Part 15 (1/2)
He spoke my name. My full name, I might add, although right then I would have answered to Nicki. Or Bonehead. Or any old thing he wanted.
”There's something I wanted to clear up with you,” he continued. ”I'ev been thinking that my decision to stay home with Autumn might be rubbing you the wrong way, since I missed so much of your childhood.”
Whoa-a two-p.r.o.nged acknowledgment: that I might feel sensitive, and that he'd missed my childhood. If my guilt hadn't been weighing me so low to the ground, I might have floated.
”What happened is that right before she was born, the company downsized. I got laid off. It made the decision a whole lot easier.”
He paused and so did I. For a crazy moment, I thought I could hear his heart pounding.
”The money I gave you was Cathleen's. That's why I postdated the check. I had to make sure she was okay with it.”
”Was she?” I asked, my voice sounding scratchy and like it belonged to someone else, someone who was kinder and more accepting of her parents' problems.
”Not really, but she allowed the check to clear.”
”Well, you can tell her she's getting paid back.” My words tumbled out. ”Somehow.” If not by Mom, then by me. I'd get a job if I had to.
”I should have told you this earlier. But the truth is, it turned out I liked being a stay-at-home dad, and practically had myself convinced that I'd chosen it.”
I read something past tense into his tone. ”Liked? As in, it's over?”
He made a mmm sound of agreement. ”I also wanted you to know that I'm putting Autumn in day care and going back to work,” he said in a weary tone.
”Things ... aren't great between Cathleen and me. Another income, another perspective might help smooth things out.”
I didn't know much about marriages-especially considering that the only one I'd ever seen up close and personal had sunk like the t.i.tanic-but it seemed that he'd be adding stress rather than taking it away.
”I started sending out resumes,” Dad said, filling the dead air. ”I should be working again soon. So if you and your mom need anything, I can be there for you.”
I managed to thank him, to get off the phone before saying anything else I'd live to regret. Then I shuffled out into the living room, knowing I needed to go see Mom (and grovel).
All this parent stuff (and the confusion and guilt) made me feel like a little kid again. Or at least made me wish I still was one. Made me wish for a quick fix like a hug from a grown-up, made me wish for a security blanket.
Cuddle material; insert thumb in mouth, and do your best Linus impression until you can feel and act your age again.
I got up fifteen minutes early the next morning and padded to the kitchen. Instead of grabbing my usual yogurt spoon, I pulled out a spatula and fry pan. Not for myself, but for my mom. I owed her big-time. Waaay more than bacon and scrambled eggs, but at the moment, a breakfast tray and an ”I love you” were all I had to offer.
She smiled when I presented the tray to her in bed, and gave me a quick kiss. I suppose it made me feel a teeny bit better.
It wasn't long, though, before my emotions were back on high. When I got to school and saw Alison at her locker, I marched up and asked, point-blank, about the digital photo of me on the beach.
”I told you,” she said, turning toward me, defensive. ”I deleted it.”
”Well, apparently not soon enough. The Queen Bee has a copy.”
”Not possible.” Something obviously crossed her mind, because suddenly the lines in her forehead relaxed. ”She's bluffing.”
”How would she even know to bluff?” The bell rang, meaning we had five minutes to get to cla.s.s. But I wanted to know now. I took a step closer. ”What am I not getting here?”
”Look, Nic,” she said, and bit on her lip. ”It's true I took that picture on purpose. Thinking, well, I'd give you a hard time about showing it to Luther if you started acting all stupid over”-she threw a look around the crowded hallway-”you know who when we got back here.”
I studied her scrunched-up face. ”You would have done that?”
”Probably not. But at that moment, it seemed like something to try. A tough-love approach.” She shrugged. ”I mean, it's not like your mom's Top Ten list was working to remind you what a jerk he is.”
I sighed, not a happy camper. But it did make sense. Alison hated Rascal for what he'd done to me. And she was there for me, in good times and bad. ”Okay, so how did she get it?”
Alison shook her head. ”You got me. I realized it was stupid and deleted it from the camera while we were still at the beach house.”
She closed her locker. It drowned out the sound of my voice as I asked, ”Then who did it?” But it didn't matter, anyway. There was only one other person who would have access to the camera. Who had been angry at me about Canadian Guy. Who clearly wanted to mess with me and my life.
And for the second time that week, I wanted to track Jared down-and wring his neck.
An hour later, out on a bathroom pa.s.s, I spotted Rascal on the Senior Bench.
I knew I'd promised Kylie I'd keep my distance. But I had a score to settle with him, too. And she'd never know, anyway.
I grabbed hold of his T-s.h.i.+rt sleeve and pulled him into an empty stairwell.
”Whoa,” he said, shuffling beside me, letting his dimples run free. ”You must want me bad.”
I rolled my eyes and dropped my hand.
He pressed the back of his head and one foot against the wall. His nose was returning to normal color, and his smile was widening. ”I knew you'd come around, Nicolette. I just didn't think it would be at school.”
”Get over yourself. I want to talk about yesterday. About Jared's windows.”
His foot came down hard on the linoleum. ”That wasn't me.”
”Oh, just stop.” I glared at him, stunned that he'd think me so born yesterday.
But two could play at his game, so I took a Mother-May-I step to the other side of the Truth Planet. With silent thanks to the tennis mom who'd supplied the info, I described their appearances and outfits, and then laid it on the line. ”You drop this thing with Jared, and I'll keep my mouth shut.”
I was pretty sure I had his back against the wall. (More than literally.) Just as Kylie had my neck in a wringer.
Rascal gave me a c.o.c.ky tilt of his head. ”Say, just say, I admit it. And agree to back off. What happens if Jared comes after me? I can't fight back?”
”He won't.”
”How do you know that?”
Because Jared was too smart to keep escalating this insanity. Because he'd let those things slip to Kylie, and he already thought he'd taken the last shot. But I wasn't letting on to that. ”Because he told me,” I simply said. ”And he's a man of his word.”
”And I'm not?”