The Big Picture (31 page)

“Katie?” His voice spikes with fear.

“I’m okay!” I yell. “Drop your weapon.” Okay, so now is not the time for flashlight humor.

“Open this door!”

Dear God, what in the world have I ever done to make you mad at me? I clearly am being punished for something. Because I was born to Bobbie Ann Parker? Frankly, I think you owe
me
for that one. I would be willing to not hold it against you, if you’d just perform an eensy-weensy miracle and let this trailer floor swallow me whole.

I wait.

Not gonna happen, is it?

With a cry of frustration, I propel myself into the living room, nearly tripping over my mom’s shoes, and open the front door. But not the screen.

“Yes?” I say, all calm, as if I’m not standing there with all the lights
off, and Tate hasn’t been shouting my name out like a war cry for the past minute and a half. “Were you just in the neighborhood?”

“Let me in.” He shines his light into the living room. The beam zooms right and left.

“There are laws for that, you know.” I gesture to his flashlight. “You can’t just peek into a girl’s house. People will think you’re a perv.”

“You have three seconds to open that door or I’m calling the police.”

In one motion I unlatch the screen and fling it open. “No police.”

He slips by me and steps into the living room, his flashlight still roaming. “Is everything okay? I’ve been texting and calling you for hours.”

I shrug a shoulder and watch the light dance on the worn walls. “Things are great. Why wouldn’t they be?” Just because it’s one hundred degrees in here since I’m too afraid to open the windows? And I’m nearly seventeen, and I’m still convinced the boogeyman exists and has waited all my life for the perfect opportunity to pay me a visit?

“Is your electricity out?” He shines the light in my face, and I swat it away.

“Ow! I’m blind! Watch the eyes, would you?”

“Answer me. What’s going on?”

“Yes, my electricity is out.”

“I didn’t notice anyone else on your street in the dark.”

Shame settles on me like a heavy coat. “Yeah . . . um . . . not sure what the problem is.” As in I’m not sure what the problem is with my mom not being able to hold down a job and pay one stinkin’ bill.

“Is your mother here?”

“Nope. She’s out for a bit.” Must get this boy out of here. “Hey, I’m really glad you stopped by, but I have things to do.” I roll my eyes to the ceiling.
I have things to do?
Am I an idiot? Clearly unless it’s things to do in Braille, I have
nothing
to do!

“Wait right here.” And before I can work up a good objection, Tate is out the door and back again. “I still had my lantern in the back from
last week at the cliff.” He settles it on the coffee table and lights it up. “I’m just going to open some windows.”

“Tate!” I must gain control of the situation. “It’s okay. I’m perfectly comfortable in here.” A bead of sweat drips down my cheek. “It’s very . . . cozy.”

“I could roast hotdogs in your living room.” He flings open the living room windows, and a breeze swirls through. Okay, so it might have been a little bit stifling.

Tate opens more windows then strides to stand in front of me. His hands clamp my shoulders. “Are you okay? What happened?” He peels a limp piece of hair off my forehead.

I stare into his fierce eyes. Then drop my head. “Momdidnotpaythebill.”

“Take your hand off your mouth. I didn’t understand a word of that.”

“I said — ” I hate my life. Can I be someone else? Just for one day? I want to be Hilary Duff or that girl from
Hannah Montana
. Except her dad totally needs a haircut. “My mom didn’t . . .”

His grip tightens. “What? Pay the bill?”

I sigh and stare at the peeling linoleum. “Uh-huh.” My head springs up. “But it’s okay. I’m fine. No need to stay. It will be on tomorrow probably. We’ll get it straightened out. She probably just forgot. I’ll get it taken care of. I don’t need lights. And sure, I’m missing a good Lifetime movie, but they show them over and over until you get sick of them and you’re, like, could you please quit showing that same movie? I don’t care if they do call it an ‘encore presentation,’ it’s still a rerun, and I can only handle so much of the old cast from
90210
, and — ”

“Katie!” Tate gives me a little shake, and for the first time I see the beginning of a smile. “Come home with me.”

“I’m not really that kind of girl.”

