The Rules of You and Me (6 page)

Heat crept up my neck. I was thankful for the darkness. “Nothing. Just this list of things I put together in my head that my parents have told me over the years. Advice.”

“
A list of rules,” Jude said. He looked at me with interest, the first actual expression I’d seen on his face all night. “Like what kind of rules?”

Why had I mentioned the rules? I never told anyone about them, other than Mark, and it had taken a few sessions before I’d been brave enough to tell him about them.

“
They’re kind of dumb,” I said.

“
Maybe,” Jude said. “Or maybe not. Let me hear them.”

“
There’s a lot of them.”

He looked over at me again. “How many are we talking about?”

I thought for a moment. “Last count was thirty-two. I think.”

“
Whoa,” Jude said. “Sounds like some serious rules. Come on. Give them to me.”

I shook my head. “I’m not even supposed to be following them. My li—Mark says I use the rules as a way of keeping myself stuck in this idea of who I think I should be rather than who I actually could be.”

“
So then you offering to pay me went against the rule of not following the rules.”

I rolled my eyes. “You got me there.”

“
So why’d you do it? Why not just say thank you and go on?”

I looked out the window at the lights of houses passing us by. “Old habits are hard to break.”

Jude slowed to a stop in front of Aunt Lydia’s house. The house was dark and I hoped maybe Aunt Lydia was either asleep or up in her studio. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk about my night.

“
Thanks for the ride,” I said, reaching for the door handle.

“
You’re welcome,” Jude said. “And you don’t have to pay me for it either.”

I thought it was a jab at me until I looked back and saw the smile curling the corners of his lips. My mouth stretched into a smile before I could help it, and I climbed out of the truck.

“
Bye,” I called.

He waved once before putting the truck into gear and pulling away from the curb, the truck groaning in protest.

“
Morning,” Aunt Lydia said as I padded into the kitchen. She sat at the counter, her legs pulled up into the chair, toes dangling over the edge of the seat. She clutched a coffee mug between her hands and watched me over the rim as I poured myself a cup.

“
How was the party? I heard you come home pretty early last night.”

I shrugged. “It was a party.”

Aunt Lydia put her feet down and sat up straight, her shoulders tense under her paint-spattered T-shirt. “So,” she said slowly, “I went into the bathroom and found the jeans you left in the hamper.” She pushed her coffee mug around the table. “Do you mind explaining why they reek of beer?”

I had forgotten all about that. So that was why Aunt Lydia was down here waiting for me and not up in her studio. “I dropped a can and it spilled on my legs,” I said. “I’ll wash them today.”

“
This isn’t about the jeans, Hannah.” She looked at me, her mouth in a tight line. “Do we need to have a talk about drinking?”

I stared back at her. “I don’t drink.”

She raised her eyebrows.

I sighed. “I took like two sips of one can of beer. I don’t even like beer. I poured most of it out.”

Aunt Lydia studied me a while longer, then said, “Okay. Alcoholism can be genetic, Hannah. Just keep that in mind.”

“
My dad has a problem with prescription drugs, not alcohol,” I reminded her.

Aunt Lydia got up and walked over to the sink to set her mug inside it. “I wasn’t talking about your dad.”

“
Who then?” I asked.

“
You know who.”

My mouth dropped open. “Mom? You think Mom is an
alcoholic
?”

Aunt Lydia turned back to me, crossing her arms. She didn’t say anything.

“
Mom is a social drinker,” I said. “She has a few cocktails at parties. She doesn’t sit in front of the TV binging on six packs every night.”

“
Alcoholism has a lot of different faces, Hannah,” Aunt Lydia said. “I just want you to be careful.” She started toward the hall, but then stopped. “I almost forgot. Your dad called last night.”

My gaze shot up to meet hers. “He did?” My mouth went dry and my voice cracked.

“
He wanted to talk to you. I wrote the number down in case you don’t have it. He wants you to visit him soon. You should call.”

Then she disappeared down the hall. I heard the squeak of the attic door being pulled down and then Aunt Lydia’s footsteps on the wooden ladder. A moment later, the door thudded closed as she pulled it back up.

I stared down into the creamy coffee in my cup. I had barely drunk any of it, but I had no taste for it any longer. I dumped the coffee into the sink and then walked over to Aunt Lydia’s phone on the counter. There was a notepad next to it, with a number scrawled across the top page. I knew the number. I had seen it flash across the caller ID on my phone countless times.

Dad must have given up trying to reach me through my own phone. He probably thought he’d have better luck getting Aunt Lydia to convince me to talk to him.

But I had nothing to say. I hadn’t said anything the day Mom took him to Keller-Burns. I had sat in the car, waiting while Mom and Dad walked in, and then half an hour later, Mom walked out alone. I hadn’t even looked at him when he said good-bye.

I didn’t want to talk to my dad. I
couldn’t
talk to him. Not right now.

#

I padded back to the guest room where I was staying. It didn’t feel like “my” room yet, but a lot of times the bedroom I had at home didn’t feel like mine either. Mom had decorated it when we’d moved in. She had made a big show of asking what colors I wanted and even let me look through the catalog to pick out fabrics and wallpaper. I had chosen a beautiful red wallpaper with white fleur-de-lis. The bedding would be white, with red piping, and the curtains red silk.

And then, one day I came home from school to find that Mom had had the room finished while I was gone. All of the red and white I had chosen had been replaced by baby blue and cream. Mom’s colors, not mine.

This room, with its plain white walls, was almost a relief. It didn’t belong to anyone. I didn’t have to live in a room that showed obvious signs of someone else every day.

My cell phone on the bedside table flashed to signal a message. I pressed the button and saw a text from Natalie.

