Little Miss Red (12 page)

He sat back in his chair and swiped at the lock of hair that kept flopping over his left eye. “Okay, I’m gonna be straight with you, Red,” he sighed. “Not all of them are just friends. Some are a little…
more
than friends.”

I nodded, hoping I looked a lot stronger than I felt.

He slumped down in his chair. “I don’t know what it is about you, Red. Even though we just met, I feel like I can tell you this and you’re not going to think I’m a horrible person. It’s like I know you’ll accept me no matter what.”

If that wasn’t the definition of soul mates, I didn’t know what was. But was this the part where he was going to tell me that he had recently escaped from prison, like Manuel,
the Chilean revolutionary who Devon fell in love with in
Tortured by Tumult
?

“Here’s the thing,” he continued. “I’m like a stray dog. As long as the door stays open, I’m always going to come back. But the minute it starts to close?” A sad look came over his face as he shook his head. “I start to freak. And I bolt.” He raked his hand through his hair and shot a quick glance at the blonde. “I’ve been doing a lot of work on it in therapy, but my shrink says when a pattern’s been ingrained so deep, it doesn’t change overnight.”

I gasped. Forget the stray dog part. “Omigod—you’re in
therapy
? That’s so great!”

If he was in therapy, that meant he could
change
! He could stop being a stray dog and turn into one of those super-loyal dogs that never left your side, because they were so grateful you had rescued them from being put to sleep!

The blonde got up to leave and winked at Jack as she walked by. I swore he winked back.

“Jack, are you flirting with her?” I asked. He couldn’t have been, right?

“What?! Of course not. She just looks a lot like my cousin Luanne who passed away from leukemia a few years ago.” He sighed. “They say time heals, but not a day goes by that I don’t think about her.”

I melted. He was so loyal—and Luanne was just his
cousin
. He was so in touch with his emotions. I could only imagine how horrible he’d feel if his soul mate died.

He slumped down in his chair again. “You’re lucky, being able to stay in a relationship for a long time like you did.” He sighed. “You’re so…
normal
. But me?” He sighed. “I don’t know…once those fireworks stop popping I’m outta there. It’s a problem.”

I sat back in my chair and pushed my hat up.

He had no idea how alike we really were.

The flight to West Palm Beach was turbulence- and drama-free. At least on the outside. All the drama was in my head, with my worrying about how to tell Michael to forget the pause button (I wanted to push the stop button) and trying to figure out what I was going to wear when Jack and I “hung out” the next night. (“‘Date’ is such a…four-letter word, Red,” Jack had said.)

But after we landed and Jack and I made our way out into the baggage claim area, my stomach started twisting into knots like a balloon animal. Next to going to the doctor, Grandma Roz’s favorite hobby was pointing out people’s faults. I highly doubted she would be able to see Jack’s true essence, underneath his longish hair and pizza-stained black T-shirt. Not the way I did. By the time I saw her standing next to the luggage carousel in a purple velour tracksuit that made her look like a giant grape, I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up.

Was I going to have to choose between my soul mate
and my family like Devon did in
Anguished by Amour
when her churchgoing parents threatened to disown her after she started living with the Hollywood movie director before his divorce was final?

I gazed at Jack as he stopped to switch his carry-on to his other shoulder, and I realized that if it came down to that…well, I was in too deep to
not
choose him. I fiddled nervously with my Chunnels. I only hoped it didn’t get too ugly and that at least Jeremy would still talk to me.

Grandma Roz squinted at the two of us as we got closer. “Sophie? Is that you?” she yelled.

“Uh huh.”

“What are you wearing those ridiculous sunglasses for inside?” she demanded once we were in front of her. “They’re so dark you’re going to trip and break your neck!” She pointed to my cowboy hat. “And that
meshuga
hat? You think you’re going to a dude ranch?”

“Hi, Grandma,” I sighed. “It’s nice to see you.” I held my breath as I leaned in to hug her. Ever since I could remember she had smelled like a combination of Lysol and sardines.

After she let me go, she looked around. “Where are the candelabras?” she asked, panicked.

“Dad boxed them up and I checked them.”

“You checked them! The family heirlooms?!” She clutched at her chest. “Oy, my heart. I know your father doesn’t think I was a good mother, but does he hate me so
much he wants to
kill
me?” Her eyes narrowed. “At least tell me he used Bubble Wrap and peanuts.”

