Eternity (6 page)

Chapter Twelve

The committee had meetings planned for the next two nights. The worldwide need was desperate and urgent, so Amanda proposed that we organize a county-wide party for high-school students in two weeks time. For the first time in days, I felt useful and busy. It quelled the misgivings about my role that lurked beneath my exterior.

On Tuesday and Wednesday nights, the twenty subcommittee members—me, Rafe, two senior girls from Tillinghast I didn’t know except by sight, fifteen kids from neighboring high schools, and the prissy, rigid Amanda—spent hours figuring out how to coordinate an enormous event on such short notice. Even though I was certainly not a partygoer, I relished mapping out the tasks, creating a timeline, and making lists of potential donors for drinks, food, decorations, and even music for the party. I liked rolling up my sleeves and
doing
something instead of sitting around my house. All the work took my focus off the end days.

As did watching Rafe and Amanda spar.

“You think that it matters to the earthquake victims if the invitations are printed in blue ink or green?” Rafe was exasperated with Amanda’s long monologue on the party invitations’ lettering. He didn’t have to say it out loud. He clearly thought that Amanda was using the earthquakes as an excuse to host a big party.

“Of course it matters, Rafe. We want as many people to attend the party as possible, don’t we?”

“And you truly think the deciding factor will be the invitation ink color? That kids won’t come out to help alleviate an enormous tragedy unless they find the invitations aesthetically pleasing?”

“You never know what will sway people’s decisions, Rafe,” Amanda said primly, as she held up yet another invitation mock-up for the subcommittee to vote upon.

I stifled a laugh as Rafe rolled his eyes in utter frustration at Amanda’s perspective. No matter how misguided and myopic they were, she was tenacious in her beliefs. As was he.

“Amanda, we shouldn’t be spending our time worrying about invitations or music or decorations. Whatever we end up with will be good enough for the people who come, the ones who genuinely care. Instead, we should be focusing on educating kids about the disaster. So they’ll want to help.”

While the rest of us listened—even Amanda—Rafe explained that the party was a prime opportunity to reveal what the news reports didn’t. He argued that the media was understating the damages. With compassion and persuasion, he spouted off specific data about the number of people killed and injured in each earthquake region and the economic and agricultural harm suffered in those sectors. Data that made the earthquakes seem so much more real, and more deadly, than I’d ever imagined. I knew I needed to hear the information he had at his fingertips, but I didn’t like it one bit.

No one spoke after Rafe finished. His message inspired that kind of quiet reverence, as did his delivery. His coarse, challenging exterior masked a thoughtful, surprisingly tender interior. I liked the combination. Especially compared to Michael’s current football focus.

Slowly and deliberately, Amanda stood up. Placing her hands on her hips, she said, “Thank you for your lecture, Rafe. If what you say is true, it is important information indeed. However, this is the
party planning
subcommittee. Perhaps your interests would be better suited to another subcommittee. You are welcome to take your talents elsewhere.”

Amanda had finally silenced Rafe. I had been wondering the same thing myself. Why had he picked this subcommittee out of all the choices available?

The entire group held their breaths as Rafe made his decision. He glanced over at me for a split second and then said, “I’ll stick with this one.”

Amanda beamed in victory. “Good, glad to have you. However, given your views, I think I’ll take you off the decorations assignment, Rafe. The kids wouldn’t want to see some gruesome news photos plastered on the walls that you might deem suitable or educational, while they’re at a party. I think I’ll put you on the food donations assignment with”—she paused to look at her list—“Ellie Faneuil.”

I didn’t know how to feel about Rafe’s new assignment.

The meeting broke up a few minutes later. As I gathered my bag to leave, Rafe came over to my side.

“I guess we’ll be working together on food and drink donations for the party,” he muttered, a bit sheepishly.

“Amanda made that pretty clear.” I smiled as we left the meeting room and entered the darkened hallway. “She sure let you have it tonight. Although, for whatever it’s worth, I agree with you.”

Instead of responding, he held open the doors leading to the parking lot and asked, “What’s your game plan for getting donations?”

“I thought we’d start out by calling the restaurants and markets tomorrow night. That way, we could narrow down the ones that might actually commit to a donation.”

“What if we went door-to-door instead? We might have more luck if we pleaded our case in person?”

“That could take hours, Rafe, if not a couple of evenings.”

“I’d rather spend the time than come up empty-handed.” He smirked and mock swaggered. “Plus, I can be pretty persuasive when I try.”

I smirked back. I couldn’t resist saying, “Like tonight with Amanda?”

