Waiting on the Sidelines (14 page)

“For your head?” he smirked.

“Jack ass, I know that. Why are you giving it to me?” I said, smacking his arm with the back of my hand. I was getting more and more comfortable with our slight, friendly physical contact.

“Your hair was tangled. I saw you working on it. Thought maybe you’d like this for the rest of the ride?” he said as I took the hat from his hand.

“Oh, thanks,” I smiled. I pulled open the back snaps of a dark gray and maroon ASU hat. I smiled a little as I pulled my hair through the back and snapped it into a ponytail. The front was snug over my head and kept my stray hairs in place.

“What’s this, UofA boy with an ASU hat,” I teased.

“Hey, I haven’t made up my mind yet. But don’t tell my dad that,” he winked, and we were on the road again.

We pulled up to my house at about 3 p.m. I hopped out before Reed turned the motor off hoping I could just run inside without him stopping to talk to my dad or get a good look at my house. But he was quicker than I thought. His motor was off and he was next to me walking across the gravel in no time. I heard some slight noises coming from the side carport and we headed over in that direction to see my dad digging for some tools in the small shed by the back door.

“Hey pops, I’m home,” I said as he jumped back, hitting his head on the shed door a little.

Rubbing it, he set his tools down on the shelf and grabbed the dirty towel he left out here to clean his hands off after a little ‘tinkering.’ My dad was pretty handy. He really didn’t have reasons to always be fixing things, but he seemed to search them out anyhow. He had some garden lattice propped up by the wall and was digging out some brackets and paint, probably something my mom had put him up to.

“Hey there, honey. You home already?” he said, slowing his voice a little when he realized I wasn’t alone. “Oh, hey, Reed. Nice to see you, son. What are you up to?”

“Reed gave me a lift,” I said, trying to finish the explanation before my dad went into panic, you-had-a-crash, what-happened-to-the-car mode.

“Are you ok? Did something happen?” he said, squeezing my shoulders and looking into my eyes like he was giving me some sort of concussion test. I grabbed his hands and squeezed them and then kissed his cheek.

“I’m fine, daddy. Car just broke down, that’s all,” I said, filling him with relief.

“Ohhhh, good. Well, guess we should go pick it up. Where’d you leave it,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his keys.

I stopped him. “No, no. It’s good. Buck actually stopped to help me. I was just outside of town. He towed the car to the shop and then sent Mr. QB1 here to save me,” I said, trying to play it off like it was no big deal because I know my dad was going to feel guilty accepting the help and not saving me on his own.

“Oh,” he looked down, then back up at Reed, reaching for his hand to shake it. “Well, thanks, Reed. Awful nice of ya. You’ll have to give me your father’s number, I want to make sure I thank him and find out how to pick the car up and what I owe him.”

“No problem, Mr. Lennox. Really, never any trouble. And you probably should just say thanks to my dad and leave it at that. He… well, he pretty much never accepts money when he helps a friend. He’ll be offended, sir,” Reed said, smiling.

“Oh, well…” my dad shook his head some more and then nodded, finally accepting it. This was hard for my dad, I knew. “Well, then how about we feed you some supper. That’ll sure make me feel a whole lot better. And my wife, Susan, makes an amazing roast. She’s had one going in the pot all day.”

Reed looked at me for approval, but I was more panic stricken. I didn’t really want him to see the inside of my house. Truth be told, Tatum’s name calling of Trailer Trash was still with me a little. But, since I wasn’t objecting either, Reed just shook my dad’s hand again and said, “Thanks, I’d love to stay, sir.”

“Please, just call me Rich,” my dad said, putting his arm over Reed’s shoulder and guiding him inside.

We came inside through the backdoor, and thankfully my mom’s roast had filled the house with an amazing smell. It made my house feel even more homey, and I was hoping it might just distract Reed from our scratched cabinets, old countertops, worn carpet and scuffed walls.

