How (Not) to Fall in Love (4 page)

Lucas spun his stool so he faced Charlie. “eBay will take too long,” he said, “and you have to be eighteen to pawn it.” He glanced at me. “Are you?”

I shook my head. My eighteenth birthday was six months away. My earlier frustration washed away as I sat there watching him. Of course he thought I was a high-maintenance rich girl. What else would he think after being sent to rescue me from my castle like I was a special princess?

And he was right about me not shopping here. Yeah I wore jeans, but they weren’t from Wal-Mart. And I’d just showed him a box full of expensive jewelry.

While Lucas pondered my problem, I rested my chin in my hands, staring at my reflection in the mirror behind Charlie’s counter. Even though middle-aged cougars thought my dad was hot and my mom had been the queen of every school dance, I’d just ended up average. Highlights from Mom’s salon didn’t help my boring brown hair, and I was stuck with my too small nose and too wide mouth. I could be a Picasso model.

Lucas finally spoke. “My cousin had his car repo’d once. He was able to negotiate with the bank. Have you talked to anyone at your bank?”

I felt like he’d ripped off a huge scab, exposing a gaping wound. What was I doing here, asking two people I hardly knew for help? I suddenly felt raw and drained. I needed to leave.

Charlie must’ve sensed this, because he moved quickly around the counter. “Let’s go say hi to Liz, then I’ll take you home.”

“But I thought you had boxes to unpack,” I said, confused.

“I can drive her home,” Lucas said.

Charlie shot Lucas a cryptic look and shook his head. “You stay here. I’ll take Liz’s car.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Lucas crossed his arms over his chest, watching me with an unreadable expression. He was probably relieved his chauffeur duty was over.

Toby jumped up, sensing something was happening. Lucas leaned over to pet him again and I caught a glimpse of a tattoo peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. I couldn’t tell what it was, so I turned away before he caught me ogling him.

“Thanks,” I whispered to Charlie, horrified to feel tears threatening to breach the dam. No way could I break down here. I walked quickly to the door and shoved it open, juggling my hatbox and Toby’s leash. “Thanks for the ride, Lucas,” I said in a voice thick with unshed tears, but I didn’t think he heard me over the loud Halloween laugh.

Charlie caught up to me as I walked quickly down the sidewalk, headed for the coffee shop I’d noticed when Lucas and I had first arrived. I didn’t want to meet someone else tonight, but since Charlie was my ride I didn’t have much choice.

“I’m sorry, Darcy, if we upset you somehow.” Charlie’s voice was soft with concern.

“You didn’t.” I swiped tears off my cheeks with the back of my leash-holding hand. Damn it. I was not going to cry.

Charlie wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and I was stunned at how much he felt like my dad. I let out a long breath.

“Would you like to just go home?” Charlie asked. “You can meet Liz next time.”

Next time? I doubted there’d be one, but I nodded, grateful for the opportunity to leave sooner rather than later.

I followed Charlie around the corner to the alley to an older hybrid car.

“I don’t have a car,” Charlie said, pulling a key ring from his pocket, “but Liz lends me hers whenever I need one.” So that hadn’t changed since Dad’s anti-hippie rant ten years ago when he’d excommunicated my uncle from our lives.

Maybe I could follow my uncle’s example and go car-free. The thought of doing so was agony, but it didn’t look like I was going to be able to spring the Audi from repo jail.

We drove in companionable silence, except for the jazz playing from the car radio. It was like he knew I needed to recharge my batteries and not talk. By the time we got to my house I felt a little better.

“Thank you for sending Lucas to get me,” I said, as the car idled in the driveway. I tugged at my hair. “Sorry you didn’t get any of your boxes unpacked like you planned.”

His smile was mischievous. “That was mostly an excuse to get you out of your house and down to my neck of the woods.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I’m worried about you.” He glanced at our house, completely dark because I’d forgotten to leave lights on, and Mom wasn’t home yet. Or else she was passed out on the couch. “Looks pretty lonely for a girl by herself.”

I shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“I want you to come back to see me, Darcy. Regularly. Think about it, okay?”

I laughed. “You going to make Lucas my permanent chauffeur?”

“If I have to, yes.”

No way was that happening. “I can figure out the bus route. It’s not rocket science.” I grinned, then impulsively leaned over to hug him. I closed my eyes, inhaling his cinnamon and coffee smell. His answering hug was tight, once again reminding me of my dad.

He pulled away, his expression serious. “I can’t offer you money, Darcy, but I can offer you time. I’m always available to talk, or just listen. I meant what I said about coming to see me. If I’m not around, Lucas is, and he can always track me down.”

Right. Like I’d just waltz into Charlie’s store and hang out with that package of uber-hotness like it was no big deal.

“Want me to come inside with you?”

I shook my head, imagining Mom passed out on the couch. “No thanks.” I opened the car door and Toby leaped outside. I followed him up the driveway, pausing to wave good-bye to Charlie, who waited until I was safely inside.

