Painted Memories (11 page)

“I can't. I didn't bring my ChapStick today,” I said sarcastically before getting up and walking to the chalkboard to wipe it clean.

“Oh, I take it my comment wasn't that funny then? Did you get my note?”

I whirled on him. “No, it wasn't funny. It embarrassed me and it wasn't necessary. And no, I didn't read the note. I wasn’t in the mood for another smart comment.”

“I didn't mean for it to come out the way it did. Knowing you were going out with him may have made me a tiny bit jealous.” He looked down at the floor briefly before looking back at me. “And it wasn't a smart comment.”

I lowered my tone. “Making you jealous was never my intention. I told you I wasn't dating anyone seriously, and that goes for you too. Like I said, I'm not settling. If you can't handle that, then it’s best we stick to being friends, if you can handle that.”

Drew closed the few feet between us and stood in front of me. His hands were in his khaki pockets. His navy pinstriped shirt was ironed to crisp perfection, setting off his broad shoulders. Amusement played in his eyes as he considered what I said.

“Yes, I clearly remember our conversation.” He took a step forward while I took a step back.
“I'll still be jealous.” He took another step.

“I want to make sure you know that you can date whomever you want, but I'm not giving up.”

Another step.

“I really do like you, Lilly. But being 'just friends' is not what I'm interested in. So if you’re not the slightest bit interested in me, tell me now.”

Another step.

My back hit the chalkboard and Drew was inches away. I could feel my heart rate picking up as his eyes drifted to my chest, briefly catching the increased rise and fall. He wasn't going to sit idly by, waiting for me to come to him. I couldn’t deny that it thrilled a part of me.

I nearly whispered my words when I spoke. “I don't know what I want yet. I'm still trying to figure that out.” He intimidated me, making me think and taking me off guard, all at once. It freaking turned me on and I was trying my best to hide it. Eating lunch with him now would be too much.  “I've got a lot of work to catch up on. I'll have to pass on lunch today.”

He studied me another minute, his gaze moving from my eyes to my lips. “Fine. Another time then?” He lifted his hand and brushed a loose hair behind my ear. His thumb swept across my jaw and stopped on my chin.

The breath I was holding escaped me and all I could do was nod in agreement.

“Good. Until then...” Drew leaned in, his thumb brushing over my lower lip and I
wanted
him to kiss me. To press me against the chalkboard with his body against mine, his hands around my waist… I didn't care who might walk by and see us. I wanted his lips on mine.

“You should read the note,” he said. Without another word, his hand dropped from my face and he was out the door.

I stood there a moment, shocked at what happened and released my pent-up breath. Finding my purse, I pulled the folded note out, curious now, and read it.

Sorry for what I said, I didn't mean it. You'd never need the
ChapStick, your lips are perfect
.

An instant smile warmed my face and I tucked the note back in my purse for safekeeping. Apparently, he liked my kiss as much as I liked his.

After school on Thursday, and a quick workout— more like gossiping than anything else—with Andrea, I stopped at Toni's and picked up the daily special. I decided to eat on a blanket next to the pond outside my apartment. With the gloomy sky and a light breeze, it made for a pleasant evening. A little more sunshine would have been nice, but I couldn't complain, especially with the crazy Georgia heat we usually had to endure. I graded more papers, set up next week's lesson plan, and tried to decide on my wardrobe for Saturday night with Tyler. All in all, I was having a pretty productive day.

Checking my watch, I was surprised to see it was nearly seven-thirty already. I put my papers back in my bag and folded up the blanket when my cell phone rang. Dropping everything back on the ground, I dug through my purse. Once I found the green glow of the LCD screen, I quickly pulled it out and read the caller's name. I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath when I saw “Dad” displayed across the screen. What does he want? Since I moved out of the house a couple years ago, he only called me when Mom put him up to it, or when he was drunk, and it never lasted more than five or ten minutes. Even before I moved out, he was never home long enough to have any lengthy conversations. Sometimes, Mom and I would corner him,
and make him have a normal conversation, but more often than not, it ended in harsh words and Mom crying in her bedroom. He was never the same after the accident.