If it wasn’t so dark, I felt certain that I would’ve seen the rugged Rafe blush. He ignored my comment and continued talking about our approach. Tomorrow during the day we’d be too busy with school to make a decision, he maintained, and we needed to hit the ground running tomorrow night.

As we strolled through the chilly parking lot toward my car, I had to laugh at the persistence—and earnestness—of Rafe’s arguments. I was on the verge of agreeing to meet him in downtown Tillinghast the next night, when we came across a guy I didn’t know but who seemed familiar from the larger committee meeting, sitting on the ground next to his beat-up, brown Honda. He was trying to fix a flat tire.

The night was cold and dark, and most kids would have walked right past the guy, especially if they didn’t know him. At best, they might have stopped and asked if he needed help, praying that the guy declined the offer, of course. Not Rafe.

Without a single word, without a single question to the guy, Rafe handed me his backpack, took off his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. He knelt next to the kid and asked, “What can I do?”

I watched as the two guys wordlessly replaced the punctured tire with a spare. Rafe looked even broader and stronger with his shirtsleeves rolled up; and as he worked, I couldn’t help but notice how muscular his forearms were and how expertly he held a wrench. When they finished the job, I stared as they shook hands and said good-bye as if they’d known each other for years.

Rafe’s instantaneous act of generosity moved me. Was it because I’d been thrown back into the completely opposite, self-centered world of Tillinghast High School? Was it because great acts of goodness and sacrifice were soon to be expected of me? Whatever the reason, I found Rafe’s natural bigheartedness stirring.

Not to mention he looked amazing with his sleeves rolled up, working with his hands.

As we resumed our walk toward my car, Rafe reached out for his backpack and jacket, which I was still holding for him. He glanced at me, and asked, “You okay, Ellie? You look kind of, well, funny.”

I was embarrassed at the plainness of my reaction. It was a simple tire change. The scene shouldn’t have moved me so much. Nor should it have elicited an attraction to him. I had a boyfriend, after all. One that I hadn’t mentioned yet, it occurred to me. For the first time, I realized how peculiar—and telling—that omission was.

I tossed my hair back over my shoulders and laughed as if his comment was preposterous. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Rafe slid on his jacket and backpack, and then smiled that mischievous smile. “Great. So we’ll meet in Tillinghast tomorrow night?”

Chapter Thirteen

Rafe won the battle over our approach. Pretty easily. The next evening, we met in downtown Tillinghast at the first establishment on our list. I wanted to mention how touched I’d been by his actions the previous night helping out with the stranger’s flat tire, but Rafe was all business. He didn’t leave any room to discuss anything except our game plan.

We stood underneath the striped green awning of the town grocery, Smitty’s. It was the oldest market in Tillinghast, one with a reputation for charity in the community. We figured we had a pretty good shot at getting a donation from Smitty’s.

“What is that we’d like to get them to give us?” Rafe asked.

I checked my list. “A couple cases of soda, or a case of chips. Or both.”

“I say we go for both. Are you game?”

“Definitely. Any tips on what to say?”

Rafe stepped in front of me and pulled open the door. “Let me do the talking. I think I’ll do better than you.”

Before I had the chance to get insulted, Rafe entered the store and asked the clerk to see the store manager. A tiny, wizened old man stepped out from the back room. A ratty, oatmeal-colored cardigan hung off his spare frame, and he pulled it tight around him in the cool air of the store.

“I’m Smitty, the store owner. Can I help you?” I was surprised that there was a real Smitty. The poor man looked ready for bed and surprised that anyone would ask to see him personally. I felt bad asking him for anything.

Rafe didn’t skip a beat. He squared his very broad shoulders and stretched out his hand in greeting. “Sir, we are students from two local high schools bordering Tillinghast. I’m sure you’ve heard on the recent news reports about the earthquakes devastating our world—”

For the next five minutes, Rafe spun a captivating tale about the havoc the earthquakes had wreaked. Somehow, he managed to make the details horrific and compelling all at once. Even Smitty perked up and seemed mesmerized by Rafe’s earnest account.

After getting a commitment for several cases of soda and two cases of chips from Smitty, we went door-to-door through Tillinghast’s little downtown, trying to woo restaurants and other grocery stores for donations. Rafe was incredibly persuasive. The moment we opened the front door of whatever place was next on our list, he’d mutter something scathing to me about the party or Amanda, and then he’d flash a disarming smile to the manager we’d asked to see.

By the time we hit the last market on our list, we’d scored more food and drink donations than we could possibly use, even if everyone on our dream guest list showed up. And I’d had more fun than I’d had in a long time.

