Running Lean (18 page)

C
alvin stood at Stacey’s front door, holding a bouquet of white, pink, and purple flowers he’d bought at the grocery store. Around him, a profusion of flowering potted plants decorated the porch along with pristine white wicker furniture. Petunias and freshly mown grass scented the air. And the silk flowers on the door wreath looked better than the bunch Calvin held in his hand.

Pretty lame. Should’ve bought the expensive ones
.

He cleared his throat and rang the doorbell.

Show love and provide gentle encouragement. Don’t argue, because that only makes the person defensive
. That’s what he’d read online. Stacey had already proven that little slights could lead to big fights. Lack of proper nutrients, emotional denial, and an innate sense of wrongdoing battling her desire to be in control of her body and her diet made her sensitive to the slightest hint of judgment. At least that’s what the websites said.

He was going to have to work past all those things and tread very carefully if he would convince her it was okay for him to go on that camping trip. And if he could keep their relationship from falling apart until he could convince her to go to a doctor for help.

Renee answered the door and let him in the house. She yelled
up the stairs, “Stacey, your
boyfriend
is here,” then disappeared into the kitchen.

“Be right down!” Walls and doors muffled Stacey’s answer.

The carpet beneath Calvin’s feet had fresh vacuum tracks. The plump cushions on the beige leather furniture in the living room looked like no one ever sat on them. A huge cabinet with carved accents and built-in lights covered the open wall leading into the dining room. Not a china cabinet, but a three-thousand-dollar computer desk.

“Hello, Calvin, dear.” Mrs. Varnell glided into the room from upstairs, wearing a silky top and pressed khaki pants, her hair and face made up like she was going somewhere. She always looked that way, like at any moment someone would take her picture. Stacey said her mother ironed every stitch of her clothing, even her pajamas. She swept toward Calvin, touched her fingertips to his arm, and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

Everything about her felt fresh, like a crisp head of lettuce just plucked from the bin at the grocery store. Cool and lightly fragrant.

“I’m fine, ma’am.”

“And your mama? How is she doing?” Six months after the funeral, Mrs. Varnell still looked at Calvin as if he were standing beside his brother’s casket, her head slightly tilted, her eyebrows pinched upward on her forehead.

“We’re doing fine, thank you.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear. Stacey tells me the two of you have a special day planned today, but she didn’t tell me where you’re going.”

“Um, it’s a surprise.”

“How sweet. Y’all aren’t going too far, are you? I worry about you kids driving on the highways. Is that truck running well?”

Calvin rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, where embarrassment burned. He glanced out the front window at his
father’s ancient, two-toned pickup truck in the driveway. “It doesn’t look like much, but Dad keeps it going.”

Mrs. Varnell kept smiling. “Won’t you sit down? I believe Stacey’s fixing her makeup. She might be a few moments.”

Calvin stepped toward the leather couch, but the rattle of the patio door beyond the dining room drew his eyes that way. Officer Varnell, dressed like an ordinary person in grass-stained sneakers, jeans, and a baseball cap, strode into the room. The combined scent of grass clippings and gasoline preceded him. Stacey’s father nodded at Calvin in greeting. “Cal.”

“Sir.” He reached out his right hand.

“Stan!” Mrs. Varnell’s gasping outburst froze both of them. “You’re tracking grass and dirt onto the carpet.”

Officer Varnell glanced down at the floor, where bits of green and dusty gray were pressed into footprints through the vacuum tracks. “Cost of a manicured lawn.” He smirked and winked at Calvin.

Stacey’s mother scuttled away as Officer Varnell claimed his recliner.

Calvin wavered at the arm of the sofa. Despite the man’s macho joke, Calvin balked at the idea of getting chummy with him, anticipating a lecture the moment he relaxed.

“No motorcycle today?” Officer Varnell asked.

“Uh, no, sir.” It had been so tempting to grab his helmet and ride, but today had to be all about Stacey. Everything he did had to be with her happiness and security in mind, so she would know he loved her, that she didn’t have to change anything about herself to be attractive to him.

The vacuum cleaner roared. Mrs. Varnell maneuvered the machine over the mess her husband had created. Calvin watched as she, seemingly not content with
clean
, pushed the vacuum in
straight lines to match the other lines from her previous cleaning. She even vacuumed her own footprints.

