Has to Be Love (3 page)

I half expect Dad to jump away, but he holds his own until he clears his throat and turns back to the table.

“Thank you, Sukiniq. I think I've got it all set.” Dad's inability to use the short version of her name is just … so very
him.

“Dinner's in five.” I reach for the noodles, but Mr. Kennedy is already draining them in the sink, holding the pot with a surprisingly muscular set of arms for an English teacher.

I glance away before he sees me staring, pour the sauce into a serving bowl, and hope I'm able to relax at some point during dinner. And then Mr. Kennedy does what I do and tosses the noodles with olive oil, salt, pepper, and garlic. I mean, I had them set out, but he's totally encroaching on
my
thing.

“Oh. Sorry.” He stops and stares at the bowl. “I saw the ingredients, and I just did that, and—”

“It's how I make them too. It's fine.” Our eyes catch again—and “catch” is the absolute perfect word because I was going for a quick glance across his face, but I got stuck at the blue. My heart skips and acts in a ridiculous manner for an organ that's supposed to be keeping me alive. My mind is racing, going over my totally bizarre reaction to someone I've barely spoken ten words to. This is so … weird. He's a teacher and someone I don't know.

I start for the bowl to take it to the table, but I'm stopped by Mr. Kennedy.

“I got it.” He reaches through my arms to take the dish. I'm stuck with what is probably an odd expression. It must be odd because I can't feel my face in this moment. “I like to be in the kitchen. No worries.”

“I'll …” But my throat still isn't working so I cough a few times. “Be there in a sec,” I croak as I spin around to get the sauce. Seriously, what is with me? He's just a
person.

Voices carry from the dining room—Dad, Suki, and Ms. Bellings.

I pick up the bowl of bread in one hand and the sauce in the other and walk slowly toward the table. I set down the food, and my eyes hit Mr. Kennedy's again. He gives me a relaxed smile, and I think my lips twitch as I
try
to smile, but I'm not positive.

When I take my seat, Dad asks us to stop for a moment of thanks before dishing up.

He might be a little overzealously religious since Mom died, but when we have guests over, he's really nice about just giving us all a moment of silence instead of going through the long list of people and things he likes to include in his prayers.

Dad knows he'll see Mom again after this life because we believe in forever-marriages instead of just-for-this-life marriages, so Dad clings to every part of religion he can. I have to admire his dedication, even when it gets in the way of my appetite. Or my sanity.

I close my eyes and start a prayer,
Dear Heavenly Father …
but nothing comes. I'm all nerves over having a Columbia student here and from worrying about whether or not I did a good job with the spaghetti and wishing Elias could have come.

When Dad says thank you, everyone digs in at once, which is how he likes things in our house, and he gives me a wink from the opposite side of the table. Rhodes Kennedy is across from me and Ms. Bellings is to my left, putting Suki very close to Dad at the end of the table.

Mr. Kennedy pulls out spaghetti noodles with two forks, his eyes on his food. “So what do you want to do with your writing?” He spoons out sauce, licks his fingers, and shoves a large bite of spaghetti into his mouth.

“Oh, I'm …” I trail off. My dream of dreams is too big to be spoken out loud.

“She's full of talent.” Dad smiles wide. “I have no doubt she'll put it to good use.”

I look down again because I have no idea how to take compliments—even when they come from such a biased source.

“Some of her poems I don't quite get, but I think that has to do with age more than anything else.” Dad gives me another wink.

“I think they're fantastic.” Suki smiles.

Ms. Bellings shifts in her seat. “I meant to ask you if I could send some of your writing to Rhodes, but I figured it was okay when I knew you wanted to apply to Colum—”

“It's fine,” I interrupt. “Totally fine.”

Dad knows I applied to Columbia, but he doesn't know it's
the
school. He thought it was more of an exercise to see if I could get in. It was more than that. And I made it. My heart speeds up in nervous anticipation of what that acceptance means. I'm not ready to make decisions that big—not until I can't think past my scars. And not until I can figure out if it's even possible for Dad to send me to one of the most expensive schools in the country.

