The Truth About Letting Go (14 page)

Not going there. I pick up the pace.

“Hey,” I say, quickly spinning the dial on my lock. The sooner I get what I need, the sooner I can get out of here.

Jordan pushes off the wall and stands beside me. “You okay?”

“Sure, Jordan, what do you want?”

He presses his lips together and studies me a second. I glance up at him quickly and then wish I hadn’t. That stupid, warm concern in his blue eyes makes my insides weak. I clench my jaw and move faster.

“Remember how we talked about that news story?” he finally says. “Any chance you’d still be interested in doing it?”

I pause. “I thought journalism was out in favor of missionary man.”

“The journalism is what I’ll be doing with the missionaries. I like to write, so Dr. Andrews suggested I report on what they’re doing for the Presbyterian newsletter. Sort-of give the inside view.”

“Oh.” I finish grabbing my books and slam my locker door. “Okay, then. Sure. What were you thinking?”

He exhales, and his shoulders drop in relief. “Well, some time’s passed. I was thinking… would you be up to revisiting the topic of your dad?”

Charlotte’s at the end of the hall, walking alone, and my mind flashes back to the first time Jordan asked me this question. She was the only one I could talk to about Dad without falling apart back then.

“Okay,” I say. “I think I’m up to it.”

“We can take it as slow as you need,” he says. “He’s a great subject, though. Want to meet up at lunch and plan?”

Charlotte disappears around a corner, and I think of lunch and Colt. We didn’t break up last night, but I’m not ready to see him again. At the same time, we weren’t really a couple. He just said we were dating, which we haven’t even done.

“I’ll meet you in the quad,” I say.

The bell sounds. Jordan smiles and squeezes my arm before taking off for class. I’m at the door to chemistry when I look up and see Colt at the end of the hall. His eyebrows rise over his green eyes, and he looks like he wants to catch up with me. I turn and go quickly into class. My hands are shaking when I sit down, not out of fear or excitement. I’m not sure what I feel.

At lunch, I meet Jordan outside, and we sit under a tree to plan out his feature.

“Thanks for doing this for me,” he says. “I’m sorry about what happened in the hall.”

“You forgot pastors don’t fight. Or swear.”

He pulls a little memo pad out of his backpack, and I watch his hand move as he writes the date. Then he puts down the pen and looks me straight in the eyes.

“You’re right,” he says. “About all of it. I care about you, Ashley. A lot. And it’s probably best we’re not dating or anything. Because I would forget all of that for you.”

My chest squeezes, and I take a shaky breath. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” I say softly.

“Nope,” Jordan’s voice is all business again. “We’re doing this. I need it for my resume, and that’s the last time we’re going there.”

“Going where?” Colt walks up behind me, and the sound of his voice makes me jump. “Hey, girl. You ran off in the hall this morning. What’s up with you and Stretch?”

He drops to a squat right beside me, his thigh touching my upper arm. I scoot away. “Jordan and I are working on a project.”

Colt leans over to look at the memo pad now lying on the grass. “Ashton Lockett, A Life? What’s that about?”

“Ashley’s dad, you jackhole,” Jordan says, and my eyes flash to him. “He died.”

I feel Colt tense beside me, and I quickly stand up. “Come with me,” I say.

“You know I let that pass because of her.” He’s smiling back at Jordan, and I pull him away by the arm. “But try it again and see what happens.”

“What are you waiting for?” Jordan yells after us.

I keep pulling Colt’s arm. “What do you want?” I say when we’re around the building.

“Found this in my truck.” He pulls my silver band out of his pocket.

“Oh!” I quickly take it from him and slip it on my middle finger. It’s so loose now. “It must’ve come off…”

“No problem.” He slides his hands to my waist. “And, I wanted to be sure we’re okay. That you’re still my girl.”

I push his hands back. “I’m not your girl, and I haven’t decided if we’re okay.”

My eyes go to his, and there’s an unexpected softness there. “I’m sorry,” he says.

I don’t answer.

“You didn’t tell me your dad died.” His voice has that concerned tone I’ve been hearing for weeks. It makes me mad. I don’t want this from Colt. I don’t want pity and sympathetic gestures. He’s ruining everything.

“I’m not talking about that with you.”

