Easy (32 page)

“Lan—Lucas,” he
called. “You and Jacqueline need to give your statements now, son.” Lucas stood
carefully, pulling me up with him, supporting me fully. Dr. Heller reached a
hand to his shoulder. “This young man is the son of my closest friend. He rents
the apartment over the garage.” He glanced at us with an odd look before
continuing. “As I said, that fella—” he pointed at Buck, who was being loaded
into the ambulance “—has a restraining order filed against him on behalf of
this young lady, which he violated by coming to her boyfriend’s home.” Ah,
there was the reason for the look.

The officers’ eyes
widened when they took in my bloody shirt. “It’s his blood,” I said, pointing toward
the ambulance.

One of them smiled
and echoed Lucas. “Good girl.”

I leaned into
Lucas, and he tightened his arms around me. The officers, already softened by
Dr. Heller, couldn’t have been more sympathetic. Twenty minutes and all of our
statements later, they, and Buck, were gone, and Lucas and I were gathering my
things from my truck and the road after assuring Dr. Heller and his family that
we would see to each other’s injuries.

Without speaking,
Lucas led me up the stairs, into his apartment and straight into the bathroom. He
turned on the shower and lifted me onto the counter to pull off my boots and
socks. Without pausing, he removed my shirt and bra and tossed them in the
trash. His shirt, speckled with droplets of blood—both his and Buck’s—followed.

Standing between
my knees, he turned my face towards the light and inspected my jaw. “You’re
going to bruise. We’ll put some ice on it to get the swelling down, after you
shower.” His jaw clenched tight. “Did he… hit you?”

I shook my head,
which made it throb a bit. “Just grabbed it really hard. It’s sore, but
actually the spot where I head-butted him hurts more.”

“Does it?” He
brushed the hair back from my face and kissed my forehead so gently I couldn’t
feel it. “I’m so proud of you. I want you to tell me about it, when you can…
and when I can stand to hear it. I’m still too angry right now.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He ran his fingers
over the back of my neck. “I knew I’d fucked up. I was getting on my bike,
coming after you—and then you were running up the driveway.” His jaw compressed
and flexed. “When he tackled you… I wanted to kill him. I think if Charles
hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed him.”

I didn’t move from
the counter until he’d undressed. He pulled me down, slid my jeans and
underwear off, and led me to the shower, where he washed and inspected every
part of me. We were both bruised and abraded in unexpected places, and I could
barely lift my arms.

“That's normal,” he said, wrapping a towel around his waist and
folding another around me. "During a fight, you don’t realize all the
places you catch a punch, land wrong, or slam into something. The
adrenaline deadens it—temporarily.”

His dark hair grazed his shoulders, dripping lines of water down his
back and chest. He sat me down to dry my hair, and I watched as thin
rivulets snaked over his inked skin, flowing over the rose, cutting
through the scripted words, and moving into the line of hair on his
abdomen before finally soaking into the towel.

I closed my eyes. “The
last time anyone dried my hair for me was in sixth grade, when I broke my arm.”

He lifted each
strand gently, pressing the towel around it to absorb the water without
tangling it. “How did you break it?”

I smiled. “I fell out of a tree.”

He laughed, and
the sound reduced the pain of every sore place on my body to the dullest ache.
“You fell out of a
tree?
”

I squinted up at
him. “I think there was a boy and a dare involved.”

His eyes burned. “Ah.”

He squatted in
front of me. “Stay here tonight, Jacqueline. I need to keep you here, at least
tonight. Please.” He took one of my hands in his, and I brought the other to
his face, wondering how his eyes could look like chipped ice and still warm me
to my core. A bruise was forming near one eye, and the skin was scuffed and
split high on his cheekbone, but his face was otherwise unhurt.

His next words
were a whisper. “The last thing my father said to me, before he left, was,
‘You’re the man of the house while I’m gone. Take care of your mother.’” My
eyes filled with tears and so did his. He swallowed heavily. “I didn’t protect
her. I couldn’t save her.”

I pulled his head
to my heart and folded my arms over him. On his knees, his arms slid around me while
he cried. As I stroked his hair and held him tight, I knew this night had
struck a chord at the heart of his pain. What tormented Lucas went further than
the horror of that night eight years ago. What haunted him was guilt, however
insanely misplaced.

