Remember Me (3 page)

He had legs, he had hips. He had independent rear suspension.

We used to make out all the time in his bedroom with the music on real loud.

And then, one warm and lustful evening, two weeks before Beth's birthday party, we took off our clothes and almost had sex.

I loved to think about sex. I could fantasize six hours a day and not get tired, even if I was repeating the same fantasy with only slight variations. I was a master of slight variations.

But one can think too much. When we got naked together in bed, things did not go well.

Daniel couldn't...

Oh, this will sound crude if I say it, so I'll say instead that I shouldn't have overdone it comparing him to my Ferrari. Yet, in a sense, he was as fast as the car. I left the room a virgin.

He was so embarrassed. I didn't understand why. I was going to give him another fifty chances. I wasn't going to tell anyone. I didn't tell anyone, not really. Maybe Jo, sort of.

But she couldn't have told anyone else and had enough details to sound like she knew what she was talking about.

Unless she had added details of her own.

Daniel and I had other things in common, other things we liked to do together.

We both enjoyed going to movies, to the beach, out to eat. That may not sound like a lot, but when you're in high school, it often seems like that's all there is.

Anyway, when I went outside to welcome Daniel, he was in ecstasy. He had turned on the light in the garage and was pacing around the car and kicking the tires like guys are fond of doing when they see a hot set of wheels. I didn't mind. He had on white pants and a rust-colored leather coat that went perfectly with his head of thick brown hair.

"Did you have it on the freeway today, Shar?" he asked.

"Yeah, but I didn't push it. They told me to break it in slowly over the first thousand miles."

"This baby could go up to one forty before it would begin to sweat." He popped open the driver's door and studied the speedometer. "Do you know how many grand this set your dad back?"

"He wouldn't tell me. Do you know how many?"

Daniel shook his head. "Let's just say he could have bought you a house in the neighborhood for the same money." He went to climb inside. "Are you ready to go?

Can I drive?"

"We can't take it. Amanda Parish is here, and she's riding with us. And we have to pick up Jo."

Although Joanne had introduced the two of us, Daniel didn't like her. It would be hard to pinpoint specifically what she did that bothered him, other than that he was a boy and she had a tendency to make the male species as a whole feel inferior.

I had no idea what he thought of Amanda.

He showed a trace of annoyance. "You didn't tell me."

"I didn't know until a little while ago." The Ferrari had no backseat. "We can go for a drive in it tomorrow."

He shut the door, sort of hard, and I jumped slightly. To be entirely truthful, I never felt entirely comfortable around Daniel. He strode toward me and gave me a hug. His embraces were always unexpected.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

He kissed me. He wasn't an expert at lovemaking, but he had a warm mouth.

He also had strong arms. As they went around me, I could feel myself relaxing and tensing at the same time. I didn't know if other girls felt the same way when their boyfriends embraced them. But when his kisses grew hard and deep, I didn't mind.

"Oh, sorry," we heard behind us a minute or so later.

Daniel let go, and I whirled. There was Amanda, as pretty and as unprepared as when I walked in on her in the upstairs bedroom. Her big eyes looking down, she turned to leave.

"No, it's OK," I said, taking a step toward her, only mildly embarrassed. "We should be leaving. Stay here. I'll go say goodbye to Jimmy and Mother Mary. Be back in a moment."

Amanda stopped. "What did you say?"

I suddenly realized I'd brought up Jimmy. "If Jimmy's awake," I said quickly, the remark sounding thin in my own ears. "He was asleep a few minutes ago."

Amanda stared at me a moment. Then she muttered, "Say hello for me."

"Sure."

Jimmy was awake when I peeked in his door. He motioned me to come and sit on his bed. His computer screen was still on, and, as always, I found the faint green light hard on my eyes.

"Why don't you just turn it off?" I asked, gesturing to the CRT.

He smiled faintly, his muscular arms folded across his

smooth chest, his eyes staring off into space. He was in a different mood now—

more contemplative. "I might wake in the night inspired."

"The way you get around in your sleep, you wouldn't have to wake up."

"I was dreaming about you before I bumped into you in the hall."

"Oh? Tell me about h?"

He had just opened the window above his bed, and a cool breeze touched us both. Later, I thought it might have been the breath of the Grim Reaper. It was a warm night. Jimmy closed his eyes and spoke softly.

