Wake (75 page)

“Thanks, but Jem and I have other plans.”

“Oh yeah? What are you doing?” His tone is a little nosey.

I shrug. “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be a blur of il icit drug use and wild sex.” I smile and Chris laughs weakly. Are my jokes really that off the mark? At least Jem gets them.

It’s nine o’clock when I get off work. Jem will probably be in bed soon, but Elise has been bugging me for company. I call her to let her know I’ll be stopping by and when I pull into the driveway twenty minutes later, she runs up to give me a hug.

“What do you think it means when a guy says you’re really funny?” she asks with her arms wrapped around my middle.

“Uh, I think that means he listens to you long enough to grasp the punchline.” I pat her shoulder. “Who told you that?”

Elise sighs and launches into the whole story. She’s still googly-eyed over that basketball player.

“Can you tell I’m wearing a push-up bra?” I’ve never been in the big sister role, so I don’t know how these conversations are supposed to go, but nevertheless I take the invitation to inspect her tits. Elise is petite in every way imaginable, but her sprightly bearing makes her seem bigger and brighter than she really is. Elise is actually quite pretty.

“It looks good.” I don’t know what else to say so I offer her a high-five. Is that appropriate?

Elise has some serious things she wants to talk about once we get upstairs, out of range of her parents and brothers. She has to go to prom because she’s on the events committee that organizes the evening, and she wants to know if it would be inappropriate to ask what’s-his-name for a dance, or if that would be a slight on his girlfriend. I wouldn’t know. I don’t do school dances.

“It sucks so bad,” she says with a pout. “He’s working away from Smiths Falls for the summer and he’s going to university after that, so the end of the school year is the last time I’ll see him.”

“There’s some time, then.”

“Twenty-seven days,” she answers precisely.

“You can keep in touch. I’m sure he’ll come home for visits.”

“Yeah, to see his family and his
girlfriend.
”

“He’ll make time for friends too. You’ll see him again.”

“Not nearly enough.” She huffs and flops down on her bed like a starfish. “If we still lived in Ottawa I could still see him on weekends and stuff.”

“Elise?”

“Yeah?”

“Does this guy know you like him?” My guess would be yes. She’s not exactly subtle.

Elise shrugs. “Who knows? He thinks I’m
funny.
”

“Funny can be good.”

“As friends.”

“Does his girlfriend make him laugh?”

Elise has to think on that. “Sometimes.” She pulls a pillow over her face to muffle a frustrated groan.

“Why can’t I just get over him already?”

“That’s what this summer is for. To get over him and maybe have a dumb fling.”

“I wish he was my dumb fling…” Jesus Christ. Too bad she’s not a few years older, or she could numb some of this angst with tequila. But she’s got one thing going for her as a teenage girl: she’s all owed to cry it out.

“Where’s he working this summer?”

“Camp Concord. He’s a counselor.”

“Why don’t you apply? You’re good at social planning and having fun; I bet you’d be great at the job.”

Elise shakes her head. “It’s two hours away.”

“That’s not so far.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Have you never been away from home before?”

“I have, yeah. But if Jem gets sick again…” She closes her eyes and swallows her thoughts. “I need to stay nearby. He’s still so fragile.”

I hadn’t doubted her before, but hearing Elise talk about it—about giving bits and pieces of her body to Jem—only reinforces the dedication she has to her brother. I knew Jem was a protective older brother, but I hadn’t considered Elise a protective younger sister until now. Even if she could donate nothing for him physically, she would want to be near him while he’s sick.

“What would Jem think of you working at that camp?”

Elise rolls her eyes. “He’d break my legs to keep me from going. He doesn’t like Kipp.”

“Why not?”

“Kipp’s too old for me. And too attached. Among other reasons.”

“What reasons?”

Elise shrugs. “Brother reasons.” Now I’m curious. “Jem’s probably asleep by now,” she says. “But if you’re quiet you can see him before you leave.”

*

I poke my head into Jem’s room as quietly as I can. The light is on, but Elise was right, he is asleep.

He’s sprawled across the foot of his bed, out cold, with a copy of
The Scarlet Letter
under his limp hand.

He can’t bear to stay awake through his English homework. Absolutely no appreciation for classic literature.

