“So do you guys want to watch a movie?” I asked.
Fletcher was sitting on the couch. Kendall was curled on Jeremy’s lap in one of the recliners. She looked at him. He shrugged. She nodded, turned her attention back to me.
“Listen, we’re going to go,” she said quietly. “But if my mom should ask, I was here with you all night.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Uh, yeah,” she answered, somewhat sarcastically.
Jeremy lowered the footrest and they clambered out of the chair. “Thanks for all the food,” he said.
And the alibi, which remained unsaid.
I followed them out to the entryway, aware that Fletcher was behind me.
At the door, Kendall hugged me. “Seriously, we just don’t get enough alone time together, so . . .”
Yeah, so I was going to lie to her mother if she asked. But what were the odds of her asking? One in a gazillion. Because she’d have no reason to suspect her well-behaved daughter wasn’t behaving. I didn’t want to judge Kendall. I didn’t have a boyfriend. I didn’t know what it was like to want to spend every hour of every day with him and not be able to.
“Just be careful,” I whispered.
She smiled softly. “We will.”
They left. I closed and locked the door, and turned to Fletcher. “Want to watch a movie?”
Chapter 34
FLETCHER
Watching a movie was the very last thing that I wanted to do with Avery. But I understood her rules. Even respected them. I’d never had a girl set down conditions before. To be honest, I found it a little hot.
But then I found everything about her hot.
We sat beside each other on the couch. She put on some movie that had Sandra Bullock and the guy who played Green Lantern. Just based on the first couple of minutes, I knew I’d rather be watching The Green Lantern.
“I guess boyfriend types are supposed to sit through movies like this,” I said. Earlier I’d put my arm along the back of the couch. Now I took advantage of my positioning to toy with strands of her hair. They were so thick and silky. The only light in the room came from the flickering TV. It illuminated her hair, made it look like moonbeams.
“It’s better than shark-wielding tornadoes,” she said.
“Yeah, that is a pretty silly movie. Giant crocs is more believable.”
“Nothing in those movies is believable.”
“And what happens in these movies is?” I asked, pointing at the screen.
“Romance movies guarantee a happy ending.”
“There’s a happy ending in monster flicks. The good guys always win out.”
“Yeah, after much blood and gore.”
I slipped my hand beneath the curtain of her hair and began kneading her neck. She didn’t object, but kept her gaze on the movie. I darted a quick look at the munchkin. “Should I take him up to his bed?”
“He’s fine where he is. He’ll think it’s an adventure that he slept on the floor.”
I couldn’t remember being young enough to think something so simple was an adventure.
“So, this boyfriend thing,” I began. “What are the other rules?”
She shifted around until she was perpendicular to me, her lower leg pressed against my thigh. She had changed into a tank top after we went swimming. I skimmed my fingers up and down her bare arm.
“You have to share things with me,” she said.
I stilled, grinned. “I have something to share.” I leaned in—
She shoved me back. “Not a kiss. Nothing physical. Something personal. Tell me about your mom.”
What could I say to that? I barely remembered her. Made me feel like a jerk. But I could spout facts, which would probably make me seem like more of an ass. “She died when I was eight. Think it was cancer. Not sure. Just remember her being sick for a long time, not having any hair. My dad would never talk about it.”
She combed her fingers through my hair. I liked the way it felt.
“That had to be hard,” she said.
“I don’t really remember. It makes me an ass, I know. Sometime after that my dad went all psycho.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Look, this is why I don’t talk about all this stuff. I don’t want your pity or your sympathy or your sad eyes.”
“Because you’re so tough?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Sometimes life is rough. You get through it.”
Her gaze wandered over my face. I felt like she could see every bruise I ever sported.
“How did you meet my dad?” she asked.
“Are we going to do twenty questions again?”
“This will be the last one.”
I sighed. I hated answering questions. Probably the reason that I hated taking tests. They were nothing but questions.
“Met him when I got caught stealing some stuff from a convenience store a few years back.”
She didn’t seem surprised so she probably knew about my shoplifting, not that I thought her dad had told her. But the store hadn’t been empty. Anyone could have been the snitch.
“What made you steal stuff?” she asked.
I was hungry. My dad had disappeared for a couple of weeks. I didn’t have any money. Not that I was going to tell her that. I didn’t want to see the puppy dog look again. Which I figured made me awful boyfriend material. “Why do you think? I wanted it.”
“What did you take?”
Twinkies, peanut butter crackers, M&M’s. “Can’t even remember now.”
“I shoplifted once,” she said with her usual straightforwardness.
I wasn’t expecting that. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope. A pack of gum. Mom doesn’t believe in chewing gum. I was about six. I waited until she put me to bed, then I snuck it out of its hiding place, and chewed the whole pack. Don’t know how I got all of it in my mouth, but I did. I was still chewing it when I fell asleep. And when I woke up in the morning it was all in my hair.”
I stared at her. “What did you do?”
