Out of Nowhere (11 page)

“But we did.”

“But we did,” she repeated with a sigh. “Somehow, we did.”

I grabbed one of the corduroy pillows and held it on my lap. “I wonder what life would be like now, if he hadn’t died.”

We both fell silent, considering this. Then Tristan’s voice piped through the monitor again, gearing up for an encore, and Mom and I looked at each other.
We wouldn’t have Tristan.

What a weird thought. Would I give up my baby brother to have my father back again? Of course not. I was pissed when Mom got pregnant with him, so pissed that I refused to attend any ultrasounds or act excited about buying baby furniture. Then he arrived and I fell instantly in love with him, even though he stank and screamed all day and turned my mother into a bedridden zombie. I couldn’t imagine him not being here today, in our lives. Jeff drove me crazy sometimes but he did help make Tristan, so I guess he wasn’t all bad.

“Mom, tell me honestly,” I said. “Will you ever get married again?”

She looked away, brushed some crumbs off the arm of the couch. “I don’t know, Riley. Anything’s possible.”

That was what scared me, the uncertainty. “Why Jeff, though? I mean, I know you had a baby together, but he’s nothing like Dad. Dad was smart and quiet and serious. I’m not saying Jeff is dumb or anything,” I said quickly. “He’s just kind of a doofus.”

I was sure Mom was going to get mad this time, but she just laughed. “Do you know what attracted me to Jeff?”

“His muscles?”

“No,” she said. “His kindness. Underneath all that bulk there’s this huge heart.” I must have looked unconvinced because she added, “I wish you’d give him a fair chance, Riley. He wants so much for you to like him.”

“I don’t
not
like him.” That was the best way I could think of to explain it. Jeff rubbed me the wrong way and I wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it was because Mom and Tristan and I did fine on our own. Maybe it was because his presence made me feel brushed aside, like I was an unruly dust bunny from under the couch. Maybe it was like I told Eva—I wasn’t ready to have another man come into the house and try to act like my dad. Or maybe it was the fact that every time Jeff left for one of his dangerous jobs, there was a higher-than-average chance that he would never come back. I didn’t want that for my brother or my mother. Or for me.

“Well, he thinks you hate him,” Mom told me. “Can’t say I blame him, either. You don’t exactly make him feel welcome around here.”

So much for heart-to-heart conversation. Now we were veering into guilt trip territory. “Sorry,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’ll try to be nicer to him. Okay?”

She turned back to the TV. “That’s all I ask.”

“You’re asking a lot,” I mumbled. She either didn’t hear me or pretended not to.

* * *

The next morning I woke up to rain trickling through my open bedroom window. By the time I got the puddles dried up and made breakfast, the rain was pounding down in sheets.

“Great,” I said to Tristan, who grinned and handed me a chunk of banana. “What’ll we do now?”

It was Saturday. Tristan didn’t have daycare and I wasn’t scheduled to work until six, which meant I’d been assigned the job of babysitting for the day. Normally we’d go to the playground or take a walk around the city, but obviously that was out of the question now.

I sighed as I wiped slimy banana gunk off the floor. Being stuck inside all day with a bored baby was not my idea of a fun Saturday.

“Oh well,” I said to Tristan, lifting him out of the highchair. “We’ll make the best of it, won’t we, bud?”

We played with blocks for a while, then turned on some music and danced around the living room like maniacs. When it was time for lunch, I spread out a blanket on the floor and we had a picnic. Then, mercifully, it was naptime. I got Tristan down without much of a fuss and went to tackle the mess in the living room, glancing out the window every once in a while to see if it had stopped raining. No such luck. If anything it was falling even harder, and I could hear rumbles of thunder in the distance.

With the living room and kitchen suitably tidied, I plopped on the couch and flicked on the TV, hoping to find a good medical show I hadn’t already seen a dozen times. There was nothing interesting on so I popped in a
Grey’s Anatomy
DVD. Last week I’d decided to watch the seasons all over again, in order, and I was already on Season Two. I settled in with the cats to watch, the room semi-dark and cozy with the rain pelting against the picture window. But even with all this peacefulness surrounding me, I still couldn’t make myself relax enough to concentrate. Typically I didn’t even blink at the bloody surgeries on
Grey’s,
but today they bothered me for some reason. I paused the DVD and went to check on Tristan, who was still sleeping soundly. I placed my hand on his chest, feeling its steady rise and fall.

