Never Enough (26 page)

“You looked worried when I left, and I just wanted to make sure you knew I was okay. They say that if I gain a proper body image and learn how to think in terms of a healthy lifestyle, I won’t need to be here too long.”

I wondered about her stomach problems, but she hadn’t talked to me this nicely and openly in so long, I didn’t want to say anything that might change that. Besides, if they were talking about sending her home, she must be physically healthy enough.

“That’s great, Claire.” A smile spread across my face. Mom was following me around trying to figure out what we were talking about. I’m sure Claire said the words “body image” thirty times in our short conversation, and soon, because someone else wanted the phone on her end, it was time to go.

Mom’s shoulders slumped when I said good-bye and hung up. “Oh, um . . .” I motioned to the handset. “She had to go.” To try to brighten her mood, I added, “It sounds like she’s doing really well, though.”

Mom changed the subject, I suspected because she felt jilted. “I’m off this weekend, Loann. Why don’t we go shopping for school clothes.” It sounded like more of a decision than a question.

“I’m working with Marcus.”

“Can’t Marcus hold down the fort for one day, honey?”

Who knew how many shifts I’d have left working with Marcus? Every day for the past week, he had been applying for different jobs around town. We didn’t talk about it much, and I sure wasn’t about to talk about it with Mom, who already seemed to have a problem with him. “It’s really busy on weekends, Mom,” I said. “This is my job.” And besides,
shopping?
She didn’t even try to pick an art gallery, or a restaurant, or something I would like.

She sighed loudly. I felt bad for her, I really did. But she’d never acted chummy with me before, and I wasn’t about to play fill-in for her favorite offspring.

I skirted up the stairs before she could try to make me feel guilty.

*   *   *

After Marcus had opened up about his dad, he and I talked a lot more at the Arts Club. Never around other people, but the moment we were alone, it was as if that one incident had been a lump he had cleared from his throat.

“I can trade a guy down the street: some lawn mowing and odd jobs for his old Camaro.” Marcus still didn’t talk about his parents very often, but he liked to talk about cars. That subject he could utter two or even three sentences in a row about. I wasn’t into cars, but I let him go on because I liked the sound of his deep voice, and his face lit up when he talked about them,
as though he’d brought in half of the sunshine from outside.

He kept on about this Camaro. Apparently it didn’t run, so I thought he was crazy to use up all his extra time on it. I tried to keep my mouth buttoned shut, but the arguments came tumbling out anyway. “Why waste your time? Don’t you think you’re going to be busy enough with another job?”

Of course, what I was really thinking was:
Do you think you’ll still have any time left for me?

“I can fix it, Loey. I know I can.”

“Whatever.” I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

At least I could be honest with Marcus. He knew I didn’t agree, but if he really wanted to do this, he would. And we’d still be friends.

We always would.

Marcus told me a little about his new job, a graveyard shift stocking shelves in a local supermarket. The good news was, if he felt like missing out on sleep, we’d still be able to see each other sometimes.

“What do you think you’re going to do after graduation?” I asked. I’d honed my skill at finding nontouchy subjects to talk about, but when he hesitated I realized I hadn’t really thought about school. Could he go back to school while working graveyard shifts?

“Well, work on cars, I guess.”

“Yeah? What kinda cars?” I asked a little too quickly.
Was
he going to fix up cars because he wouldn’t have a diploma?
My anger rose up toward his mom again for letting him make these choices. He was only seventeen!

“Classic cars, if I had a choice. Rebuild some old Chevys to blow away anything you see around nowadays . . . but most likely I’ll work on cars that people can’t afford to take to a real mechanic.”

“Why don’t you just become a real mechanic?” I knew I was pushing him, but if no one else was around to do it, I kind of had to, didn’t I? A guy walked through the door but stood several feet away, perusing the menu.

Marcus scoffed, apparently not noticing our customer. “Oh, come on, Loey, can you see me down at Alec’s Automotive? If you think I get teased a lot now . . .” he trailed off.

It was the first time he’d acknowledged the ribbing he’d gotten at school. I knew Marcus was probably right and I looked toward the guy at the counter to avoid admitting it.

I recognized the guy waiting. His name was Ethan, and we’d been in the same art class last year. He’d sat in the back with the other jocks, whom I suspected only took art as an easy elective.

“Hi,” I said when I made it over to the other side of the counter. “Can I help you?”

“Hi.” He smiled. “Loann, right?”

I felt a little shy that he knew my name. It wasn’t like I’d
ever talked to him. Or most guys at school, for that matter. Marcus hadn’t come over to help take his order—not that I needed help with only one customer—but it still seemed odd and made me wonder:
Had Ethan ever teased Marcus?
He
was
part of that popular jock crowd.

I took Ethan’s order, then headed back toward the coffee urn to fill a cup for him.

“So what’ve you been up to this summer?” Ethan asked.

“Not much.” I tried to sound more casual than I felt, talking to a popular guy. “Working lots,” I said, motioning around me.

He nodded. “Yeah, I probably should’ve gotten a summer job.” There was a pause, but he didn’t add why he hadn’t or what he had been doing with his time. “So I heard some of the grads are having a party this weekend.”

“Huh.” I didn’t know what kind of a reaction he was looking for.
Did he want me to be impressed?
“Are you going?”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I just stopped in . . . I thought . . . you . . . might want to go.”

He stopped by here for
me
? Was he serious? How did he even know I worked here? Claire had been invited to lots of parties during high school, and I was certain she’d have been invited to this one had she not been out of town. But this was so whacked. He was inviting
me?