"We were in a strange place. It was like a world inside a flower. I know that sounds weird, but I don't know how else to describe it. Everything was glowing.

We were in a wide-open space, like a field. And you were dressed exactly as you are now, in those slacks and that blouse. You had a balloon in your hand that you were trying to blow up. No, you had blown it up partway, and you wanted me to blow it up the rest of the way.

You tried to give it to me. You had tied a string to it. But I didn't catch the string right or something, and it got away. We watched it float way up in the sky. Then you began to cry."

Far away, toward the front of the house, I heard Daniel start his car. He wasn't a good one to keep waiting. But suddenly, I didn't feel like going to Beth's party. I just wanted to sit and talk with my brother until he fell asleep. I pulled his sheet up over his chest. The breeze through the open window was getting chilly now.

"Why was I crying?" I asked.

"Because the balloon got away."

"What color was it?"

"I don't know. Brown, I think."

"Everything's brown to you! What was so special about the balloon?"

He opened his eyes and smiled at me. For a moment I thought he was going to ask me about Amanda again. I felt grateful when he didn't. "I don't know." He paused. "Will you be out late?"

"Not too late."

"Good."

"What's the matter?"

He thought a moment. "Nothing. I'm just tired." He squeezed my hand. "Have fun."

I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, brother."

He closed his eyes, and it seemed to me he was trying to picture my balloon a little more clearly so maybe he could answer my question about it a little better. But all he said was, "Take care, sister."

People. When you say goodbye to them for the last time, you'd expect it to be special, never mind that there's never any way to know for sure you're never going to see them again. In that respect, I would have to say I am thankful, at least, that my brother and I got to talk one last time before I left for the party.

But when I got downstairs, Daniel was blowing his horn, and Mrs. Parish was vacuuming the dining room. I barely had a chance to poke my head in on her as I flew out the door.

"We're going," I called.

Mrs. Parish leaned over as if she was in pain and turned off the vacuum. "Did you bring a sweater?" she asked, taking a breath.

"Nah! I've got my boyfriend to keep me warm!"

She laughed at my nerve. "Take care, Shari."

"I will," I promised.

But I lied. And those little white lies, they catch up with you eventually. Or maybe they just get away from you, like a balloon in the wind.

A. LET AMANDA sit in the front seat with Daniel. His Audi didn't have much of a backseat, and since I'm a lot shorter than Amanda, I figured it was only fair.

I'd always been kind of sensitive about my height. I won't tell you exactly how tall I was—suffice it to say that I was only an inch taller than Little Jo and that she hadn't gotten her nickname by accident. A lot of people thought Jo and I were sisters.

Amanda perked up once we got on the road. Or at least she began to do more than nod her head and smile faintly.

Amanda was awfully shy. Maybe it was the sugar in the cake that got her talking a bit.

For a girl who didn't like desserts, she had gone to enough trouble to sneak back into the kitchen and grab another piece of the chocolate monster. As Daniel raced toward Jo's house at warp eight, Amanda fought to balance the cake between a napkin and her mouth. She must have known how paranoid Daniel was about getting crumbs on his upholstery.

"Thanks for inviting me to the party," Amanda said between bitefuls. "I've been cooped up in the house all day painting."

"I'm glad you're coming," I replied. In reality, I had not invited Amanda. She had invited herself through her mother.

"You're an artist?" Daniel asked. "What were you painting?"

Amanda hesitated. "Our bathroom."

"Really?" Daniel said. Amanda could have told him she'd been cleaning toilets; he was amazed. He had obviously never painted a wall in his life. His parents were almost as well-off as my own, as were the parents of most of the kids we went to school with. Amanda was our token pauper. I sometimes kidded her about it.

"What color?" I asked.

"White," Amanda said.

"White's so boring," I said. "Why white?"

"It's all the same to me," Amanda said.

"You must be color-blind," I said. "You're as bad as Jimmy. He keeps telling me I have brown eyes."

"What color are your eyes?" Amanda asked.

"Look at them," I said, slightly exasperated. "Can't you tell?"

Amanda glanced over her shoulder. "It's too dark. Are they green?"