When he grew
quiet, I said, “I’ll stay tonight. Will you do something for me, too?”

He fought back his
instinctive wariness—I’d seen him do this before, but never from such close
range. He inhaled a shaky breath, shoring up his courage. “Yes. Whatever you
need.” His voice was gritty and hoarse. When his tongue rolled over his lip
ring, I wanted him so badly that it was difficult to waste time talking.

“Go with me to
Harrison’s concert tomorrow night? He’s my favorite eighth-grader, and I
promised him I’d go.”

He arched a brow
and blinked. “Um. Okay. Is that all?”

I nodded again.

He shook his head
and stood, leveling the ghost smile on me. “I’m going to grab a couple of ice
packs from the freezer. Why don’t you go get in bed?”

I stood, laying my
hand on his chest and staring up at him. “Is that a dare?”

He laid one hand
over mine and pulled me closer with the other. Leaning down, he kissed me
gently. “It absolutely is. No falling out of it allowed, though.”

Chapter 27

The middle-school auditorium was
packed with camcorder-wielding parents, bored siblings, and a smattering of
grandparents. Skirting around clusters of people standing in the aisle, Lucas
and I took aisle seats halfway between the stage and the back exit doors. I
glanced down at the photocopied holiday green program. Harrison was in the highest
orchestra, which meant it would be a while before he was onstage. I gave
lessons to two of the other boys in the lower orchestras, though, and I’d never
had the chance to see any of them actually perform. I was nervous on all of
their accounts.

I leaned close to
Lucas so no parents would overhear. “I should probably warn you that many of
these kids have only been playing a few months—especially in the first
orchestra—so they might be a little… inexpert.”

The corner of his
mouth turned up, and I wanted to lean up and kiss him, but I didn’t.

“Is that your
polite way of saying to prepare for some nails-on-a-chalkboard sounds?” he
asked.

I heard Harrison’s
voice then from a roped-off section on the right side of the auditorium. “Miss
Wallace!” I searched for him amongst a sea of black polyester-tuxedoed boys,
and girls with ankle-length school-color purple dresses. I located his blond
head about the same time he noticed Lucas sitting next to me. His wave froze
and his eyes widened. When I smiled and lifted my hand, he waved back once,
dolefully.

“I take it this is
one of the ones crushing on you.” Lucas stared down at the boot balanced on his
knee, scratching at a worn seam and trying not to laugh.

“What? They
all
crush on me. I’m a hot college girl, remember?” I laughed and his eyes burned
into mine.

He leaned in close
and whispered into my ear. “
So
hot. Now you’ve got me thinking what you
looked like this morning, when I woke up with you in my arms, in my bed. Would
it be too greedy to ask you to stay tonight, too?”

My face warmed
from his compliment as I met his gaze. “I was afraid you weren’t going to ask.”

He took my hand
and held it, balanced on my thigh, as the orchestra director took the stage.

An hour and a half
later, Harrison found me at the back of the auditorium. He was holding a
cluster of long-stemmed red roses, the color of which were identical to the
blotchy, embarrassed shade of his face.

“I wanted to give
you these,” he stammered, thrusting the flowers into my arms. His parents stood
about fifteen feet away, allowing him to deliver his gift alone.

I took the roses
and smelled them as he shifted a cursory look at Lucas. “Thank you, Harrison. These
are beautiful. You made me so proud tonight—your vibrato was awesome.”

He grinned and
tried not to, which gave him a sort of manic appearance. “It’s all ’cause of
you, though.”

I shook my head. “You
did the work, and put in the practice.”

He shifted from
one foot to the other.

“You sounded
great, man. I wish I could play an instrument,” Lucas said.

Harrison eyed him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, frowning. Even though my student was taller than me, he
was lanky next to Lucas’s filled-out frame. “Did that hurt? On your lip?”

Lucas shrugged.
“Not too much. I said a few choice four-letter words, though.”

Harrison smiled. “Cool.”

