The Pace (6 page)

“Well, you were a little grumpy the other night, so I was thinking maybe a carnival. Is 7:00 okay?”

“Oh, I work until 7:00 on Saturday,” I said, disappointed.

“Where do you work?”

“At a bookstore.”

“Which one?”

“Healey’s Used Books,” I answered half-heartedly, not sure how uncool it sounded.

“I know that one. I’ve been there before. It’s a nice place.”

“Oh, well you should stop by sometime,” I suggested.

“Maybe I will.”

I still wanted to salvage his invitation, so I countered, “I can do 8:00.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up then. And you may want to wear something a little more than shorts and a T-shirt.”

I felt like jumping up and down on my bed after I got off the phone with him. I couldn’t believe that I had the opportunity to go out with him. I wasn’t fully convinced it was happening, but I was certainly glad it was. I called Kerry and filled her in on the news. Of course she blurted out, “I told you so,” but she was also a little skeptical. Neither of us had really dated before. She had just started seeing someone at her school, so she sympathized with the fluttery stomach, but she was useless when it came to what I should do. I would have to figure the whole dating thing out on my own.

I went to work on Saturday, and I was fidgety all day. We were very slow, and I was working the register, so time just crept by all afternoon. I finally resorted to going over different outfits in my head to figure out what I wanted to wear. I liked being casual, but he was always dressed so nicely. I didn’t want to feel underdressed or overdressed. It was going to be hard to pick out something.

The bell sounded at the front door, and I lifted my head to greet the customer.

“Hello,” I said, shifting my hair to the side. I was both pleasantly surprised and taken aback to see Wes walking through the door. He greeted me back and walked by, casually, like he was a normal shopper. My heart started to pound as I watched him disappear through the aisle. He went down the non-fiction section and was gone for about twenty minutes. I was itching to go back to see if he needed help, and I was sure Mr. Healey wouldn’t mind, but I figured I would play it cool. Besides, if he wanted to talk to me, he would’ve stopped when he came in.

I was pretending to read through a magazine when he came to check out. He had two books with him, and I tried to act surprised, as if I hadn’t seen him coming a mile away.

“Hey,” I said, looking up.

“Hey.” He smiled, setting the books down on the counter.

“You found some books,” I observed, relieved that his trip hadn’t been a complete waste.

I picked up the books to enter the prices. I was very interested to know what he was into. One was a science fiction book titled,
Isolation,
and the other was a book titled,
An Old Soul
. Both selections surprised me, but I held up the second.

“What’s this one about?”

He thought for a few seconds and replied, “Something about people remembering lives they’ve lived before.”

“Interesting,” I said, ringing it up. “That’ll be $5.25.” He handed me a ten-dollar bill.

“You think so?”

“Yeah sure.” I thought it was kind of cool that he was such a deep thinker.

As he tucked the books under his arm, I realized I hadn’t bagged them yet, and I had a handful of change to give back. All of a sudden, my no-brainer job turned into an extremely difficult task as I tried to force my brain to concentrate.
What was I doing? Staring at him while I was ringing them up? How hard is it?
Enter the price and put it in a bag, not hard,
I thought. He was getting a kick out of my sudden lack of multitasking skills. He had a little smile on his face as I handed him his change. “I’ll see you later,” he said, and I could’ve sworn I heard him laugh.

I got home from work around 7:15. The first thing I did was hurry up to my room to take a shower. The inside of the bookstore smelled like old books. And the last thing I wanted to smell like was musty vanilla; so to be sure I didn’t, I washed my hair, too.

For my outfit, I decided on a pair of jeans and a white peasant top. It was a tad see-through, so I put a tank under it. Then, I looked in the mirror and realized I needed some color. After a few scans of my handbag collection, I decided on one with the most vibrant colors. It was my vintage, ’60s, multi-colored crochet shoulder bag. It was perfect against the plain backdrop of my shirt.

At a few minutes to eight, I went down to the living room and waited. My mother was just sitting on the couch looking at me. Her legs were crossed, and one was rapidly swaying back and forth. She was more nervous than I was. Just when I was about to tell her to relax, the doorbell rang.