He laughs and drops his hands. “I mean come have dessert with my family. Hang out with me and my sisters. We’ll invite some other friends over. You can’t stay here. You’ll be completely in the dark soon.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I do. But I need to stay close and wait for my mom.” I don’t know why, but I can’t shake the feeling I need to be here when she gets back. And I want to see if she really is home by nine. “Was there a reason you stopped by — besides a really bad attempt at stalking me?”

Tate moves to the couch and sits down. I settle on the other end. “I started calling hours ago to see if you wanted a ride to church.”

Oh. Sunday night church. Funny how a lack of electricity can make a girl forget these things. “I guess I’m not going.”

“It’s already over.”

So’s my life. “Well, it was nice of you to stop by, but — ”

“Have you eaten dinner?”

Nope, haven’t eaten since lunch. But since we’re down to old candy, crackers, and juice, there’s really not any point in having an appetite.

“You can’t stay here in the heat. Come back to my house. You can leave your mom a note, and I’ll bring you back in a couple hours. She wouldn’t want you to sit alone in the dark.”

Oh, you’d be surprised
.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Katie — ” He scoots closer to me on the couch. “Clearly things aren’t getting better with your mom. I’m worried about you. You can’t live like this. Please let me call someone.”

“No!” I clutch my hands in my lap. “You can’t. You promised me. You have no idea what my life would be like if I get taken out of my mom’s custody.”

Tate nods, his jaw set. “I’m giving it one more week.” He holds up a hand at my look of outrage. “If things don’t get better, I’ll talk to my dad. Not the police or anything — just my dad. He’ll know what to do. If nothing else, you can bunk with my sister, Kari.” A smile spreads on his face. “She’s ten and likes to play Barbies. And she forces it on everyone she encounters.”

“Well, as fun as the Barbies sound, it doesn’t exactly work that way. I can’t just go live with someone. You
have
to keep this to yourself.”

“One week. That’s all I can do. You’re not safe here.” He palms my right knee and gives it a shake. “Now, back to my original question, have you had dinner?” I raise a noncommittal shoulder. “Then if you won’t leave the house, I’ll have to fix you something here.”

“You can’t. My mom should be home in about fifteen minutes.”

“So? Then I’ll make both of you dinner.” He gives me a nudge. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?”

“The store.”

“What for?”

Tate’s eyes sparkle in the dim light. “Katie Parker, I’m going to prove to you there’s more up my sleeve than bologna sandwiches and big biceps.”

I smile at the crazy boy on my couch. “I always thought there might be.”

Chapter thirty - three

“CAN I INTEREST YOU IN a drink, madam?” Two plastic cups hang from his fingers. “I have a lovely vintage here that I think is just the thing.” He pours Diet Dr Pepper into my cup, swirls it, then holds it beneath his nose. “It’s dark, it’s bubbly, and best of all, should we decide to have a burping contest later, this could push you to victory.”

I stifle a giggle and take the drink.

And chug like there’s no tomorrow. He lifts a brow, but says nothing. Only refills my cup.

“For myself, I’m more of a traditional guy.” He pours himself Coke and takes a drink. “Ahhh. A very fine year.” His skin glows in the light of the candles on the dining table.

It’s nearly ten o’clock. Yet instead of worrying about my mother or counting the minutes, I’m totally caught up in this dinner. I’ve already reminded myself half a dozen times Tate only likes me as a friend — that was made painfully obvious. And I like Charlie Benson.

Don’t I?

“Would you like some salad?” Using two plastic forks, he throws some in a bowl before I respond. “And for your dressing? You can have ranch?” He holds up a lone bottle. “Or ranch.”

“Oh, I must have the ranch.”

“A very good choice.” With absolutely no finesse, he squirts some onto my salad then places it before me. “Before we eat our greens, a toast.” He lifts his Coke. “To . . .” He chews on his lip as he considers his words. “Good friends. A good meal. And my sincere hope the chicken doesn’t make either one of us sick.”

I clink my drink to his, savoring his playful smile and the burn of the Diet Dr Pepper sliding down my throat.

After our salads, Tate brings me a plate of chicken, a baked potato, and a small loaf of bread.

He gestures for me to take the first bite. “If you keel over, I’ll know not to eat my own cooking.”

With one eye on the chef, I cut into the chicken and lift a hesitant bite to my mouth. “
Mmm
. It’s actually good.”