My phone rang then, making me jump. I slipped out of Tristan’s room and returned to the living room, plucking my phone off the coffee table. “I’m bored,” Cole said when I answered. “Want to do something?”

Just hearing his voice calmed me a little. “Aren’t you working?”

“In a downpour? No. I have an entire Saturday off and I can’t do a damn thing in this weather.” He paused to listen to me yawn. “What are you up to? You sound a little out of it.”

“I’m fine. I’m just…tired.” Then my foggy brain caught itself up to speed. “So you only call me when you have nothing better to do?”

“Of course not. I just thought you might want to go for a drive or something.”

“I’m babysitting,” I told him, to which he replied “Aw, man” in a disappointed voice, like a kid who’d just been denied a second Popsicle. “Well,” I said, making a decision on the spot, “do you want to come over?”

“Okay,” he said, and twenty minutes later he was knocking on my front door. I let him in.

“Hey,” I said. “That was quick.”

He stood in the entryway, looking around. He’d never been inside my house before, and it felt a little awkward having him in here when Mom wasn’t home. She was aware that I hung out with Cole but she still didn’t quite believe me when I told her we weren’t physically involved (unless basketball counted as physical).

“I couldn’t handle being cooped up in my house for one more second,” Cole said, shaking rain water off his arms.

“But you don’t mind being cooped up in mine?”

He shrugged. “At least I’ll have company over here.”

Now that he was here, I realized how starved I’d been for company too. Tristan was great, but I had to admit it was nice to spend time with someone over three feet tall. For whatever reason, Cole had a calming effect on me. Maybe because he was always so cheerful and laid back. “Want the tour?” I asked.

“Sure.”

We started in the living room, where the cats were still passed out on the couch cushions. “These are
my
babies,” I said, scratching both their heads in turn. “Lucy and Alice. Lucy’s the orange one, Alice is the gray. I named them after two of my heroes.”

Cole leaned down to pet them too. Neither of them so much as twitched. “Who?”

“Alice Ettinger and Lucy Frank Squire, two female pioneers of medicine.”

He laughed, as if I were joking. “Most people name their cats Fluffy or Whiskers.”

“How boring. Okay, on to the kitchen next.” I led him throughout the house like a tour guide, explaining its history and pointing out areas of interest, like the hardwood floors that dated back to the forties, when the house was built. “Only one bathroom,” I said when we came upon it. “Back then most people just had one, supposedly. Even if they had ten kids.”

“What’s in there?” Cole asked, pointing to the door off the kitchen.

“The stairs to the basement, but all that’s down there is the washer and dryer. Not many people had finished basements either, I guess. My parents never got around to updating it. Or much else, for that matter.”

“It’s cool.” He leaned back against the wall. “I like old houses. Mine was built in the eighties or something. I’ve lived there my whole life.”

“I’ve lived here since I was four. We thought about moving when my dad died but…” I suddenly realized I was on the verge of saying more than I wanted to, so I left it at that and went back into the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked, opening the fridge.

“No thanks, I’m good.”

He wandered into the living room and sat next to Alice and Lucy on the couch. Alice peeked up as if she were contemplating maiming him but then closed her eyes again, too tired to bother. Just as I was about to join them, the phone rang again. This time it was Mom. Uh oh.

“Hi, babe. How’s it going?”

“Fine,” I said, taking the phone back into the kitchen. “Tristan’s napping.”

“Oh good. Listen, can you take those chicken breasts out the freezer and put them in some cold water to defrost?”

“Sure.” I did what she asked before I got distracted and forgot. “Okay. Done.”

“Thanks, hon. I hope you guys aren’t going too shack wacky with all this rain. The mall is
packed
today.”

I could hear several different voices in the background. She must have been at the food court. “No, we’re okay. Um, Cole’s here. We’re just hanging out.”

Silence. Then: “Riley Abigail Tate. You know how I feel about you having boys in the house when I’m not home.”

“Mom,” I whispered fiercely, as if Cole could hear her in the other room. “We’re just friends. It’s no different than Lucas being here when you’re not home.”

“So this boy is gay too?”