“Only with Jordan?” he lightly slides a piece of hair off my cheek. I reach up and push it behind my ear.

“Dad was kind of a local celebrity, and Jordan’s doing this story for his resume. That’s all.”

“His resume?”

“Jordan wants to be a journalist. Or something.”

Colt’s lips press into a smile and he nods. His swagger’s back, concern gone. “Well, as long as it’s just business, I guess I don’t mind.”

My eyes flash to his. “You don’t mind? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He catches me around the waist again and pulls me to him. “Means whether you’re my girl or not, I care what you do.” He leans down and kisses my temple. In spite of it all, my heart beats faster.

“I don’t like how you show it.”

His lips move to my ear, causing a shiver. I think about the beginning of last night—me sitting on his lap in the truck, his hands under my shirt. My hands under his. The good feeling. That’s what I want.

“Next time, I’ll give you the heads up,” he says in my hair.

“No next time,” I whisper. “I don’t like it.”

He pulls back and looks at me. “Okay. No next time. Unless you ask for it.”

I push his arms down and walk away. He doesn’t follow me, and I go back to where Jordan’s waiting in the quad. Just as I get to him the bell sounds.

“That guy…” Jordan starts, but I pick up my stuff and start to leave. He catches up to me quick. “Fine, walk away, but that guy’s bad for you, Ashley.”

“Just like I’m bad for you.”

He sighs and drops his hand. I keep walking.

* * *

Will’s home when I get there after school. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the funeral, and he’s buzzing around the kitchen pulling down ingredients for dinner. He doesn’t turn around when I walk in the front door, and for a moment, I watch as he opens cabinets, pulls down a box of pasta, opens the refrigerator, takes out an onion, a green pepper, a clove of garlic, a block of parmesan cheese. He goes to a cabinet and takes out a jar of tomatoes. I’m amazed at how much he’s like our dad. My brother doesn’t look like him physically, but as I watch him circling the kitchen preparing a meal like Dad always did, I see their rhythm and movements are exactly the same.

I remember the day I saw Colt running on the track and it reminded me of Dad. But that was based on appearance—the blond hair, the slim, athletic build. And of course, the running—Dad’s and my favorite hobby.

Before I go into the kitchen, I step into the foyer and look in the huge mirror hanging there. It’s the first time I’ve done it since the day of the memorial service. I squint my eyes and try to see his face. It’s fuzzy, but it’s still there. His face in mine.

“Is that you, Ash?” Will calls to me. I hear a cabinet door close.

I stop squinting and look at myself. My face is washed out and tired. Will’s going to comment on it, and I try to think of an excuse he’ll accept.

“Come in here and help me make dinner,” my brother yells. “Or at least keep me company.”

I walk through the foyer into the kitchen, and he stops moving when he sees me. He freezes in the middle of taking a jar of olives from the fridge, and his expression tenses.

“Mom said you weren’t doing well,” he says. “I see why.”

Then he crosses the room to where I’m standing and wraps me in a hug. I don’t fight him. Will’s taller than me and thin. We’ve never been super affectionate with each other, but when he hugs me, I feel like I’m going to break down.

“I’m doing okay,” I manage in a thick voice. “It’s just been hard to get over.”

“She said you don’t go to church, you’ve dropped off the cheerleading squad, you barely leave the house…”

“Exaggerations,” I say, getting control of myself. “I went to the luau last Friday.”

He steps back and studies me. Then he nods and goes back to assembling his ingredients. “Sit at the bar and talk to me. Split a glass of wine?”

“Are you trying to get me grounded? Then I really won’t be leaving the house.”

“You look like you need it. Just a few sips.”

I nod, and he pours a large glass of red. “When Mom gets home, this is all mine.”

“She won’t be home.” I take a small sip and squint. I don’t really like the taste of wine. “Bitter.”

“A few sips and you won’t notice. You need to relax.” He takes a sip and then goes back to work. I watch him pull out a large knife and start slicing the onion into tiny pieces. “Tell me about this guy you’re dating.”

I frown. “Who?”

“Mom says she met a guy? You’re going out with him?”

“Oh,” I mutter. Jordan fills my head, from the first day I saw him in those ridiculous glasses to the day he slammed Colt into the locker and swore. To today. I take another, bigger sip of wine.

“That was a long pause,” my brother says watching me. “Must be love.”