“What could I do? I took scissors to it.” She shook her head. “I looked like a freak. She made me go to school with my hair sticking out all over the place. There was still gum in it. Which Kendall, thankfully, cut out during recess. You know, with those little paper scissors that don’t really cut well. Then she decided to play beautician, and I ended up with bald spots.”
I wanted to laugh, but I imagined this little kid paying for her crime in such a public way.
“After school, Mom took me back to the store. I had to apologize to the owner and pay for the gum with my tooth fairy money, which I had been saving for Disney World. Then Mom took me to her stylist to see if she could do anything with my hair, so it got cut even shorter. That was my last foray into crime.”
I skimmed my knuckles along her cheek. “I thought you were born obeying the rules.”
“No, but I learned pretty early on that disobeying them came with consequences. Never chewed gum again. Not even when I played softball my sophomore year.”
“I watched you play,” I said, and wondered why I’d confessed that.
“You were just checking out the girls.”
“Yeah.” But she was the only one I remembered. “So maybe I’m thinking about not checking out other girls anymore.”
“How seriously are you thinking about it?”
“Pretty seriously.” I cupped my hand around the back of her head. “Really seriously.”
I leaned in—
“Avery?” a little voice whined.
Not now, munchkin, I thought. Not now.
Avery waited. The voice came again. She unfolded that long, slender body of hers and went over to where her brother was stretched out on the floor. He’d kicked off the afghan.
“Hey, squirt,” she said. “Ready to go to bed?”
“Don’t . . . feel good.”
“Told you not to eat all that junk. You’ll be fine in the morning. Let’s go on upstairs.”
r /> “I’ll get him,” I said as she started to lift him.
Then she put him back down and looked up at me. “He’s burning up. Watch him. I’m going to get the thermometer.”
“How can he be burning up? He was fine earlier.”
“I know,” was all she said before dashing out of the room. I crouched down, touched the kid’s forehead. Even to me, he felt way too hot.
“I want Mommy,” he murmured in a sad way.
“She’s not here, but you have me and Avery.”
She came back and took his temperature. “Hundred and four,” she announced. “I’m taking him to the emergency room.”
“I’m going with you.”
Chapter 35
AVERY
I’m going with you.
Not a do you want me to go with you, but I’m going with you.
It’s what people who cared about you said. They didn’t ask if you wanted them to be with you. They just made sure that they were.
Fletcher had driven Trooper, while I’d been in the back with Tyler and comforted him. Now as we sat under the fluorescent lighting in the waiting room of the ER, he was curled on my lap, moaning, asking for Mom. Fletcher was beside us, bent forward, his elbows on his thighs. Every now and then he looked over at us, his brow furrowed deeply.
“Why’s it taking them so long?” he asked.
“Sick people ahead of us.” I combed my fingers through Tyler’s hair, hoping to keep us both calm. My worry was escalating as the minutes passed. I needed something to take my mind off it, because I felt like I could hear each second ticking by.
“So how many times have you been to the emergency room?” I asked Fletcher, my tone casual, conversational.
“Too many to count.” He stiffened, closed his eyes, shook his head. When he opened his eyes, to my surprise, he grinned slightly. “You and the questions.”
“I want to know everything about you.”
“Not everything. But I will tell you that one night I was here with a broken arm and your dad came in to talk to me. I’d already been here a couple of times before that: cracked rib, another broken arm, bruises, you know. Anyway, I guess someone had called the cops because I was becoming a frequent flyer. I think he wanted me to point the finger at my dad. The irony was: that time, I’d broken it skateboarding.”
I never would have taken him for a skateboarder. I loved discovering all these little tidbits about him.
I looked down at Tyler. He was flushed and was having trouble keeping his eyes open. I told myself it was because it was so late, but what if it was another reason?
“He’s going to be all right,” Fletcher assured me.
They called for us, finally. Fletcher took Tyler from me and carried him, following the nurse down the hallway to a room of beds, separated by curtains. He set Tyler on a bed, then moved aside. The nurse questioned me, got all the information she needed, then took Tyler’s vitals.
“The doctor will be here shortly,” the nurse said before walking out.
I moved up and took Tyler’s hand.
The curtains opened, closed, and a short, stout man set a laptop on a table beside the bed. “I’m Dr. Zachary,” he said.
“Avery Watkins. Tyler’s my brother. My parents are out of town.”
He looked at me, looked at the computer. “Looks like we have a medical treatment form on record authorizing you to oversee your brother’s medical care.”
“Yes, sir.” Mom was extra cautious but she’d never really expected that I’d have to use it. I was a little nervous that I’d had to.
“Okay, little guy, let’s see what we have going on,” Dr. Zachary said, checking his ears and his throat, listening to his heart and lungs.
I smiled at the tiny stuffed bear clipped to his stethoscope. Tyler didn’t notice it. It was so unusual for him not to notice anything.
“My guess is strep,” Dr. Zachary said. He swabbed Tyler’s throat. “I’ll call you with the results tomorrow. Meanwhile, I want to give him an injection of antibiotics and then I’ll give you a prescription you can start him on tomorrow.”