I take the book away gently and start to remove his watch. I don’t want to wake him up, but I can tuck him in sideways like I did the night of Elise’s birthday party. When I push back his sleeve to expose his watch I feel a faint tickle on my fingertips. The hair on his arms has really started to grow back.

I lean in to look and see the fine, red-brown hairs on his forearm. In the right light I would miss them entirely, they’re so short. I’m close enough that Jem can feel my breath on his wrist and his fingers twitch.

I back off, but he groans in his sleep and rolls over to stretch, coming slowly to the surface. He turns to the side and buries his face in the coverlet—and lets out the loudest fart I have ever heard I my entire life.

I don’t know if it’s the shock of it, or perhaps a childish urge to giggle at bodily functions, but I col apse into hysterical laughter on his floor. I laugh so hard that I can’t breathe and my eyes start to water, ‘cause it’s just so damn funny. I hope none of the other Harpers hear me, because I don’t know how I would explain what has me in stitches. How can someone so thin contain so much hot air?

My laughter makes Jem look up with surprise, and his expression quickly shifts from disorientation to a look of horror. That fart was deliberate—he thought he was alone.

And that just makes it that much funnier. I’m going to suffocate from laughing and it’s all his fault.

Jem mumbles ‘excuse me’ as his face turns bright red. I don’t think common courtesy can cover this one. I vainly try to wipe my streaming eyes as laughter bubbles up through my throat in short pants.

“Christ, boy, did you shit yourself?”

I don’t think it’s possible for his face to get any redder. He offers me a tissue to wipe my eyes and says, “Please don’t die laughing.”

“If I do make sure my tombstone blames you.” He lets me giggle for a few more minutes before telling me to knock it off. There’s a time limit on laughter, apparently. I flop down on his bed in a breathless heap and try to keep a straight face when I ask him how his night went.

“Fine.” Embarrassment has made him terse. I poke the corner of his mouth and tell him to cheer up.

“Do you need to wipe?”

“Shut up.”

“Nah.”

“Don’t tell Eric about this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Sure.” I lean in to kiss his frowning lips. I skipped that step in the wake of my hysterical giggle fit. Jem doesn’t have much enthusiasm for it, and I can tell by the way he wraps his arms around me that he’s gearing up to sulk.

“Thanks. I needed a good laugh.”

“Because I’m a joke.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

He nestles his face in my neck and inhales. “You know,” he says to my collarbone, “just when I didn’t think I could be more repulsive to a girl…”

I smack him lightly on the ribs. “You’re not repulsive.” Jem’s ego is a fragile one. I gentle him with soft touches and whispers in his ears—that I love his hands, and his eyes, and the way he holds me. Let him feel valued. He accepts little kisses on his jaw with closed eyes. When he sighs his breath smells like red Jel -O, and when I use my hands on his shoulders to gently push him back down to the bed, he pull s me with him. Jem can’t stand much distance—but distance is relative.

I’m still not used to the way he doesn’t immediately reach for my ass as I straddle his hips. His hands manage to move from my thighs to my waist without touching the stuff in between—I’d study physics just to find out how the hell he does it—and once there his hands stick to my sides and back. This gentleman thing is nice, but I can see myself getting bored of it.

Jem wants slow kisses tonight, long and deep and tender. I oblige, taking my time over his mouth.

Sucking his lower lip, stroking his tongue…

The hand that rests high on my ribs inches its way to my side, like he’s thinking about copping a feel but hesitant to do it. I spare him the internal debate and move his hand myself.

“You’re okay with this?” he murmurs against my lips. I don’t roll my eyes, but it’s a near thing.

“No, I made you grab my tit by accident.”

“Cheek.” He leans up to meet my lips and gives my chest a gentle palm massage. His hand is shaking.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He smiles against my lips. “It’s been awhile. I want to treat you right.”

“Likewise.” Jem’s other hand moves under the back of my shirt, along my skin. “Feeling deprived?”

