At First Touch (15 page)

“H-how do you know about that?” he stuttered, looking at me like I was a witch. I knew Carey was staring at me too, but I ignored it and smiled blandly at Preston.

Oh, I downloaded your entire life when I punched you.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? But no one else will if you leave me the hell alone.”

“Fine, fine…geez. Sorry. Just don’t…don’t” he stammered as he backed away, blood trickling through his fingers grotesquely.

I just continued smiling at him until he turned away and ran off, trying to hide his face from curious onlookers. I felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, though I knew once again I had gone too far. I hadn’t really wanted to download Preston, but in a way it was probably for the best. I had enough dirt on him now that I should never have to worry about him bothering me again.

Carey cleared his throat and I sighed, turning back to face him, pulling my glove back on wearily. He was looking at me with concern in his sapphire eyes and his lips were pulled tight into a disapproving line.

“Sorry, I just got tired of him,” I muttered, looking around for some kind of distraction. The band had moved on to what I assumed was an original number based on the immature chord progression and lyrics. We were being ignored; everyone was caught up in their own drama or just in having fun.

“No, you had every right, it’s just…” Carey paused, eyeing me contemplatively. “You seemed to know stuff about him; I’m just wondering how you found out? I didn’t think you had spent that much time together.” That was putting it delicately. I thought for a moment, trying to think of a reasonable explanation and failed.

“I have my sources,” I said simply and moved to change the subject. “Anyway, let’s just forget about Preston. He’s a tiresome subject.” I gave him a hesitant smile and after a moment he nodded.

“This is one of those things you can’t tell me, right? About your…abilities?” I nearly choked on my drink. Carey was far too insightful for his own good.

“Yes. You could say that,” I replied carefully. He nodded again and looked off toward the fire. I resisted the urge to listen to his thoughts, trying to leave him the privacy of his own mind to decide whether or not he still wanted to be around me.

“I think you and I have some things in common,” he said mysteriously, still looking into the fire. I raised my eyebrows, wondering if he was considering telling me the truth about himself. If he did, would I?

“Well,” he said abruptly, a brilliant smile creasing his face. “At least it’s clear that neither of us cares much for Preston.” Ah, he was dodging the bigger issue. I breathed a sigh of relief, pretty sure that I wasn’t ready to exchange confidences just yet.

“Yeah, I think we’ve established that,” I laughed, and the intense moment passed.

The rest of the evening seemed to fly by, leaving me with scattered impressions; V.J. and I dancing to
Blister in the Sun
, the four of us laughing over something Mark said, Quade’s shy request for a dance with me, the last song of the night, twirling slowly in Carey’s arms. By the time the party drew to a close and people were calling out goodbyes, I was flushed with happiness and riding high on a wave of normalcy. Mark and Carey walked us to V.J.’s car; she and Mark drifted off to say a more private goodnight and Carey leaned up against the car casually, his full lips drawn into a sweet smile.

“I’m really glad you came tonight,” he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I shivered delicately, unused to the sensation.

“Me too,” I returned, feeling unaccountably shy again.

“Liz, I like you.  I’d like to take you out, like on an official date,” Carey stated simply, his eyes intent on mine. I quelled the urge to jump up and down clapping hysterically and contented myself with a smile.

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

He grinned and his whole face shone, as if a light had been flipped on inside. I felt intensely proud that I had caused that look. Leaning forward, he dropped a soft kiss on my cheek, letting his lips linger just a moment longer than strictly necessary. Hesitantly, tentatively, I reached my hand up and slowly ran my fingers through the silky hair hanging just above his ear. His eyes closed and I rested my gloved palm on his cheek, leaning in slightly to whisper in his ear.

“Goodnight.” I stepped back and swiftly slid into the open passenger seat. V.J. appeared out of the dark and I had a feeling she had been giving me my moment of privacy with Carey. With a final wave to the boys, we pulled out of the parking lot and headed into the night.