Okay, bad comparison. “Well, no…”

Her sigh practically rattled the phone. “Because you’re a smart, level-headed girl, I’m going to trust you on this one. But we’re going to sit down for a little chat when you get home from work tonight.”

Fabulous. Another sex talk. “Can’t wait,” I said.

Back in the living room, Cole was still lounging on the couch, stroking Lucy’s fluffy orange tail. She rolled over onto her back, loving the attention. When I sat down next to him, he nodded toward the TV—
Grey’s
was still on pause—and asked me what I’d been watching before he came over. I told him.

“Have you ever seen it?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t admit it if he had.

“No, but I think my mom watches it. Not exactly my type of show.”

“What type of show do you like, then? The one on the Outdoor Life Network with the guy who lives in the woods and eats bugs?”

He reached over and tugged on my ponytail. I slapped his hand away. “Actually,” he said, “I don’t watch much TV. I’d rather be doing something outside.”

“Do you ever sit still?” I asked, poking him in the shoulder. “You need Ritalin.”

“No, I don’t. I can concentrate easily on things that interest me. My parents had me evaluated for ADHD when I was around eight, but as it turned out I was just naturally hyper. Apparently I was a really disruptive kid.”

As if on cue, Tristan started screaming over the baby monitor. I excused myself and went to get him, hoping he’d cheer up after a diaper change and snack. He was always so surly after a nap. As soon as he saw me he stopped yelling and gave me an accusatory look, as if I’d purposely made him wait in this dark room by himself for hours. I got him into a fresh diaper and then carried him out to the living room to meet Cole.

“This is Tristan,” I said, jiggling him in my arms. He sniffled and looked at Cole with a grudging interest. “You think I’m weird for naming my cats after doctors? Well, my mom named him after her favorite Brad Pitt character.”

Cole smiled at him. “Hey, Tristan.” Then to me he said, “He’s cute. You two look nothing alike. I mean…” he added hastily when he saw the expression on my face. “He’s blond and you’re—”

“I know,” I said, letting him off the hook. “He looks like his dad.”

“Dada,” Tristan whimpered, and then he started to cry. Oops.

“We’ll be right back,” I told Cole. “I’m just going to get him some juice.”

The tears shut off like a faucet. “Ju?”

Five minutes and two sippy cups of apple juice later, his mood was much improved. We returned to the living room to find Cole stretched out on the floor, playing with the Little People farm set. Tristan watched him, mesmerized.
Damn
, I thought.
He’s good
. Most people came on way too strong with kids, getting in their faces and trying too hard. But Cole knew exactly how to win a toddler over—hang back and let them observe you first, show them you’re trustworthy, don’t try to force it. That way, they’ll come to you.

I set Tristan down on the floor. He stood there, fingers in his mouth, eyes still fixed on Cole. I sat cross-legged on the floor and picked up the cow, Tristan’s favorite farm animal. He called it “Moo.”

“I used to have one of these,” Cole told me, snapping together the white pig pen and placing the pig inside. “The school bus too.”

“We have that one too, somewhere.”

We both glanced up at Tristan, who’d inched a little closer while we were talking. He gazed at the farm pensively, wanting to play but at the same time worried that this stranger might resent the interference. Cole smiled at him again and held up the Little People farmer. “Farmer Bob here left the gates open last night and all the animals escaped,” he said casually. “Now he has to go round them up.” With that, he gathered all the animals and placed them upright about a foot away from the red barn. Then he put “Farmer Bob” in his tractor and started pushing it toward the naughty escapees. Tristan bounced a little in excitement.

“Oh no,” Cole said, making the tractor go faster. “Someone cut his brake lines.” With some pretty impressive sound effects, the tractor smashed into the animals, sending them and Farmer Bob flying in every direction. The chicken landed by Tristan’s foot, and he broke out in giggles.

“What is it with boys,” I said, laughing despite myself. “It’s not funny unless someone’s getting hurt.”

“We’re simple creatures.”

Fully swayed now, Tristan stopped sucking on his fingers and bent down to retrieve the chicken. He shuffled over and held it out to Cole, who took it even though it was covered in drool. Then he knelt down and dug the tractor out of the wreckage, indicating that he wanted Cole to do it again. He did, and for the next half hour the two of them plowed Farmer Bob into those poor animals, over and over again.