Things I Can't Forget

Page 33

I circle his wrists with my hands. “I’m, uh, not so sure I’m ready for that.”
“To share a bed?” His eyebrow pops up.
“I told you it would be a while.”
“But we can’t share a bed?” He pulls me closer. “I love lying next to you.” He gently kisses my jaw. “We’ve already spent the night together.”
“I love lying in bed with you too…but it’s not right for me…yet.”
His body stiffens. He pulls away. “Am I not any good?”
“What?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.
“In bed,” he whispers. “Am I not any good…?” His voice cracks.
“It’s not that, Ma—”
“What is it then?”
“I just can’t hook up.”
His hands tighten around my waist; he studies my eyes. “Is this because of Emily? You think you might get pregnant or something? I would never let that happen.”
“It’s not about that! It’s about me not wanting to do this yet.”
His eyes go glossy. “Will you ever want to?”
“I’m not sure…”
“I’m not saying I want to sleep with you tonight, but it is something I want to talk about.”
I clasp his wrists. “I need time—”
He drops his chin. “That’s what Sarah said. And then she left.”
“I’m not her—”
“Why won’t you spend the night with me? We don’t have to have sex. I just want to be with you.”
“I want to be with you too.” I rub my cheek.
His expression suddenly changes. “I don’t want camp to end,” he says. “What if things aren’t the same with us?”
I grab his hip. “They will be—I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We listen to Carlie and Ian screeching and laughing. Then they slip away into the night, probably to fool around behind the cafeteria. Parker and Will are kissing like the world will end in five minutes.
I turn over and fluff my pillow, trying to ignore the disappointment I feel flowing from Matt. It would be so easy to give him all of me, and I know we’d both be thrilled and happy.
Free will comes with sacrifice. And sometimes with heartache.
Jesus sacrificed his entire life for us, but you don’t see Him complaining.
The next morning, I go to the Woodsong Chapel one last time. At the beginning of the summer, I wondered if I could still love this place without Emily. I can’t love it like I did when she was around, but I love it in a different way. A new way. I sit there on a log bench, thinking of Matt and enjoying the trees and the sounds of animals and rushing water, before walking back to Great Oak.
I’m signing for my final paycheck when Megan stares me down, as if wanting to ask a question. “Take a seat,” she says, gesturing at the chair across from her.
I suck on my bottom lip, waiting for her to speak.
“Are you going to reapply for a job here next summer?” she asks.
I hadn’t really thought about it. I mean, I’m still trying to decide on a major. “Maybe,” I say. “I’m not sure yet.”
She swings her whistle around a finger. “Maybe you should consider not reapplying. I’m not sure you’re right for this kind of work.”
My mouth drops open. “Really? Why?”
She pulls a piece of paper from her clipboard and examines it. “You had problems starting fires and occasionally did things I asked you not to. You didn’t have the best discretion in front of the campers. I heard rumors you sleep with Matt in the big field.” She taps her whistle on her desk.
I duck my head. Yeah, some of that’s true. But what about all the good I did?
“I worked hard this summer. I can start fires and I’m great at trailblazing and I know about nature and I can pick up crawdaddies now. The campers loved my arts and crafts lessons. I’ve gotten really good at this job.”
“You came to camp on a Sunday morning, when you shouldn’t have been here. What if you’d had an accident? The regional conference doesn’t have insurance for employees on weekends. You could have ruined my career!” Megan goes all red.
“I apologized for that,” I say, wanting to tell her I never broke that rule.
I became a great counselor this summer. Megan can believe whatever she wants. For whatever reason she wants. Parker was right when she said Megan is an OCD perfectionist, and if this is the way she wants to run camp? Fine. There’s more than one way to do things and still end up with a great result. It’s not one way or the highway.
“I’ll apply for the job if I want to apply for the job.” I swallow hard, feeling seven weeks of fury leaking out of me. “I’ll tell the regional conference that I did a great job this summer. I learned a lot. I hope they’ll give me a fair shot.”
She twirls her whistle, as if she’s bored. “I am recommending that you not be rehired. Good luck.”
For a brief moment, I worry that my church will find out. But then I shake those thoughts out of my head. I don’t care.
I fold my paycheck and slip it into my back pocket. “Bye.”
I turn and march out of the cabin and up the path toward my car.
I don’t care what she believes. I know what I know. I lied to save Brad, and I’d do it again to keep him away from a drunk parent. If it costs me a job, so be it. Breaking the rules was worth it to help Brad start his new life.
It’s like with art. You can’t tell someone how to do it, or it’s not her art. You can’t tell someone else how to believe.
