The Standout (7 page)

“No.” I literally give him the cold shoulder and edge away. “I called the police and they said I can make a statement if I want, but it sounds like a waste of time.”

“Don’t worry, okay?” He rubs my neck halfheartedly. “It’s just some deranged nut job with an axe to grind.”

I glare at him. “How can I not worry? That deranged nut job has it out for me, and now, apparently, for you too.”

Nick raises one eyebrow at me and crooks his mouth, which he knows I find endearing. His hair is sticking out in multiple directions and the collar of his shirt is stretched out, and that just makes him look cute.

And that just makes me mad.

“Forget it,” I tell him. “You’re obviously not taking this seriously.”

“I am too.” He picks up my hand and kisses my palm. “You contacted Facebook and changed your password again?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll take that note to the police, first chance I get. And I’ll keep an eye on your account activity. Leave a list of all your passwords, okay? That way, if there are any more hacking attempts, I can be on top of it.” He squeezes my fingers, almost too hard. “It will be okay. I promise.”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

He shrugs. “Life’s too short to stay mad.” He gets up and moves my laptop, so it sits opposite us, on the dresser. “Besides, you’re leaving tomorrow.” Nick rejoins me on the bed and sits, leaning in. “We’re not going to see each other for so long.”

“Too long,” I reply.

He cups my cheek in his hand and kisses me with such rawness that my heart could break. I kiss him back, even though I can’t let go of my anger as easily as he can. I close my eyes, and as he lowers me down, pressing his weight against me, I feel him playfully tug on my earlobe. “Look at me,” Nick says.

I do as requested, sure that in this moment we’re both telepathic and he knows all my deepest wishes and darkest desires. Nick releases a labored breath, full of anxiety that’s almost tangible enough to touch. His arms tighten around me and our bodies move to the same rhythm as we hold each other’s gaze.

He tenderly removes my blouse, jeans, bra and everything else, so I’m exposed and vulnerable in his arms. “Now you,” I murmur, tugging on his shirt, which, with my help, he quickly pulls up and over his head. Soon we’re skin against skin, just a tangle of limbs, tongues and pounding hearts. We’re coupled, moving in a passionate tempo and not looking away from each other, not until that moment of release, when his eyelids pull down, his head tilts back, and his entire body shudders with pleasure. I put my hand against his pounding chest, waiting for his heart rate to slow before I ask the question that’s creating pressure inside my skull.

“Do you agree with that note?” I ask, now unable to meet his eyes.

“What?”

“Does a woman like me not deserve a guy like you?”

There’s an interminable pause, where Nick stares at the ceiling and I feel like I’ve lost him. “Why would you ask that?” he breathes out.

“That’s not an answer.” I sit up. “I hate it when people answer a question with another question.” I start gathering my clothing, desperate to cover myself. “It’s like the worst avoidance technique, ever.”

“I asked you to marry me! I tell you how I feel every day! I’m not avoiding anything; I just really don’t get how you could be so insecure.”

“Insecure?” I pull on my shirt and underwear and slide into my jeans. “Wow. I guess I didn’t realize.” My words are like spitballs as I stand over him and Nick nearly flinches at their impact. “Next are you going to call me clingy, or how about needy? Needy is a good one.”

“Stop it, Rocky.”

“You stop it.”

He stands and faces me, naked as the day he was born. “No.”

I turn away, but he steps in front of me, refusing to permit my escape. “Now who’s avoiding?”

There are a million things I could say if I only had the words. However, Nick still has the power of speech and he’s not letting this go. “Tell me what’s going through your head. Be totally honest.”

“No.”

He winces, but I’d rather offer him nothing than tell him a lie. I can’t admit to my biggest fear, that lies are all I know how to give him and that though I love him and make love to him with all my heart, I fear we are nothing more than strangers, because how can we, or anyone, be anything but?

“Come on Robin,” Nick whispers. “Don’t do this. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I meet his eyes and in those brown flecks I see the Nick I know, the person I trust, the guy I’d do anything for. “That note just freaked me out,” I admit. “She keeps saying that I’m a whore who doesn’t deserve you, and I know it’s crazy but if you hear something enough times, you start to think that it’s true. . .”

“Robin, of course it’s not true. Please don’t ever doubt how much I love you. I need you to promise me that.”

