From Where I Watch You (26 page)

I nod and try to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. No, actually, I didn’t know he had a thing for me. What the hell? Why couldn’t he have told me this a couple of months ago? I would’ve been his. And why didn’t Noelle tell me she liked him? No wonder she’s so nasty to him—he must’ve turned her down.

His eyes are soft and I’ve never seen him look at me this way. I bite my lip because I couldn’t feel like a bigger bitch. Kellen did this kind of thing and she bragged about it, how fun it was to play guys, tease and torture them and wind them up and then shut them down with nothing. I don’t understand how she could get a thrill out of being so insensitive.

“Hey, Westcott! You coming?” Some guy across the street calls out.

He grabs my shoulders and leans close to me. “When you change your mind, Kara, I’m yours. Now get inside and take care, okay?” He kisses me quickly and jogs across the street.

I LIE IN BED
shivering because I can’t get warm enough. The cold may have a little to do with it but not a minute passes without me remembering the attack. I replay it in my mind, trying to figure out who the guy was. But I get nowhere so I start thinking about Charlie.

I love him.

I know it. I love him, and I pushed him away because I can’t deal with my life. I can’t deal with my stalker anymore either—he’s dangerous, and I can’t go another day without telling someone. I’d like to believe Noelle would understand and help me, but I’m not sure.

Charlie has to be the one I tell.

But what if he doesn’t listen? What if he doesn’t believe me? I barely believe me. It makes no sense. Since that summer, and since Kellen died, I’ve kept to myself for the most part, so I can’t understand why anyone would be interested in me.

Charlie will help because he always does. Tomorrow I’ll tell him everything and maybe he’ll take me back. And maybe then he’ll tell me the truth about what he’s been hiding, too.

27.
Let it rest.

..........................................................

I rush through the courtyard to the Arts building. The wind blows so hard I wouldn’t be able to hear anyone following me anyway. All day I’ve practiced what I’m going to say to Charlie when I see him. Mr. King has cut me some slack since I came home from the contest, letting me reorganize stuff and categorize his favorite recipes for future projects.

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Kara,” he said my first day back. “Second place in a national baking contest is nothing to feel bad about! Not to mention your thousand-dollar scholarship from Snowflake, although I think they could’ve given you more than that. Anyway, the school newspaper wants to interview you about the contest.”

I appreciate his kindness, but he doesn’t understand that for me, he’s wrong. It doesn’t matter—second place means nothing. There’s no second place free ride. He doesn’t understand why I can’t talk about it.

Now I sit at his desk, pushing aside a can of Coke, a giant 7-Eleven coffee, and an unopened Red Bull. No wonder he practically flies around the room.

“Kara,” he says, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Fetch the mail from the office for me?”

I nod and head for the door, not eager to go through the courtyard again. Or the empty halls. I can’t see anyone watching so I run through the courtyard, expecting any moment to feel hands clawing at my back.

I make it in, and the hallway is long and empty.

Except for my sister.

Kellen moves down the hall as if she’s a student, disappearing around the corner to the office. I run the rest of the way, looking for her, but when I get to the office, she’s gone.

“Mr. King’s mail,” I tell the substitute secretary breathlessly. The office smells like an overheated copier and chicken soup heated in the microwave. My eyes dart around for a sign of my sister. The sub hands me the mail and when I turn around, I’m facing the big window that has the best view of the parking lot and of students like Mason and Noelle, who like to sneak off campus for lunch.

Someone walks through the parking lot, away from the school. A guy. But I can’t see his face.

On his head he wears a dark beanie and a big puffy vest over some kind of flannel jacket.

I whirl around. “Excuse me, was that guy in here?” I point at his back, hoping she’ll see him before he disappears behind cars.

“Oh yes, dear. He was just checking to make sure his brother made it to school. Apparently they had a fight last night and he was worried and wanted to make sure he was okay.”

It takes a second for her words to register but I’m not sure why. They are leading me somewhere, but the thought vanishes before I can connect it. “Oh, so is his brother here today?”

“You know, it’s funny because I thought he wanted to see him. Instead he just wanted me to check attendance. I thought that was odd because if he was worried about his brother then why didn’t he ask me to call him down here so they could talk? Seems like the obvious thing to do.”

“What’s his name?”

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry, I’m just filling in today so I don’t remember. I probably shouldn’t be telling you anyway, given all the privacy laws we have nowadays. I—”

“What was his brother’s name?”

“Oh, dear, I don’t remember that either. I do know that he’s been in before. Just last week I filled in for Suzy and that nice young man was bringing his brother’s lunch. So sweet.”

I watch her, hoping she’ll give me something, but instead she grabs the clipboard off the counter and stares at it.

“Oh damn, and look how I forgot to have him sign in. Shoot! Well, that’s just our little secret okay, hon? I could get into trouble for that.”

I stare at her kind face, which is turning red now.

AN HOUR LATER I’M
still thinking about it, trying to figure out who the guy was, while I wait for Charlie to arrive for his shift.

I feel a weird kind of excitement about the relief I’ll feel sharing everything with someone after all these months. Telling someone has to make it better. It’s not like I expect the notes to stop just because I tell someone, but I won’t have to go through it alone anymore. And hopefully I can convince Charlie not to say a word about it to Mom—or anyone else.

Charlie rushes in the front door, his apron tossed over his shoulder. I try to catch his eye but he looks straight ahead without acknowledging me.

My heart squeezes in on itself for a second. This won’t be easy. I’m glad Jessica’s not here, but I better do it quick. I’m heading for the kitchen door when he comes back out.