Tonight had been full of surprises, not least of which was discovering my uncle still cared about me, a lot, and wanted me back in his life. No, he wasn’t a magic wizard. He was better than that, because he was real. He’d given me a lot to think about.

And the sexy chauffeur? I’d definitely be thinking about him, too.

Chapter Six

September 26

B
REAKING NEWS FROM TRI!UMPHANT! HARVEST INDUSTRIES
—
TRIUMPHANT
TY MISSING; PARTNER ASSUMES CONTROL
OF COMPANY

N
ational Newswire

B
REAKING NEWS

J
.J. Briggs, acting president of Tri!Umphant! Harvest Industries issued a press release from Denver headquarters today. Tyler Covington, the face of Tri!Umphant! Harvest, has not appeared at any of his scheduled engagements for the past month. Rumors have been swirling that Mr. Covington has abandoned both his business and his family, rumors that J.J. Briggs adamantly denied today at the press conference.

The text of Mr. Briggs’ statement appears below.

“All speaking appearances for Ty Covington have been cancelled for the next two months. Mr. Covington is taking an extended leave of absence for health reasons. Ticket purchasers will be given free tickets to a future engagement upon his return. There is no truth to the rumors that Mr. Covington is missing or that Harvest is in financial distress.”

“Ty is an inspiration to many of us and we know he will return reinvigorated with new words of wisdom to share. In the meantime, I am acting as the interim president of Tri!Umphant! Harvest Industries,” Mr. Briggs stated. He did not respond to questions from the press.

Comment on this story:

Share your comments on this story on our website. Comments may be removed by the moderator if considered inappropriate.

“That Tri!Umphant! crap is such total bullshit. I saw that Covington guy speak and even bought his CDs. I listened to the first two but then I couldn’t stomach any more of his vomit. What a SCAM!”
–DaveInDenver

“All that motivational stuff is a joke. Save your money and just get off your butt and get a job. There, I said all you need to hear in one sentence. Where’s my million-dollar speaking fee? HA HA!”
–JoeKnows

“Just because it didn’t work for you DaveInDenver doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. Some of us have the attention span to listen to ALL the CDs and it was LIFE CHANGING!! Don’t hate on something you don’t understand.”
–MissKT

“MissKT you are a freaking MORON! Your hero is in hiding. Dude even bailed on his family. What kind of ‘positive harvest’ is he unleashing for them?”
–DaveInDenver

“Even Jesus spent forty days alone in the dessert, DaveInDenver! Ty is coming back soon. I believe he will return to his fans and his family in TOTAL TRIUMPH!”
–MissKT

“Learn to spell MissKT. Jesus spent time in the desert, not a cherry pie. You’re an idiot to think Covington is coming back. He’s on some island no one has ever heard of, with plenty of cash to live out his life in style. Cash that idiots like you shelled out!”
–DaveInDenver

Comment removed by moderator.

Comment removed by moderator.

Comments no longer accepted on this story. Please visit our home page for more breaking news.

M
om and I sat in the family room together with our laptops. We’d closed all the drapes on the first floor of the house. Vans from the local TV news stations lined our street. I’d snuck around to the back of the house, ducking behind hedges when I got home from school so that no reporters would spot me. Every so often, one of the reporters rang the doorbell and Toby barked until he was hoarse. I knew he sensed our anxiety. Our fear.

J.J. called Mom to ask if she wanted him to come over and make a statement to the local press to get rid of them, but she told him no, he’d already done enough damage, thank you very much.

“The cat’s completely out of the bag now,” Mom said, staring at her laptop. “No more pretending he’s got laryngitis.” She snorted in disgust. I’d tried to convince her to stop reading all the horrible rumors online but she ignored me. “I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got a new job.”

I gaped at her. “You do? Doing what?”

“Working for Pam Hendricks, as her assistant.”

No way. Fake-Bake Pam? Chloe’s mom? Crap.

“I’m going to help out in her office while I study for my realtor license. Do open houses once in a while.” She shrugged. “It’s a foot in the door, I guess.”

Even the smallest seed can blossom into an unexpected harvest.
I heard Dad’s voice in my mind.
Tend to all your plants and opportunities, no matter how small.
Personally, I’d like to mow down this opportunity, or weed-whack it out of existence.

“So what about Harvest?” I asked, changing the subject from Mom’s awful new job. “I don’t understand why J.J. is in charge.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, then set her computer on the coffee table. “I don’t know. It was a decision made by the board.”

“How is that possible? Dad invented Tri!Umph.” I had a sudden craving for ice cream. I was turning into Pavlov’s dog. As soon as I heard bad news, my mouth watered for Ben & Jerry’s.

Toby pawed at my jean-clad leg, whining his unhappiness. I massaged his ears. “It’s okay, buddy,” I whispered. “Don’t freak. Leave that to the professionals.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Mom said, answering my question with another sigh. “Your dad and J.J. both created Harvest. They each have different strengths.”

This was news to me. As far as I knew, my dad
was
Tri!Umphant! Harvest. J.J. did boring stuff in the background like arrange Dad’s speaking schedule and produce the DVDs. Dad called it “administrivia” so I had the impression it was grunt work anybody could have done, but my dad had picked his oldest friend. Sort of did him a favor.