I walked to the foyer as casually as I could, but when I opened the door, my heart did a cartwheel. The second I saw him, I instantly smiled and he returned the gesture. I noticed his eyes give me a quick look-over.

“You look nice,” he said shyly. If I hadn’t been mistaken, I would have thought him to be a little nervous, too.

“Thanks. Come in. I’d like you to meet my mom.”

He nodded and stepped in. I noticed he was wearing dark jeans and a very nice black, zip-up jacket, with a high-collared baby blue sweater peeking out at the neck. It looked very good on him, to say the least. There was no doubt that he was model material, without even trying to be. The definition in Wes’ face was natural, and it didn’t deserve to be disrupted—unless it was by his captivating smile, which was now directed at me.

I instinctively grabbed his hand and led him into the living room. The coolness of his palm sent a chill up my spine, and I wondered how cold it was outside. By the time we reached the living room, my mom was already standing.

“Mom, this is Wes. Wes, this is my mom, Gayle.” I suppose that’s what I should’ve said. I didn’t know.

“Hello, Wes, it is very nice to finally meet you,” she said, motioning him to come in and sit down. I only hoped this wasn’t going to last too long. “So, Sophie, tells me you guys met when she crashed into you.” It wasn’t a question, but Wes took the cue.

“Yes, ma’am, she did. She didn’t do that much damage to my car though, so it was fine.”

“Well, I thought it was awfully nice of you to pay for all the damage to both vehicles yourself. What do your parents do?” I shot a look over at her that could have frozen boiling water. I couldn’t believe she’d asked him that. I wanted to reach over there and shake her. She must have sensed my horror because she quickly corrected herself—her next question didn’t sound
as
rude, but still rude, nevertheless.

“Well, I mean that, it’s not every day a college student can pay for someone else’s vehicle when they were not at fault. I was just wondering if your parents helped you, or if you had to pay for this yourself.” My anger turned to complete embarrassment when he answered her.

“Well, Ms. Slone, my parents died when I was younger.” I turned my head to look at my mother and by the look on her face, I saw that she was just as embarrassed as she should’ve been. Wes continued. “My uncle raised me for a while, and then he died when I was eighteen.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” my mother interrupted, and for the first time, I saw my mother in complete mental discomfort. He all too nicely tried to make her feel better.

“It’s okay, Ms. Slone,” he assured her. “If you were wondering how or why I took care of Sophie’s car, it’s because I wanted to do something that would help her. My parents were very wealthy, and my uncle was a renowned scientist, so I have quite a bit of savings. She seems like a very nice girl, and I didn’t want her to have to worry about it.”

Wes looked completely comfortable with the whole conversation, but I felt terrible. I stood up and told my mother we were going to be late. I wanted to leave immediately.

As soon as we got in the car, I apologized for my mother’s prying.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. She was asking normal questions,” he said, trying to reassure me.

“Still, it was very personal, and she shouldn’t have pried.”

“Sophie, those are very normal questions. I get them all the time. It’s fine.”

I let out a big sigh and stared out the window. I was trying very hard to block out the whole incident, but I couldn’t. He’d lost both of his parents and an uncle. I couldn’t imagine going through that. All of a sudden, I felt like my life had been so easy. My one complaint was having to move around too often. I tried to sympathize.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“I already told you. No worries.”

“I meant, I’m sorry about your loss.”

He looked directly in my eyes and gave me a slight nod, as if to tell me he was all right. We drove for a while without saying anything. I wanted to change the subject to a happier note, at least from my perspective.

“I love carnivals,” I said. “I haven’t been to one since I lived in Virginia.”

He smiled slightly. “I’m glad.”

“Of course, I never win anything,” I admitted.

“You might tonight,” he added. I smiled in response to his optimism.

The seats in his car were on the tiny side compared to my Jeep, but there was enough room for me to turn my body, so I perked up a bit and twisted so I was facing him. Occasionally I could see his eyes turn toward my direction to check if I was still watching him. But for the most part, he kept his eyes on the road and smoothly shifted gears.

