His Eyes (6 page)

I turned up the wipers on my car, but that did nothing for the blurriness of my vision. With a sigh, I pulled to the side of the road. “Well, I tried to rush dinner like we planned, but it didn’t work and I had to leave—”

“Leave a
Charlie
dinner
?” Only Ahna could truly understand such a seemingly little thing’s significance. “Your mom must have freaked!”

“But that’s not the worst of it!” I moaned. “I took Tristan to that rehearsal thing and most of the Clarencites didn’t even know he was blind. He put his arm around me—”

“Oooh,” she cooed.

“I think he wanted them to think, I don’t know, that I was the reason he was gone or something? I mean, why would he show up out of nowhere with a girl, right?”

Ahna was quick to rise to my defense. “So, he was using you as a prop? What a jerk!”

“Well, the Clarencites are really mean and....” My voice trailed off.

“And,
what
?” she demanded.

In a rush, I admitted, “And I gave him the wrong pop to see if he was just faking being blind.”

“Amy, seriously, who would fake something like that?”

I covered my eyes with my hand and tried to explain, “I don’t know, but there was this girl and they were talking about him dating all these people and...then he fell.”

There was a moment of silence and then she screamed so loudly that I had to pull the phone away from my head. “
You tripped him again
?”

“Uh, my chair did....” I wiped the remaining tears from my cheeks. “I know: I’m stupid.”

“My gosh, Aim! Don’t you
want
to keep the best-paying job in Grayfield? Not to mention the fact that you like him—”

“I do not!”

I could feel Ahna rolling her eyes. “Yeah, whatever. But, you shouldn’t let the Clarencites get to you like that. You’re better than that, Aim. I know you. Remember, for most of seventh grade you wore shirts made out of burlap ‘cause your mom said it would keep kids out of sweatshops? You take the high road, even if it’s rough.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

“I’m serious!” she complained.

“You’re right. I don’t know what was wrong with me!” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and whispered, “Do you think he’s still mad?”

She snorted. “How the heck should I know? But put it this way: If
I
ever go bind, I’m not asking you to get me a drink.”

“Thanks, Ahna.” My heart fell. “You’re a big help.”

“Okay, you need to make yourself look hot.”

“Ahna, he’s
blind
!”

“Hey, it’s gonna make you feel more confident. Trust me.” Her sisters began shouting in the background. “Listen, I have to run. Why don’t I come over tomorrow and give you a hand?”

“Yes!
Please
!” I begged. Ahna wasn’t any more into fashion than I was, but living with so many sisters, she had picked up a thing or two. Without her help, I don’t think I would’ve made it to a single dance.

The complaint that Ahna was hogging the phone became louder.

“
Just a minute
,” she hissed and then told me, “He’ll be drooling at your feet in no time.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Right,” she laughed. “’night, Aim.”

“’night.”

I turned off my phone and threw it back into my bag. Ahna was wrong. I didn’t want Tristan to
like
like me, just to like me. Acquaintance level. Platonic. Anything more would be... Well, it wouldn’t happen. I paused, closing my eyes and listening to the quiet. Then I pulled back onto the darkened road and turned the Queen tape back on.

I was singing to myself by the time I pulled into my driveway. I stepped from my car, folding my arms against the cold and noticed that the porch lights were on. Through the windows, the house appeared dark, even though it wasn’t late. I unlocked the front door and slid inside, brushing my hand against the wall to keep my bearings. As I entered the kitchen, the lights flicked on and I blinked in surprise.

Dad sat on one of the kitchen chairs. He looked more tired than his fifty years required of him. I was worried what he would say, but he smiled at me. I took the seat he gestured to and he asked, “How did it go, tonight?”

I sighed. “Oh, all right.”

He nodded and rubbed his lined forehead. “Your mom and I had a long talk tonight. We realize that we’ve been putting too much pressure on you, all of these years, about the dinners. It’s not going to bring Charlie back and it was unfair of us to expect you to live your life around them. After all, next year you’ll be off at Illinois U....”

