Just One of the Guys
Page 25
I glance down at his sister’s grave, the girl who was briefly my friend. As is typical on the graves of children, there is an ocean of pain expressed. Michelle Anne Meade, our beautiful girl, forever in our broken hearts. We miss you, little angel. My eyes fill. Had she had the chance to grow up, we might still have been friends. She might have made Trevor an official uncle, instead of having that title be honorary. Her parents might not have divorced, and Trevor might not have been so alone.
I knew he’d be here. Michelle died on Mother’s Day. I can’t imagine the pain her mother must have felt, must still feel. What an awful holiday for someone who’s lost a child!
“Want some help?” I ask huskily. There are still six or eight plants left in the tray.
“Sure,” he answers. “You can loosen the roots, okay?”
“Loosening the roots, roger that,” I answer, kneeling next to him. “And thanks for the flowers, Trevor. You didn’t have to.”
“My pleasure,” he says, digging into the dirt with his trowel.
We work in silence—well, he works, I hand—until the plants are in the ground. In another month, they’ll be beautiful, but right now, they look a little forlorn, small and far-spaced in the brown soil.
“How’s your mom?” I ask.
He sighs and sits back on his heels, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans. “She’s okay,” he answers.
“Do you talk to her much?”
“About once a month,” he answers.
It’s hard to imagine—Trevor, the perfect son to both my mother and father, phoning his own mom only once a month. He sees Dad probably five days a week, drops in on Mom frequently, helped Jack put on a new roof on her house last month, went camping with Lucky and Matt last fall…but his own family is like bits of milkweed, blown to the wind.
“Where’s your father these days?” I ask.
“Last I heard from him, he was in Sacramento,” Trevor answers. “You got any more questions?”
I shake my head. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You can ask whatever you want, Chastity,” he says. He sticks out his hand to help me rise, and I take it, the dirt on both our hands mingling for a brief, warm moment.
“Do you still miss her?” I whisper. Those pesky tears are back. For such a tough guy, you’d think I’d cry less.
“Yes,” he answers, brushing some stray bits of dirt from her gravestone. “Every day.” He pauses, then looks off across the other headstones. Somewhere, wind chimes clink and clang. “Every day, I imagine if she was here, grown up, maybe married. How we’d have dinner at each other’s houses. Stuff like that.” His eyes are sad and soft.
I swallow the fist-size lump in my throat. “She’d have been crazy about you, Trev.”
Trevor smiles. “Thanks.”
“And you’re like our real brother, you know,” I say. I regret the words immediately.
The smile falters. “Thanks again.” He puts the tray in his truck. “You want a ride home?”
“Sure. That’d be great.” I whistle for Buttercup, who comes bounding back, her ears flopping joyfully.
“Do you want to ride in Trevor’s truck?” I ask her. She barks once.
“Genius,” Trevor says, hoisting her into the back of the truck. Buttercup collapses like her legs were shot out from underneath her. His laugh is soft, practically edible, like a river of chocolate.
I climb into the passenger’s seat, noting that my legs are now streaked with dirt. Also, I really should shave more often. And my T-shirt is damp with sweat, gluing Aragorn’s face to my left breast, God bless him. The words None But The King Of Gondor May Command Me are faded with age.
“Did I tell you someone hacked into the Gazette’s Web site?” I ask as Trevor gets in behind the wheel.
“No,” he answers, turning the key. “What happened?”
I fill him in and tell him about the feeling that this was something done to me personally. “Yesterday when I came into work, my little—um, never mind.”
Trevor glances at me as he turns out of the cemetery. “What, Chas?”
I sigh and look out the window. “Well, I have these little figurines on my desk, you know? From…well, from Lord of the Rings, okay, and don’t say anything about it because I already know I’m a hopeless nerd and don’t need you to point that out.”
“As long as you’re aware,” he says, his eyes crinkling.
