Heart Strings (3 page)

*****

CHAPTER 3

After a late Sunday breakfast with Joey and Dad carrying on about who'd win that day's Indianapolis 500 race, Keely and her mother had planned that evening's barbecue. And now, at last, Keely was able to escape to the family room and finish
First Love
.

She held her paperback up to the light streaming in the window. The pages were rippled from being damp and the cover turned up at the edges, but it could still be read. Joey found it on the front doormat where Tripp must have laid it. What was he thinking when he rubbed his thumb across her cheek and she ran away?

Determined to stop thinking about the past and concentrate on the present, and the future, she curled up on the end of their country blue sofa. Tucking her legs beneath her, she turned to the page where she'd stopped reading, and losing herself in the story, read until she'd reached the long-awaited happy ending.

Sighing over the final words, she closed her eyes. Maybe someday someone would come along who'd make her feel like the heroine in
First Love
. Light brown hair and a dimpled smile appeared before her eyes, and Keely sighed. When Tripp caressed her cheek the same way Mark had, she'd run. Not because she didn't like Tripp, but because it seemed eerie.

The two guys were different types. Mark wore his hair long and parted in the middle. Tripp's hair was neatly cut and parted on the side. Mark was wiry. Tripp was slim but broad-shouldered. Their personalities were opposites, and she'd loved Mark, no matter what Megan said, so why give Tripp a second thought?

Oh, say can you see
… the strains of “The Star Spangled Banner” flooded the family room and Keely opened her eyes abruptly. Her dad and Joey had entered the room and turned on the TV to watch the Indy 500. Settling himself on the other end of the couch, Joey held his ears against the high-pitched soprano. Dad sat in the middle with a bowl of popcorn in his lap. “We just had breakfast,” Keely said, poking with him her bare toe.

He tossed a piece at her mouth. She opened up but missed. Jim Nabors stepped forward to sing “Back Home Again in Indiana”. “The race is about to begin,” Dad said, leaning forward eagerly.

Joey bounced up and down on the couch cushions. Even Keely leaned forward as a woman stepped up to the mike. “La-dies and gentlemen,” Mary Hulman's voice rang out, echoing in the loudspeakers. “You may start your engines.”

The roar was deafening. The announcer's voice crackled with excitement. “Just listen to those cars. Can you believe it, folks? Seconds from now, they'll be circling this two-and-a-half mile track at speeds in excess of two-hundred forty miles per hour.”
Mark had only been going sixty.
“They're circling, waiting for the flag. There it is. They're off,” the announcer shouted.

The roar became a deafening whine. Throwing down her book, Keely ran outside, letting the back door slam as she drew fresh air into her lungs.

*****

“Are you okay?” Sara Johannsen came down the back steps to put an arm around Keely. “You were running through the kitchen looking as if you'd seen a ghost.”

A ghost. The crash woke her but her parents wouldn't let her go outside. “I don't like racing.”

Her mother sat down in the webbed lawn chair next to her, and Keely, comforted by her presence, focused on the here and now. It was quiet outside, except for the hum of their air conditioner and the sound of a nearby mower. The brick patio was warm beneath her bare feet. The smell of newly mown grass was sweet. She breathed a slow sigh of relief. The world was almost the way it should be.

“Who's that young man mowing the Jefferson's lawn?” Mom asked, scooting her chair sideways so she could see better.

The Crawfords next door had a backyard trellis loaded with honeysuckles that obstructed the view, so Keely moved her chair too. “Tripp.” She whispered the word. Tripp Andrews was wearing Mark's shirt, a long-sleeved plaid worn thin from many washings. He'd loved that shirt. Tripp was mowing the lawn like he belonged there. He had promised he wouldn't try to take Mark’s place.

“Tripp? What kind of name is that?”

Keely watched Evelyn come out the back door and set a tray on a wooden bench built around a tulip tree. George built that bench, and she used to sit there and watch Mark play when he was small. Later, she watched Mark in the driveway puttering with his car. Now, she motioned Tripp to turn off the mower and join her.

“Jonathan Michael Andrews—the third. Triple. Tripp, for short.” Keely went on to tell her mother about meeting him and their conversation afterward. “I can't believe Evelyn asked him to spend the summer, or that he took her up on it.”