“I promise,” I say, but already I’m wondering if it’s a promise I can keep.

He hugs me and we hold each other, him stroking my back and me swallowing down tears.

Later, to calm the waters I apologize to Andrea and we all carry on like things aren’t totally, bat shit crazy right now. Still, I don’t sleep well and the next day I feel like one big flesh wound. Nick drives me to the airport and when he drops me off at curbside check-in, I grab him in a hug and refuse to let go. How can I possibly live without the spicy scent of his hair for two months? “Maybe I shouldn’t go,” I mumble into the side of his head.

Nick places his hands on my hips and gently pushes me away. “Rocky, you’ll be fine.” He attempts a smile, though I can tell it’s hard for him. “I’m the one who will be a mess without you.”

“Then I’ll stay!”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it.” Nick looks down at his feet, scratching at his temple, while the smell of exhaust accosts my nose. “If I asked you to stay you’d be pissed. You’d feel smothered and you’d tell me this is something you have to do, for yourself and your career.”

Cars are lining up, trying to find a place to park along the curb, and an airport traffic cop is circling, ready to enforce the three-minute parking rule.

“You don’t know that for sure.”

Nick sighs. “So you seriously don’t want to go?”

I wonder if this is a moment I’ll look back upon one day, and pontificate
, if only I’d chosen differently, would everything have changed? Would everything be better?

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “You’re right. I should go.”

Nick rolls his eyes heavenward as his chest heaves. “Good! I promise I’ll be here when you get back.” He gives me a crooked smile that almost says I still own his heart. I kiss him, hard, sniffing as I pull away.

“You’d better get going, before you get towed.” I tell him.

“Go get em’, Rocky.” Nick belts out the movie’s theme song as I walk away, and I shake my head, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I love you!” I call out, suddenly aware I hadn’t said it yet, and that this will be the last chance I have for two months, unless you count saying it on the phone while being filmed.

Nick doesn’t hear me. The traffic has drowned out the sound of my voice, and his song is over anyway. He’s gotten back in his car and he’s ready to drive away.

Ted is waiting for me in baggage claim when my flight gets in. He looks as impeccable as ever; even when he wears jeans and a sweatshirt it’s hard to imagine him eating a sloppy joe or trimming his toenails. His face is a little more lined than I remember, but he’s athletic and trim, and with his blondish hair and confident gait, several women give him a second glance.

When I reach him we don’t hug. “Hey, good to see you,” he says, patting me on the shoulder.

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“Sure.” His nod is firm, and then we’ve run out of things to say. Luckily I have only carry-on luggage, so we make it to his car pretty quick. Once we’re on the highway, driving toward his home in Buck County, I ask him about work, Tina, and the kids. His answers are all perfunctory and brief. When I can’t come up with any more polite questions, Ted takes his turn.

“So, what’s with that weird Facebook post?”

I wince. “You saw that?”

He shrugs as he hangs a left. “I got a notice that you posted a photo.” The muscles that surround Ted’s high cheek bones barely move as he speaks, and I wonder for the umpteenth time how it is that we’re related. “It’s a good thing, too. I never know when a coworker will bring up my famous little sister, so I like to be up to date.”

I tug at the seatbelt, which is cutting into my shoulder. “I’m not famous. I mean, sure, I had my fifteen minutes, but that was a long time ago.”

Ted laughs sardonically. “Says the girl who’s about to do another reality TV show.”

Ted will always think of me as a twelve-year-old, so I ignore being called a girl and heave a sigh. “No, you’re right. But I didn’t post that photo on Facebook. Someone hates me, Ted, and honestly, I’m sort of freaked out.”

He raises his eyebrows but keeps his gaze on the road. “Why? Tell me what’s going on.”

It’s rare for Ted to be solicitous; usually, if he listens to me at all, it’s with half an ear and a fraction of patience. But right now I get the feeling that he actually wants to hear about my problems, so I tell him everything: about Clara and Robert and the notes and the texts, about accusing Andrea and her subsequent freak-out, about Nick’s seeming lack of concern over any of it except Andrea’s hurt feelings.

When I’m done I wait for Ted to respond, and when he doesn’t I realize I’m holding my breath. Right as I exhale, he finally speaks. “Big things happen to you, don’t they?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said: you lead a dramatic life. Maybe Nick isn’t unconcerned as much as he’s overwhelmed.” Ted raises one corner of his upper lip as if to smile, but settles on a smirk instead.