Yeah. Easy to see where Stacey got her super-neat habits.

“Hello!” Stacey called over the noise of the vacuum.

Calvin turned and stared.

She wore a lace top showing a sliver of flesh below the hem. A heart-shaped cutout in front revealed cleavage he had only imagined before. Her short black skirt hugged her hips. Her legs—Calvin had no idea she was
that
thin. Had he ever seen her bare legs before? He jerked his gaze to her face.

She’d stopped wearing the Zoe-inspired gaudy makeup colors a week ago, but whatever else she’d done today was … he didn’t know how to describe it. Beautiful. And her hair swirled about her face in big, soft waves. She could be a dancer in a music video or a model on a runway. Was she taller? He glanced down at her high-heeled sandals. She’d painted her toenails dark red. Calvin couldn’t remember seeing her toenails before. In any color.

A sharp squeak and thump of the recliner signaled her father’s reaction. “What … are you wearing?”

“Oh, sweetheart, you look beautiful!” Her mother left the vacuum cleaner to rush over. She brushed Stacey’s hair off one shoulder. “But isn’t this just a camisole? Shouldn’t you have a jacket in case you get chilled? What about that pretty dusty-green jacket you made? Though that might be a little too country to go with this look. I have a black cardigan that should fit you.”

Stacey eased her mother’s hand away and edged toward Calvin. “It’s fine, Mom. We have to go.”

“No, no. It’ll just take a moment to go and fetch it. Renee, dear,” she called toward the steps. “Would you run to my closet and get my black sweater for Stacey? The one with the little pearls and the three-quarter sleeves.”

Renee appeared at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed. “That outfit rocks. Let her go.”

Calvin took a step backward. The thoughts in his head stalled, unable to go one way or another in the debate. Taking a stand against Stacey’s parents would be
bad
. But he’d never seen Stacey look like this. All the puffy sweaters and handmade flowing blouses, topped with jeans and sneakers or boots—all of that stuff was gone.

It tickled—the tantalizing thought that this was
his
girl. Farm boy with a fashion model. Amazing. He dumbly held out his flowers.

Stacey clasped his forearm and urged him away, as if she didn’t see the gift. “Let’s go.”

People moved around him. Voices talked over each other. Stacey fled out the front door.

“Uh, I gotta go.” Calvin pointed his thumb at the door.

With Stacey gone, her father turned a hard gaze toward Calvin. “Your driver’s license still provisional, boy?”

“Oh. Uh, I—”

“Have her home by eight thirty. So you’ll be legal driving home.”

“Yes, sir.” Calvin kept his arguments to himself and backed toward the door.

Stacey had already climbed into the truck and sat waiting for him. Aware that eyes might be watching them through the front windows, Calvin handed his flowers over to her with only a smile. She accepted them with less.

Keep smiling
. Calvin crossed his arms on the table and held his breath as he voiced a most-dangerous question. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Stacey turned her head to look at him. She’d been peering all around the Arby’s restaurant since the moment they’d walked in, her
shoulders hunched and her hands clasped in her lap. “Oh! Are you finished already? You must have been starving.”

A roast beef sandwich and curly fries didn’t take long to eat.

Stacey nudged the stuff in her salad bowl with her plastic fork. She’d scavenged all the lettuce out of the bowl, then cut the rest into little pieces and shoved it up against the sides so the middle of her bowl was empty. He’d watched her do it.

How could her parents, with all their rules and interfering, not notice how Stacey ate her food? How had Calvin missed it for so long? Maybe it took knowing the truth before anyone could see her clever deceptions.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked.

“No hurry.”

She pressed her fingers to her shoulders and gazed around again. “It’s freezing in here. Are you cold?”

“Uh-uh.”

She rubbed her arms. “This top is a little skimpy. Maybe I should have worn my jacket. Not Mom’s cardigan, though. That would have been … wrong. Just wrong.”

With her arms crossed that way, Calvin noticed that at least she hadn’t lost much weight in her—He cleared his throat and turned his attention to her salad bowl. “What is that, chicken?”

“Yes. You want some?”

“No. It just looks good.”