I glanced over at Marcus and wondered if he’d heard our conversation.

“Um, thanks, but I’m busy this weekend,” I said.

Ethan shrugged. Smiled. He
was
kind of cute, with his reddish hair and a ton of freckles. And he’d just invited me to a party. A party put on by last year’s grads!

“Well, maybe another time, then,” Ethan said.

I watched him go, still not quite believing what had happened.

“You’re not going?” Marcus said, now beside me, breaking me from my daze.

I shook my head.
Was he suggesting I should?
“I, uh, thought we’d do something this weekend.”

He looked away, his lips pursed. “I have to work at the grocery store this weekend, Loey. It’s training.” He practically gritted the words out.

It took me a second to understand. He was jealous. And he was afraid that if he wasn’t around, I might start hanging with someone else. Another guy.

“I don’t want to go to a stupid party.” I scoffed. It was part truth. Even if I went with Ethan, I knew I’d be way uncomfortable.

My words were enough to make Marcus’s lip twitch up a bit.

But mine twitched down. Because I didn’t want to be alone all weekend either.

On my way to the café the next day, I stopped at the Walgreens drugstore on
the corner. As I was about to walk inside, I stopped and stared down at my roll of film. I had several that I wanted to develop so I could have something to show Mr. Dewdney when school started, but the ballet photo was on this roll. And the one of Claire suntanning in our backyard. I suddenly couldn’t imagine offering those negatives of Claire to the local photo workers for them to gawk at. I shoved the film back in my pocket and dropped down onto the curb, feeling embarrassed, like I was concealing a full roll of porn.

Should I just throw the whole container in the garbage? Someone could still find and develop it. Why had I bothered to snap those pictures, anyway? And how could I destroy just the two shots?

I was at odds with myself. I still wanted to see the pictures, even if it was kind of sadistic. I needed to remember the hurting Claire, the messed-up Claire, but also the beautiful Claire. Because you couldn’t always see all of her intricacies without a frame to hold her still.

*   *   *

“So I have some pictures I’d like to develop myself,” I said to Marcus before even saying hello when I arrived at the Arts Club.

“Yeah?”

“I just don’t know . . . um, where to get any more chemicals.”

Marcus stared out into the alleyway. “Beats me,” he said. And that was all he said.

He wasn’t much help.

Then again, I wasn’t that truthful.

*   *   *

Between Marcus’s new job and his car repairs, I spent most of the next week alone at the Arts Club. And worse, when Marcus made it in, he was either too tired to talk or we seemed to have nothing to say. Grocery stocking didn’t exactly make for riveting conversation.

On my next day off, I figured he’d be sleeping, but my doorbell rang and there he was.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to subdue my joy. He should’ve been sleeping. I knew that.

He put down a big box on the floor of our foyer and I saw the gallon jugs sticking out. The developing supplies, from the art room. “How did you get those?” I asked, incredulous.

He shrugged. “I had to track Mr. Dewdney down through the school,” he said. “I asked if we could borrow them until school starts.”

As if Marcus didn’t have enough to do these days.
Without even thinking about what I was doing, I threw my arms around him. He stiffened. Hesitated. And I almost pulled away.

But then he wrapped his arms around me and relaxed a little. It had been a long time since we’d touched. I wanted to let him know that I liked this. That I didn’t want to push him away.

We stood there for a long time without moving a muscle. I think we were both afraid of where this might go. Even though I knew Marcus would never hurt me the way Josh had, I still had a push/pull going on inside of me. I’d stopped thinking about Josh completely until I saw him downtown at a distance last week, but the hurt—the paranoid self protectiveness—still rose up at the thought of being close to anyone.

Marcus was so much taller than me, but somehow it felt like we fit. I kept reminding myself it was him. He was safe.

“It was the least I could do,” he whispered, and his voice was enough to make my insides settle.

The phone rang, feeling like a fire alarm in the quiet. Before I could think of what I was doing, I pulled away and rushed to check the display on the handset. It wasn’t Claire, so I let it ring.

“It’s probably for my parents,” I said. When Marcus looked around, I added, “Who are both working today.” I could tell by our sudden discomfort, it wouldn’t be easy to get close again.

He bent down, and it wasn’t until then that I saw what else was in his box. A folded-up sheet of black plastic, some rubber trim, and a red lightbulb.

“What’s all this for?” I asked.

He looked up at me with a smirk. “We’re building a darkroom, of course.”

It hadn’t occurred to me when I first saw the solutions that there wasn’t much I could do without a darkroom. But Marcus, the brains of this operation, led the way through the house, checking each room until we ended up in our basement bathroom.

When I first walked in and saw the Glade air freshener on the back of the toilet, a new thought hit me about Claire:
Had she been throwing up down here?

But I quickly cleared that thought. She was away getting better now. I didn’t have to keep thinking about the past.

Marcus and I covered the bathroom window with black
plastic, dug an electric heater out of the garage, attached the rubber trim for the bottom of the door, and screwed in the red lightbulb.

He hadn’t been over for a while, but with no one home, he seemed comfortable enough. It felt good to be working at something with him, and the more relaxed things became, the more hope I had that we might hug again. If not today, one day.

“It’ll be nice to be able to work at this again,” I said quietly in the dark to him as we developed my first roll. “I’ve missed you.”

“I know.” His hand fumbled onto my arm. It was a sweet moment, until he added, “I’d probably miss me too.”