"Good girl," I said. "We'll let you live." Daniel took a corner at the same speed he was taking the straightaways.

"Hey, Dan, slow down. It's only a party we're going to."

"I just don't want to be late," he said. "Jo had better be ready."

"She'll be ready," I said. "Jo is always ready."

Jo wasn't ready. I told Daniel and Amanda to wait while I ran in to get her. Jo's mother answered the door. I didn't mention this earlier, but Jo's mother and Amanda's mother were sisters, which meant, of course, that Jo and Amanda were cousins. The reason I didn't mention it before was because Jo and Amanda were so different I forgot they were related. Their mothers were even less compatible. The only thing they had in common was that they both were divorcees.

Mrs. Parish would have given me her right arm had I needed, but Mrs. Foulton wouldn't have twisted her left wrist to let me see her watch had I asked the time. The lady wasn't hostile toward me, just busy. That was her excuse for everything—she had so much to do. She was head nurse at a hospital with a million hospital beds, and Jo had grown up practically an orphan. That was Jo's excuse for being so weird.

But Mrs. Foulton was hostile toward her sister. She loathed Mrs. Parish. Jo said it was because her mother blamed Mrs. Parish for the collapse of her marriage. Years ago Mrs. Parish was supposed to have had an affair with Mr.

Foulton. When Jo told me the story, I didn't believe a word of it. But that was one of the things with people older than your parents—it was impossible to imagine they had ever had sex.

"Oh, Shar, Jo's in her room," Mrs. Foulton said when she saw who it was, quickly pushing open the screen door before turning back to the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hand, a cigarette in her mouth. It always cracked me up to see someone in a starched white medical uniform with a cigarette in her mouth.

"Thanks," I said, stepping into the house over a pile of newspapers and magazines. Mrs.

Foulton had so much to do, how could she possibly have time to clean up? Yet it was a beautiful house, a big house. Mrs. Foulton didn't have to kill herself going to work every day. Her husband had left her with enough bucks to give her the leisure to follow all the afternoon soap operas. It was Jo's opinion that her mother was obsessed with helping people because she felt guilty about not really liking them.

"Off to work?" I asked.

"I am at work," the lady replied, throwing her coffee into the kitchen sink and stubbing her cigarette out on the top of an open beer can. "This is my 'lunch break.'" She picked up her car keys. "Tell Jo I don't want her bringing her Ouija board to Beth's party."

"I don't think it's going to be that kind of party, Mrs. Foulton."

She stopped at the door, digging in her bag for her lipstick. When she wasn't in a hurry, she could be attractive.

She had a great Roman nose, very authoritative. I couldn't imagine Mr. Fbulton having left her years ago for a roll in the hay with Mrs. Parish. Then again, I couldn't remember when Mrs. Foulton had not been in a hurry, nor had I ever seen Mrs. Parish anything but patient. I often wondered what Mr. Foulton must have been like. Jo wouldn't talk about him.

"How do I look?" she asked, touching up her lips.

"Like a nurse," I said.

She flashed me a dangerous smile. "You're worse than Jo. Who's that out in the car?

Dan?"

"And Amanda, yeah."

Mrs. Foulton brightened, which was the equivalent of smog forming a rainbow.

Amanda was the one person Mrs. Foulton felt—besides those dying in hospital beds—was worthy of her time. She threw her lipstick back in her bag.

"I'm going to say hi to her. 'Bye."

"Goodbye, Mrs. Foulton, and you take special care of yourself, 'cause we love you so much."

"Shove it, Shar."

I found Jo in her room carefully combing her hair. She had only recently begun to worry about her appearance, the way most girls did at age nine. She had fallen in love. His name was Jeff Nichols, and he was Big Beth's boyfriend. I knew it was going to be a hell of a party.

Jo was fascinated with the occult. She was into the usual New Age fads such as astrology and crystals. Yet she leaned toward the darker edge of the esoteric circle. Nothing excited her more than a method to tap into a supernormal power. Her latest craze was a magnetic pendulum that she said could be used to broadcast or send substances into a person's body from any distance. When I was sick with a cold the week before Beth's party, she had called and told me she had broadcast vitamin C into my throat. It was ethereal vitamin C, of course, but she said it worked as well as the real thing. I can't say I felt a thing.