Hey, girl! Living it up N Paris?? How hot R the guys? I hope UR up & not gone to bed already. Can’t remember how many hours ahead U R.

I had never told Natalie that I changed my mind about going to Paris with my mom and decided to hide out in Asheville instead. Despite how much time I spent with her, I never really trusted Natalie completely. I couldn’t make the mistake of fully trusting someone again.

The thing was, I’d had a best friend once. Avery James, the girl I had grown up living across the street from. The girl I once told everything to.

But the summer we were twelve, I had told her about my crush on our other friend, Elliott. Avery went behind my back and kissed Elliott. I didn’t know why, and it didn’t really matter anymore, except that from that day forward, I knew the truth. You could never trust anyone with all your secrets. There were some things you had to keep hidden to protect yourself. That incident was one of the things that Mark liked to talk about most during our sessions. “You never forgave Avery,” he always said. “And you’ve never forgiven yourself for trusting her.”

I had learned my lesson. Don’t let anyone get too close and they won’t have anything they can use to hurt you.

I bent over the phone and typed out a reply.

Paris is great! Hot French guys everywhere. Going out tonight with guy named Pierre. Hope to learn the proper way to French kiss. ;) Au revoir!

The only way I was going to learn how to get around Asheville was to go out and explore it for myself. I couldn’t rely on Aunt Lydia or Ashton for rides everywhere. I didn’t want to end up like I had the night before: stuck someplace I couldn’t get away from and waiting to be rescued. I hated feeling like a damsel in distress. Jude had already helped me out twice and despite the fact that I wasn’t supposed to follow the rules this summer, I still felt like I was indebted to him in a way. That would not happen again.

So, armed with the GPS app on my phone, I set out in my car to figure out how to get around Aunt Lydia’s neighborhood. That seemed like an easy enough first exploration, and the most obvious. I needed to know what street led to what, and how to get in and out of the area.

Once again, I was struck by how similar the homes looked and how much it reminded me of that old neighborhood where I used to live across the street from Avery and next door to Elliott. The three of us had lived there since we were born and had played in each other’s backyards too many times to remember. In the summer, we’d spend every afternoon riding our bikes in front of our houses or pretending to camp under the big tree in Elliott’s backyard. My room had been my own, the walls covered with my drawings and notes from Avery and Elliott.

Then my dad’s bank went national and everything changed.

I caught sight of a shirt hanging from the same tree on the corner again and I slowed to a stop on the empty street to study it. It could have been just a shirt that was hung there and forgotten, maybe leftover from a yard sale. But I could have sworn that the shirt I’d seen before was red plaid. Today, a blue button up shirt hung from the tree branch, the sleeves flapping back and forth in the wind.

My gaze focused just beyond the tree and I saw a familiar dusty gray truck parked in the driveway of the house. The hood was up and as I watched, a figure emerged from the other side of the truck, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

Jude Westmore. Shirtless.

He obviously didn’t spend his spare time laying around on the couch watching TV. Lightly muscled arms led up to a pair of broad shoulders that met a chiseled chest and abs. He had the kind of tan you got from working outside in the sun. The tattoo on his arm was a band, some kind of tribal design that wrapped around a nicely shaped bicep.

I leaned forward, my hands gripping the steering wheel until my fingers started to tingle.

BEEP!

I jumped back, slamming the back of my head against my seat and held my hands up away from the steering wheel. My gaze darted back toward the gray truck, hoping by some miracle he hadn’t heard me accidentally blare my car horn at him.

But no such luck. Jude straightened, shielding his eyes with one hand as he looked directly at me. Would I look too much like a stalker if I sped away? Did he remember that this was my car?

I lifted one hand and gave a small wave. I didn’t know what else to do.

Jude stuck the rag into his back pocket and walked across the dry grass toward me. I pressed the button to roll down the window. I felt even more light-headed as he neared me. It took everything in me not to focus on the lines of his abs.

“
What are you doing?” he asked.

I gestured at my steering wheel. “Just out for a drive.”

“
Doesn’t that require actually driving and not parking?”

“
I stopped for a minute.”

“
In front of my house,” he said.

His chest gleamed with a light sheen of sweat.
Don’t look at his chest,
I told myself.
Don’t look at his chest.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t know it was your house. I was looking at the shirt.” I pointed at the tree.

Jude didn’t look at the tree, but kept his eyes on me. “You keep showing up everywhere,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you were stalking me.”

I snorted. “I have better things to do with my time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a city to explore.”

Jude didn’t lift his hands from the doorframe. “Where are you going?”

“
I don’t know,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll find something to look at. You guys have lots of tourist traps here, right? Maybe I’ll go get lost at Biltmore.”

“
You ever been to Biltmore?” he asked.

“
I’ve never been to Asheville before,” I told him. “This isn’t exactly at the top of my family’s vacation destinations.”

“
If you don’t know where you’re going, you might end up lost in the mountains,” he said. “Some of the country is a little more rugged than others.”

“
Well, I don’t exactly have a tour guide on hand.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I could do it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You want to go tour around Asheville with me?”

“
Are you inviting me?”

We stared at each other for a long moment. A car drove by, slowing down as it passed so the driver could look at us before he moved on. I thought about what my mom would say, that Jude looked like an unemployed miscreant and I should stay far away. I thought about what my dad would say, that I owed Jude repayment for changing my tire and giving me a ride home.

But it was what Mark would say that made up my mind:
Do whatever you think you wouldn’t do.

“
You need to change if you’re going with me,” I said, wrinkling my nose at his greasy jeans. “I don’t want oil all over my seat. And put on a shirt.”
Before I go crazy trying not to look at you,
I added silently.