“So anyway,” I continue, “I always have them in a certain order, right? But yesterday, they were in a little circle. It was weird.”
“Maybe the cleaning people knocked them off by accident and just put them back that way,” Trev suggests.
“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just that they had…oh, crap, it sounds so dumb.”
Trevor laughs. “Please tell me.”
I roll my eyes at myself and obey. “Aragorn was lying in the middle of the circle, facedown, and all the other characters in this particular series have weapons. So it looked like all of Aragorn’s little friends were killing him. Sort of.”
“You need to get out more,” Trevor states.
“You asked, you jerk.”
Before I realize it, we’re on my street, pulling up in front of my sweet little house. “Do you want to come in?” I ask. “Have a beer, maybe watch the game?”
“Thanks but no, Chastity,” he answers. “I’ve got…um…plans.”
I pause, my hand on the door handle. “Are you back with Hayden, Trevor?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Not exactly.”
“Not yet, you mean?” My voice is tight.
He sighs. “She’s mentioned that she’d like that, yes.”
“What about Angela? I thought you were dating Angela.” I’m gripping the door handle so hard it hurts.
“Well, I’ve been out with Angela. I wouldn’t say we’re dating,” he says.
“Would she say that?” Trevor doesn’t answer. “Don’t lead her on, Trevor.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Chas,” he says quietly, staring straight ahead.
“You wouldn’t mean to, but you might.”
He looks me straight in the eye. “No. I wouldn’t mean to.”
“Make sure you don’t,” I snap. Then I take a deep breath. “Look, Trev, I know you’re a good guy and you can be with whomever you want. Just do it right, okay? Sorry if I sounded like a shrew. Thanks for the flowers, thanks for the ride. I’ll see you around.”
He nods. I jump out of the truck and haul Buttercup out of the back. “See you!” I call, running into the house, my dog flopping beside me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AS I LEAVE EMT CLASS LATER that week, I’m accompanied by an unfamiliar sense of pride. Yes, pride. I’ve always been a good student, and suddenly, I’m acing all the checklists on taking a patient’s history, remembering what order to assess which systems, knowing the physiology we have to memorize in order to pass our written test. Suddenly, people are asking me for help, leaping at the chance to be my partner, much to Ernesto’s annoyance, since he considers me his exclusive property.
Maybe dating Ryan Darling has caused some medical savvy to rub off on me. More likely it’s just that I don’t have to see real injuries just yet. Don’t actually have to help someone who’s writhing in pain. Smell the smells that go along with injury and illness. See the twins, Blood and Gore. I swallow. Soon, our practicals in the emergency room will come up, when we have to spend an entire shift in the E.R. I’m hoping my nurse will just tell me to stay out of the way, coward that I am.
I unchain my mountain bike from the rack and shoulder my backpack. I need to run home and grab Buttercup, then head out again. I’m babysitting Dylan because Elaina has a date. I feel a little guilty about enabling my friend to go out with someone who’s not my brother. But Mark has brought his problems on himself, and I love Dylan, his tendency to bite me notwithstanding.
Several pain and shriek-filled hours later, I gaze down upon my nephew as he sleeps in his crib, his mouth open, eyelashes feathered on his pink cheeks, snoring just a little. He looks like an angel. I know better.
“I love you, Dylan,” I whisper, stroking the delicious cluster of curls at the back of his head. He is a breathtakingly beautiful child—black hair, dark blue eyes, dimples like Mark, curls like Elaina. Of all us good-looking O’Neills, I’d have to say that Dylan is probably our most stunning, an Irish–Puerto Rican specimen of pure beauty. Of course, then there’s Claire, whose apricot cheeks are a study in poreless perfection. And Olivia of the coppery curls. And let’s not forget Graham’s giant eyes and infectious laugh…or Christopher’s elfin smile…or pink-and-cream Jenny. Okay, so I’m a doting aunt.
I hear Elaina’s car in the garage, give Dylan a final kiss and trot downstairs.
