What Brings Me to You (6 page)

              "So where does 'Teddy' come from?"

              "Middle name."

              "Gunther Theodore Holmes?"

              "The third."

              "Gunther Theodore Holmes 
the third
." Her Bambi-sized brown eyes were wide as a snicker was threatened to erupt from deep within her throat.
Oh please say my name again.
  I loved the way it rolled off her pale pink tongue and over her deep-pink lips. I had to change the subject to keep from staring too long at her mouth. "My brother has it worse."

              "Oh God, tell me."

              "Olaf Mickel Holmes the second."

              "Oh my god,” she said biting her bottom lip to stifle her laughter, though the action was so seductive I had to look away. “Does he go by Olaf?"

              "Hell no. We call him Mickey."

              "Oh, well that's not bad. It's kind of sweet actually. Mickey and Teddy." Her switch from uncontrollable giggling to thoughtfulness threw me and I had a hard time switching gears to follow, but no one ever put it like that. I liked it.

              "I guess so, yeah."

              "So where is Mickey? What is his story?"

              "He's the youngest so he pretty much gets whatever he wants with impunity. You know how it is."

              "I don't actually." She looked away, but I didn’t miss that something in her expression darkened.

              "What about you? Siblings?"

              "Yep."

              "And..."

              "And nothing."

              “Oh c'mon, Charley. Give me a little more than that! Brutal honesty, remember?"

              "Just because I agreed on brutal honesty doesn't mean I'm going to spill my guts unsolicited. If you ask a direct question I will answer it."

              "Okay, fine. How many siblings?"

              "Two."

              "Brothers or sisters?"

              "Brothers."

              "Older?"

              "Yes."

              "Names?"

              "Well, not Olaf."

              "C'mon."

              "Fine. Adam and Caleb."

              "Hmm… Nice Jewish names," I was fishing for an answer to the nagging question I’d had about her. She was a gorgeous brown, but too dark to be white with a tan and too light to be a pale black. She didn’t speak Spanish so that was out, too.

              "Well, with a name like Feinman, of course the family is Jewish."

              "Really?"

              "Don't be so shocked -brown people can be Jewish, too."

              "So, you're Jewish?"

              "I didn't say that."

              "So what are you?"

              "I am a citizen of the world, smarty pants. I don't ascribe to any one way of thinking. Not yet, anyway. There's too much  hypocrisy  with western 'religion', though, so I tend to lean more Eastern."

              "What like, Buddhism?"

              "Sometimes."

              "But your family is Jewish."

              "Yes."

              "And you're not."

              "Ooh. Rebellious,” she taunted. But the truth is, I couldn’t imagine a life where my parents, Christmas Tree Catholics, and I had a different religion. It seemed wrong. And great. And brave. And I was jealous of her for being all the things I wasn’t but wished I could be.

              "Kind of, yeah," I said.

              "Look, my family...we...they..." She stared straight ahead at the gulf waves as if she was trying to figure out what to say. 
That's new
  I thought. She always knows what to say.

              "Take me home," she said so abruptly I was afraid I'd hurt her feelings.

              "What? We just got here." Which was not true at all, the sun was actually starting to get low over the water and I wanted to watch it set with her, I didn't want to leave.

              "No, I mean all the way home. I want you to...to see where I live."

*****

              I didn't have any  expectations when we pulled up to her house.  Mostly  because all I could think about was being with her. Among her things. I was  delirious  with excitement, so much so my left leg was bouncing up and down uncontrollably.

              "So, am I meeting the parents?" I was great at meeting the parents, it was definitely one of my strong suites. Who wouldn't want me to meet their parents? Handsome, charming, smart, wealthy. I was just about to tell her this when she said, "What? Oh, no way. They're on vacation."

              I tried to ignore the "no way" and focus on the other part: "Vacation? Without you?"

              "Yep."

              When we got to her driveway I realized we were on Harbour Island, one of the ritzier zip codes areas of the Greater Tampa Area, we even passed the Tampa Area Yacht club before reaching her place. I was surprised  she lived in a McMansion. I mean, it wasn't as big as our place, but it was grand from the exterior. At least two story, maybe three, Spanish style with red tile roof. Everything in Florida is stucco over cement block, but there were decorative columns and wrought iron window boxes similar to our house.  I also realized how close we lived to each other. We couldn't have been more than twenty minutes away from my house, and yet we'd never run into each other. Granted I was five years older, but if her family lived in a McMansion on Harbour Island, they most likely ran in the same circles with mine.      

              "This is it?"

              "Oh quit staring Mr. I-drive-a-brand-new-Mercedes. I know who you are, you know. And truth be told, I wouldn't care if you were a Kennedy, you're still a pain in the ass. Let's go."

              Speechless. She actually rendered me speechless.
How long has she known? Since I told her my name? That was only a couple hours? Should it even matter? She never changed her behavior? I still feel lied to and didn't she institute the "brutal honesty” thing? Yes, but in all fairness I wasn't forthcoming with my identity; I didn't hide it either, though. But she never asked the direct question. She didn't have to. Is this really what's bothering me? No. She tricked me. She didn't trick you, she outsmarted you. Shit. I'm in trouble.

              "Are you coming?" she called from the door. I'd been sitting in the driver's seat with my mouth hanging agape. I knew I should leave but I couldn't.