“He did.”

“And where’s the lox and whitefish?” she demanded.

I pointed to my carry-on. “In here.”

“Ahhh…so
that’s
what I was smelling!” Jack said.

I was so busy being terrified of my grandmother that I almost forgot Jack was there. She turned toward him. “Who are you?”

“Grandma, this is my friend Jack,” I said in my best granddaughter voice. I figured “friend” would go over a lot better than “soul mate.” “We met on the plane,” I added.

She grabbed his arm and yanked it toward her face for a better look. “Is that a tattoo?” she demanded.

“Ah, yes, ma’am,” he replied nervously. I hadn’t seen Jack flustered before. Seeing another layer of him made me like him even more.

She turned to me. “He must not be Jewish,” she sniffed, “because if he were, he’d know that he can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery now.”

I was so mortified I wanted to climb on the luggage carousel and disappear around the corner.

“No, ma’am—I’m not Jewish,” Jack admitted. “I was raised Episcopalian, but I have always very much admired those of the Jewish faith because of their strength of character and everything they’ve been forced to endure and overcome in history.” I couldn’t stop my mouth from falling
open. It was like someone had implanted a book report chip in Jack’s brain.

Grandma Roz nodded. “You’re darn right,” she agreed. Her eyes narrowed again. “You have an accent. Where are you from?”

“Pointed Fork, Arkansas, ma’am,” he said proudly.

“Arkansas? Not a lot of good delicatessens there, I bet.”

Jack chuckled. “No, ma’am. There’s not.” He turned to me. “Sophie, you told me all about how smart and beautiful your grandmother was, but you forgot to mention she was funny too.”

No wonder he was able to get so many girls’ phone numbers.

Grandma Roz snorted. “Get out of town.”

“Believe me, I may not have been an A-plus student in school,” he said, “but one subject I sure aced was being able to spot and appreciate a gorgeous woman.”

Grandma Roz turned so red she was almost as purple as her outfit. “Well, back in the day maybe I turned some heads, but now I’m an old woman who’s about to die any minute.”

“Old?!” hooted Jack. “I swear, as we were walking up, if Sophie hadn’t told me you were her grandmother, I would’ve thought you were her
mother
.”

For the first time in my sixteen years on the planet, the I-have-a-lemon-stuck-in-my-mouth look left Grandma
Roz’s face. It would be pushing it to say she was pretty at that moment, but at least she resembled one of those nice, sweet grandmothers I had read about in fairy tales, like in “Little Red Riding Hood” or something—the kind whose idea of quality time with her only granddaughter would be shopping at Loehmann’s or baking cookies rather than forcing her to read the numbers on the digital blood pressure cuff and look at brochures of burial plots.

She slapped him lightly on the arm. “Oh, stop joshing,” she snorted.

Jack rubbed his arm. “No, I’m
serious
,” he said.

She stared at him for a second before the
teensiest
hint of a smile crossed her face. It was so subtle that most people would say she looked as grumpy and annoyed as always, but because I had spent my life waiting for it to appear, there was no way I would have missed it.

If there had been any doubt that Jack cared for me, this attempt to win my family over sealed the deal. It was like when the carpenter who was really an heir to a mining fortune built Devon’s half-sister new shelving units for her double-wide trailer in
Engulfed by Exaltation.

A loud honk signaling the arrival of the luggage sounded. “Come on, let’s hustle,” said Grandma Roz. “I don’t want anyone trying to steal those candelabras.”

She was only five foot two, but Grandma Roz bulldozed through the crowd like she was a ginormous football player. “So Jack, why are you in Florida?” she demanded once we
got near the carousel and were waiting for the box to come out. The smile was gone, and she was back to resembling a detective on a TV show.

“I’m here to pick up a motorcycle I bought on eBay, ma’am. A 1970 Triumph T 120 R Bonneville 650.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Two- or four-cylinder engine?”

“Two,” he replied, surprised.

She nodded approvingly. “Makes for a much smoother ride.”

Jack and I looked at each other. “Um, Grandma? How do you know about motorcycle engines?” I asked.

She sighed and her eyes glazed over. “It was 1976. Your grandfather had decided he wanted a little break—”

I gasped in recognition. “He pushed the pause button on your relationship?”

She nodded. “He sure did. And I ended up taking your father to Paris for the summer. I think he was twelve at the time.”