“How was your date?” I ask as she puts her keys and purse down.
She bursts into tears.
“Lainey! What happened? Come on, sit down.” I lead her to the living room. She sits down, grabbing a tissue off the coffee table first.
“Did you clean up in here? It looks nice,” she weeps.
“Honey, what happened?” I ask.
Elaina blows her nose and wipes her eyes. “Oh, Chastity, it was fine. Nice guy, all that crap. I’m never seeing him again.”
“Why?” I ask. “Was he a jerk? Did he do something?”
“Well, no, Chastity! He just wasn’t your brother!”
“I guess it’s too soon, huh?” I suggest.
She starts sobbing in earnest. “Your brother…he’s…I still…I just wish…”
I move over to the couch and put my arm around my friend, tears in my own eyes at the sight of her heartbreak. “It’s okay, Elaina. Go ahead and cry.”
Buttercup, who has been sleeping in front of the fireplace, clambers up and approaches Elaina, putting her big head on Elaina’s lap. This elicits a sloppy laugh from my friend. “Even your dog feels sorry for me.” She hiccups. “How pathetic is that?”
“Very,” I say, grabbing a few more tissues.
“So,” Elaina says, sagging back on the couch. “I still love Mark. I want to forgive the rat bastard, but…” Her voice trails off, and she looks so sad.
“Has he apologized, Lainey?”
“Oh, sure. Like, ‘I said I’m sorry! What do I have to do for you to believe me?’ Then he storms out or something. Pretty crappy apology if you ask me.” She sniffs.
“Well, what would he have to do, Lainey?” I ask. Buttercup wags her tail, knocking over an empty cup, then woofs softly and collapses, her legs buckling in her trademark flop.
Elaina blows her nose again. “I don’t know,” she says honestly. “He can’t ever cheat on me again, and how can I be sure of that, you know? I mean, it’s one thing to be rejected once. Twice, that’s another thing altogether. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I’m a stupid idiot…You know?”
I nod. “Has he gotten any counseling or anything?” I ask. Mark is the brother to whom I speak the least. Living with Matt gives me an insider’s view on his life, obviously, and Lucky is the brother most like me, and we talk a couple of times a week. Jack checks in every Sunday night, doing the eldest child shtick, which I think is kind of cute.
But Mark is the highest strung. Tense, jumpy, too much energy…but he also has the biggest heart. No one tries harder than Mark, and no one screws up more, either.
“How was Dylan?” Elaina asks, managing a watery smile.
“Oh, he was great!” I say, deciding against telling her about my nephew’s twenty-seven-minute scream fest when I took him out of the tub. Or the bite marks on my shoulder. “An angel. I was just worshipping him when you came up.”
“And so when are you and Doctor Good-Looking gonna pop some of your own?” Elaina asks.
I smile. “I don’t know.”
“But things are good?”
I nod. “Yup. Very good. He’s a wonderful boyfriend.”
“How is he wonderful? Tell me. I need to hear what wonderful is like.” She wipes her eyes once more and toys with a lock of her curly hair.
“Oh, he sent me flowers yesterday. He took me to a nice restaurant on Tuesday, and yesterday, when he was stuck in surgery, he had a nurse call me and let me know.”
“He had a nurse call? Like she’s his answering service or something?” Elaina snaps.
“Well, you know, he was elbow deep in someone’s abdomen or something, Lainey. Some gruesome ripping injury thing.”
She sniffs. “And are you crazy about him?” Her eyes are too knowing.
“Yes. Yes, I am.” I pause. “I’m getting there.”
“Speaking of boyfriends, have you met Harry? Your mom’s guy?” Elaina asks, kindly changing the subject.
“No,” I answer. “But I don’t think it’s the real thing. She’s just playing with Dad.”
“I don’t know about that, Chas.” Elaina blows her nose. “They’ve been seeing each other a lot.”