It’s up to God to judge, and for me to help the people I love the best I can.
At home, I pull on my sneakers and knee brace and fly out my front door, sprinting as fast as I can. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but the hurt makes the pain stop. I run around the block fourteen times, then go back home and collapse on my bed.
The moment I hit my pillow, tears burn my eyes.
Once you get hurt the first time, the pain never, ever goes away. Maybe it dulls, but it’s always there.
The pain from some things in my life—kids at school calling me a Jesus Freak, Megan being mean, hurting my knee—will never go away. Helping Emily get an abortion will never leave me. But I can work to run with life again.
My cell rings. It’s Parker calling to ask if Matt and I want to go out with her and Will tonight. I start tearing up the second she says Matt’s name.
I’m glad I told him how I feel, and I guess even if things don’t work out with us, I stayed true to myself, and that makes me smile a little.
“What’s wrong?” she says.
“Can you come over? Please?” I ask, wiping my nose on my sheet.
“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”
When she gets here, she plops on my bed and pushes the hair away from my face. She opens her bag. “I brought M&Ms.”
She sits next to me against the headboard and I lean on her shoulder, telling her everything that happened with Matt.
“So you told him you won’t share a bed with him?” she asks, choosing a green M&M.
“I didn’t say that exactly—”
“But you’d already spent the night with him?”
“Yeah.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “Did you tell him exactly what the issue is?”
“I just said I can’t sleep over with him.”
She pours M&Ms into my palm. “And then he asked if he’s bad in bed?”
“Yeah.” I eat a red one and a blue one.
She leans her head against my shoulder. “You need to tell him you don’t want to go that far yet and if he’s not okay with that, then you can’t date. But you need to explain what the issue is.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were willing to let him sleep over and fool around before but you’re not now?”
“We got carried away,” I say quietly. “I’m afraid if I sleep over with him, it’ll happen again.”
“He’s probably confused and hurt. You need to tell him what you’re thinking.”
“I sort of tried—”
“If he’s not okay with that, he’s not worth it. He has to respect what you want.”
I wipe my nose again. “What if I want both? What if I want to sleep with him? I know I can’t but I can’t stop thinking of him.”
“Both options are yours.”
“Did Will ask to have sex a lot before you started?”
She narrows her eyes and nods, laughing. “Oh, yeah. Will wanted to have sex before we even officially started dating.”
I laugh.
She adds, “But we only did it when I was ready.”
She pours M&Ms into her mouth and chews. “I have a question,” she says through a mouthful, and I nod. “Why the hell do you have all those poor animal heads in your foyer?!”
After she leaves to meet Will for dinner, I turn my cell phone screen on and off. On and off. I won’t be able to explain over the phone. I open my laptop and start typing an email.
Matt—I love you. I need to tell you what I believe and what I want…
Matt doesn’t write back. Not that night. Not the next morning. He hasn’t called or texted. By lunch, I can’t even eat the chicken salad Mom made. I pick the grapes, carrots, and celery out of it and make designs on my plate. Anything to distract me.
Are things over for me and Matt?
Then at like 3:00 p.m., Mom calls from downstairs. “Honey! You have a guest.”
Is it Parker? I don’t bother putting on a bra or changing out of my short pajama shorts before I trudge down to the foyer, where I find Matt standing with Mom.
“We’d love to have your parents over for dinner,” she’s telling him.
“They’d like that.” He coughs into a fist before saying hi to me. His Adam’s apple shifts as he swallows, taking me in. Now I wish I’d put real clothes on.
“Hi,” I reply. “Can I get you a lemonade or a sweet tea or anything?”
He kneads his fingers together. “No, I’m good. But thank you.”
“I’ll be in the other room,” Mom says, squeezing my shoulders. She disappears and leaves me standing with the boy I love more than anything.
“What are you painting?” he asks.
“How did you know I was painting?”
He points at my face and hair. I must have orange and yellow everywhere.
“I found this picture of the Australian Outback. The desert. I’m trying to paint the contours of the sand.”
“I’d love to see it.” He glances at Vincent Moose. I fold my arms over my stomach and try to forget how good his hands felt on my body.
He steps toward me, his blue eyes blazing. “I got your email.”
“You could’ve called,” I say playfully.
“I was busy.”
“Busy.” I lift an eyebrow. “Did you stop at Just Tacos again?”
He grins. “Hm.”
“You’re in big trouble now.”
“Oh yeah?” He grabs my hand and tangles our fingers together, and I remember how this felt on our first date.