I closed my laptop. “Mom, can we not talk about this for a while? I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

Mom turned the TV to the classic movie channel. We watched Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and a baby leopard while overdosing on Cheetos and peanut M&M’s. I slugged down soda and Mom slugged down wine.

To each her own poison.

Sometime around nine o’clock, the reporters gave up and left. Toby collapsed in his dog bed, exhausted from his front door vigil.

“Do you think they’re gone for good?” I asked hopefully.

“Let’s hope so.” She refilled her wineglass, which wasn’t even empty. “Damned reporters.”

“Maybe Brad and Angelina’s secret quadruplets will be revealed and take the news focus off Dad. I hear they were born with Brangelina tattoos.” I waited for her laugh.

“You can save the vulgar humor for your friends.” Her eyes were slits. Back to non-swearing proper mom, just like that.

“Mom, I think our
Downton Abbey
days are over. Our lives are turning to crap. We’ve got to laugh at something.”

She ignored me, flipping the channel from Cary Grant back to the local news. A perky reporter chirped into the camera. “No signs of life today at the Covington residence. If Tyler Covington is there, he’s not coming out to talk to us.”

Cut to shot of reporter on our front porch, ringing the bell. Toby’s muffled bark sounded in the background.

“Now can I make jokes about celebrity offspring? And their tats?” I asked.

Mom rose creakily from the couch and tossed the remote at me. “Knock yourself out. I’m going to bed.”

Whatever, Mom. Just go ahead and check out. Dad did; you might as well, too.

A
fter Mom went to bed, I opened my laptop with Toby curled next to me. After watching a few puppy videos that made me almost smile, I typed in a new search.

There he was. My dad, sort of blurry and poor audio quality, but that was definitely him. He paced the stage, lit by spotlights. I wasn’t sure which arena he was in, but it was a big one. The camera cut to the audience where thousands of people hung on his every word. A picture of my old pink bicycle flashed on the screen behind him.

Dad told the audience how J.J. had taught me to ride a bike when I was six years old. My dad couldn’t do it because he’d been very ill. So sick he almost died. This was the famous brush-with-death speech. He told the audience how his illness made him see what was important in life, how it inspired him to follow his dreams, and to teach others how to do the same.

I kind of remembered my sixth summer. J.J. visited often, and one day he brought me a Barbie bike with pink and white handlebar streamers. He ran behind me for days, holding onto the back of the bicycle seat until I mastered the sidewalk on my own.

“No training wheels,” he’d insisted to my worried mother. “They’re a crutch. She needs to learn to trust herself.” That was part of Dad’s spiel, too, how J.J. reminded him that we rely too much on training wheels in life, that we need to learn to balance on our own.

The camera panned the audience for close-ups. Most of the women and a few of the men were in tears, picturing me on my bike, my dad on his deathbed, J.J. reassuring my overwhelmed mother.

When I was younger, Dad dragged Mom and me along during his summer tours, and this was the point when he made me join him on stage. Unlike Dad, I looked petrified, and more than once I reached around to pull my underwear out of my butt crack. Those videos had done wonders for my social life. Not.

I stopped the video and leaned against a pillow. It was quite a story, at least the way my dad told it. I closed my eyes and remembered how proud I’d felt watching him from backstage.

What had happened? What had caused him to run away? To go against his own philosophy of facing life head-on, no matter what curveballs it threw?

I opened up Dad’s Facebook fan page. I scrolled the page, reading all the gushing comments about how awesome he was, how his philosophy had changed lives in dramatic ways. I scrolled down to the entries from before he’d disappeared, looking for some clue about what was going through his mind.

“Is Ty okay?”
Written by somebody named Bethany.
“I’ve seen him speak so many times,”
she wrote,
“but this last time he seemed off, somehow. The fire wasn’t there.”

I sat up, propping pillows behind me.

“I thought so, too,”
someone named Li Wei had replied.
“It’s like he wasn’t all there. Like part of him was missing.”

A chill ran up my spine. I looked at the dates. Three months ago. I’d been busy hanging out at the country club over the summer, swimming and playing tennis. I hadn’t thought about it since it happened, but now that I read these comments, I remembered coming home late one night and hearing a noise from Dad’s office. When I’d peeked in, he was at his desk, head in his hands. He looked up when the door opened, wiping his eyes.

“Are you okay, Dad?” I didn’t think I’d ever seen him cry before.

He’d flashed me his magazine cover smile. “I’m fine, sweetie. Just…tired.”

I’d said good night and closed the door. And hadn’t worried, because my dad was always fine.

How many other clues had Mom and I missed, or ignored, because we didn’t want to see them?

I closed my laptop and tried to sleep, but my phone pinged with a text from Charlie.
“R u ok? Saw the reporters on your porch on the news.”
Punctuated with a frowny face emoticon.

His concern was comforting, especially in light of Mom’s cranky exit.

“I’m ok,”
I typed, then amended it.
“We both are.”

It was a lie, of course, but what else could I say?