“Dad and Mom?”
“No, dummy. Your mom and Harry.”
A little trickle of dismay wriggles through my stomach, but I dismiss it with a shake of my head. “Well, whatever. She wouldn’t really leave my father.”
I knew he’d be here. Michelle died on Mother’s Day. I can’t imagine the pain her mother must have felt, must still feel. What an awful holiday for someone who’s lost a child!
“Want some help?” I ask huskily. There are still six or eight plants left in the tray.
“Sure,” he answers. “You can loosen the roots, okay?”
“Loosening the roots, roger that,” I answer, kneeling next to him. “And thanks for the flowers, Trevor. You didn’t have to.”
“My pleasure,” he says, digging into the dirt with his trowel.
We work in silence—well, he works, I hand—until the plants are in the ground. In another month, they’ll be beautiful, but right now, they look a little forlorn, small and far-spaced in the brown soil.
“How’s your mom?” I ask.
He sighs and sits back on his heels, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans. “She’s okay,” he answers.
“Do you talk to her much?”
“About once a month,” he answers.
It’s hard to imagine—Trevor, the perfect son to both my mother and father, phoning his own mom only once a month. He sees Dad probably five days a week, drops in on Mom frequently, helped Jack put on a new roof on her house last month, went camping with Lucky and Matt last fall…but his own family is like bits of milkweed, blown to the wind.
“Where’s your father these days?” I ask.
“Last I heard from him, he was in Sacramento,” Trevor answers. “You got any more questions?”
I shake my head. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You can ask whatever you want, Chastity,” he says. He sticks out his hand to help me rise, and I take it, the dirt on both our hands mingling for a brief, warm moment.
“Do you still miss her?” I whisper. Those pesky tears are back. For such a tough guy, you’d think I’d cry less.
“Yes,” he answers, brushing some stray bits of dirt from her gravestone. “Every day.” He pauses, then looks off across the other headstones. Somewhere, wind chimes clink and clang. “Every day, I imagine if she was here, grown up, maybe married. How we’d have dinner at each other’s houses. Stuff like that.” His eyes are sad and soft.
I swallow the fist-size lump in my throat. “She’d have been crazy about you, Trev.”
Trevor smiles. “Thanks.”
“And you’re like our real brother, you know,” I say. I regret the words immediately.
The smile falters. “Thanks again.” He puts the tray in his truck. “You want a ride home?”
“Sure. That’d be great.” I whistle for Buttercup, who comes bounding back, her ears flopping joyfully.
“Do you want to ride in Trevor’s truck?” I ask her. She barks once.
“Genius,” Trevor says, hoisting her into the back of the truck. Buttercup collapses like her legs were shot out from underneath her. His laugh is soft, practically edible, like a river of chocolate.
I climb into the passenger’s seat, noting that my legs are now streaked with dirt. Also, I really should shave more often. And my T-shirt is damp with sweat, gluing Aragorn’s face to my left breast, God bless him. The words None But The King Of Gondor May Command Me are faded with age.
“Did I tell you someone hacked into the Gazette’s Web site?” I ask as Trevor gets in behind the wheel.
“No,” he answers, turning the key. “What happened?”
I fill him in and tell him about the feeling that this was something done to me personally. “Yesterday when I came into work, my little—um, never mind.”
Trevor glances at me as he turns out of the cemetery. “What, Chas?”
I sigh and look out the window. “Well, I have these little figurines on my desk, you know? From…well, from Lord of the Rings, okay, and don’t say anything about it because I already know I’m a hopeless nerd and don’t need you to point that out.”
“As long as you’re aware,” he says, his eyes crinkling.
“So anyway,” I continue, “I always have them in a certain order, right? But yesterday, they were in a little circle. It was weird.”
“Maybe the cleaning people knocked them off by accident and just put them back that way,” Trev suggests.
“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just that they had…oh, crap, it sounds so dumb.”
