Temptation: A Novel (25 page)

76. The Routine

“You look tired.”

Kelsey catches me still zoning out while I appear to be watching the cheerleader coach (or whatever she calls herself) explaining our dance number. Everybody is now getting up with their partners to start going through the motions of the dance.

“Sorry, I’m kind of out of it.”

“Long night?”

I nod, then figure it’s harmless telling her. At least she’ll know I’m not making it up and won’t think she’s the reason I’m being a drag.

“My dad showed up.”

“Are you serious? When?”

“This past weekend.”

“Why?”

“My mom—she has some issues. So I was alone for a while. Guess my dad didn’t want me being on my own.”

“So how are things?”

“Oh, great. Mom was never home. Now Dad is always home. But I talk with him about as much as I talked to Mom.”

Kelsey looks unsure what to say, so I tell her let’s get started.

“Did you get all that?” she asks me of the instruction for the dance.

“Yeah, sure,” I say.

Five minutes into going through the motions, or trying to, I confess. “Okay—I didn’t really hear anything she said.”

“Really?” Kelsey asks with a smile.

“I’m sorry. I just think it’s the song that’s throwing me.”

Kelsey laughs. It’s some jittery eighties tune that seems like the music on a
Saturday Night Live
spoof.

“I mean—couldn’t they get something from this decade?”

“Well—you saw Ms. Zollinger.”

I raise my eyes, nodding. “I think she’s ‘Holding Out for a Hero.’”

Kelsey laughs. “Come on. Here.”

She takes my hands and forces me to pay attention. She goes through the moves. They’re ridiculous. This is really beyond corny.

“Be the part, guys,” Ms. Zollinger yells out above the song blasting in the gym. “Be the role of the hero.”

Ms. Zollinger was probably one of those girls who never dated because she looks so square. Not square as in nerdy, just
square.
Like a block of wood with broad shoulders and hips and all that. This team doesn’t need to form a pyramid to raise up one of the cheerleaders. All they need to do is have Ms. Zollinger squat at the bottom.

“You have to look at me,” Kelsey says.

It’s funny to hear her say that. She’s really managed to become a little more outspoken than the girl I met last year.

“I don’t know. I get kinda nervous when I do that,” I joke.

“Stop it,” she says.

I’m not exactly sure how this “dance” is supposed to fire up the football team. Perhaps if all the guys on the team were also in a glee club or something, then yeah, sure, maybe they’d get into this. But I don’t know. I have a feeling this is simply for the long lost love who took Ms. Zollinger to prom and then danced with someone else on their final song.

“You have to really twirl me around. Like they’re doing.”

I look and see one of the guys who I know is a football player spinning his partner around. I nod and grip Kelsey under both of her arms and start to spin.

Of course it goes wrong somehow. Probably because I have no dance moves or cheerleading moves or moves of any kind.

The very light weight and very long limbs of Kelsey end up crashing on top of me.

I’m laughing while she’s adjusting her cheerleading skirt and trying to fight the red on her face.

“Did you do that on purpose?” she asks as I help her back on her feet.

“I’d never do such a thing.”

“Chris?”

“Okay, well, I didn’t this time.”

“We only have six practices to get this right.”

“Six? Really?”

She looks at me in surprise. “You can’t do them.”

“That’s a lot of practicing. I feel like I’m going to be part of the team.”

“You know—if you don’t want to, you don’t have to do this.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “You’re cute when you blush.”

She smiles for a moment, but then something is wrong. Her face grows cold and serious.

“What? What’d I say?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s wonderful to be called cute. Especially when, well—”

She glances over to the stands, and I follow her gaze.

Lily is sitting there watching us. She waves, and I can’t help but wave back.

“You can go, it’s okay,” Kelsey says.

I want to tell her that it’s fine, but I realize that our practice time is almost up.

I don’t even get to tell her good-bye or good night or see you at the next practice. Kelsey disappears into the school, and I head up to the bleachers to see how Lily is doing.

77. Trying to Kill Me

“I didn’t see you any today.”