“Hey,” he says.

The words I intend don’t come out. Nothing comes out.

“I asked your mom if we could go for a little walk before my shift starts.”

“Okay,” I say. Well, that was easy.

Charlie walks to the door and I follow. When we’re out on the sidewalk, his arm brushes mine.

The sky, whitish and heavy, looks like snow might fall. The wind brushes damp and frigid across my face. We walk past a row of tiny boutiques—wine, organic crap, and yarn. My old closet is bigger than any of these shops. The sidewalks are crowded and two people bump me while I wait for Charlie to speak first. I can’t help but remember last night. As if I’ll forget it anytime soon.

“Listen, Kara, I know I haven’t been straight with you. I’ve kept a few things from my past private.” He pauses. “I know you followed me home last night.”

I freeze. My whole body feels on fire with the embarrassment of being caught.

“You need to work on those ninja skills,” he continues, but his voice is soft and forgiving. “When I came out of Crockett’s, I saw you . . . and I saw you again outside the window. Sorry, I know that’s kind of creepy, but I didn’t know what else to do, since we haven’t really been talking much these days.”

Now I want to die. I keep quiet and let him talk.

“I’m sure you have questions?”

I nod.

Charlie jaywalks across the street and I follow him to the church. My face flushes as I follow him through the same door I entered on my spy mission. We walk down the stairs toward the source of light I saw last night. It all happens so fast, I feel as if I’m in a dream, as if time can shrink and expand like a sponge. The hallway outside is decorated with paper crosses obviously made by children.

Charlie opens a door a ways down the hall, the room where I peeped in on him.

“Are you becoming a priest?”

He chuckles. “No way.”

I stand in the doorway, watching him turn on the lamp and sit on his cot. He pats the space next to him. I figure I’ve come this far, so I might as well. For a minute we sit in silence together.

“Father Bill keeps asking if God is speaking to me, whether I have a vocation. I haven’t told him there’s this baker I know, and I like her a little too much.” He bumps my knee with his.

I could cry. Maybe my plan will work after all.

“Okay, here’s the thing. My mom died in an accident, hiking with my dad.”

I think of her again at school, always helping, or offering me another cupcake when mine fell on the floor. “I’m sorry, Charlie,” I whisper. “I didn’t know.”

Charlie looks down for a moment. “Yeah, no one did. I’m not sure if you remember when I left school. It was right before summer vacation. Mom and Dad went with friends to that cabin on Lake Chelan for the long weekend. I went camping with Cal’s family so I wasn’t there. Dad said she tripped on a root and fell down into a ravine.

“Two days later, Dad came home with a motor home and he said I had an hour to pack only what was truly important. Then we were on I-5, headed south to California. We camped in different places and eventually settled in a trailer park outside of Monterey.

“We were okay for a while and then Dad started acting weird, not himself. I figured it was because of losing Mom. Then one day he took off. Left me a little money and a note on the table, saying he had to go.

“I didn’t know what to do, I don’t have relatives close to me and I didn’t want to end up living with some weird aunt so I took the Greyhound back here and came right to Father Bill. He arranged for me to go to Kennedy, and now I live in the church basement for as long as I want. I have no idea where my dad is. So I guess I’m kind of an orphan.”

He scrunches his eyes and sort of massages his forehead. I feel stupid, not knowing how to help him, how to ease his pain and confusion.

“Now you know all my secrets,” he says. He smiles and I’m relieved for it. “And, Kara, I know it’s hard, but I want you to remember how we were in San Francisco. I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re ready.”

I nod and my eyes are closed, threatening tears. I swallow it back, stuffing it in because I can’t tell him about my problems right now.

He has to get back to work. It can wait till after his shift when we’ve got more time.

Nine-Year-Old Carrot

My sister is crying.

I look up at her window before I get into the car to head off to the lake cabin with Jen’s family. Kellen’s grounded because she got caught kissing a boy at school. Well, she didn’t exactly get caught. Gaby’s sister told Gaby, who told me. I sat on the information for half a day until Kellen called me a baby for crying over my broken goggles, even though I used all my allowance for them. And now she’s in big trouble because I told Mom.

She’s crying and her hand is pressed to the glass.

She hugged me before I left, telling me she’s worried I might drown in the lake and she won’t be there to rescue me.

My sister is crying because she’s worried about me.

She stops enough to fog up the window with her breath and then draws a heart.

Mom said Kellen knows that I’m the one who told on her.

28.
Put it on the rack.

..........................................................

The café is empty and since I have no customers I decide to run upstairs to grab my history book to study. But when I get to the top step I freeze.

A blue-gray envelope with droplets of purple and bloody red fibers is lying there.

I manage to get downstairs when I hear the bell above the door jingle. Somehow I am able to make lattes for a group of college kids. Afterwards I sink down to the cold floor by the cash register while I open the envelope. If anyone asked, I wouldn’t be able to offer a single detail of how I did it. Sort of like how I take the bus home from school some days and don’t really know how I made it home because I can’t remember a single detail of the trip.

My knuckles are white and I try not to shake while I read the words over and over. It’s like I’m seeing them but not really and maybe if I read them again, they’ll change, disappear and this won’t exist. The college crowd laughs, outside the Metro thunders by, and I smell coffee grounds and bleach. My left hand presses into the dirty crumbs and bits on the floor, while the other holds the note so I can read it again.

Do you know where I watch you?

You’re just a fuckin’ baby, Kara.