***

As we lay in the semi-dark hours
later, we faced each other, sharing his pillow. I took a deep breath and prayed
I wasn’t about to drive Lucas away again. I’d never felt more connected to
anyone.

“What’d you think of Harrison?”

He studied me closely. “He seems like a good kid.”

I nodded. “He is.” I trailed my fingers along the side of his face, and he pulled me closer.

“What’s this about?” He smirked. “Are you leaving me for Harrison, Jacqueline?”

Watching his eyes, I asked, “If Harrison had been in that parking lot that night, instead of you,
do you think he’d have wanted to help me?”

His eyes locked to mine. He didn’t respond.

“If someone had told him to watch out for me, do you think they would ever, ever blame him, if
he’d not been able to stop what would have happened that night?”

He exhaled harshly. “I know what you’re trying to say—”

“No, Lucas. You’re
hearing it, but you don’t know it. There’s no way your father actually expected
that of you. There’s no way he even remembers saying that to you. He blames
himself, and you blame yourself, but neither of you is to blame.”

His eyes filled
and he swallowed heavily, his grip on me hard. “I’ll never forget how she sounded
that night.” His voice was choked with tears. “How can I not blame myself?”

My tears spilled
over onto the pillow between us. “Lucas, think about Harrison. See yourself for
the boy you were, and quit blaming him for not stopping something a grown man
might have been unable to stop. What have you told me, over and over?
It
wasn’t your fault
. You need to talk to someone, and figure out how to
forgive yourself for responsibility your mother never would have wanted you to
accept. Will you try? Please?”

He brushed my
tears from my face. “How did I find you?”

I shook my head. “Maybe
I’m exactly where I should be after all.”

Epilogue

“I’m going to miss you so much. I
can’t believe you’re leaving me.” Erin plopped next to me on the Heller’s sofa.
Lucas’s graduation party was a backyard cookout, and we were escaping the heat
and humidity for a few precious, air-conditioned minutes.

I leaned my head
on her tan shoulder. “Why don’t you go with me?”

She laughed and
leaned her head on top of mine. “That’s as silly of an idea as you staying
here. You have to go do your great things, and I have to stay here and do mine.
That doesn’t mean it doesn’t
suck
, though.”

I’d applied to
three music conservatories for transfer in the fall. None of it felt real until
after the audition that I nailed at Oberlin—my top choice—and the email I received
a couple of weeks ago, notifying me that I’d been accepted.

“Yeah, I guess you
need to stay here and keep an eye on Chaz, too.”

Erin’s opposition
to Chaz’s breakup-reversal efforts ended on Valentine’s Day, when he’d shown up
with reservations for “their” B&B, after having flowers delivered every day
for two weeks, turning our dorm room into a hothouse. With Erin’s help, Chaz
had weathered his ex-best friend’s impending rape trial—and the associated
rumors and innuendoes. Buck’s recent pre-trial plea bargain for a lesser
assault charge was a relief to everyone, though he probably wouldn’t serve half
of his two-year sentence.

Through the open
French doors, we watched our boyfriends talking in the back yard. They’d never
be best friends, but they got along well, as opposite as they appeared.

Lucas had been so
sure, when he’d encouraged me to apply for transfer into music performance
programs, that we would be fine. He was still sure, and I believed him, but
that didn’t mean I wanted a two-year long-distance relationship. Dead-set
against me making an academic decision based on his plans, he wouldn’t accept
me staying, and he wouldn’t tell me where he’d applied or interviewed for jobs.

 “I won’t ask you
to give up what you want for me, Jacqueline.”

“But I want
you
,”
I’d mumbled, knowing he was right; I had no logical defense. In some ways, he
was his father’s son.

Ray Maxfield had
become one of my favorite people. Lucas had taken me home over spring break,
and I’d never seen him more nervous. For some reason, though, his father and I
hit it off. I could see Lucas’s tutor persona in him—his dry sense of humor and
intelligence. The night before we left, Ray rummaged through the beach house attic
and brought down a trio of framed watercolors of a small boy playing on the seashore.
Rosemary had signed the paintings of her only child in the corners of each—
Rosemary
Lucas Maxfield
. We’d hung them in Lucas’s bedroom, over his desk.