I dropped my purse and bag on the floor by the kitchen counter and guided Reed to the main living room. Our house was very open with the dining room and living space up front with giant windows that looked out over the handmade porch. The kitchen was set off to the back side and had a cute door with a country-style window on it that led to my dad’s ‘tinkering’ space.

My parents’ room is at the end of the hall and then my room is to the right and Mike’s old room is on the left. Mike always liked having his window face the front because he could sneak out easily, his foot landing right on the porch. My window was over one of the only spaces without decking underneath, so the drop was a good eight feet below since our house was lifted up so high. I did have a huge walk-in closet, though, and my own entrance to the spare bathroom. For a girl, it was pretty perfect.

I gave Reed the fast version of the tour, pointing to the other rooms in the house as we strolled the short hallway. He admired the family photos hung on the walls as we walked.

“Hey, is this you?” he said, pointing to a family portrait that was about 10 years old. I was in a red velvet dress and my hair was in two pigtails on either side of my head. My bangs were short and cut in a perfect straight line, following my eyebrows. My socks were pulled up to my knees and my ankles were crossed showing off my shiny black saddle shoes. I have a vivid memory of the outfit, but not much else.

“That’s me. I was pretty stylish at six,” I joked, hoping he wouldn’t take in too many more embarrassing childhood pictures of me.

“You were cute,” he said, moving on down the hall. “It’s nice that you have these pictures. I don’t really have any of these. My parents divorced when I was in kindergarten and I really bounced back and forth until about fourth grade when my parents decided it was best that I stay with my mom. You know, for ‘consistency in my young life,’” Reed said, rolling his eyes.

Sometimes I felt bad that he came from a split home. While he might have the fancy driveway and the rich parents, at least mine were under the same roof. And my parents didn’t miss anything in our lives, either. My mom had boxes in the attic filled with silly art awards, pictures, ribbons from field day, clay pots from grade school and more. I got the feeling that Reed didn’t have a box anywhere.

“Hey, so this is your room then, right?” he said, a devilish grin as he leaned my door open.

“Uh, yes it is…and we don’t need to go in there,” I said, grabbing for the handle in an effort to stop him. Too late.

He flipped my light on and walked to the center of my room. I leaned against the wall by the door and my dresser. My room was pretty neat. I wasn’t your typical messy teenage girl, but I was still self-conscience about everything being on display for his judgment.

“So this is where you are when we text at night sometimes, huh?” he said looking around. “This is where you pick out music and all the ‘magic happens.’” He was smiling like he was getting to see some special secret. Admittedly, I liked how it was making me feel. He turned to open my closet and walked in to flip through my things. He thumbed through the hangers taking note of the two very different sides of my closet. One half was filled with T-shirts and jeans, the other with cute dresses that I rarely wore.

“You know, I like you better in this side of the closet,” he said, pointing to the more
me
side with denim and cotton. I blushed a little at his comment.

He turned the light off and shut the door and I continued to watch him. I was trying to think of something witty to say, but nothing was coming to mind. I walked over to the window and slid the blinds up and cracked open the window to let in some air. “I like to sleep with it open at night. I like the way the crickets sound,” I shrugged, turning around to see him looking through the various bowls and boxes on my dresser now. Suddenly I gasped a little and lurched forward as he was lifting the lid to my old jewelry box. I felt like my knees were going to buckle underneath me when I caught myself on the corner of my bed. I just sat down and stared, fear stinging my eyes a little, with a touch of mortifying embarrassment. I watched as Reed pulled out the overly worn paper, the creases tearing a bit on the edges. I caught the smirk forming on the side of his lips when he looked at me from a side glance. “Is this what I think it is?” he asked.

“Oh, uh… yeah, I guess. I don’t know. I forgot what I put in that thing,” I lied. I knew exactly what it was because I looked at that letter from Reed almost every night for two years. I gulped slowly, hoping if I did it slowly enough he wouldn’t hear it.