It seemed like we drove for a half-hour. I lost track of where we were going, because I wasn't even watching the road. He had put on a CD that I had never heard before, but I liked it. After a while, I just closed my eyes and started listening. I almost fell asleep in an odd state of tranquility, which was interrupted when he lightly nudged my knee to let me know we were there. I immediately perked up and saw two gigantic Ferris wheels lighting up the sky. It was a big carnival. I felt so excited; it was almost like I was a kid again.

He parked the car, and as I gathered my purse from the floor, he walked around the front of the car and opened the door for me. I could immediately hear the sounds of the bells and horns and people laughing. I couldn't wait to play some games. He put his hand on the small of my back as he guided me toward the ticket booth. After he’d purchased some tickets, he asked me if I was hungry or thirsty. I told him I wanted to play a few games first, and then we could get something to eat.

We started walking down the midway and were immediately bombarded with luring tempters. Lined up on both sides of the aisle were game hosts calling to us from their booths. “Step right up. Take a shot. Let’s see what you got. Win your prize.” It was hard to walk right past some of them, but I knew what I wanted.

I immediately zeroed in on the roll-down game. It was one of my favorites, because it really didn’t require that much talent, and I like games where you took your chances. We both sat down on the stool and the guy behind the counter said it was $2.00 per person to play. Wes put down two dollars.

“Aren't you going to play?” I asked.

“No, I want to watch you.” I was glad there was really no way for me to embarrass myself. All I had to do was drop the little wooden ball on the decline and watch it roll into the little numbered slots. If I got a total number over 28 or under 14, then I would win a prize. I'm sure there was a strategy to playing, but I just dropped my ball and let it roll. The first time I played, I got 25. I stuck my bottom lip out a little, and I heard Wes chuckle as he put down another $2.00. I looked at him, unconvinced. “You really want to watch me play this again?”

He leaned in closer, being sure to maintain eye contact. “I could watch you play this all night.” I felt my cheeks blush a little as I turned forward and let the next ball drop. I started concentrating really hard as I rolled the next balls, and my score that time was a 22. Still no win.

It may not have taken any real talent, but it was starting to get embarrassing. He kept putting down two dollars every time I lost, encouraging me to keep trying. I did want a little stuffed animal, and Wes seemed to get a kick out of it, so I kept playing. I lost track of how many dollars Wes gave the guy before I won my first stuffed animal. It was a little koala bear about the size of my hand. The guy gave it to me and I started laughing. Wes said, “What? You don't like your bear? You worked so hard for it.” He was holding back a smile.

“Yes, I do like my bear, but I was just hoping for that great big one up there. It's cute.” I was pointing at a huge white bear with a red ribbon around the neck.

Wes turned to the guy and asked, “What does she have to do to earn that bear?”

The guy looked at me and then back to Wes. “You're going to need a lot more dollar bills if
she
wants to win that.”

I saw Wes' eyes narrow as he looked up at the guy. “Well, maybe I'll have better luck,” he said. He sat back down, and I started to feel guilty for having said something. I didn't want Wes to waste any more money. Plus, I could tell Wes was a little irritated, and the guy looked all too willing to take his money.

I quickly sat down next to him. “Wes, you don't have to do this. I really don't need that bear.”

“I want you to have it,” he said, squaring his shoulders toward the game, putting two more dollars on the counter. On his very first try, he got 29 points, and then he looked at me and said, “I guess it’s my lucky day.” Every time he rolled, he got the exact amount he needed to win. I watched in amazement as he carefully selected which side of the lane to release his ball. Sometimes he put it on the left, sometimes toward the middle, and sometimes on the right. He knew exactly where to drop it.

I would’ve been embarrassed about having frivolously squandered away my rolls before, but I was too busy getting a kick out of watching that guy’s face as Wes kept winning. At the height of Wes’ victory, the guy went to hand him the bear, but he declined. Instead, Wes pointed to me, indicating that the prize was mine. I took it and gave it a big squeeze.

“Thank you,” I said, beaming.

“You are very welcome.”