“Happy,” he murmurs. I kiss his neck, which he really seems to like, and he even lets me nibble his earlobes. It’s my hands he has a hard time with. While his continue their languid circuit between my chest and back, tracing bare pieces of skin and circling my nipples with his thumbs, mine keep getting bumped away. At first it’s casual—his hand slowly moves mine away from his ribs to rest on his shoulder. Then his elbow keeps me from getting too friendly with his waist, and when I move to touch the skin above his col ar he shifts his shoulders away from me.

“Jem.” I grab both his wrists and hold them together between us. “This isn’t going to work.”

His face slips into such a wounded, frightened expression. I guess I should have phrased that better.

“I’m not just going to sit here like a blow up dol and let you grope me. You have to let me touch you too.”

“Oh. Um.” He swallows so nervously you’d think I’d just asked him to nail his own ear to the wall. “I’m sorry. Maybe we should stop for awhile.” He slips his wrists out of my hands and rolls away, ready to leave the bed. I wrap an arm around his waist before he can stand up and pull him back against me.

“I’m not saying right this minute, but at some point you will have to let me touch you.” I plant a kiss on the back of his neck.

“I know, but…not now.”

“Soon?”

“When I’m well again.”

“That long?”

Jem blows out a deep breath through his nose. “I’m sorry.”

“Does it factor in that I think you’re sexy, even when you’re like this?”

“I’m not.”

“well who the hell gave you a vote?”

Jem snorts softly. He’s not ready to smile, but he’s more willing to listen. He folds his arms over the one I have wrapped around his waist. “Can we just…?”

“Mmh?”

“Can we just cuddle for awhile? No more…stuff.” He turns to look at me over his shoulder and I kiss his cheek.

“Okay.”

He comes back to bed, but I can see that he’s miles away. Jem lies on his back and holds me close against his shoulder with our legs overlapping. He stares at the ceiling.

“What are you thinking about?”

“How much longer.” He sounds like he’s regretting his self-imposed rule to wait already. That’s the problem with abstinence: it has the lifespan of a housefly.

I move my hand up from his waist to touch his cheek, but he catches me halfway and puts my hand back where it was. I made the same mistake I did that time on Frank’s porch—I brushed my hand along his chest instead of lifting my arm up. My hand was too close to his central line for comfort.

I take Jem’s hand and lay it on top of mine.

“Give me a tour.”

“What?”

I move us so our hands are hovering just over his chest. “Show me where it is. Show me how not to hurt you.”

Jem moves our hands away. “It’ll be gone soon.”

“How soon?” We don’t talk about his treatment or prognosis. I don’t know if he’s close to completing treatment, or if he will ever be without need of it. He seems to be optimistic, but he could just be saying that as a way to forestal teaching me about his body. Or maybe it’s denial.

Jem tips his chin to whisper in my ear. “
Please,
” he says earnestly. “Just be patient with me.” His hand fists the front of my shirt. I hate it when he begs. It’s so hard not to give in.

I have to sit up on my elbow to reach his ear and whisper back. “Please trust me to love you enough.”

Jem buries his face in my neck. We don’t say anything, but I can feel the tension in his shoulders and in the hand that grips my side. I try to be soothing, rubbing his back and humming to ease the silence. By the time we say goodbye for the evening he seems much more at peace, but I know it’s only a temporary truce.

Elise won’t let me leave without a hug and promise to visit again soon. Jem follows me out onto the porch to say goodbye in privacy, without his sister bouncing in the background.

“Soon,” he promises.

“Sure.” I give him a kiss and turn to go, but he grabs me back.

“It’s not trust,” he says in my ear. “I trust you…” He kisses my temple. “Do you love me enough to wait?”

If I thought he needed it I’d give him forever. But I don’t think anything of the sort.

“Give me an inch.”

“Don’t take ten.”

“I thought you trusted me?”

Jem folds me into a hug. “I do.” He doesn’t bother to hide it when he smells my hair and sighs on the scent. “I love you.”

I like it that there’s nothing left to say. No plans to make, no assurances required by jealousy, no soppy goodbye. Just a kiss and a ‘sleep well ,’ and I’m off into the night.

Jem texts me tonight’s playlist:
“Awake My Soul,” Mumford & Sons.

Wednesday Hol ywood is full of it. In movies, things are magically supposed to change after people say ‘I love you,’

but in reality nothing really does. Thank God, because I’m not sure I’m qualified to deal with happiness.