He unfolded it and read over his own words just a little. He carefully folded it and then put it back in the box, replacing the felt lid once again. I just sat there motionless, watching his hands as he slid them in his pockets and tensed his arms just a little, his back to me. He slowly walked sideways, taking in other things in my room, looking at the pictures of Sarah, Sienna and me on my mirror. He ran his finger through the chains and necklaces that were hanging from the small hooks on my cork board. My aunt and mom had a tradition of giving me charms for my birthday, and I had saved every single one since my fifth birthday.

I was starting to feel a little light-headed, probably from holding my breath for so long, when Reed slowly turned to look at me. I both anticipated and dreaded meeting his gaze. I looked down just before his face was looking at mine, staring at my shoes and fidgeting my feet together. I chewed on the inside of my cheek a little and then slowly looked up at him to find him wearing a warm smile. He came over and sat next to me, not too close, but close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body. Thankfully, our silence was broken by my dad’s hollering down the hall.

“Hey, Nolan! Bring your guest out on the porch when you can. I made some fresh lemonade and we can wait for your mother to come home. She’s on her way,” he said.

“OK, be right there,” I said, leaping to my feet. I didn’t turn around once, just got to my door and said ‘come on’ over my shoulder, flipping my room light as I turned the corner and headed back to the main room. I could hear Reed’s giant shoes clomping behind me and cringed a little that the floor of my house sounded so hollow. Just one more nuance about living in a manufactured home.

I stuck to my mission and flung the screen door open and held it out behind me waiting for Reed to catch up. When we got out on the porch my dad handed Reed a glass and then gave me one, too. “Taste this, son. Right from my own tree. Pretty good lemons this year, I’d say,” he said, toasting to his homemade creation.

I stared at the McDonald’s glasses we were holding, freebies we’d scored years ago from some giveaway. Suddenly everything in my house didn’t feel good enough. I stomped over to the porch swing and sat down folding my legs up underneath me.

“Thanks, Mr. Lennox… uh, sorry. Rich. It’s great,” Reed said, taking another swallow and puckering a bit at the sourness.

I couldn’t even look at him. And here my dad was, trying to impress him with sour lemonade in our pokey mismatched glasses. I just stared at my lap and sighed. Suddenly, the swing was moving and I realized Reed had sat down next to me. I looked up and gave him a closed lip smile, shrugged and took a swig of my sour juice. My dad had gone back to tinkering in the carport – clearly the lemonade was a rouse to keep Reed out of my bedroom alone with me.

“This is actually pretty good, you know?” Reed said, holding up his glass. “I don’t think I’ve ever had fresh-squeezed anything! My dad picks out ready-made everything. Either that or Rose, who comes in to cook sometimes, leaves ready-to-heat leftovers stacked in the fridge.”

I smiled a little and then just took another drink, looking out down the dirt road. My mom couldn’t get here quick enough.

“So…” he started, then began swinging his legs back and forth like a child. “You kept my letter.” He was grinning and looking out into the distance, clearly ready to tease me. I had a choice, be embarrassed or just own it all.

“Yep,” I said, swinging my legs, too, and staring off at the same distance, taking another sip of my lemonade and wanting to crawl under the porch and die.

“That’s…” he started, then stopped turning to angle towards me a little. He tapped his forearm against my knee, forcing me to look up. “That’s really sweet.”

I just let my eyebrows raise and nodded, shrugging a little, clearly admitting how embarrassed I was. “Thanks, I guess,” that’s all I could say.

Like a gift, my mom’s car pulled around from the main road onto our stretch. I stood up and stepped down the stairs just a little, Reed joining me.

My mom pulled into the carport right behind my dad’s truck and got out of her car, my dad coming over to grab a few bags from her with some extra groceries. She walked up the path to the porch steps and smiled at Reed before leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Hi, Reed. So nice of you to join us,” she said reaching out to shake his hand. “Come on in, guys. Food will be served in just a few minutes.”

My mom was such a confident woman. I envied her and looked up to her for that. I hoped that my confidence would grow to be more like hers someday. I held the door for Reed as we walked inside, but he took it from my hand and gestured his hand forward, insisting I go inside first.