Trevor laughs. “Please tell me.”
I roll my eyes at myself and obey. “Aragorn was lying in the middle of the circle, facedown, and all the other characters in this particular series have weapons. So it looked like all of Aragorn’s little friends were killing him. Sort of.”
“You need to get out more,” Trevor states.
“You asked, you jerk.”
Before I realize it, we’re on my street, pulling up in front of my sweet little house. “Do you want to come in?” I ask. “Have a beer, maybe watch the game?”
“Thanks but no, Chastity,” he answers. “I’ve got…um…plans.”
I pause, my hand on the door handle. “Are you back with Hayden, Trevor?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Not exactly.”
“Not yet, you mean?” My voice is tight.
He sighs. “She’s mentioned that she’d like that, yes.”
“What about Angela? I thought you were dating Angela.” I’m gripping the door handle so hard it hurts.
“Well, I’ve been out with Angela. I wouldn’t say we’re dating,” he says.
“Would she say that?” Trevor doesn’t answer. “Don’t lead her on, Trevor.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Chas,” he says quietly, staring straight ahead.
“You wouldn’t mean to, but you might.”
He looks me straight in the eye. “No. I wouldn’t mean to.”
“Make sure you don’t,” I snap. Then I take a deep breath. “Look, Trev, I know you’re a good guy and you can be with whomever you want. Just do it right, okay? Sorry if I sounded like a shrew. Thanks for the flowers, thanks for the ride. I’ll see you around.”
He nods. I jump out of the truck and haul Buttercup out of the back. “See you!” I call, running into the house, my dog flopping beside me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AS I LEAVE EMT CLASS LATER that week, I’m accompanied by an unfamiliar sense of pride. Yes, pride. I’ve always been a good student, and suddenly, I’m acing all the checklists on taking a patient’s history, remembering what order to assess which systems, knowing the physiology we have to memorize in order to pass our written test. Suddenly, people are asking me for help, leaping at the chance to be my partner, much to Ernesto’s annoyance, since he considers me his exclusive property.
Maybe dating Ryan Darling has caused some medical savvy to rub off on me. More likely it’s just that I don’t have to see real injuries just yet. Don’t actually have to help someone who’s writhing in pain. Smell the smells that go along with injury and illness. See the twins, Blood and Gore. I swallow. Soon, our practicals in the emergency room will come up, when we have to spend an entire shift in the E.R. I’m hoping my nurse will just tell me to stay out of the way, coward that I am.
I unchain my mountain bike from the rack and shoulder my backpack. I need to run home and grab Buttercup, then head out again. I’m babysitting Dylan because Elaina has a date. I feel a little guilty about enabling my friend to go out with someone who’s not my brother. But Mark has brought his problems on himself, and I love Dylan, his tendency to bite me notwithstanding.
Several pain and shriek-filled hours later, I gaze down upon my nephew as he sleeps in his crib, his mouth open, eyelashes feathered on his pink cheeks, snoring just a little. He looks like an angel. I know better.
“I love you, Dylan,” I whisper, stroking the delicious cluster of curls at the back of his head. He is a breathtakingly beautiful child—black hair, dark blue eyes, dimples like Mark, curls like Elaina. Of all us good-looking O’Neills, I’d have to say that Dylan is probably our most stunning, an Irish–Puerto Rican specimen of pure beauty. Of course, then there’s Claire, whose apricot cheeks are a study in poreless perfection. And Olivia of the coppery curls. And let’s not forget Graham’s giant eyes and infectious laugh…or Christopher’s elfin smile…or pink-and-cream Jenny. Okay, so I’m a doting aunt.
I hear Elaina’s car in the garage, give Dylan a final kiss and trot downstairs.
“How was your date?” I ask as she puts her keys and purse down.
She bursts into tears.
“Lainey! What happened? Come on, sit down.” I lead her to the living room. She sits down, grabbing a tissue off the coffee table first.