He beams with pride. “All thanks to my super handy camping equipment — a grill and a little propane stove. Perfect for weekends at the lake, power outages, or when your mom won’t let you get near the kitchen anymore.” He leans over the table. “I’ve had a few mishaps.”

That would make two of us. I tell him about my hamburgers that nearly brought the trailer down.

Thirty minutes later, still no mom. But I do have dessert.

“Whipped cream?” Tate holds a can of Reddi-Wip over my bowl of strawberries and store-bought pound cake. “Don’t answer that. You’re a girl who appreciates the finer things in life. I can tell.” He swirls the white stuff all over my bowl until it’s piled high enough to lean. He places another strawberry on top. “Perfect.”

“Have I thanked you for this yet?” I watch him over my fluffy concoction.

Tate stabs a piece of cake with his plastic fork and takes a bite. “No thanks needed.” His hair is damp with the heat.

I set my fork down. “Yes, it is necessary.” I watch him until I have his full attention. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in my life, Tate.
I have no idea where I’ll be this time next month — or even in a few days.” I lower my head and wipe my mouth with my napkin. “But I hope you know your friendship has meant a lot to me. It’s hard being the new kid, and I don’t know that I’ve ever made a friend so fast as when I met you.” All this honesty stuff is so embarrassing. I feel my face grow even hotter. “Anyway . . . thank you.”

Tate’s hand reaches out across the table. I stare at it. Once
not
kissed, twice shy.

He wiggles his fingers in invitation, and I slowly place my hand in his. His fingers close over mine. My heart flutters, but I will the feeling away. He’s a friend. Only a friend.

“I know things are going to work out for you. And no matter what,” he squeezes my hand, “I’m here, okay? I want to be on the top of your call list when you need something.” The candlelight dances on the wick and casts funny shadows on our outstretched arms. “You’re an important friend to me.”

Did he put the stress on the word
friend
or
important
?

“I’m going back” — I almost say
home
— “to In Between in a couple weeks.” Maybe. If I can escape. “You should go with me.”

His expression doesn’t change.

“Er . . . and Ashley and Jake. You know, the whole gang could go.” That sounded a lot better in my head.

“Yeah, that would be fun. We’ll see.” Does he know he hasn’t let go of my hand yet? Maybe the heat’s getting to him. “So you’ll keep me updated on your mom, right? I want you to call me tonight when she gets in.”

“It’s going to be late.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

I pull away and stack his paper plate on mine. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing this for years.”

“Well, that needs to stop.” My head jerks up at his sharp tone. “One week. That’s all I can do. And I want you to call me every day. And pick up any time I call.” His features soften. “Katie, this is not a good situation.”

“I know. But it’s temporary. She’ll get back on track.” But as the words come out, I know I don’t believe it.

“My dad has — ”

“No.”

Tate’s eyes widen. “I was going to say my dad helps people out all the time with utility bills and other living expenses. It’s part of the church budget.”

“You can’t tell your dad, Tate.” Urgent fear pounds in my chest. “You can’t. You know that will lead to other things — like my being sent away.” I have no guarantee I’d get to go to the Scotts. It’s just not worth it.

“But if I could swing it another way?”

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest and pin him with my stare. “Absolutely not.
I
will take care of it.”

“Okay, okay.” Tate scoots back his chair. “Let’s talk about happier things for a while.” I follow him into the kitchen as we toss everything into the trash. “How about I tell you about the time I snuck in the back-seat of the car on my oldest sister’s first date?” Tate leads me to the living room, and we settle back into the couch. “I was only ten.”

At midnight, I cover a yawn, and my weighted eyes flutter. “You have to go home.”

“I’m boring you into a coma, aren’t I?” But he looks tired too.

I laugh and shake my head. “No, your stories are great. Especially the one about setting the frogs loose in kindergarten. But it’s late. I know you have to be home. The pastor’s son
cannot
be hanging out alone with a girl in a candle-lit trailer at this hour. The deacons will have a fit.”

“The deacons are my uncles.”

“Go, Tate.” I point toward the door with a tired grin. “Go home.”

“I can’t convince you to come back with me?” He holds up his hands. “Your virtue is safe. I won’t stow you away in my bedroom or anything.”