Lily nods and then pats the bleacher right next to her, like I’m a puppy who needs to sit for a treat.

I keep sitting, but I never seem to get the treat that I want.

“That was really cute down there,” Lily says.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Did you ask me something?”

She’s smiling, toying with me as always. “Lighten up—I got an excuse. When you’re a girl you can come up with so many excuses. Just say ‘girl stuff’ and they excuse you.”

“That’s good to know.”

“So that’s the girl we saw at the party.”

“Kelsey,” I say, not sure if she’s deliberately forgetting her name or not.

“That’s right. Kelsey. Who is just
crazy
for Chris Buckley.”

“Funny.”

“It’s true. But you know that, don’t you.”

“If you were somebody else, I’d almost think you might be jealous,” I say.

“But I’m not.”

“Jealous?”

“Somebody else.”

These fun little games could continue for hours. And they often do, late in the night when we’re texting each other.

“Any chance you can go out for dinner?” Lily asks.

“I told you I’m grounded.”

“Until when?”

“Probably until Dad leaves.” I don’t really know, because he hasn’t put a date around it.

“But you could do cheerleading practice, huh?”

“He knows how little I really want to do it.”

“Does he know about me?”

I shake my head. “And I want to keep it that way.”

“Fine by me.”

“Lily, look—about the other night—I just want you to know, and I’m serious—”

She tightens those lips of hers to shush me. “No need to go back in time.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“It was what it was. And here and now—just let’s stay here and now. Okay?”

But I don’t really get why she doesn’t want to talk about the other night. I want to tell her that I haven’t forgotten what was about to happen. And I want to bring it up because I want it to happen sometime soon.

Maybe she knows this, Chris. Maybe there’s a reason she’s shushing you.

I don’t say anything, and Lily nudges me to try and make me smile.

“I really liked the song they chose for the routine,” Lily says.

I can’t help but laugh. “Maybe you should join the cheerleaders.”

She sighs and lets out a gagging sound. “I couldn’t stand the cheerleaders at my high school. Nope—that wasn’t for me.”

“So then, Ms. Lily-New-Student. What
is
for you?”

“Hmm—that’s a good question. I like slow dancing to soft music when you can see the candlelight flickering off the walls and feel the breeze off the ocean coming in through the open doorway. That’s what I go for.”

I just look at her, again feeling the dropping sensation.

“What?” she asks.

“You’re trying to kill me, right?”

“No.”

“Oh, okay.” I just shake my head.

“What’d I say?”

“You know now what I’ll be thinking about all night long.”

“Stop,” Lily says.

“It’s true. And I think you do that on purpose.”

“No. It’s just—it’s so easy to tell you things I’m thinking.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes—I don’t know. Sometimes I’m just tired of all of that.”

“Of all of what?”

I look at her, feeling like a two-thousand-pound weight is holding me back, inches away from her.

“Sometimes I’m tired of all the talking. And texting. Sometimes I don’t want to talk anymore.”

Lily smiles, takes my hand and squeezes it. “I know. And if only you weren’t grounded.”

“I can come home whenever I want. I don’t care. Let’s go somewhere tonight. Anywhere.”

“That just means you won’t be able to see me again for a while. And we don’t want that, do we?”

I sigh. I hate being a teen, a boy, a high schooler.

I want to be an adult and take Lily to that place she spoke about. The tiny hut on the beach with the breeze and the candlelight.

“Come on, Mr. Cheerleader. Walk me to my car.”

As we walk outside hand in hand, talking and laughing about something, I spot a car just starting to leave.

The driver has blonde hair a lot like Kelsey’s.

That night I get an email from Kelsey.

Hi, Chris. You know—after thinking about things, I think it’s probably best that we don’t do the routine. I can find someone else. But thanks. I appreciate you trying.

Kelsey

I want to respond but I don’t.

But she knew I was seeing Lily. She knew about that.

I decide I’ll talk to her tomorrow.

I don’t especially want to do the routine with her. But then again, I think it might be fun.

