Clouds That Were (Weathered Hearts) (10 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Chase

I
hate school, and
I hate Mondays, but I am looking forward to going to school today. I’ll have a whole day with Tenley in the same building, with her away from her mother. I know she is safe.

I really want to give her a ride to school, but I have no idea if her mother will let me. However, I’m pretty sure I saw her driving to work this morning when I was on my run. I’m not willing to take a chance, however, so I decide that I will just sit in my truck in the driveway until I see Tenley come out. When I do see her, I pull out and drive over to her to see if she wants a ride.

She accepts my offer of a ride and my offer for Starbucks, two reasons that make this Monday worth being awake for. That is, until she screams.

As fast as I can, I pull over so that I can see what is wrong.

Apparently, the first sip of Starbucks that she has ever had is so good that it has induced screaming. She is laughing at my concern for her, and every time she smiles or laughs, I can’t resist the urge to put my lips on hers. She is just so overwhelmingly hot when she is happy. And knowing that I have done something to bring that out only makes it better.

The kiss is quick because I know if I kiss her for real, that we will never get to school on time.

“Alright, young lady, I better get you to school before I decide to just run away with you,” I quip as I get the truck back on the road.

All of the sudden, she becomes quiet. I hope the kiss didn’t upset her. She seemed okay with it all of the other times, but something is definitely wrong now. I guess I will just let her be for the rest of the drive.

When we get to school, I get out and open her door like I always do, grab her backpack for her and then all of my art stuff and my backpack. She is still acting weird, so I cautiously ask if she minds if we go drop off my stuff in the art room so that we can hang out for a few minutes before our first class. It isn’t until we are about half-way there that I realize that the painting I did of her sitting by the wall is in there, and I don’t know if I want her to see it yet. However, there really isn’t a way to turn back now without making it obvious. Maybe she won’t notice it.

I head straight for my locker to put my stuff away in the hope that she will just follow me, but I am not so lucky. She is in the art room looking at all of the stuff that is displayed. As quickly as I can, I put my stuff away; and as I turn around, I can see that she is staring at my painting. My painting of her. My painting of her that she doesn’t know I have done.

I slowly walk up behind her, but I don’t know what to say; so I just stand there waiting for her to do something or say something. When she finally turns to look at me, she has tears in her eyes and falls into me with her head on my chest. She is openly sobbing into me and still not knowing what to do I just hold her, trying once again to convey my emotions to her through my actions.

When she pulls back, she has a new emotion in her eyes. I don’t know what it is, but something in me tells me she needs me. I kiss her again, this time with all of the emotion I can manage to put into a kiss. The bell rings. She seems to be doing better, so I take her hand and walk her to class.

The urge to take her away is getting stronger with every moment I spend with her, and I am going to need to find a way to channel this into something other than that. I wonder if her middle name is “trouble”?

CHAPTER TWENTY

Tenley

I
don’t know how
he did it, but for the rest of that day, every time I left a class that he wasn’t in with me, he was waiting by the door by the time I got there. It took me until about sixth hour to realize that he was going to be there after every class. It was so comforting. I had always been so alone, that having someone there with me in the hall made my day that much better.

He sat with me during my lunch hour, which I learned he shared with me, and worked on drawing while I sat and did homework. I explain to him that I have to do all of my homework at school because most of the time, my mother takes my backpack as soon as I walk in the door, so I finish it all at school and then put it in my locker. On the days when she doesn’t take it away, she does what she did on Saturday, and I have to start everything over. Therefore, doing it at school is really the only chance I have of getting any kind of good grades at all.

“Do your teachers know this happens?” he asks incredulously.

“See, the thing with her is, I mean, you saw it with your dad, but she can put on the sweetest face in the world, and she is extremely charming when she needs to be. When I tell my teachers that this goes on, usually they will go and talk to the guidance counselor about it, and then he will call and talk to her. She puts on her best flirty voice and explains that I have issues with lying and that she will do her best to help in any way she can; but I am a problem child, and she just doesn’t know what to do anymore. Inevitably, he then calls me into his office and I get a lecture about lying. This has happened every single year since eighth grade. I didn’t even bother to say anything this year. I just made sure I have enough free time during the day to get done what I need to get done. If I don’t have enough time, then I get a bad grade. That’s just how it is.”