“She's lonely, Keely, and he appears personable. Watch the way he smiles at Evelyn, and look how happy she seems.”

The two of them were smiling and chatting over refreshments and Keely didn't like watching them together. “I still think it's strange he moved in. And he's wearing Mark's shirt.”

“If I don't miss my bet, he was wearing short sleeves and Evelyn was afraid he'd sunburn. You know how protective she is, and the boy looks pale. As for him staying there, Evelyn wouldn't invite a stranger into her home. If he's not a relative, there's a connection.”

Tripp said something about close ties, but what kind? He wiped his face on his sleeve. It was a hot, cloudless day; the sun was bearing down brightly. He must be miserable wearing long sleeves, but he was grinning. Fanning herself with a napkin, Mrs. Jefferson said something to him and picked up their refreshment tray. Shaking his head, Tripp took it from her and carried it inside.

“Look how thoughtful he is. He'll be good for her. Salve on an open sore.” As Tripp came back to give Mrs. Jefferson a quick hug. Sara Johannsen stood with quick determination. “I'm going to invite Evelyn and Tripp over for our cookout this evening. Why don't you come along, dear?”

Her mother had said more good things about Tripp in five minutes than she ever said about Mark. But it would be interesting to talk to Tripp and learn more about him mysteriously turning up at the Jefferson's front door—if he would talk to her after the weird way she'd acted.

Her mother had caught up to Evelyn in the driveway beside her house when Keely followed. Tripp, coming out of the shed where he was putting the mower away, smiled when he spotted her at the edge of the yard. “Keely. I hoped to see you. Where were you yesterday?”

“At Brookville Lake. Memorial Day weekend opens the boating season, and I went with Megan and her folks to put their pontoon in the water.” Keely narrowed her eyes at Tripp. “Why? Where were you?”

“Here, moving in with Mrs. Jefferson—for the summer. As a houseguest. No ulterior motives.” He raised his hands in a motion of surrender. “My school let out Friday.”

He remembered her warning, at least, and she supposed Evelyn could use the company. “We go back to Branburg High Tuesday for one more day of classes,” Keely said.

“Last day's a piece of cake.” His dark eyes locked with hers. “I've been thinking about you a lot since we met.”

She'd been thinking about him too and it made her uneasy. If she wanted to date again, Tripp seemed nice, and he was cute. However, he lived in Mark's house with Mark's mother and it would just be too much for him to like or want to date Mark's girl.

“I can see you're totally underwhelmed.” Tripp, flashing his dimples, slipped off Mark's shirt, revealing a T-shirt soaked with sweat.

“Why are you stopping when the lawn isn't finished?”

“Mrs. Jefferson is afraid I'll overheat. She wants me to wait until the sun goes down.” Grinning sheepishly, he slung the shirt over his shoulder. “She doesn't want me to sunburn.”

The newly mown grass smelled good. Her mother had been right about Evelyn overprotecting him. He probably felt really silly. Keely, hoping to make him feel more comfortable, smiled. “Why did you decide to move in?”

Tripp seemed to pale at her question, but his shrug was casual. “My folks are going to Europe and I didn't want to go. So I'd be spending the summer with our housekeeper, who's nice, but not a fun person. Evelyn was lonely and I would have been too.”

“You didn't want to go to Europe? Why not?”

“Been there. Done that. My folks are travel writers and their itineraries are boring and exhausting. I had to go along when I was a kid and I know. Besides, they haven't made this long trip for three years now, and I think they're looking forward to time for just the two of them. And another reason … the drive to University Hospital is forty-five minutes from home but only a few miles from here.”

“Do you have a summer job at the hospital?”

“I … don't work.”

Megan’s heart flip-flopped. Was there something wrong with his health? Maybe he had some incurable disease. Maybe….

“I volunteer,” Tripp said.

Oh, great, here she was worried about his health and life span, and this poor little rich kid from Destiny didn't need to work. He volunteered. And he probably collected an allowance from his parents, just like Will did.

Tripp opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and closed it. When he did speak, he sounded half-hesitant, half proud. “I'm a member of Have-a-Heart, volunteers who entertain kids in coronary care.”

“Kids with heart problems? Are there many? I think of older people when I think of coronary.”