“Well.” Dad wipes his mouth. “You nailed it again, honey. Worth keeping a little red wine around the house just for this.”

I nod, trying to relax my throat to swallow and to push away the nerves of too many big decisions about school and scars and life.

Mr. Kennedy's eyes find mine again and I stop breathing.

Dear Heavenly Father: Why did you have to make his eyes so perfectly blue? You've put him at a totally unfair advantage and me at a severe disadvantage because I'm bound to say something stupid tonight. He's a teacher. Teachers aren't supposed to mess with my head this way. I'm also not supposed to notice someone who isn't Elias.

“This is the best spaghetti I've ever had,” Mr. Kennedy says.

“Just like her momma.” Dad spins his fork on his plate. “Don't know what I'd do without my girl.”

Five years since Mom died, and I really think he'll be okay. Me? I'm still on the fence.

Ms. Bellings starts to talk, and I really do try to listen, but I'm staring at Dad and Suki. I watch them for a moment—or more than a moment since the wooden walls in the background come in and out of focus as they exchange smiles. The lingering smile exchange is maybe new too. Huh.

“So, Clara will be a big help to you there as well,” Ms. Bellings finishes with a smile.

“What?” I sputter.

Mr. Kennedy's clear blues are on me. “The production?”

“Oh.” I'm still staring. This is definitely too much staring at his eyes. I can't seem to stop. “Yeah. I'm the stage manager.”

He smirks. “We covered that.”

Oh. Brilliant.

His gaze is still on me, unflinching.

I'm convinced in this moment that he knows everything about me. That I stole gum from the store once and never told. And if my bra and panties don't match in some way, I feel weird all day. And I have to have a pillow under my arm to sleep. I miss my mom more than I've told Elias or Dad or anyone, even though there are days when I can barely remember her face. He sees me. The depths, the … everything. I can't remember the last time I felt so exposed.

Get your head back on, Clara. Seriously.

“So, Mr. Kennedy,” I start, having zero idea how to finish, but knowing I do not want to just sit and stare like the village idiot.

“When we're not at school, you can call me Rhodes. I'm young. Only sort of a teacher. It's short-lived, and your dad has already told me I'm required to eat at least two meals a week with you while I'm here.” He gives me a half smile as he twirls the spaghetti onto his fork. “Also, it's still weird to be called Mr. Kennedy.”

“Oh.” That's all I can manage right now.

“You were going to ask me something?”

“I don't remember.” I shove another large bite in my mouth.

Rhodes looks over my shoulder out the large window. “I thought it was light all the time.”

“It's only April,” I say, glancing behind me at the slowly dimming light. “By May it'll be light enough to read all night, just not yet.”

He rests his elbows on the table. “And it gets warmer, right? Because if your days don't get warmer than forty-five, I'm going to need to buy a few more sweaters.” He chuckles.

I nod. “A little, yeah.”

“Probably depends a bit on my definition of warm, eh?” He shoves another large bite into his mouth.

“And the wind, because when it blows down from the glacier, our warm days cool down fast.”

“And get dusty,” Dad adds. “That glacial silt gets into everything.”

Rhodes blinks a few times, and I wonder if he had any idea what he was getting into when he decided to teach here.

“Dinner was good. I'm impressed”—Ms. Bellings sets down her napkin—“but not surprised.”

“My mom was a good cook.” I stand, clear off the sauté pan, head for the kitchen, and set it next to the sink. Little things like my cooking and spending time in our barn make me feel like Mom could walk around the corner any moment, even though she won't. And when I talk about Mom or think about Mom, my heart feels like someone's shoved it in a box that's a size too small.

“Clara?” Dad sits back in his chair. “I'll handle the dishes tonight. Why don't you show Mr. Kennedy the barn before he heads for home?”

I glance toward Ms. Bellings, sort of hoping she seems interested, but she and Suki are totally absorbed in a conversation revolving around the university where Suki teaches.