My head was spinning. I had to remember all this. “Okay.”
“He’s also a little dehydrated. I’d like to get some fluids into him before I release him.”
“Okay.” That one word seemed to be the extent of my vocabulary.
The doctor left and a nurse came in. She gave Tyler the shot and then hooked him up to an IV. When she left, Fletcher scooted a chair toward me.
“Sit down,” he said. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”
“I should have paid more attention when he said he wasn’t feeling well.”
“Avery, there were three other people there and none of us thought anything about what he said. He’d been eating junk food. It was natural to think that was the problem.”
“He just looks so . . . fragile.”
Fletcher sat in the chair, pulled me onto his lap, and held me. “He’s not. If anyone should have noticed he was sick it was me when we were goofing in the pool. But he didn’t feel fevered.”
“But he probably was. It couldn’t have come on this fast.”
He cupped my cheek, turned my face, made me look at him. “You brought him as soon as you knew he was sick. They’ve given him medicine. He’s going to be okay. You did everything right.”
“I’m so glad you’re here with me. I was so scared.”
“You didn’t act scared. You kept cool. You were in control. No panic. You were great.”
Fletcher had been great, too.
It was nearly three in the morning when we got home. Fletcher carried a sleeping Tyler to his bed. I removed his clothes, slipped on his pajamas. I left his Spider-Man lamp on. I didn’t close his door. I wanted to be able to hear him if he called for me.
Fletcher was standing in the hallway when I walked out. I went up to him and placed my hands on his shoulders. “It meant a lot to me that you were there tonight.”
“I wasn’t going to leave you to take care of him on your own.”
“I know. You say you don’t know how to be a boyfriend. I think maybe you just don’t know that you do.”
“You really need that label, don’t you?”
“Not right away. Not if it’s too soon, but to be a kiss zone I have to know I’m the only one you’re spending time with.”
“You are.” Then he was kissing me, and it was like everything just overflowed into the kiss. The worry for Tyler. The long wait. The exhaustion. The quiet talks we’d had. The things we’d shared.
I understood him now like I hadn’t before, understood his doubts, his inability to believe in permanence. I could be patient. I could give him the time he needed to get used to the idea of being a boyfriend.
Taking his hand, I led him into my bedroom. I kicked off my sandals and climbed onto the bed. Fletcher stretched out beside me. I snuggled up against him.
“This is all I want for now,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
His arms closed around me, and I drifted off to sleep.
The next two days were pretty much spent entertaining Tyler, retrieving Popsicles for him, playing games, putting on movies, and watching them with him because he didn’t want to be alone.
When Fletcher got home from work, he’d take over for a while so I could go for a run, get out of the house for a bit. It was funny how I didn’t have to ask him to do any of that. It just happened. And at night, we’d cuddle in my bed, kissing and talking low. Or mostly I talked. Sometimes Fletcher would share something. He wasn’t as guarded as he’d been that first day when he came to live with us, but I could tell when he was watching his words, when he was hesitant to reveal too much.
But we were making progress.
He was at work when Mom and Dad got home early Friday afternoon. I could see Dad examining things with a cop’s eye as he walked into the house, like he expected to find evidence of a crime.
With a croaky voice, Tyler yelled wh
en they came in, rushed forward, and leaped on Mom. She swung him up like he was a little monkey. I explained about the strep, the trip to the ER.
Mom touched his brow. “No fever now.”
“No,” I assured her. “But the doctor called with the lab results and it was strep.”
“You should have called us,” Dad said.
“Why? We had it under control,” I told him.
Mom leaned in, kissed me on the cheek. “You did good.”
“Me and Fletcher. Fletcher and I.”
“I’ll have to fix him something special for dinner,” she said.
“Tell me about your trip.”
Mom blushed, Dad grinned.
“It was fun,” Mom said. “We’ll tell you all about it later.”
Friday night, after I got in from work, I thought it was weird to sleep alone in my bed. I almost went out and knocked on Fletcher’s door, but I figured my parents were paying attention to things, trying to figure out if anything had happened between Fletcher and me. Something had happened, but it wasn’t something I could explain. I was definitely no longer a no-kiss zone. But exactly what were we? We were exclusive, but not using labels. Without labels, how did I describe us?
We needed more time together. We needed more time to figure things out.
Saturday, since Smiley’s was only open until noon, Fletcher got home in time for lunch. As we enjoyed the pralines she’d brought us from New Orleans, Mom got out her tablet and flipped through the pictures they’d taken. She told us about the decadent food, the beignets, and the carriage ride Dad had taken her on. It all sounded wonderfully romantic.
Fletcher and I spent a lot of time avoiding looking at each other, as though we thought they would see everything that had happened in our expressions. As if they’d know about every kiss, every whispered conversation, every cuddle in my bed.
I knew they might be okay with the kiss part, but they definitely wouldn’t approve of the bed part. Or maybe they wouldn’t approve of the kiss part either. They wanted me to find someone like Jeremy. Fletcher wasn’t Jeremy. I was okay with that.