Even though I hated talking to him, I put the phone to my ear, thinking the worst.
“Dad? What's wrong? Is Mom okay?”

“H-o-n-e-y?” he said, drawing the word out with a cheerful tone. “How's my baby girl doing?”

What? Baby girl? What was up with him? “We both know you don't call me that anymore, so you don't have to put on a cheerful charade. I know you don't care what I'm doing; you haven't for a long time now, or do you suddenly have a change of heart?” I had no sense of sympathy when speaking to my father anymore.

He laughed as if he heard something ridiculous. “I've had no change of heart,” he slurred. “I wanted to see how you could stand living with yourself
everyday for the past five years. After all this time, I still don't see any remorse about what you did to him.”

Oh, I got it now. “Drinking again, Dad?” I asked. He started early this year, but then again, he probably never stopped. He drank quite a bit when I was still living at home, but it seemed to get worse every week. Finally, I couldn't take him or his words anymore and moved out. Usually, however, he didn't “drunk-call” me this soon. The anniversary of Jesse's death wasn't until next week, which was when he normally called me. He’d go on and on about what I didn't do or should have done.  “Shouldn't you be calling me next week?” I didn't hear anything for a moment, so I said, “Let me speak to Mom.”

“No!' he yelled back. “She's not here to take your side this time! She always does and I'm sick of it.”

“Look, Dad, I don't have time for this. Why don't you call me back when you're not draining your sorrows in expensive scotch?”

“Don't you patronize me, young lady. You have no idea what I go through every day.”

“You're right, I don't!” I yelled. “You never talk to me about any of it. The only thing you do is place blame. How much longer are
you going to blame me for the accident?”

“I'll assign blame where blame is due. Blame's not forgotten just because you happen to be my daughter. Plus, not talking to you has worked for the past few years; I don't see any reason to change.”

I stood up and paced back and forth. My eyes burned with tears, which I refused to let fall, and I knew it was pointless to argue with a drunk. He would not remember anything he said to me in the morning. But I couldn't help myself. I couldn't take it anymore. “Why are you talking to me now? You made it pretty clear when I left that you never wanted to speak to me again. What's changed? Why do you keep calling me here and there if you're not interested in my life?”

“Not a damned thing has changed. But tell me... how do you live with yourself every day?”

How dare he ask me that! He had no right to assume I could live my life like it never happened. “Just like
you,
Dad, one freaking day at a time. Unlike you, I can do it without the alcohol. I don't need it to numb my senses. I've tried extremely hard to accept what I did. I've tried to come to terms that it was
only
an accident.” I heard him sniff and imagined him wiping his eyes, which was dumb. My dad rarely shed any tears.  “Dad, can't you learn to accept what happened and stop trying to blame everything... especially me?”

“Lilly? Is everything all right?” I heard from behind me. I spun around to find Drew with concern etched in his eyes. I didn't speak as I waited for my dad's response. Drew took a step closer, assessing my expression, but I stepped back to keep the distance between us. I had to avoid this confrontation. I was teetering on an emotional seesaw and one more step to try and comfort me would send me over the edge.

I heard a clink through the phone and knew Dad was lifting a glass of scotch to his mouth. When he spoke again, it was slow and precise; as if he were making sure I understood every word.

“You know, Jesse had so much to live for.” His words were soft, yet rigid.

“I know he did,” I answered.

“He was going to be a lawyer, take over the firm, have a family, children.”

“I know,” I whispered. Tears slid down my cheeks when I closed my eyes. I knew where this was going. I'd heard it before, how Jesse didn't get to live his life; and every time I thought about it, it made my heart ache. I opened my eyes to see Drew staring at me. He moved closer and reached out, placing his hand on my upper arm. I shrugged it off and shook my head at him. He remained frozen in front of me, and I knew he wouldn’t let this go. Eventually, I'd have to talk to him.