“Good grief, Wills, it is not.” I take another sip.

“Okay, last sip. You’ll be drunk, and then
I’ll
get grounded.”

“Do you still get grounded in college?”

“Yes.”

“It was your idea,” I mutter, leaning across the counter and picking out a piece of dry pasta.

“So tell me about him,” Will says, taking the pepper and starting to chop.

“You know, you reminded me a lot of Dad in here just now. Doing all this.”

My brother smiles, and I see his eyes glisten. The sight of his tears makes my own eyes grow hot. “God, I miss him,” he sighs.

My throat is tight and painful. I grab a paper towel to wipe my nose. “Strong onions,” I say.

“Yeah,” he laughs, touching the corner of his eye with the back of his wrist. It’s the onions. “So about this guy?”

“Jordan.”

“What’s the deal with Jordan?”

“No deal. I went with him to the luau, and that was it. We’re not dating or anything.”

“But he met Mom?” Will lifts the cutting board and slides all the minced pieces into a large sauce pan. “That’s kind of major.”

“Only because she decided to come home for once, and it just happened to be at the same time he was here.”

He stops and holds the knife butt on the bar. “Ease up on her. She’s covering a lot right now.”

My eyes cut to him. “She works all the time. And when she’s here, she never says anything or acts like she even cares.”

“She cares.”

The smell of onions, pepper, and garlic fill the air, and I watch my brother slice off a pat of butter and throw it in the pan. Suddenly the kitchen smells delicious.

“Did she tell you Eric James was over here the other day?”

“Who’s that?”

“Local widower? Jason’s dad?”

“Jason James. He was a year behind me in school, right? Friendly guy. They live in that Tudor.” He points with the knife out the kitchen window.

“Yeah, well, his dad was over here last week, and he and mom spent a lot of time on the couch.”

Will goes to the sink and fills another pan with water then sets it on the stove with the fire on high. “Isn’t he a psychiatrist?”

“That’s what the sign says.”

“Well, I’m asking about you. What’s going on with my little sister?”

I look down at the piece of pasta on the bar and turn his question over in my head. The wine has relaxed me, and I feel like telling him everything. But at the same time, if I tell him everything, that’s some pretty major fallout. Definite grounding, too. So I opt for the edited version.

“I liked Jordan. He was sweet and he talked to me about Dad. But he wants to be a pastor.”

I wait to see what my brother will say to that. He doesn’t respond, just opens the jar of tomatoes and dumps the whole thing in the pan with the onions, peppers, garlic, and butter and starts to stir. The pot of water has started to boil, and I watch him take a pinch of salt, toss it in and then walk over to pick up the box of dry pasta. He goes back and dumps it in, then waits for it to return to a boil before cutting down the fire.

“That’s it?” he finally says.

“What more do you want to know?”

“Are you still going out with him?”

“A future pastor?” I shake my head and reach for the glass. One more sip of wine.

It just hits my lips when Will places his hand on the glass. “I said enough, small fry.”

I hate wine anyway. It makes me want to cry and blab and curl into a little ball, and right now I’m on the verge of doing all three things.

“So you’re not going out with him because he wants to be a pastor,” my brother repeats, looking at me like he’d somehow handle it differently.

“Don’t act so surprised,” I say. “You wouldn’t date a nun.”

“Do nuns date?”

“You know what I mean.” He’s grating the cheese, and I poke my finger into the little mound forming. “At least I’m honest. And I respect his decision.”

Will stops grating. “Hang on. Are you saying you’re sexually active?”

Heat floods my face. “No. Well, not technically.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not discussing my sex life with my brother.”

“No argument,” he shudders and continues grating. “Just don’t get pregnant.”

“God, Will, shut up! I won’t.”

We’re quiet a minute as he finishes grating. “So Jordan’s out because my little sister’s a nympho.”

“You’re such an idiot. I am not.” I take a pinch of the cheese and put it in my mouth. “I’ve kind of been seeing this other guy.”

“Another guy? And here Mom made it sound like you weren’t doing anything. Sounds like you’re doing too much.”

He turns his back and stirs again.

“We’re just hanging out, and, well… I don’t know. That might be over, too.” An image of me struggling against the truck seat fills my head, and I feel slightly nauseated.