Embrace Me (31 page)

I sighed. We weren't quite where we needed to be with the numbers. And at the end of the day, Daisy was responsible for herself. She was an adult. If she didn't want to have the surgery, she should speak up and refuse.

Daisy balked at first but a few evenings in my apartment settled it.

I'm ashamed to say it went too far, Father Brian. And she suddenly thought we were a real item. I convinced her to keep the “relationship” a secret, claiming it would be a circus if all the church people knew about it.

She came to my apartment a lot, after hours. One night, she took off her shoes and curled her feet up beneath her on the couch. I showed her a photo album and she said I looked like my mother, that she'd heard of my father but wasn't really into politics.

I truly loved her at that moment. But I pushed it down. It was a chance at redemption. I know that now, Father. But I cast it aside.

Later she confessed to me she and her mother were having real problems. “I just want to get away from her.”

“Why not just leave town? Make your own life?” I don't know why I said it. I wanted to pull the words back as soon as they were out.

Mostly because I needed Daisy. She got more fan mail than I did. I think any real love we might have known was simply doomed by the circumstances.

“How many people do you know that really do that, Drew?

Honestly. We act like it's an option for everyone, that everybody in the world has it in them to do that. But how many people really do it?”

Wow, does that sound familiar.

“You're right. We can't have sex anymore, Daisy. You know that, don't you?”

“But I love you.”

“It's not right.”

“I'm sorry.”

I prayed she wouldn't ask me if I loved her too. She didn't. She knew the truth.

She made her excuses, a Bible study to attend, and left my apartment. I leaned out the window of my bathroom and smoked a cigarette.

Daisy and Monica. Neither of them brave enough to do a big heroic deed. But then who is? Really?

Monica and I drive into Campton in her minivan. Why she needs a minivan I don't know. She wants to introduce me to her friends at work.

“Where do you work?”

“It's a surprise.”

“I see.”

“No, actually, you don't. The gang will love you.”

“The gang?”

“Just wait.”

“So what has happened to your prophesying these days?”

She chuckles. “I just keep it to a more local scale.” Reaching over and grabbing my knee, she lets out a squeal of joy. “I can't believe we're together again. You and me, Drew.” She sets a pair of sunglasses on her nose and smiles at the road ahead of her, her chin tilted slightly up from her long neck, a polka-dotted scarf tying back her auburn hair, now streaked with white.

We snake along Route 15, passing small farms, a chair store, car repair shops, a woodworking place, until the houses thicken, a church appears, a hardware store, and then a stoplight.

“It's our only stoplight.”

“Nice.”

“Well, it is what it is, as they say.”

She takes a right, drives a short way to the strip shopping center just before a Dairy Queen.

“You work at the Dollar General?”

“No. There.” She points to a small storefront to the left. “Mountain Mist Tattoos.”

“You work at a tattoo parlor?”

“It's even worse. I own the place.”

FOURTEEN

VALENTINE: 2009

J
essica, a healthy woman with dark curly hair, pulls out a scarf and hands it to me. “For you.”

She and the other two “monks” arrived back from Thailand yesterday.

We sit at Blaze's kitchen table drinking tea with honey.

“Augustine told us all about you.”

“He's pushy.”

She laughs freely. “Not really. He just loves people. Pushy and loving are two very different things, don't you think?”

“Maybe.”

“So anyway, he told me about your beautiful brown hair and asked me to bring you back something in a dark pink.”

“He did?”

“E-mailed me from Java Jane's.”

“One thing I don't get about Augustine. He doesn't try to change people. He's never once told me to stop wearing my scarf altogether, although he said it wouldn't bother him if I did. He's never once given me that hokum spiel about loving yourself for who you are.”

“No, he wouldn't do that. I mean, look at the guy. He's wearing his own sort of scarf, right? Don't we all?”

“You look pretty wholesome and natural.”

“We all walk around with some kind of shame we hide.”

I think about that. I'm not telling her what I told the disciples, that's for sure. “Augustine doesn't share his past.”

“No. He hasn't with any of us. We respect that.”

“It must be a doozy.” I refresh our tea.

Dahlia calls me to come get Lella, and I make my excuses, showing Jessica out.

I carry Lella to Dahlia's rental car. Dahlia follows.