“Did you clean up in here? It looks nice,” she weeps.
“Honey, what happened?” I ask.
Elaina blows her nose and wipes her eyes. “Oh, Chastity, it was fine. Nice guy, all that crap. I’m never seeing him again.”
“Why?” I ask. “Was he a jerk? Did he do something?”
“Well, no, Chastity! He just wasn’t your brother!”
“I guess it’s too soon, huh?” I suggest.
She starts sobbing in earnest. “Your brother…he’s…I still…I just wish…”
I move over to the couch and put my arm around my friend, tears in my own eyes at the sight of her heartbreak. “It’s okay, Elaina. Go ahead and cry.”
Buttercup, who has been sleeping in front of the fireplace, clambers up and approaches Elaina, putting her big head on Elaina’s lap. This elicits a sloppy laugh from my friend. “Even your dog feels sorry for me.” She hiccups. “How pathetic is that?”
“Very,” I say, grabbing a few more tissues.
“So,” Elaina says, sagging back on the couch. “I still love Mark. I want to forgive the rat bastard, but…” Her voice trails off, and she looks so sad.
“Has he apologized, Lainey?”
“Oh, sure. Like, ‘I said I’m sorry! What do I have to do for you to believe me?’ Then he storms out or something. Pretty crappy apology if you ask me.” She sniffs.
“Well, what would he have to do, Lainey?” I ask. Buttercup wags her tail, knocking over an empty cup, then woofs softly and collapses, her legs buckling in her trademark flop.
Elaina blows her nose again. “I don’t know,” she says honestly. “He can’t ever cheat on me again, and how can I be sure of that, you know? I mean, it’s one thing to be rejected once. Twice, that’s another thing altogether. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I’m a stupid idiot…You know?”
I nod. “Has he gotten any counseling or anything?” I ask. Mark is the brother to whom I speak the least. Living with Matt gives me an insider’s view on his life, obviously, and Lucky is the brother most like me, and we talk a couple of times a week. Jack checks in every Sunday night, doing the eldest child shtick, which I think is kind of cute.
But Mark is the highest strung. Tense, jumpy, too much energy…but he also has the biggest heart. No one tries harder than Mark, and no one screws up more, either.
“How was Dylan?” Elaina asks, managing a watery smile.
“Oh, he was great!” I say, deciding against telling her about my nephew’s twenty-seven-minute scream fest when I took him out of the tub. Or the bite marks on my shoulder. “An angel. I was just worshipping him when you came up.”
“And so when are you and Doctor Good-Looking gonna pop some of your own?” Elaina asks.
I smile. “I don’t know.”
“But things are good?”
I nod. “Yup. Very good. He’s a wonderful boyfriend.”
“How is he wonderful? Tell me. I need to hear what wonderful is like.” She wipes her eyes once more and toys with a lock of her curly hair.
“Oh, he sent me flowers yesterday. He took me to a nice restaurant on Tuesday, and yesterday, when he was stuck in surgery, he had a nurse call me and let me know.”
“He had a nurse call? Like she’s his answering service or something?” Elaina snaps.
“Well, you know, he was elbow deep in someone’s abdomen or something, Lainey. Some gruesome ripping injury thing.”
She sniffs. “And are you crazy about him?” Her eyes are too knowing.
“Yes. Yes, I am.” I pause. “I’m getting there.”
“Speaking of boyfriends, have you met Harry? Your mom’s guy?” Elaina asks, kindly changing the subject.
“No,” I answer. “But I don’t think it’s the real thing. She’s just playing with Dad.”
“I don’t know about that, Chas.” Elaina blows her nose. “They’ve been seeing each other a lot.”
“Dad and Mom?”
“No, dummy. Your mom and Harry.”
A little trickle of dismay wriggles through my stomach, but I dismiss it with a shake of my head. “Well, whatever. She wouldn’t really leave my father.”