              Ornate is the word I'd use to describe the interior. Lots of marble, granite and carved dark wood. Very expensive furnishings; some of which I recognized from my own house.
Maybe her folks and mine have the same designer,
I thought. Tampa was, unfortunately, a pretty small town for the wealthy. When I looked out the French doors leading to the back...

              "This is waterfront property?" I was amazed. Why didn't she want me to see this place before?

              "Quit gawking, c'mon." She grabbed my wrist lightly and began leading me up a grand staircase which, in the middle, made a sharp turn to the left. She stopped at the landing and pointed to a set of photos framed and mounted on a matte background.

              "There's the family."

              The pictures were black and white. Each had four people all wearing jeans and white oxford shirts. One they're all sitting together on a checked blanket under a tree. Another they're walking away from the mid-afternoon sun, the woman and man are holding hands and smiling, she has her head on his shoulder, the boys are walking ahead of them laughing. I scanned the whole set, Charley was nowhere to be found. The couple, though, obviously were the man and lady of the house and didn't really look like her at all. The whole family looked familiar - like those fake photos in frames you buy, but also slightly off. There was something not quite right about the man's smile, the hand holding seemed forced. Something in the eyes of the boys that put me on edge.  Like they were posing for an advertisement for anti-depressants.

              "So, are these your cousins or something?"

              "God, don't be dense, Teddy.” I wasn't trying to be intentionally obtuse but my brain couldn't reconcile her standing here among all this opulence and these pictures from which she'd been so clearly omitted.

              "I'm sorry, I just don't understand..."

              "Okay look, that's my mother, her husband, Paul, and my brothers Adam and Caleb."

              "So where are you?"

              "Right here in front of you."

              "No, smart ass I mean in the photos." 
Please say you were sick that day.

              "I don't take family photos."

              "Why? Are you a vampire or something?"

              She gave an exasperated sigh, "No, God. Okay, my mother is my mother but Paul is not my father. Adam and Caleb are my half siblings."

              "Oh.. so… they were married before?  But you're the youngest, you said."

              Another sigh like she was dealing with a five-year old. "Look, my mother stepped out on Paul when Caleb was four. She got knocked up. Begged Paul to take her back and he agreed. Never told him the guy she slept with was black. He never asked. I guess he assumed she'd sleep with someone who looked just like him, so naturally, the baby would look just like him and they could forget the whole thing. They could assimilate me into their little nuclear family, and Paul could forget that my mother lied. When I was born this color," she held up her forearm, "everything changed.”

              "Why didn't he leave her then?"

              "Denial. Guilt. Love. To punish her. I don't know."

              "So why aren't you in any of the pictures?"

              "Isn't it obvious? I don't exist. Not to Paul, anyway."
Oh my God! I was horrified and she saw it.
"Don't! Don't feel sorry for me, that isn’t why I told you." Her eyes, those brown portals to her real feelings told me different, but I couldn’t call her on it then because, frankly I couldn’t even process what she’d told me.

              "What does your mom do?"

              "What she can. Paul keeps pretty close tabs on her. She's not really allowed to work, you know...since. He watches her money pretty close. She gives me things every now and then on the sly. We both learned pretty early on not to rock the boat too much."

              "Why?" She didn't make eye contact and started fiddling with that knot in her cover up, "Charley! Why? Does he hit you?"

              She laughed ruefully, "If he did he'd have to acknowledge I exist."

              "Does he hit your mom?" She was quiet for an uncomfortable beat before answering. The fire that was in her seemed to extinguish.

              "Not anymore, now that, as far as he knows, she pretty much ignores me too."

              "Jesus."

              "It's really not that bad."

              "Christ, Charley! Yes! It is that fucking bad! Why didn't you ever tell someone?!"

              "I'm telling you now."

              "No goddamnit! I mean someone who can do something about it!"

              "Like who?"

              "I dunno. Child services or something?"

              "And tell them what, exactly? He never hit me, Teddy. There were never any marks. I was fed, mostly, and clothed. What would they say? Paul...he's a pretty powerful man. Who would they believe? I'd only succeed in pissing him off and then I may have been out on the street. And let's say they did take me from here. Where would I end up? In the system? In some foster family who may treat me well, but who, more likely, would abuse me even worse? Trust me; I've weighed all the options. Believe me when I tell you , I’m one of the lucky ones."

              "There must be something..."

              "Look, I was dealt a really shitty hand but I've learned to make the most of it."

              "It's not fair..."

              "Life isn't fair, Teddy."

              "Don't you ever get angry?"

              "All the time. I just channel the anger into my school work. I'm kinda smart, you know." She said with a playful smirk and bump of her hip into mine. The fact she had any energy to smile through everything she’d been through did something strange to me on the inside.

              "Yeah. I know. That's why I like you." I couldn't help myself, I reached out and put my fingers on her cheek. It was soft and warm like I'd imagined, like the skin of a peach. I brushed my hand lightly over the side of her face, then up to her ear and around the back of her neck. I rested there lightly and wasn't sure if it was her heartbeat I was feeling or mine. I brought my other hand up to her soft, spirally hair and pulled her to my chest in an embrace, because all I wanted was to hold her. Protect her.       I kissed the top of her dewy forehead and breathed deep.       I wanted more. Yeah the sexual way too, but for the first time since you, Lacey, that wasn’t all I wanted. There was this swelling feeling in my chest as I held her close that I never had with anyone before. I wanted to tell her this, but it wasn't the right time, even I knew that, so I just held her. She was the first one to speak.