a player as everyone had him pegged for—that, or he’d changed after high school. I supposed it was probably the second option, even though I recognize that high school had a lot of gossip fabricated by teenagers’ minds.

Knowing he hadn’t been sleeping with anyone lately made me believe he was feeling a little bit on edge. This was something I should have thought about last night, when I was snuggling against him for heat. I knew he would never hurt me like that, though, nor want me like that.

The thought ripped the smile off my face. I wasn’t his type, even if Keith had no type, at all. I believe he still saw me as an annoying little girl that he couldn’t shake off.

He emerged from the bathroom, letting the steam escape into the room and warm it. He was avoiding making eye contact—embarrassed, maybe? That was something I would have never guessed he had in him. I tilted my head and studied his body language.

“Are you ready to leave?” he asked, after zipping up his jacket. I hadn’t moved a muscle. I had been checking him out for the last few minutes and this made me blush. I used his method: jumped up and ran to the bathroom.

I took my time brushing my teeth, washing my face, and putting my hair into a braid to get it away from my face. It was so cold that I wouldn’t be able to take a shower. We were almost home, anyway. In a couple of hours, I would be hugging my parents and my sister, snuggling into my own bed, and eating Mom’s food.

Keith knocked on the door and asked me to hurry up. He had been allowed to take his time, but I couldn’t? This irritated me.

“What? A girl has to take her time,” I spit, opening the door and crossing my arms. He threw me my backpack, and it almost fell to the floor.

“You’re not that kind of girl. Now, hurry up, so we can get on the road before the next storm.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that it froze me in place. I wasn’t “that kind of girl?” What the hell was that supposed to mean? I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer, though, so I shut my mouth and followed him downstairs. The weather was better: a positive sign on this upsetting day.

I moped for the rest of the ride, crossing my arms, and staring at the landscape through the window.

As soon as we got to our hometown, my mood got better. I was going home, even if only for a few days. I needed my family, right now.

“The hell drive is over,” Keith said, as soon as he parked on our street. It had been snowing here, as well. It wasn’t as bad as it had been last year, but there was enough to leave a few inches on the lawn and roofs. It was a beautiful sight.

I turned to Keith before opening the door. We would see each other again during the holiday. It wasn’t uncommon for our families to gather together for Thanksgiving dinner. I had to say something to lift this cloudy feeling from my chest, though.

“I’m sorry if I’m that unbearable. I’m sorry I’m such a burden to you, Keith,” I spat, “and that my brother feels the need to make you babysit me. As you well know, I was fine with the idea of coming alone. You were the one opposed to it, as I recall. You were the one who offered to drive me. Have a nice holiday.”

I ignored his stunned face and got out of the car. My plan was to get my backpack from the trunk and stomp to my house, but of course, things wouldn’t be that easy. The car was locked, which meant Keith either unlocked it from the inside or had to get out and open it for me. He took his time, probably mulling over my words in his head.

He took out my backpack and handed it to me, but, before releasing his hold, he met my eyes.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel unwelcome. That wasn’t my intention. You’re right: I offered, and I wouldn’t take it back, especially after the night we had.”

He meant the storm. If I had driven here by myself, I would probably be lying in a ditch, somewhere. I had little experience in driving in the snow, much less in a full storm.

“Okay. Bye.” I didn’t feel any desire to forgive him just yet. My house was just a few feet away and I was dying to hug my parents.

The road was slippery and I made an effort to not fall on my butt in front of Keith. I didn’t look back. I was sure my mother was in the kitchen, waiting.

The snow was undisturbed, so I knew my father hadn’t come out to shovel, yet.

“Jane!” My mother opened the kitchen door, still drying her hands on the towel, and I jumped into her arms. She hugged me tightly. “I missed you so much, baby. I was so worried last night.”

“I would like to know what that was about last night, Jane.” My father came into the kitchen with open arms, despite his words.

“Dad. I missed you, too.” I hugged him and stepped back to answer his question. “I told you on the phone: we had to stay in a motel because of the storm. The car was skidding on the ice.”

“I don’t like that one bit, miss—staying in the middle of nowhere with that punk.”

“Keith. His name is Keith, and he was being responsible by stopping.”

My father paced in the kitchen, while my mother started the oven. He wasn’t giving up any time soon.

“So, the motel was his idea. I knew it! I’m going to kill that—”

“David, that’s enough. We’ll talk about this later; she just got here. Have you eaten anything today?” she asked, grabbing some blue strands of my hair. The streaks were dissipating.

I answered my mother by shaking my head. We had gotten away from that motel so quickly that neither of us had remembered breakfast. Mom had made a ton of pies and cakes, luckily.

“I want to take a shower and rest for a little while. Is that okay, or do you need help?”

My parents both looked distressed and I started worrying that something was wrong.

“Oh, honey, we are having some problems with space. Your grandparents came to visit, as well as your aunt and uncle. They are staying in yours and Ryan’s rooms.

“Oh, come on, Mom, I can’t sleep with Matilda. I’ll wake up with a black eye.”