I winced when I was reminded that I hadn’t told him about Evanston. I leaned forward and said, “Don’t worry about it, Dad—”

His blue eyes glittered with certainty. “No, Amy, I mean it! There aren’t going to be any more special—what is it you and Ahna call them?—‘Charlie dinners.’” I blushed; we always thought my parents didn’t know about our nickname. “So, if you want to make any plans for tomorrow night, you can go right ahead.”

Speaking of which... “Actually, I
am
supposed to sit tomorrow night at seven.”

“All right.”

I got up and kissed him on the forehead. “I love you, Dad.”

He patted my cheek. “I love you, too.”

I walked to my bedroom and, with a sigh, I flopped onto my bed. I pulled out the letter to Charlie I’d started and smoothed out the wrinkles with my hand. I paused, tapping my pen against my mouth in consideration, before adding at the bottom of the page: “P.S. Never mind about coming tonight. Not that you would’ve gotten this in time, anyway. I just talked to Dad and I guess they’re going to relax on the dinners. Finally. I can hardly believe it. Not that I don’t love you, of course I do, but I think we all know that you’d rather drop dead than come back here. I hope you’re enjoying Cali! In your next letter, make sure you actually tell me what you’re up to!”

Chapter 6

“What about this one?” I held up a black dress with a hot pink sash, but Ahna frowned.

“Black at a graduation?”

“I don’t know!” I threw up my hands. “You look.”

I took Ahna’s place on my bed and she leapt toward the closet. She explained, “You need something that’s going to stand out.” She tossed her hair and pulled out a dress. “Something red.”

I stood up and took the hanger. I examined the dress—a flower pattern lace over satiny fabric, with a ruched top and spaghetti straps. I remembered, “Junior year homecoming.”

“My second date with Lyle,” Ahna said nostalgically.

“My only date with,” I scrunched my face at the memory, “Scott Lancaster.”

“Didn’t he grab your butt?”

“Yes!
Every
dance, fast or slow!” I complained.

Ahna grinned. “Well, you’ll have better luck in it tonight. Put it on and I’ll go find your makeup.”

I laughed as she headed to the bathroom; she knew me too well. Except for special occasions, I never wore makeup—thanks to my mom’s influence—so it usually ended up buried at the bottom of a drawer in the bathroom. Prep for a dance wasn’t complete without Ahna spending fifteen minutes grumbling while she dug through drawers in search of my one, illusive tube of lipstick. But that’s what friends are for.

I took off my t-shirt and jeans and slid into the dress. The fabric was smooth against my skin while I eyed myself in the mirror. The dress ended at my knees with a small ruffle. I couldn’t stop myself from spinning in a circle and humming
Lady in Red
. I knew I wasn’t destined for a modeling contract, but there was something about wearing red that made me feel beautiful. Ahna was right; this was it.

While I pulled on a pair of red heels, there was a knock at my bedroom door. Ahna pushed it open with her foot. She was armed with a curling iron in one hand and an eyeliner pencil in the other. She held them in the air and proclaimed, “When I get done, Tristan won’t be able to take his ey—er, mind off of you.”

* * *

As I drove up to the Edmunds’ gate, I saw that it was open. The déjà vu made my stomach twist with nervous nausea. Pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear, I pulled into the driveway. I immediately had to swerve when a woman carrying a serving platter walked in front of my car. Slamming on the brakes, I realized that the drive was jam-packed with white vans that had
Platinum Catering
silk-screened on their sides. I inched my Camry as close to the entrance as possible, double parking next to one of the vans.

I stepped out of my car, doing a little hopscotch when one of my heels became lodged in the cobblestone. Great. I bent over, slowly working my shoe loose, and heard a low whistle. I jerked my head up to see Chris standing on the top of the steps next to Tristan. Pervy little boy. He leaned toward his brother, whispering loudly, “Trist, she looks
really
pretty!”

My cheeks burned and Tristan gave his brother a smack on the back of the head. “Shut up! She can
hear
you!”

“Oh.” Chris looked down at his feet while rubbing his head.

I gave my foot one hard jerk and my shoe came free. I clicked my way up the stairs and stopped next to Tristan. “Hey. What’s all this about?”

Tristan was dressed in a white dress shirt, black tie, and pants. These were covered with a traditional black robe. Complete with his dark sunglasses, he looked like he had wandered off of a photo shoot. He held his graduation cap in one hand and brushed the other through his hair. “Mother’s throwing a post-graduation party,” he turned his head toward me, “for the school board members.”