“Did you have fun?” V.J. asked, wiggling her eyebrows like an overexcited cartoon. I laughed and said I did, pulling out my phone to call Dad. He asked if everything was alright and I quickly assured him that I was well. I agreed to call him one more time, when I got settled at V.J.’s.

“Your Dad’s kind of a worrier, huh?” V.J. asked. I shrugged and put my phone away.

“Yeah, ever since Mom died he’s been a little overprotective.” I was shocked at myself.  I’d never talked about anything so personal as my mother dying with anyone before. V.J. gave me a sympathetic look.

“How long has it been?” she asked, her voice suddenly serious and quiet. I hesitated for a moment and then told the truth.

“Four years.”

“I lost my mom when I was eight,” she said quietly, her tone introspective. “Things changed between my Dad and me then too.” She glanced at me with a wry smile. “Pretty much the opposite of you and your dad. He ignores me now, just gives me a huge allowance and whatever I ask for, as though that will make up for him not being there.”

I could hear the bitterness in her voice and felt my chest tighten in sympathy. I knew I was lucky to have Dad. Maybe I had never understood how lucky. He had dedicated his life to me.

“My stepmom, Mandy, is only twenty-seven. She’s the farthest thing from my mother imaginable. I’ve always wondered what made him hate Mom enough to replace her with someone like that,” V.J. said musingly. Then she seemed to catch herself and shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to burden you with my troubles.”

“It’s ok. It’s hard for other people to understand if they haven’t lost someone. They can try to be sympathetic, but they never really know,” I thought out loud. She gave me a surprised glance and then nodded.

“Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

We were silent for a while, each of us thinking of our mothers. I wondered what mine would have thought of Carey. I thought she would like him.

“We’re here,” V.J. announced, her voice back to its usual jollity.

I looked out the window and stifled a gasp. We had pulled onto a long, paved drive, lined by maple trees, and were now circling around and pulling onto a wide stone-paved driveway. The house was incredible, like nothing I’d expected to see in a dinky town like Pound. Though it was pitch dark outside, the front of the…well, mansion, was lit like Christmas morning, stately brick walls looming over us impressively. There was a fountain placed in front of winding stone steps that led to the front door, which was opened by an austere looking man in a suit.

“Welcome to mi casa,” V.J. laughed playfully and slid out of the car, starting up the stairs. I got out more slowly, trying really hard not to look like the country mouse, but I imagine I still had a stunned expression on my face. V.J.’s
casa
looked like it belonged somewhere in the Hamptons, not the middle of nowhere in West Virginia.

“Thomas, would you get the bag out of the trunk?” she called to the man waiting at the door. He nodded briskly and moved down the stairs and past me with a polite nod, retrieving my bag. I repressed the urge to grab my stuff and tell him it wasn’t necessary, but I figured it might be insulting, so I just moved to follow V.J.

“Uh, this is really nice, V.J.” Damn it, my voice sounded awed.

“Thanks. I’ll give you a tour. Dad and Mandy are out of town, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.” She seemed a little self-conscious, so I got my admiration under control and tried for nonchalant.

“Sounds good. Um, do you think we could order a pizza or something? I forgot to eat dinner and now I’m starving.” She grinned and nodded.

“No worries. We probably have some pizza in the freezer; I don’t think anything’s open this late.”

I followed her into a spacious foyer decorated in what I thought was French colonial, but I wouldn’t want to put money on it.

“Thomas, will you please put Liz’s bag in my guest room?” 

Once again the silent but courteous Thomas, who upon closer inspection looked a lot like a young Kevin Costner, nodded and scooted elegantly through an archway to the left through which I caught a glimpse of a gleaming mahogany staircase.

“So, tour or food? Which comes first?” V.J. asked in a strained voice.

I could tell that she was wondering what I would say about the way she lived, and honestly, I wasn’t sure what to say. I had no idea that anyone in West Virginia lived like this, and I was more than a little curious about where her father got the kind of money it would take just for upkeep. Still, V.J. was my friend now and her house and her car and her father weren’t her.