My sister couldn’t sleep with anyone: she thrashed so much and punched like a boxer all night long.

“We were thinking you could stay in Cody’s room, since he didn’t come, and all.” My mother looked sheepish. I had come home for Thanksgiving after months of being away and now they were shipping me off to the neighbors. I loved Samantha and Carl, but I missed my old room.

My father still looked upset. Staying in Cody’s room, even with him absent, was against his rules.

Before I could open my mouth, my father grabbed my chin and turned my head toward him. I had completely forgotten about my nose piercing. I had convinced myself it was so small that most people wouldn’t even notice it. Not my father, though. He’d seen it pretty quickly.

“Jane Keaton, what the hell did you do? First the hair and now this? Who talked you into—”

Keith chose that exact moment to knock on the door. The three of us turned to look at him on the other side of the glass doors. I felt my mother tensing on one side, and heard my father hiss on the other. Keith’s eyebrows shot up at the hand still on my chin.

I pulled away from my dad and opened the door for him. I tried to see Keith as my parents did. He hadn’t come home for the last couple of years, and the piercing was new, along with the tattoos peeking out around his neck and wrists. He looked so delinquent that I feared my parents wouldn’t let me leave with him, let alone continue living in his house.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Keaton.” He nodded at my parents and turned to me. “You forgot your sketch pad in the car.” I looked to his hands, but they were empty. He expected me to go with him.

“Keith.” My mother startled both of us with her incredulous tone. He was very different from the Keith who had left at eighteen.

The look my father was giving us was terrifying. He was about to kick Keith out, for sure. I could almost see the smoke coming from his ears.

“Jane, you are not going home with him. There is no way I am letting my daughter live with a delinquent.”

I rolled my eyes, “Dad, you’re being rude.”

“Rude? Rude? You have no idea! And you,” He was fuming and stepping closer to Keith, “are the one who convinced her to pierce her nose? What next? A tattoo?” At that mention, my father spun around, shocked.

I shook my head. “No, no tattoo. And Keith had nothing to do with it—I swear.”

My mother was shocked, still, and glued to the floor. She was cautiously eying Keith and strangling the towel in her hands. While my father shouted everything he thought, my mother dwelled internally, which sometimes was much worse. Maybe I would be getting my room back for the weekend, after all.

Keith seemed to pretend that nothing being said bothered him, but I could see past that. I was learning to see beyond his walls. The fact that he was actually building walls told me he wasn’t fine.

My father’s yelling had to come to a stop when he called Keith a criminal.

“Just stop, Dad! You’re being ridiculous. Keith isn’t a criminal, and he doesn’t even party as much as Ryan, so if you want to consider your own son a punk who doesn’t do anything for a living, go ahead.” I turned to a stunned Keith and motioned to the door. “Come on. Let’s get my stuff from your car.” I pushed his arm for good measure and went outside.

My house’s warmth was already comforting my body, despite the fact that my father’s cruel words were as cold as the snow under my feet. My parents weren’t this shallow, were they? They hadn’t even let Keith talk—how could they assume anything about him, and, worse, tell him to his face?

“I’m so sorry,” I said, as soon as we were out of the house. “They shouldn’t have said those things.”

He just waved a hand between us and shrugged, composing his face and clearing his throat. “It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize for them.” He opened his car’s door and bent to get the sketch pad.

I clutched to it as soon as it was in my hands, hoping it would protect me not only from the cold, but from the indifference pouring from him.

“I’m fine. Go ahead, go home.” He motioned for my house before going around the car, getting in the driver’s seat, and driving away faster than he should have in the residential area.

Was he going all the way home to his house? Was he leaving me here alone, hurt and without a ride? Why the hell was I hurt, I had no idea, but, after living with him and seeing him every day, even if for just a few minutes, had gotten me used to his presence.

I dragged my feet to the kitchen door again, bracing myself for another cruel speech from my father. I was too upset to let him do it again, though. I always hated when he talked to my brother like he was doing everything wrong with his life, but I rarely confronted him or defended Ryan. Maybe that was why Ryan teased me so much: to get back at me for not standing up for him. He never showed that he hated me or anything, but sometimes the face he made when my father compared the two of us made me cringe. It wasn’t hate, but it was definitely resentment.

M
y father was nowhere to be seen when I got inside. My mother was busy at the stove, so I told her I was going to take a shower and pack some stuff to take next door for the night. She turned to me, searching for something in my eyes, but she didn’t open her mouth. If she found what she was looking for, I didn’t know it. I just hoped they would stop attacking Keith and threatening to take me out of that house. It was home for me, now.

I spent so many days there, missing my parents’ house. Now that I was here, I was missing my room there. I missed the green comforter, the picture on the wall, the trees rustling outside, and the silence at night with only the occasional song of the crickets or the call of owls.

My grandparents weren’t home: they’d probably gone for a walk in the park or to fetch something for the holiday, so I got my room to myself for a while. I grabbed several changes of clothes and placed them in my backpack.