Stacey picked up her fork again and speared a tiny chunk of meat. She wiggled her eyebrows at him and slipped the bite into her mouth. As she chewed, her red lips pressed and relaxed. Calvin wondered if the taste would linger there. She touched a napkin to her mouth then wadded it up.

She’d done the same thing the last time she had supper at his house, and somehow the dog under the table got a treat.

“Excuse me. I need more napkins.” Stacey slid out of her seat and went to the condiment table.

As soon as her back was turned, Calvin glanced at the floor under the table. Clean.

Stacey returned with a small pile of napkins in her hand. She could have carried a baseball in the gap between her knees.

Calvin buried a hand in his hair and slouched in his seat. “Uh, bike’s running pretty good now. And I was thinking … about that camping trip.”

“Oh.” Stacey pushed a dainty bite of salad between her lips and looked out the window.

Stupid, stupid. Too soon to bring it up. But now the subject was out there, and Stacey waited for him to say more.

“Dad says I can work in the auto shop this summer. He’ll pay me to do tune-ups and oil changes. But he said I could have some time off before I start.”

She nodded and dabbed. Wadded the napkin and squeezed it together with the first. Had she always done that?

“You’ll be working full time, then?” Another bite, another dab.

Calvin stared at the growing ball of napkins on the table. Something pink soaked through the thin paper. Not lipstick; a bit of tomato. She was spitting each tiny bite into the napkins.

Calvin’s sandwich felt like a lump of lead in his stomach. He toyed with the box that had held his fries.

“Calvin?”

“Huh?”

“I asked if you’re going to be working full time.”

“Oh. Yeah. I mean, as long as there’s enough work. Dad’s not going to pay me to stand around if there aren’t any jobs I can do.”

How was it possible to feel so much desire and disgust at the same time? None of the websites mentioned what to do in this situation.
Calvin looked out the window. His father’s rusty pickup was the only vehicle in the parking lot that didn’t shine in the sun.

“Zoe showed me a brochure from a fashion design school in California,” Stacey said, filling the awkward silence with a change of subject. “She
so
wants to get out of here, but California? That’s too far. And besides …” She reached across the table and stroked the backs of his fingers. “I wouldn’t want to be that far away from you.”

Oh, super. Make him feel guilty just when he was talking about going somewhere without her. He scowled. “I don’t get why Zoe thinks y’all have to go to the same college.”

Stacey withdrew her hand. “Well, we’re both going for fashion design, and it’d be nice to know someone already when we get there.”

“Yeah, I get that. But all the way to California? Why does she have to dictate your life? That’s what I wanna know.” Warning. Danger. He’d dropped the everything-is-wonderful act.

She pulled her hands beneath the table, staring downward. “She doesn’t. She’s my friend, Calvin. She doesn’t judge me.”

“Judge you? What—?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Can we talk about something else?”

Calvin sighed. “Sorry. I guess I don’t quite get the whole BFF thing with girls.”

“It’s the same with you and Tyler.” She toyed with her salad, pushing the bits around.

“Tyler doesn’t care where I go to college. I mean, yeah, it’d be cool if we went to the same place, but if we don’t, that doesn’t mean we’ll stop being friends.”

Stacey raised her shoulder in a half shrug. “Maybe that’s because you’ve known him so long. I don’t have any lifelong friends like that. I don’t have anyone who really knows me and would even think about me a year from now if I left.”

He wanted to protest, to point at himself and ask if he didn’t
count.
Don’t argue. Be encouraging
. He slid his open hand across the table. “Stace, come on. You’re pretty, talented, and smart. And funny. You make people laugh. Everyone I know likes you.”

She didn’t take the hand he offered.

“Know what? The other day when you wore that sorta tight purple shirt, Tyler said you looked pretty hot.”

Her eyes widened. “Tyler Dorset said that about
me
? Half the girls in school would
die
if he even said hello to them.”

And Tyler would probably die of embarrassment if he’d heard Stacey say that.

Her smile grew until her eyes sparkled. The dimples he loved weren’t completely gone. “Tell him I said thank you.” In a flurry of movement, she swept the wadded-up napkins onto their food tray, tossed her salad bowl on top, and grabbed his sandwich wrapper and fry cup. “Where to next?”