“Sure.” I pull in a breath, stretching out my chest so nothing feels squeezed or pinched anymore. I need to feed the horses anyway, so all I have to do is try to keep focused.
Focus. Focus.
I should be able to manage that.

3

Rhodes follows me up the trail at the edge of the forest to the wooden barn behind the house. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and try to take a deep breath. I'm seriously being ridiculous.
Totally
ridiculous. Like girls who swoon over boy bands ridiculous. He's an older guy that I just met. That's all.

“So, do you guys stay up all night in the summer?” he asks. “Because of the light?”

“Sometimes.” I'm not sure how different our nights could possibly be just because it's light.

His gaze scans the tall trees around us. The path to the barn is wide enough for two cars to go side by side, but it cuts through the trees, giving the trail a kind of private feeling.

“Do you worry about bears?”

My answer gets stuck in my throat before I cough it out. “Yep. Especially this time of year.”

His eyes scan the woods more thoroughly.

“Where are you from?” I ask. Totally safe question.

“Everywhere. My dad is career Air Force. I was born in Germany and spent most of my childhood there. We were in Italy for a while and then moved back to the States when I was in high school. California.”

So many places. In seventeen years, I've been here and to Seattle. “Wow.”

“It's given me a severe case of wanderlust, which is why I'm up here.”

Wanderlust is something I only half understand. Going to Seattle still feels like another world. “Oh.”

I tap my back pocket. Notebook still there. But the double check gives me something to do while we walk.

After I slide open the large barn door and step inside, Snoopy sticks his black and white head over the stall door, shoving his nose into my face.

“So, is everyone up here into the outdoorsy stuff?” Rhodes asks. “Do you have a raft? Or do you know someone who could take me down the river? Is it too cold to swim? Can we fish on the river, or is that just certain times of the year?”

I let out a slight laugh. “I'm not really sure what to answer first.”

“Sorry,” he says as he follows me into the barn. “I really want to experience being here, you know?”

No, I don't know. “Yes, tons of people have rafts. Elias has a really nice one. We only jump into the river briefly. The current is strong enough to keep you under with or without a lifejacket. The water will also give you hypothermia in minutes because the river is glacier fed. And fishing doesn't open on our river until sometime in July, I think, but lakes are always open.”

“The canyon here is deep,” he says. “I guess I should have expected the glacier thing.”

“We can hike that too, if you want.” What am I saying? Did I just offer to take my teacher out?

“The
glacier?”
he asks.

“The glacier isn't nearly as cool as it sounds. It's about a four-mile hike from the road, and most of where you can hike on the glacier is covered in dirt. We can hike up to where the snow and ice are clean, so I guess it's a little cool, but the crevasses get dangerous fast. There's a zip-line place up the highway too. It's pretty fun unless you're afraid of heights.”

“So. Wild. Hiking on a glacier. And a definite yes to zip-lining.” His smile widens and his eyes are on me for another moment before he looks around the inside of the barn. Rhodes's eyes follow the same trail that everyone's do. Over the horse stalls and tack room. Then his gaze travels up to the loft, which is half open to below. He looks a lot more like a student than a teacher in this moment.

“This is cool,” he says. “I'm sorry. My thoughts are all over the place. I love being somewhere new.”

I can't imagine loving to travel the way he does, but maybe with a fixed face, traveling won't feel so out of reach.

I shove the measuring can into the large bin of oats and dump a canful into each of the feed buckets. Keeping busy around someone my body's reacting to is probably smart. “Dad built it with Mom when I was a baby. Just after building the house.”

“You've lived here a long time.”

“My whole life.”

“You're going to college, right?” He leans against Snoopy's stall, and my horse immediately shoves his nose in Rhodes's hand. He grabs Snoopy's upper lip and tugs, playing my horse's favorite game.

“Why do you ask?” I grab a few flakes of hay and start tossing them over the tops of the stalls, wondering where Rhodes was when he got acquainted with horses.

“Everybody should get out of their comfort zone once in a while. And if you want to be a writer, like my aunt said, I don't think you'll get the teaching you need up here.”