“You’ve been to Paris?” I said. Up until that moment I didn’t think she had ever been anywhere other than Scarsdale, New York—where she raised my dad—and Delray Beach.

She nodded. “Italy too.” A faraway look came over her face and she sighed again. “His name was Jean-Pierre.”

“Whose name was Jean-Pierre?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes and turned back into the grandmother I knew and feared. “The man who took me on the
bike,” she replied slowly, as if I was in remedial reading. But that dazed look returned to her face. “We zipped around the streets of Paris, with my arms wrapped tightly around his waist—”

“Okay, we get the picture,” I said. Obviously, I wanted to hear the story, but this was getting uncomfortable.

“The wind blowing through my long blonde hair—” she continued.

“Your hair was blonde?” I said. Ever since I could remember, Grandma Roz’s hair had resembled a gray Brillo Pad.

She shot me a look. “I wasn’t always an old lady, you know,” she said.

“I bet you were a real looker back then, ma’am,” said Jack. “Not that you’re not
still
one.”

She turned to me. “He’s very nice, this Jack. You always did have good taste in friends, Sophie. Except for that girl with the boy’s name—the one who dresses like she’s a soldier.”

“Jordan,” I replied. “But getting back to Jean-Pierre—what happened?” I asked impatiently. I couldn’t believe my grandmother had what Lulu always called a “torrid past.” It was just like in
Decimated by Devotion
when Devon found a trunk full of faded tabloid articles in her parents’ attic about an “unidentified, raven-headed vixen seen canoodling” with a “very married” box office star and figured out the raven-headed vixen was
her own mother
.

“Enough about Jean-Pierre. That was a long time ago,” she said.

A big cardboard box came sliding down the chute. The words on its side read,
FRAGILE!!!! FAMILY HEIRLOOMS INSIDE!!!!! EXTREMELY VALUABLE WITH GREAT SENTIMENTAL VALUE!!!!

“There it is!” Grandma Roz yelled. As a giant suitcase followed and slammed into it, she clutched at her chest. “Oy, I don’t know if my heart can take this,” she moaned.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” Jack said as he pushed his way toward the front. Unfortunately, every time he lunged for the box, he missed it, which is why we had to wait for it to come around again.

“Here you go,” he said a few minutes later, out of breath, as he placed the box carefully at Grandma Roz’s feet.

She whipped out a Swiss Army knife and in an instant cut through the layers of packing tape Dad had slapped on there. As Styrofoam peanuts flew up in the air, she lifted out one of the candelabras and examined it. With its eight arms it looked like a very skinny octopus. “Oy, thank God it’s all right.” She clutched her heart again. “The relief could kill me.” She turned to Jack. “Oh, Jack, how can I thank you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “All I did was grab the box.”

“Yes, but who knows the damage that could’ve been done if you hadn’t gotten it when you did.” She patted his cheek and turned to me. “He’s a good boy, this Jack.” She
turned back to him and gave what was probably the first sweet smile I had ever seen on her face. “So where are you staying while you’re here, Jack?”

His stomach rumbled. “Whoops—sorry about that. Guess I’m a little hungry.”

Before the “-gry” had even made its way out of his mouth, Grandma had her pleather designer knockoff bag open and was shoving ziplock bags full of Goldfish, dates, and Fiber One cereal at him. “Of course you’re hungry—all that heavy lifting! Here, eat! Eat! It’s the least I can do to thank you!”

I knew that Jack had won her over completely. While most grandmothers are always shoving food at people, Grandma Roz held on to her snacks as if a giant earthquake was going to arrive any second and wipe out all the grocery stores. The last time I was at her house I had caught her counting the cookies in the pantry and writing down the figure on a notepad.

“Aw, you’re sweet, but I couldn’t take your snacks, ma’am.”

He couldn’t? He had taken all of mine on the plane.

“Of course you can!” she boomed. “And enough of this ‘ma’am’
mishegas
—it’s Roz to you!” I had never seen her take to anyone like this. Not even family.
Especially
not family.

“Thanks, Roz,” he replied. With a shrug, he took all three bags and started tearing into them. “Trip came about
so quick I didn’t have enough time to look into a motel room or anything,” he said, munching on some Fiber One. “I’m sure I’ll find something.” He sighed. “I just hope it’s not too expensive, because I’m really trying to watch my pennies. Save up for a new amp.”