“I am so sorry that you have to go through all this. I wish there was something that I could do to help,” he says sadly.

“You would be surprised at how nice it is just to have you sit with me.”

“Where is your dad while all of this is happening?”

“I have never even met him. They were so young that I guess it was just too much, and he took off almost immediately. I have no idea even what his name is.”

“So the way she treats you, that’s why you made that comment about being dead when you grow up?”

“She hates me. She has made that clear from the start. Do you have any idea how hard it is to live with someone who not only hates you, but hates herself and blames you for that, too?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, the way I see it, the only way that I can make her happy is to be dead.”

“When is your birthday?”

“That’s random.”

“No, I am just asking because you have to be close to turning eighteen, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, in two years, but what then? My grades are too bad to go to college. I can’t get a job because I have no car; I have no money to buy a car because I have no job. It’s a vicious circle.”

“I want to help you. I can take you to work or school or whatever you need,” he tells me.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” I want to know what happened to his mom, but I don’t want to hurt him.

“You can always ask me anything; it’s okay.” He smiles.

“Okay,” I reply hesitantly “I would like to know how your mom died if you don’t mind talking about it.”

“Well, she killed herself.”

“Oh my God, I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, really it’s fine. I actually think she is the reason I was so drawn to you from the start; you have the same sadness in your eyes that she did,” he explains. “I almost feel like she is around helping me sometimes. It sounds weird, but I feel her guiding me. I felt her guide me to you. I just didn’t understand why until we actually talked.”

“I don’t really know what to say to that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know anything about you at all, and yet you seem to have this direct line to my soul and know everything about me. I guess I am pretty self-involved.”

“You have every right to be; your life is pretty messed up. And I don’t really volunteer information about myself readily.”

“Still, I want to know about you, too.”

“You know stuff about me. I just told you about my mom.”

“Yes, and I know that your favorite color is blue,” I say sticking my tongue out at him.

“See… that’s more than most people know right there.”

“Still, how is it that you know so much about me?”

“I told you the first time we talked: there is an incredible sadness in your eyes. I recognized it, because when my mom died, I felt that sadness. No matter what happens to me in my life, there is nothing that will ever affect me as much as knowing that my mom will never be there for me. She will never meet my wife or my kids. She will never be proud of me or disappointed in me. She will never be there when I have a bad day and just need her to comfort me and tell me everything is going to be okay. That feeling is what I saw in your eyes. I didn’t know why at the time, but it certainly makes sense now.”

“That is very insightful. Seriously, most people don’t get it. I have my mom—she is physically present—but I don’t have a mom in the traditional sense of the world. I know that once I turn eighteen, she isn’t going to be a part of my life anymore But it’s not that I don’t want her to be a part of it; I just don’t think she can be. I have this vision in my head of her dumping a glass of red wine on my white wedding dress. When I was little and still tried to have friends, that fact was one of the first things that made me realize that it was a lost cause. Little girls start fantasizing about their weddings before they can even talk, but I never did.”

“So why did she have you if she so clearly didn’t want to have a kid?”

“She didn’t have a choice, really. Her parents said she couldn’t give me up for adoption, and I guess it wasn’t easy to have an abortion at that time. I don’t know.”

“Do you think she ever loved you?”

“I don’t know. We used to have dinner at my grandparents’ house every Sunday night. One night we were sitting there just talking, and she said that she wished she would have had an abortion. I had just turned thirteen at the time, so I was having a hard time with life in general. But I think that was the first time that she had ever really said it out loud like that. The thing is, she was just so matter of fact about it, you know? Like obviously, that would have been the better choice.”

“What did your grandparents say?”

“My grandma made some half-joking comment about how she could just choose to let me live with them. No one ever stands up to her, however. No one wants to upset her.”

“What about you? Doesn’t anyone care if you are upset?”

“I am sure they care, but like I said, if they stand up to her too much, she takes it out on me, so they are stuck. If they help, it makes the situation worse; if they don’t, the situation is still bad.” I ramble on for a bit longer until I feel like if I say one more word, I am going to burst into tears.