“That’s kind of mean, Ted.”

“I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just giving you my opinion.” He pulls into his driveway and turns off the ignition. “And you have to admit that you’re a drama-magnet.”

And you have to admit that you’re a schmuck.
“Sure,” I concede, though I’d love to give him a tongue-lashing.

Instead, we get out of the car and I follow Ted inside.

“You have a big day tomorrow,” he tells me, as we walk through their shiny kitchen, towards the staircase to the second floor. “So unless you need anything, I’ll show you to the guest room.”

“Are Tina and the kids asleep?” I ask.

“Yeah, but you can see them in the morning at breakfast.”

“Okay.” I follow Ted upstairs, for he’s already carrying my little suitcase. He leads me down the hall, right past a bathroom illuminated by a nightlight. When we walk into the guest room he flicks on a lamp, and I see there’s a double bed with a navy blue spread pulled tight, and a nightstand with a digital alarm clock.

But those things are nothing, inconsequential at best, because my eyes are instantly drawn to what’s hanging on the wall. I gasp. “It’s the Mats Gustafson!” I walk closer, reaching out my hand though I know I’d never touch it. “She’s so beautiful.”

I stand there, revering the shadowy lady, hands in her pockets, clothes billowing behind her as she walks. Her chin is tilted down and she’s wearing a large-brimmed hat, making her face indistinguishable. She’s the epitome of casual grace and just looking at her makes me catch my breath. “I can’t believe you have this hanging in the guest room. If it was mine, I’d put it where I could see it every day.”

“Well, it’s not yours,” Ted snaps. “You got the jewelry, and you’re lucky, because Ian didn’t get anything at all. Quit mooching.”

Stung, I turn towards Ted, away from the painting. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Ted taps his feet like he has somewhere to be. “Sure, sorry.” He shakes his head. “Tina spent a long time decorating our house and it was her decision to hang the painting here. I left it all to her, so I couldn’t exactly argue about this one little thing, you know?” He hangs his head and the blond highlights in his hair are illuminated. “You’ll understand soon, now that you’re getting married.”

“Yeah. . .” I fish for more of a response but the words stick in my throat

“Well, if you’re sure there’s nothing you need, good night.” Ted flicks some invisible lint off his polo sweater, straightens himself, and walks past me, closing the door behind him.

“Good night,” I say to an empty room. Then I turn back around, and stare at the picture until my eyes are too tired to stay open.

The next morning, after breakfast with Tina and the kids, Ted drives me to the station and he even gets out, carries my bag, and walks me to the train. “You know which stop to take?” he asks.

His brotherly concern is so unexpected that I don’t even laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “Yeah,” I tell him. “Besides, there will be camera crews waiting, so my stop is sort of hard to miss.”

“Right.” He leans in and gives me an awkward hug, unsure of where his arms are supposed to go. “Well, good luck,” he says as he pulls away. “I hope they like your outfit.”

I glance down at what I’m wearing; it’s another one of my upcycled creations. The fabric is from a man’s spring sport coat: silvery, textured, and surprisingly easy to drape. I made it into a sleeveless tunic with little ruffles over the shoulders, a drop waist, purple stitching around the collar and hems, and tiny purple buttons running vertically. It’s short and slightly longer on the sides than it is in the front and back, so I thought it would be perfect to go over a pair of worn Levi's 501s that I dyed a deep indigo and rolled up. The rip in the knee is totally organic.

“Thanks,” I say, louder than is warranted. My bravado is coming out in a big, fake burst. “I’m totally ready for this.”

Ted nods and looks at his watch, which reminds me of Nick, because other than Ted, Nick is the only guy I know who still wears a watch. “I should get going. I have a meeting at ten.”

“Go ahead,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine, waiting here on my own.”

“Of course you will. You’re always fine, right?”

The question is without irony, and as Ted meets my eyes, he and I share a brief moment of connection. Ted and I don’t have much in common, but I’ve always felt that if there was a zombie apocalypse, or a super flu epidemic, or a mass hysteria due to the evils of technology, Ted and I would somehow hang on while everybody else perished. It’s just what we do.