Kelsey’s cute and sweet. I’m sure that she’ll make some ordinary, nice guy very happy one day.

But I’m not ordinary and I’m not really particularly nice, either. Not anymore.

78. The Conversation

I’m sitting at the table eating a grilled cheese sandwich when my father comes inside from working around the cabin. The September evening is still warm enough to cause him to be sweaty. He takes off his work gloves and wipes his forehead, then grabs a glass of water before sitting down across from me.

“There’s a lot that needs to be done around this place,” he says to me in a tone that makes it sound like
I
should be doing the work.

I just nod and continue eating my sandwich.

Dad just looks at me for a minute and shakes his head. “Chris—come on.”

“What?”

“Give me a break.”

“What?”

I’m sounding like a broken record.

“No—I mean it. Cut the routine. Enough.”

Before I can say “What?” again he keeps going.

“It’s been three days. And look—I have no idea when your mother is coming home, do you understand that? You don’t have to like the fact that I’m here, but you can at least act decent around me.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Stop with the hate,” Dad says, wiping his face again. “Your mother has turned you against me.”

“Mom hasn’t done anything.”

“She’s done enough,” he says.

I look at the figure across from me. Kyle Buckley, fortysomething, his face permanently set to look serious, his eyes two piercing daggers of judgment.

“I didn’t want to move down here.”

“I didn’t want you to.” His voice startles me with how loud it is. He breathes in and tries to calm down.

“You think God wanted this to happen?” I ask.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t be that way. Don’t be a smart aleck.”

“I asked a simple question.”

Dad just glares at me. “It’s not a simple question, and you know it.”

“You don’t know everything that’s happened down here.”

“Then tell me, Chris. I’ve been here a week, and you’ve said nothing and told me
nothing.
About you, about Mom, about anything.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Why are you so angry? What’s happened to you?”

I finish the last bite of my sandwich and suddenly don’t want to continue this conversation.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I still love your mother and you. And I haven’t given up hope.”

“Hope for what?”

“That we can still be a family.”

I let out a laugh. A laugh that’s been wedged deep inside something tight and hurting.

“That ended the day we left Libertyville.”

“I did not want that.”

“You chose God. Mom chose North Carolina.”

Dad shakes his head, angry, searching for something else to say, knowing I’m right.

“I didn’t choose God, Chris. Do you really think I wanted this to happen? I quit my job, and things have been in a tailspin ever since. And I keep asking God why. I keep asking Him what He wants from me.”

“Maybe there’s a reason you’re not getting an answer.”

“Don’t,” Dad says. “Don’t dare be that way.”

You have not seen what I’ve seen. Or been where I’ve been.

“Don’t become bitter like your mother.”

“Should I be like you?”

Dad laughs, shaking his head, rubbing his palms together. “No. No, I hope and pray that you turn out far better than I did. Because I realize this, Chris, and you might not hear what I’m saying or want to hear it, but I mean this when I say it. I wasn’t there for fourteen years of your life. And when I finally tried to be, it was too late. I know that now. I pray that I haven’t completely lost you, but I don’t know. I just don’t know. Your mother—well, I can hope for something, but that’s more complicated. And in her condition—it’s just—that’s something else. But I still love you. And I want the best for you.”

The best for me.

I wonder what that looks like.

So many people want the best for me. But what about what I want?

Haven’t you spent the last few months figuring that out?

“The only thing I know is this,” Dad says. “God really does love you. And I don’t want you to think of Him as your ‘Heavenly Father,’ because you have a really awful version down here on earth to compare Him with. So don’t. But He is there, and He does love you. And that love—there’s nothing like it, Chris.”

Oh, here we go again.

I don’t know if I roll my eyes, but Dad can just feel it.

He looks at me for a long time, and that’s when I see the tears in his eyes.

In all our conversations and arguments and times back in Illinois, I never once saw him cry.

I think that maybe I should say something, anything, but he’s up and heading to the bedroom. Probably to take a shower.

I sit there in the silence, thinking of everything he just said.

Maybe he’s changed as much as I have.