Heart Strings (4 page)

“Lem— Tea.” Lemonade used to be his favorite drink, but since he'd tasted Aunt Ev's—there, he was at least thinking the new name—tea, he'd had a craving for it. Maybe Mrs. Johannsen's would break the spell. He took a sip. Hers was good too.

After a few minutes, Keely wandered over to the barbecue pit where her dad was tending burgers and Tripp followed. “Please call me Eric,” her dad said when Keely introduced them.

“Thank you, sir … uh … Eric.”

“It isn't necessary to call me Sir Eric. Just Eric will do,” her father said, chuckling, and Tripp felt a blush creep up his neck. If he called Mr. Johannsen by his first name, should he call his wife by hers too? Sara? Names had never seemed like such a big deal before today.

Keely wrapped her arms around her dad's waist from behind. He leaned his head back against hers and Tripp felt a pang of jealousy. His relationship with his father wasn't that comfortable. The sides of the barbecue fireplace were staggered like steps, and, feeling like an outsider, Tripp sat on one.

Expertly flipping a burger, Eric Johannsen smiled at his daughter. “I'm ready to put the dogs and brats on for those who prefer them. Will you take a head count?”

Keely turned to Tripp. “Joey prefers hot dogs and Mom, who grew up in Cincinnati where German food is popular, loves bratwurst. My dad and I are burger hounds. How about you?”

Bratwurst. Pronounced
brawt
and combined with “wurst,” bratwurst didn't sound that great, and as they were shaped like wieners but fatter and sort of gray-colored, didn't look good either. “I'm with you. Want me to see what … uh … Aunt Ev wants?”

Keely looked at him sharply and he rushed off without waiting for an answer. All this secret stuff was making “uh” a major word in his vocabulary.

*****

The six of them crowded around the Johannsen's small picnic table, and Keely somehow ended up next to Tripp. Both happy and nervous, he concentrated on the food, which was excellent. Potato salad, baked beans: all the traditional picnic favorites, or so he'd been told. His family seldom had picnics.

“Whoops!” Keely banged an elbow into Tripp's and he lost a bite off his fork.

“Sorry.” She bumped him again, and afraid he was crowding her, he scooted over.

Joey burst out laughing. “Sis is left-handed. A southpaw. Do you play baseball, Tripp?”

“No, he doesn't,” Aunt Ev said.

“I can,” Tripp corrected her. “I'm not an expert but I sometimes play for fun.”

“I'm on Little League and play for the Medics,” Joey said. “Maybe you can give me some pointers. Our team lost their first game yesterday and the coach said all of us could use practice.” For the rest of the meal, Joey talked about Little League, and after dessert, he jumped up. “Want to play pass, Tripp?”

He rose and Mrs. Jefferson lay her hand on his arm. “Do you think you should, dear?”

He felt his face turn red. “There's no reason I shouldn't. I'm fine.”

“Have you been sick recently?” Mrs. Johannsen asked.

Tripp shook his head. “Your very nice neighbor is just a bit of a worrywart,” he said, patting Evelyn on the shoulder.

“Did you know Tripp is Evelyn's nephew?” Keely asked her mother with a taunting glance at him.

Clearing his throat, he shifted from one foot to the other. Should he say something or leave this to Evelyn and follow Joey?

Aunt Ev made the decision, nodding him away.

*****

CHAPTER 4

The sun hung low in the sky, half a red ball peeking over the horizon, when the barbecue ended. After helping Sara Johannsen carry in the dishes, Aunt Ev left, telling Tripp to stay as long as he liked. Joey was sweaty and tired but complained when his mother shooed him inside for a bath. Eric Johannsen excused himself to catch the highlights of the race on TV.

Tripp found himself alone with Keely, which, providing his “aunt” had explained their relationship satisfactorily, was great. However, if Keely started asking questions, he didn't know what he'd say. To start the conversational ball rolling in another direction, he asked her questions about the town and school. “If you'd like a tour, I could show you around,” she offered. “I love to walk and in a town this size, you can see everything you'd want to see in half an hour.”