“Look, Val. I bought a pair of secondhand legs for Lella. And we've got a wheelchair in the trunk of the car.”

The legs are already enclosed in chocolate-brown pants matching a new caramel-colored sweater and shirt she'd bought Lella the day before at The Limited. The Limited!

Lella's eyes glimmer. “Imagine, Valentine. A real pants suit. We're going to the mall to shop for a couple more outfits.”

“That'll be fun.”

“Oh, yes. And after that we're going to the movies. Aunt Dahlia says they actually have little spots for wheelchairs these days. Right in the theater. Imagine that!”

“You'll have to tell me all about it.” Please don't.

“I will.”

I set her on the front seat, belt her in, and hurry up the front walk before they drive away.

Why I never thought of legs is beyond me. Lella could have gone all over the place. Of course if she wanted to go out during the day, she'd need someone else to push her, but Rick would have happily volunteered. They could have gone to the movies, sat in the park on nice days, the bloom of the sunshine on Lella's face. Instead, Lella sat in her room day after day with me, reading magazines and comic books, listening to a thousand versions of “Embraceable You,” watching me make jewelry and suggesting gemstone combinations.

I'm no good for her.

Rick pounces an hour later when I come down to get another cup of tea. “That's a great scarf, Val.”

“Thanks.”

“You know”—he jerks a thumb toward the general direction of the front door—“we should take a lesson from Lell. We should go out too. Show off that scarf.”

I place the kettle on the stove and turn up the flame. “You know, Rick, you've said some stupid things in your life, but that's got to be one of the most stupid.”

“Come on, Val . . .”

“No, really. Do you think this scarf will make me any less conspicuous? I mean who goes around with a scarf under their eyes? All anybody will do is wonder why I'm wearing it. It'll be a disaster.”

“Okay, okay.” That rubbery skin on his face turns crimson.

Gosh, why do I do this to him? “Look, Rick, there's no hope for me and you. I just don't like you in that way.”

“Is there someone else?”

I grunt for a reply.

“Valentine, your injuries don't matter to me.”

“Oh, so it's my sparkling personality?”

“You know, you care a lot more about people than you think.”

Now there's where Rick's wrong. I'm perfectly aware that I care about people. More than I should, probably.

“Let's just keep things where they are, okay? I liked it better when you were just my friend.”

“I can't help the way I feel about you, Val.”

“You're going to have to. Why not Lella? Why don't you love her?”

He shrugs and pulls out a chair at the kitchen table. “I don't know. I just don't. She's beautiful and all that, but . . .”

“Seriously, you should think about going out with her. I mean, she's got these new legs and all.”

I lift down a teapot and settle in several tea bags. If I was better at conversation I'd fill the silence, but today is different. Lella has legs and all I got was a new scarf and the same old Rick.

“You want to play a game of Scrabble?” I offer.

“Make it Trivial Pursuit and you're on.”

“Great. I stink at Trivial Pursuit.”

“That sure is the truth.”

“I'm just taking a break from recording,” Charmaine says over a phone call. She tells me she's been praying for me like crazy. “You got a lotta pain in there, Val. Maybe it would help to talk about it more.”

“Charmaine, it's a gruesome tale. Trust me, you don't wanna know it all.”

“I really do. Val, I want to bear your burdens.”

“You wanna hear about the burns?”

“I'll be done recording in an hour and then I'll be over.”

“I'll meet you at the dock.”

“I'll be there.”

And she is, because she said she'd be.

“You want some chocolate?” She reaches into her pocket.

“Not today. I just better get this out.”

I fill her in on what I told the disciples, then continue.

“The toilet in the motel room was stopped up. I called the front desk and the lady said they'd be right up with some Drano.”

“Oh, my heavens,” Charmaine whispers.

“The maintenance man, a slippery fellow with long yellow hair, poured some of the stuff into the bowl and said he'd let it set for a little while. He told me to flush in a bit and give him a call if it didn't work.

“His cell phone rang and he hurried out of my room, leaving the Drano on the counter by the sink. I found the Vicodin and the OxyContin, filled the plastic cup half full with water, and they slipped down easily. Three each. I just wanted to slip away for a bit. That amount wouldn't kill me, I supposed.”