Outcast (31 page)

“I’m concerned.” Ms. Sherwood pressed an index finger to her temple. Like my mother, she possessed one of those secret buttons that assisted her in difficult situations.

She and I sat alone in her office. I was excused from Physics to see her. She proved even more boring than Mr. Kohler, the instructor.

“If this is about my grades—”

“I don’t care about your grades, Noelle. You’re beyond the Dean’s list anymore. The only classes you’re doing well in are English and Art History.”

She finally moved her finger and folded her hands on the desk in front of her.

“Father Timothy mentioned your
display
at home.”

Display
meant rudeness, disrespect, anger. Rather than call it by its real name—honesty—she chose to mask it in flowery language. I straightened in my seat. 

“So. My home life is none of his business.”

Sherwood refused to engage me in verbal combat. She avoided confrontation. She was a classic example of her field of psychology.

“Where are you staying?”

“My aunt’s.”

“Are you drinking?”

She jumped from one subject to another. It had to be some technique she learned in college.

“No.”

“Doing drugs?”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Are you doing drugs?” she asked again more firmly.

I wiggled in my seat. “No.”

Frustrated, Ms. Sherwood closed the file in front of her. She moved from behind her desk and sat in front of it. It was a practiced act of dramatics. She did it to remove the doctor/patient element to our meeting.

“Has your mother been abusive to you?”

“She doesn’t beat me, if that’s what you mean.”

She tempered her voice. “Does she verbally abuse you?”

With each question, she made me more uncomfortable.

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“She hates me. She’s never happy with the way I look
or
the things I do. She wishes I ran away and Becca stayed home. She’s always loved her more.”

“That’s not true, Noelle.”

“Yes, it is.”

Aunt P’s house was totally different from mine. She, like most of the students who attended Saint Sebastian’s, lived in
North Scottsdale
. She owned a two-story adobe tucked beside the mountain at Troon. With five bedrooms, four baths, and a pool, it was far too spacious for one woman. Her décor was strictly southwestern. Geckos, Aztec pottery, and Kokopelli coalesced to create a theme.

She prepared a room at the back of the house for me, filling it with bath accessories and makeup. She knew I’d arrive empty-handed. Staying at her house was like vacationing at a posh resort: built-in patio bar with BBQ, indoor/outdoor fireplaces, a workout room. With all the luxuries, I still wished for home. I just didn’t want my mother to be there.    

On a Saturday afternoon when P was having her weekly massage, I decided to work on my English project. The doorbell rang. A deliveryman stood behind an enormous bouquet of roses. Two dozen, he said. So Aunt P had another admirer. Hopefully unmarried.

I set the flowers on the glass table in the dining room and sniffed their sharp fragrance. I noticed the card had my name on it. From
Chad
. In the note, he apologized profusely for dancing with Trina. He begged for forgiveness and told me he loved me. Part of me felt a thrill. The other part sank with the memory of the dance and…after. I threw the card away, determined to tell Aunt P that they arrived for her without a note.

I reclined on the sofa to continue with my reading when the doorbell rang again. Infused with irritation, I stormed to the door. When I opened it, Grace stood before me.

“Hi.” 

I looked around her and noticed an older model Buick in the driveway.

“My parents gave it to me.” She answered my questioning gaze. Her vehicle was a harsh reminder that I didn’t have one.

I felt uncomfortable inviting her inside. Not because it wasn’t my house, but because we hadn’t really spoken in six months.

“Your mom told me you were here.”

She knew nothing of what happened in my household. I knew curiosity held a strong hold over her about my new living arrangements.

“I feel badly about what’s happened between us. I thought maybe we could be friends again.”

“What about Trina?”

“Don’t say
I told you so
, but…”

“Want to come in?”

Grace cocked her head to the side then proffered a smile. So Trina screwed her over. I knew it was coming. Just as I would always be Doctor Freckle, Grace would always be Geek ‘N Stein. Like Trina said, it didn’t matter how much we changed.

We sat on the patio and talked. It took Grace a long time to see Trina for who she was, but it finally happened.

“What’d she do?”

Grace wiggled in her seat. “She said she didn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

“So you ran back to me?”

“I’m sorry.” She paused, taking in the surroundings. “Why are you living with your aunt?” she finally asked.

“A lot’s happened.”

The holidays.
Chad
went to great lengths to prove he did nothing wrong. He apologized, he sent flowers, and he even copied a poem by D.H. Lawrence. As I lay in the canopy bed, I opened it and read. Before long, I had it memorized.