“You say you know, but do you really? You!” my dad said forcibly, “You took all of that away from him, away from me! And look at you now... teaching snotty-nosed kids. Jesse was going to do great things with his life, and the only thing you've accomplished is babysitting a bunch of brats.”

With every insult came more tears. “Shut up!” I yelled. “You don't mean it. You can't... you've had too much to drink and you're going to regret this later, Dad.”

“No, Lilly, my only regret was that Jesse died that day and not you.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. If the knife through my heart wasn't deep enough when I lost Jesse, he pushed it right up to the hilt. I knew deep down he couldn't have possibly meant what he said, but it didn't stop me from thinking that maybe he
did
. “I'm sorry you feel that way,” I said, trying to steady my voice and conceal my tear-streaked face.

“I'm not sorry, not one bit.”

The phone disconnected. He hung up on me after getting the last word, like he always did. It pissed me off that he could call me whenever he felt like it, and tell me he wished I were dead, then hang up on me without letting me say anything in my defense.

“Oh yeah?!”
I said, yelling at my phone. “Try calling me again.” I spun around and threw my phone at the pond as hard I could. It landed a good distance away with a “splash!” and I slumped down on my knees to watch the ripples ride their way back to the water’s edge. I felt Drew sit down beside me, but I didn't look at him. I couldn't. It was hard enough not to succumb to the breakdown I was about to have, and I didn't want him to see me like this. If I told him why my father hated me so much, he'd probably hate me too. How could anyone love me, knowing I killed my own brother? Accident or not, it was still my fault.

Drew spoke softly. “Lilly? What happened?”

I shook my head, not wanting to speak. The tears welled up and I bit my lip, trying to prevent their inevitable fall. “It was my father, that's all.” He grabbed my hand from my lap and the tears slid down my cheeks. “When he's drinking, he says things he doesn't mean.” I sucked in a deep breath as I forced a smile on my face. “I'll be fine. I always am.”

Drew gave my hand a firm squeeze. “You can talk to me, you know, about anything.”

“Thank you.”

“What did he say? Judging from your reaction, it must’ve been pretty bad.”

The smile slipped from my face. “I can't, Drew. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“I've seen you cry,” he said, reaching over and wiping the tears from my cheeks. “But this time it's different. Whatever he said really hurt you.”

“I appreciate your concern, I mean that. It
was
hurtful, but I don't want to talk about it.” I looked away. I knew if he convinced me to tell him, I'd be a blubbering baby by the time I got everything out. No way did I want him to see that side of me.

“Okay, I'm just worried about you.” He stood up. “I guess I better leave you alone.” 

I didn't want him walking away, thinking I didn’t appreciate his kindness, but I needed my own space. “Wait. Will you walk me back to my apartment please?  For now, I just need to be left alone.” I wanted to curl up in my bed and cry as hard and as much as I could. I hoped it would make me feel better.

Drew nodded and helped me up. He gathered my things in his arms and walked silently beside me. Once inside, he set my belongings down on top of my kitchen table and grabbed the pen and note pad from the bar. After scribbling something on it, he handed it to me.

“I see you have a home phone, so if you need anything, here's my cell phone number again. Since you can't call me from the bottom of the pond,” he smirked. “I'll be home the rest of the night, so call if you need anything. Okay?”

“Okay, I will.”

Drew turned to leave, but hesitated. “Are you sure you want to be alone? I don't mind keeping you company for a bit.”

He pushed my hair behind my shoulder and tucked a few stray strands behind my ear. I could tell he didn't like leaving me in my condition, especially after what he witnessed. I put a smile on my face and tried to maintain a strong front as best I could. Maybe if he saw that I didn't look so depressed, he wouldn't feel bad leaving me alone.