Oh. The people she’d paid off. I awkwardly scratched the back of my neck. “Okay, well, we’d better get going. Wouldn’t want to be late.”

He gave a short laugh. “No,
that
can’t lead to anything good.”

While I guided Tristan to my car, Chris said in a sing-song voice, “Have fun!”

I rolled my eyes and climbed into the driver’s side. “Yeah, see you there, kid!”

“This is going to be good,” Tristan said sarcastically as he swung the car door shut.

“I take it you’re not excited?” I looked over to see him pulling at his tie. “Graduation is one of those ‘Big Things’ in life you’re supposed to remember forever.”

“I thought births, weddings, and funerals pretty much covered it.”

After maneuvering carefully around the caterers, I pulled safely back onto the road and hit the gas. I asked, “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

“Well, I saw both Chris and Marly right after they were born—check. I was a groomsman at my uncle’s second wedding—check. And the funeral,” he paused and his voice lost some of its edge, “that hit pretty close home. I mean, burying your father...you don’t forget that.”

I licked my dry lips and said quietly, “That must have been awful.”

Tristan shifted in his seat. “I’ve had better days.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Tristan had a knack for using his sarcasm to avoid talking about tough stuff. But then again, I did too, so I wasn’t about to call him on it. I silently pulled into Clarence’s parking lot an entire ten minutes early. The lot was full of expensive, polished vehicles. Luckily, I found a tiny space near the sidewalk that the Hummers and Suburbans couldn’t dream of fitting in, while my Camry did just fine.

I walked around my car, while Tristan climbed out of his side. When he took my arm, I asked coyly, “So, no more arm around the waist?”

He frowned and said shortly, “I don’t think anyone’s going to be questioning why we’re together, anymore.”

Ouch. He had point.

I followed the line of formally dressed families that were filing from the parking lot into the building. We walked inside, down a hallway, and into a large wood-floored gymnasium. There were rows upon rows of leather-cushioned seats that put to shame the rusted old folding chairs I knew would be at my graduation. Elegant banners depicting fierce panthers hung from the ceiling. At the far end of the room was a small stage on which several older women and men, including the headmaster, sat.

Many of Tristan’s classmates were already in their seats and they turned to watch us walk down the aisle. I kept my head facing forward and hurried to the front row where two seats were waiting; I guessed his mother had arranged for this, too. After we were seated, Tristan’s hand remained wrapped firmly around my arm. I patted his hand comfortingly. His skin was like ice! I hissed, “Nervous?”

His face rigid, Tristan quickly lied, “No.”

I shrugged. He didn’t have to tell me.

A moment later, he leaned toward me. “Can’t you feel them?”

In fact, I could. Having a hundred people staring at you is hard to ignore. I squeezed his hand and whispered back, “It’s going to be fine.”

The lights in the room dimmed and I zoned out while the Valedictorian and the Salutatorian took turns at the podium giving their speeches on the future and the great possibilities for our generation and whatever. They were both slow and monotone enough to lose me after thirty seconds. The applause of the crowd and the brightening of the gymnasium lights jarred me back to reality.

From behind the stage, the Clarence orchestra began to play
Pomp and Circumstance
and the name “Michelle Anderson,” boomed through the room. Michelle, from a mere five chairs away, stood and began her ascent to the stage. She was followed shortly by, “Kelly Brighton,” “Peter Darmon,” and “Nicole Dunne.” After each name was read, the audience clapped wildly. “Joseph Eccles,” from the last chair to Tristan’s left, even garnered a whistle. I amused myself with visions of the offending whistler being dragged away by secret Clarencite police, before I realized that it was...
our
turn!

“Tristan Edmund.”

With a gulp, I rose and Tristan jerked to his feet. We made it to the top of the platform before I realized that the applause was pathetically quiet, except for the back of the room, where Charlie was standing on top of his seat, clapping his little hands off, along with Mrs. Edmund. Perhaps it was the red of my dress, but I was pissed. I spun on my heel, glaring at the crowd, and began to clap as loud as I could. Pumping my fist in the air, I yelled, “
Woohoo
!”