Branburg was laid out in a checkerboard pattern that was easy to follow. They took a left at the corner of Old State Road One and walked two blocks down Plum Street so Keely could show him where Megan lived. Crossing Plum, they walked through a residential district and took a right and she showed him the high school. She then led him through the three-block long downtown district. On the furthest corner, she showed him an eating place called Mosley's and pointed to the sign, Best Dogs in the Midwest. “It's a local hangout. The kids from high school come here a lot. The cooks grill their dogs the same as Daddy did and they have a ton of toppings to choose from.”

“Your Dad's hamburgers were terrific.”

“He has a secret way of making them that he won't tell anybody.”

“There was definitely garlic in them. And Worcestershire, I bet.”

“We don't have any in the house. Megan checked.”

Catching Keely's drift and her hand, he chuckled. “Caught me playing detective like your friend, did you?”

Her laugh was sweet and she squeezed his hand before taking hers gently away. “Thanks for returning my romance book.”

Romance would be nice with a girl like Keely, but he couldn't read the signals she gave. Sometimes he thought she liked him. Then she'd pull away. “What are your summer plans, besides reading?”

“Mom's conducting two different three-week cheer camps this summer and I'm watching Joey. Megan wanted me to work at Hoosier Hot Wings, the new chicken take-out place, with her, but Mom said she'd pay me to stay home.”

“Maybe I'll see you around then. I'll be around the house a lot since my work with HAH is flexible”

Keely tucked her hair behind one ear and looked up at him, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Hah?”

“Hah, hah,” he joked.

“Stop that,” she said, swatting him.

“Have-a-Heart.”

“Wimp! I barely touched you.”

“I was explaining the acronym,” he said, chuckling.

“I figured that out.” She stopped laughing and studied him for a minute. “I heard you tell Joey you'd practice ball with him sometimes.”

“A good excuse to see you more,” he admitted.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she looked through the plate glass window into the dark interior of Mosley's. “Megan asked me to go with her family on their pontoon tomorrow. Her boyfriend Devon's going, and I'm sure you'd be welcome.

“Dang. I'd love to, but my folks haven't left yet. They had plans over the weekend, but I have to go home and take them to the airport tomorrow.”

“I would have thought they'd want to spend the weekend with you. Three months is a long time.”

No one understood his parents. Not even him. Keely strolled on, and he fell into step with her. “I'm sorry about tomorrow, but ask me along next time you go to the lake, okay?” She gave him a teasing smile. “Okay?” he asked again.

Keely didn't plan to make any promises and grinned at Tripp through sealed lips to let him know it.

“Not going to answer me, huh?” Tripp pulled her toward him, then pushed her away. Steering her to the left, then right, hanging on tightly to her hand, he zigzagged her along the walk until she began to laugh. When they almost ran into a mailbox, Tripp got so tickled, he had to stop. He was fun to be with, but her laughter died when she saw they'd stopped in front of J's. A fifties-style ice cream parlor, Mark slipped a ring from a gum ball machine on her finger at J's one night and kissed her. The ring was orange plastic but she still had it at home in her jewelry box.

Tripp reached for her. His hands were warm on her shoulders. She backed away.

Disappointment washed over his face, and pretending not to notice, she turned to look in J's darkened window. He had been planning to kiss her, she was sure of it. But she wasn't ready for kisses yet.

“Tuesday after school, everyone's gathering here to celebrate school letting out. J's serves the best custard ice cream in the world and the biggest sandwiches you ever saw. They have an old-fashioned juke box and allow dancing on Friday and Saturday nights.” Keely turned her head away from Tripp. Why did she always start babbling when she was with him?

“If I learn how to stop making you mad, would you dance with me sometime?”

She looked up at him, and his warm coffee eyes probed into hers. His smile was gentle, and she knew instinctively that he was a nice guy. He smelled like fresh air and crisp cologne and was as handsome as any of the guys in the movies. She would love to dance with him, but she'd been his cousin's girl and she'd never told him. If he knew, he might feel differently about her. “You don't make me mad,” she said softly.

“Then say you'll dance with me. Sometime this summer.”

His gaze held hers, making her feel lightheaded and giddy. She'd never felt this way before, and without weighing her decision even the teeniest bit, whispered, “Yes.”

*****

A loud ticking woke Tripp. Moaning, he grabbed the clock off the bedside table and stuffed it under his pillow. How had Mark slept with that noisy thing a foot from his ear? It kept Tripp awake when he was trying to drift off and woke him when he wanted to sleep.