“Should we even bother?” I laughed, as we walked toward our next destination. “I’m pretty sure that we’ve got enough Diet Coke for every high school kid in the county. And chips too.”

Rafe smiled and elbowed me in jest. “I guess we shouldn’t get greedy, huh?”

“You’re the one who keeps saying that a celebration isn’t fitting.” I elbowed him back.

“You’re right.” He stopped and looked at me. “We should be helping out the earthquake victims in another way.”

I asked the question that had been on my mind for the past three days. “Then why did you volunteer for the party-planning subcommittee? I’ve spent hours listening to you and Amanda fight over the propriety of spending so much time on party decorations and music instead of a campaign to educate the partygoers. There were loads of other subcommittees to raise money
without
parties. Like Amanda said.”

He smiled. “Why do you think I raised my hand? Why do you think I stayed on this subcommittee when Amanda gave me a personal invitation to leave?”

Did he mean his comment the way it sounded? My pale cheeks turned red, and I prayed that the darkness masked it. I hated to blush, especially in front of a guy. I didn’t know what to say, so I kept quiet. I kept walking.

Rafe spoke instead. “Should we get a coffee instead of begging for more chips and sodas?”

I wanted to go with him. I truly did. Rafe had taken the edge off my waiting these past few days and appeased the demons of insecurity that tormented me when I was alone. I knew I shouldn’t let him fill the void created by Michael’s and Ruth’s absences. I knew that I should sit out my solitude and anticipation until Ruth had some answers and Michael returned from the land of football. I’d had plenty of practice at being alone before I met Michael, after all.

I reminded myself of Michael, my boyfriend, my soul mate. I recounted to myself all that Michael and I were, and all that we were meant to do. I couldn’t do anything to betray him, even if we weren’t all that connected these days. Coffee with Rafe didn’t seem right, even though it would be totally platonic. It seemed . . . deceitful.

“I’m sorry, Rafe. I—I need to get home.”

His expression shifted slightly, almost indescribably. “You’re right, Ellie. You have a lot on your plate. Let me walk you to your car.”

Before I could answer, or ask what he meant by “a lot on my plate,” he took me by the arm and walked in the exact direction of my car. How did Rafe know precisely where to go? He hadn’t seen me park; we’d met at the first market on our list.

Even though part of me liked the feel of Rafe’s hand on my arm, I started to get uneasy. Was he truly a regular guy? He seemed pretty normal from that flash, and I’d met a few kids from his high school on the subcommittee who knew him and appeared to like him, Amanda notwithstanding. Still, something about him unsettled me.

Even though I knew I shouldn’t permit myself a flash, I wrapped my fingers around his hand, as if I’d stumbled a bit on the sidewalk. I was searching for anything out of the ordinary, any little image that suggested he was more than human. All I heard was an internal dialogue where he was beating himself up for asking me out for coffee.

Rafe was walking fast, and the street was getting darker. Out of necessity, I’d parked in an area removed from the streetlamps and foot traffic. I started to pull back, toward the slightly busier area.

As if he understood my thoughts, Rafe slowed down and said, “Sorry, Ellie. I’ve probably freaked you out by heading right to your spot. I saw you pull into it earlier tonight.”

Of course there was a perfectly logical explanation. These days, I was pretty squirrelly. “I’m the one that’s sorry, Rafe. You’re just trying to be nice.”

We continued walking, much slower this time, and in silence. Without the noise from the cars, it was awfully quiet. The final yards to my car felt long.

Rafe delivered me to my car door and patiently waited while I opened it. I was about to thank him and close the door, when he said, “I didn’t mean to come on too strong with you, Ellie. Asking you out for coffee and all that. Sometimes, I forget how to act.”

Forget how to act? What did he mean by that? But I didn’t want him to feel bad—and I knew how bad he felt from the flash—so I said, “You did nothing wrong, Rafe. You asked me to grab a cup of coffee with you. That’s all.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, Ellie. I was hoping we could be better friends. I wanted you to understand.”

Of course, that was all. Aside from asking me out for coffee, which
any
friend could do, Rafe had never done anything to encourage me. I had no concrete reason to think he liked me, other than the flash I’d gotten from him in the gymnasium and the one I’d sought just now. And both of those could have been interpreted other ways. I should’ve been relieved, but I wasn’t.

“That’s great, Rafe.” Even though part of me thought it was definitely not great.

“Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow in the early evening in town for some follow-up work on these donations?”

“Tomorrow evening.”