Chase leans across the table and grabs my hand, looking me right in the eyes. “I promise you: I will fix this. And I have already told you I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

The amount of confidence he has in his voice when he says this makes me want to believe him so badly, but to this point in my life, nothing has gone my way, so it’s hard.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Chase

S
eeing Tenely the
way she was this morning reminded me of how fragile she really is. When I painted that picture, it was the second or third day that I had seen her sitting like that, and there was something captivating about her from the start. I felt drawn to her immediately, and I wanted, no
needed
, to capture her sitting like that. I had no idea at the time that she would ever see it. I certainly wouldn’t have chosen to show it to her in that moment either. After our awesome weekend and right before school was the wrong time in every way.

Once she calms down I am able to walk her to homeroom. We have second hour together, but first hour drags forever. I just want to be close to her to make sure she is okay.

All of first hour, while Mr. Ryan is droning on and on about trigonometry crap, all I can think about is her and how she is doing. The last 5 minutes of class I ask if I can go to the bathroom and bolt straight to her classroom to make sure I am standing there when she comes out.

She seems taken aback at first to see me standing there, but there is a look of relief, too. The biggest mystery about her is how she can convey a thousand emotions in one look. Emotions that should never go together are always right there in those eyes.

My entire morning of classes that we don’t have together is spent trying to weasel my way out of the last five minutes of class. Thank God we have some classes together; people were starting to think I had some kind of bladder issue.

By the time we get to lunch, I am just relieved to have some time just to sit with her. I have no idea that I will leave this lunch hour a completely different person than I was before. We sit and talk in between her doing homework at a crazy fast pace and me trying to draw something other than her (with little success).

Finally, not being able to stand it anymore, I ask “Why do you seem like you are trying to get a week’s worth of work done before lunch is over? Are you an overachiever?”

She explains how her mother operates with homework, and I am once again stunned by the coldness of this woman and how no one seems to be able to see it. Even after everything Tenley has told me, and what I have witnessed, there are still aspects of her life that shock me.

Yes, Tenley is incredibly sad. There is no question about that. But she is so strong and so beautiful, and she is truly a woman, even though she is only sixteen. Most girls her age are worried about hair and makeup and what kind of shoes they are wearing. This girl carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, and still, she stands tall. As much as I sometimes hate my mom for what she did, I am grateful that because of what we went through, I was able to see something in Tenley that it seems went unnoticed before me.

The more she tells me about her mother, the more I realize just how alone she feels. I get the impression that her grandparents love her more than anything, and yet, they don’t seem willing to do anything too drastic to help her for fear that her mother will retaliate.

The plan to take her away from all of this once again jumps to the forefront of my thoughts, and it takes everything I have to not just blurt it out. I know that it would only hurt her though, and I don’t want to hurt her any more than she has already been hurt.

And then she tells me about the last dinner with her grandparents, the one in which her mother told her that she wished she had had an abortion. Once I had settled enough to speak again, I asked why they didn’t say anything when she said that.

“I asked my grandma about it about a year ago,” she replies, “and I think she was trying to help, but she said, ‘Well I don’t know why she said that; she hadn’t even considered it at the time. I don’t think she really thought she should have until you got older.’ Like I said, trying to help, but it had the opposite effect. Knowing that she wished I had never been born only once she got to know me made me feel so much worse. In some sick way, I understood being seventeen and wanting to abort the child you were carrying. It’s scary and would clearly change whatever plans you had for your future. But there is no part of me that understands bringing a child into the world and then not only feeling like, but telling her, that you wished you had made a different, no a better, decision. It was crushing. I know she doesn’t love me; that’s clear enough. What I don’t understand is the control she needs. I think she truly feels like I ruined her life, and in return, she needs to ruin mine. Obviously, I am not a mom, and I don’t ever plan to be, but a human being should not be that vindictive and vengeful. It’s just like she hates me so much that she can’t just let me go; she has to make sure I am as unhappy as I make her.”

My mind is made up. I will make her the happiest girl in the whole damned universe. Even if I lose everything I love other than her in the process. I reach across the table and grab her hand and promise her with confidence that I will fix this. In my mind I know the plan. I just have to figure out the details.

“I would love to believe you, but I don’t see how you can possibly make that promise,” she says sadly.

I reassure her again. I know I will be able to do something, and I know exactly what that something is. I can’t wait to tell her, but I can’t just yet. For now, all I can do is make this promise and hope she believes in me enough and has enough trust left in her, that she can hold out until the time comes.