Fully awake, he sat up in bed. The walls of the room were covered with car posters. A black helmet and a black and white checkered-flag sat on top of a double-wide chest. A pair of scuffed sneakers sat under the bedside table. There were two closets in the room. One was empty when Tripp arrived and he knew without looking the other held Mark's clothes.

Sometimes, his presence haunted Tripp. It didn't seem right to be sleeping in his bed, sharing meals with his mother, living with his heart. Alive—and him dead.

There was a bathroom across the hall, all Tripp's. Sunlight filtered through lace curtains. Tiny lavender flowers bloomed on the walls. If Mark used this bathroom, there were no signs of him, just his mother's homey touch. The smell of bacon wafted under the door, and Tripp's stomach growled. Pans clattered, a mixer whirred. He didn't waste any time getting to the kitchen. “Man, something smells good.”

“Blueberry waffles.” Spearing one, Aunt Ev added bacon to the plate and set it down. “Eat up,” she said smiling.

“I'll get my own milk,” he said, just beating her to the refrigerator. Pouring a glass, he took a seat at the round oak table. “You're going to spoil me.”

The kitchen was big and sunny with yellow wooden cabinets. Aunt Ev sat in the chair across from him, sipping coffee and watching a hummingbird drink red sugar-water from the feeder outside the window. A reddish brown cardinal landed at another feeder filled with sunflower seed. “That's the female,” she said, and when a second, brilliant red bird lit on the other side of the plastic tube, she added, “That's her mate.”

Tripp didn't know much about birds but liked watching them over breakfast with Aunt Ev acting like a real aunt, or even a mother. At home, his mom and dad read the paper over cereal and juice, while listening to the news on a TV set on the kitchen counter.

“What are your plans for today?” Aunt Evelyn asked.

“I'm going to the hospital later, but I'm not on a time schedule. Is there something you'd like me to do?”

She hesitated, pleating the tablecloth, then smoothing it out. “I have to do some shopping. O'Malia's Market is the finest in town, and I thought maybe you'd like to come with me. You could choose things you like to eat.”

“Don't worry about me. I like everything,” he said, pouring more syrup on his waffle.

“George used to go with me.” She poked at her waffle without taking a bite.

“If you're saying you want company, I'll be glad to go.”

Her face lit up. “Are you sure? Mark never would take the time.”

“I have plenty of time.” Thanks to Mark, he thought, with a pang of guilt.

“Thank you, dear.” Rising to get another waffle out of the iron, she placed it in front of him, then rested her elbows on the table, her face in her hands.

“You need to eat, too.” Tripp nudged her plate closer. She hadn't touched her waffle.

“You're as bad as George. He was always after me to eat.” Smiling, she took a bite. “I thought of calling you my nephew because of the similarity between your names, but you and Johnny don't look anything alike. I think I have a picture of him around here somewhere. Let me look.”

She returned with a family album and laid it before him, open to a picture of a slender boy with light curls. He and a younger, dark-haired boy were standing by the rose trellis out back. “This one's Johnny, who's in college now, and the smaller boy is Mark.”

“I hope you don't mind,” she said, and Tripp swallowed hard and shook his head.

Smiling, she flipped back several pages. “This is Mark when he was born. And here's his first day of school. And this is the day he finished sixth grade.” Forgetting to look at the album, she began talking, and half an hour later, Tripp knew how old Mark was when he lost his first tooth and what he'd gotten for his last birthday. It was like someone wound his mother up and she couldn't stop remembering.

A sudden fluttering of cardinal wings outside the window broke her spell. Turning back to the album, Evelyn smiled apologetically and flipped quickly forward. “This is my nephew Johnny's senior picture from high school.” His blond hair was even curlier and he wore an earring in one ear. “And a last photograph of Mark if you don't mind. It was taken last year when he was a sophomore.” She flipped the page.

The grown-up Mark was good-looking with an impudent smile, narrow dark eyes, and thick brows. Dark hair grazed his shoulders, parted in the middle. In the photo, he wore a T-shirt with a denim vest, a peace sign necklace and a ring that matched.

Last year, last picture. He'd been killed early this school year, and Tripp, who knew the exact date, rubbed his chest, hoping to ease the pain.