“You'd be amazed at the number of children who go into hospitals for heart surgery. Many are born with heart defects that need repairs. Others require transplants. I've been volunteering two or three times a week for the past few months. Staying here, I can go as often as I want. Which means at least once, maybe twice, a day.”

He certainly was dedicated. And enthusiastic. And nice.

“You're another reason I decided to stay with Mrs. Jefferson.” He took her hand.

Keely started and he let go. “Look, I'm sorry about the other day.”

She looked away toward the green grass, where it was long and uncut, blowing in the hot breeze. She could tell him why his touch made her uneasy. She should have told him about her and Mark going together, even if they'd just dated for a short time. “It's okay.”

She looked at Tripp, and he looked so sweet and boyish: so neat, every hair in place, it was hard to think he was up to something evil by moving in with Evelyn. Megan's idea that he might be a con artist who preyed on older people seemed even more ridiculous than it did yesterday at the lake. And he had no reason to try to take Mark's place. He had parents of his own. Her mother was a good judge of character and she'd suggested inviting him and Evelyn to the barbecue. Keely looked around and saw that her mother was gone, and Evelyn's car was missing from the drive.

“Mrs. Jefferson was about to leave for the cemetery.”

To Mark's grave. Keely touched the sleeve of Mark's shirt, hanging from Tripp's shoulder.

“Your mom may have gone home. I didn't notice.”

“We … she came over to invite you and Evelyn to our house for a barbecue this evening.”

“That’s terrific.” He reached out to take her hand. “If you want me to come.”

He couldn't help what had happened to Mark, and couldn't know what this school year had been like for her. She squeezed Tripp's hand, her heart suddenly light. “Sure. I think it would be great.”

Tripp’s smile was eager, and finding it infectious, Keely smiled all the way home.

* * * * *

Tripp came into the Jefferson kitchen, his hair still damp from his shower, but dressed and ready to go. He was looking forward to the barbecue at the Johannsens'. “Ready when you are, Mrs. Jefferson.”

Evelyn looked up from a cake she'd been icing. She'd said she didn't feel right not taking something to the picnic. “Tripp, how would you feel about calling me Aunt Evelyn?”

“Aunt Evelyn.” It would take a little getting used to, but he nodded. Mrs. Jefferson sounded formal and he didn't feel comfortable calling her Evelyn.

She set the cake inside a covered container. “Or better yet, Aunt Ev. My nephew Johnny calls me that, and if you don't mind, I believe I'll tell my husband's brother and sister that you are Johnny. Nelson and Mildred have never met my side of the family, and that will explain your visit here. And now that I think about it, other people may wonder as well and it's really no one's concern except yours and mine. So we may as well tell everyone you're my nephew Jonathan, Johnny for short, and nicknamed Tripp. Your names work well together.” Smiling, she picked up the cake container and motioned him to the door. “We'd better go. Eric Johannsen is firing up the grill.”

* * * * *

Tripp's stomach felt queasy as he followed Aunt Ev over to the Johannsen house. His system was well-accustomed to the fourteen pills he'd taken—two anti-rejection and twelve more to prevent side effects—but it wasn't pills that were bothering him. He'd told Keely that he and Evelyn weren't related, now all of a sudden, he was her nephew. The deceit was uncomfortable.

Evelyn rushed the cake inside the house so the sun wouldn't melt the frosting and left Tripp alone with Keely. She looked pretty in shorts and a loose-fitting blouse with a ruffle around the neck. Her hair shone in the late afternoon sun and she smelled like some kind of fresh summery cologne.

It was a Memorial Day picnic, even if the holiday was actually tomorrow, so he'd worn his black-and-white checkered shirt. “My mother bought it because of the 500,” he apologized. “She has this notion about wearing clothes in keeping with the occasion.”

“I think you look nice,” Evelyn said, stroking his shirt sleeve as she joined them.

“So do I,” Mrs. Johannsen said, coming out the back door with a basket of crackers and a cheese ball.

He felt like a dork but, suspecting his mother's gifts were an apology for not being around on holidays, had worn what she bought. “Thank you, Mrs. Johannsen. You too…uh.” He couldn't quite bring himself to say Aunt Ev, although she smiled encouragingly.

The two women chatted while Keely passed lemonade and iced tea around. “Name your poison,” she told Tripp.