“If you don’t mind, food sounds good. I’m starved.” She nodded and waved for me to follow her. “Your house is really pretty,” I added lamely. V.J. turned around and flashed me a sardonic smile.

“I know, it’s way over the top isn’t it? When my mom was alive we lived in a pretty big house, but it was much more homey. Nothing like this. This…monstrosity was Mandy’s idea, and of course Dad can’t deny his ‘little princess.’” Her tone was uncharacteristically cynical and I began to see what she was talking about. The meandering halls and opulent rooms reminded me a bit of a plantation I had toured when Dad and I lived in Georgia for a while.

We walked in silence through a beautifully appointed dining room complete with a marble fireplace and pushed open a heavy oak door on the far side. As I passed through I breathed a sigh of relief; finally, a comfortable, less intimidating room.

The kitchen was huge but not unfamiliar; while the stainless steel appliances were clearly top of the line, the floors were well worn flagstone, the granite countertops covered with various cooking gadgets, including one of those Italian espresso machines I’ve seen on the home shopping channel. Despite the obvious expense of the room, there was a lingering aroma of tomato sauce and baking cookies that gave it a homey atmosphere.

“This is more like it,” I said without thinking and then clapped a hand over my mouth, appalled at my rudeness. V.J. just laughed and nodded as she made her way to the monolith of a refrigerator.

“I know. I spend more time in here than any other room in the house. Our cook, Mrs. Stevens, is great. She’s always got something in the oven. In fact,” she murmured as she took out a frozen pizza crust, jar of sauce, and platter with enough toppings to make any pizza lover do a happy dance, “I’ll bet there’s something in there now.” She pulled the industrial-sized oven door open and sure enough there was a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafting out an enticing scent. “Yep. I told her I was having a sleepover tonight; she left these on the warmer. Should be pretty good.”

The familiar smells put me at ease, and V.J. and I set to constructing our dream pizza. Once the sauce was spread and covered with four different cheeses, peppers, onions, pineapple, and a few other things I wasn’t too sure about, we stuffed it into the oven and settled down with cookies and milk. I could feel myself relax, and against my better judgment, I told her stories about my days on the gymnastics team, my mom, and even a few humorous stories from my various experiences at different high schools. By the time we had eaten our fill and agreed that olives and pineapple didn’t mix, I was no longer tiptoeing around and whispering as though V.J.’s home were a museum. She took me on a brief tour of the rest of the house, most of which was a blur of expensive looking furniture and fancy lighting. By the time we reached her suite on the second floor I was ready to watch some trash TV.

“Um, do you want to put on your pajamas or anything?” she asked, pausing at the door. I nodded, definitely feeling the need to do some unbuttoning after our junk food feast. She walked into her room, which was huge and painted in different tones of purple, complete with a queen-sized bed on a four poster frame, a plush sofa, stacked bookshelves, a computer with a monitor the size of my TV, and a wall-hanging HD flat screen. She grinned at my raised eyebrows and gestured to one of two doors on the opposite wall. I hesitated and then walked forward, pushing the door open into a slightly smaller room with a double bed that I took to be the guest room.

I shut the door and walked over to my travel-worn bag, which sat incongruously on the satin bedspread. I stood looking for a moment and then shook off my discomfiture, digging into the bag and changing swiftly into a long sleeved T-shirt and sweatpants that had seen better days. I left my socks and gloves on and skipped back into V.J.’s room.

She was curled up on the couch in her pajamas flipping through the channels. I glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Just after midnight.

And I hadn’t called Dad.

“I’m gonna call my Dad real quick and say goodnight,” I told her and dashed back into the guest room for my phone. Dad was irritated that I had waited so long to call, but he accepted my profuse apologies eventually. I promised to call the second my eyes opened in the morning and he let it go.