A White Blossom

A tiny moon as white and small as a single jasmine flower

Leans all alone above my window, on night's wintry bower,

Liquid as lime-tree blossom, soft as brilliant water or rain

She shines, the one white love of my youth, which all sin cannot stain.

It was a poem of first love. One pure. One that sin cannot stain. But my sin had stained and tainted and ruined everything. My heart blistered with what I had done to him.

He signed it
break a leg,
Chad
, which made me ache all the more for him. I knew deep down that what happened between Trina and him was not as it seemed. But I had let my jealousy jump to conclusions. And now I was afraid everything we had was ready to shatter.

I read the poem over and over again, then tucked it in my journal and fell asleep. I was too tired to think about losing him forever. Because as soon as I confessed what I had done, that’s exactly what would happen.

Becca emailed that she was coming home for my birthday and for Christmas. She wanted to reconcile with our mother and encouraged me to do the same. She could resolve things all she wanted. I planned to avoid the woman. I did promise to meet Becca at the airport and take her to the house. I gave her dad’s new phone number. She planned to meet him and his new girlfriend, Sheena, the day after Christmas. Sheena. What a name! Sounded like a washed-up movie star or a pet
Chihuahua
. I had no intention of ever meeting her.

Chad
gladly volunteered to take me to the airport on Christmas Eve, my birthday. He seemed thrilled that I finally talked to him. My conscience splintered with guilt about the night with Jake. I bottled the memory and tried to throw it away, but it kept resurfacing.

“God, Noelle. I thought I was going to lose you. What happened with Trina—”

“I know,” I said, sick with guilt. “You already told me.”

“I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?” he said, turning those eyes on me from the driver’s seat.

“Right.” I looked out the window to hide my shame.

It was one mistake, I told myself. One that would never happen again. There was no reason he had to know. It would kill me to tell him. Kill him to hear it.

He picked me up at P’s in the afternoon. With so much going on, I forgot to buy
Chad
a Christmas gift. P was at a Christmas Eve brunch at the country club, so she couldn’t give me a ride to the mall. I struggled with ideas, and then it came to me.
Oxygen
. I wrapped the CD in fancy blue and white paper and attached a bow.

During the ride,
Chad
continued to thank me for giving him a second chance. The guilt intensified.

“Dancing with Trina was a mistake,” he said. “She was pushy. But I should have stopped her sooner. I was wrong.”

“I know, okay?” I snapped, then quickly grabbed for his hand to reassure him.

He had his explanations. But what was my excuse for sleeping with Jake?

We arrived at the terminal early and waited in the coffee shop.

“I’m sorry,” I offered.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

I removed the gift from my purse and handed it to him.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

He opened it, seeming to relive the memory of that night in the record store when he first asked me out. 

“This is yours.”

“Ours,” I said, suddenly sad. “It’s your turn.”

Chad
reached in his jacket and handed a wrapped gift to me. I never expected a present from him. I was happy enough to get a ride to and from the airport. I was afraid to unwrap it, knowing I deserved nothing from him, especially forgiveness.

“Happy birthday!”

It was a book of famous artists. I leafed through the pages, glancing at the replicated paintings. It was amazing.

“I know how much you like art.”

I flipped through the book, stopped when Hopper’s
The Automat
caught my eye. It was a woman sitting alone in isolation. Like me.  

I wished I could travel back in time and mend what I had undone. It was a tragic error, one that I replayed over and over in my mind. Guilt consumed me. I justified my actions by reminding myself of what I saw at the Homecoming dance. Had
Chad
only refused to dance with Trina none of this would have happened.    

I needed to confess, to finally be honest. But as I stared into
Chad
’s face, outlining the dimples that pierced his cheeks with concern, encircling the iris of his watchful eye, I said nothing. Silent tears shimmied down my face. Once an expert, I was now unable to lasso my emotions.

“We better head over.”

I knew a time would come where I would have to tell him, but not then.

Porcelain Teeth was with Becca. He looked sleazier than usual. Maybe because I knew he was sleeping with my sister. Whether I wished to admit it or not, she appeared happy. For the first time, she seemed glad to see me.

“You look so grown up, Noelle.” She pulled me into a tight hug, and I thought she’d never let go. To my memory, it was probably the first hug she’d ever given me.

Doug and I exchanged curt hellos, introductions were made, and we retrieved the bags. Becca and Doug held hands the entire way to the car. I grew hyper-aware of the fact that
Chad
and I maintained a safe distance between each other. I tried to conjure a memory of the two of us holding hands. I couldn’t remember one.

“
Chicago
is so alive,” Becca gushed. “You really need to come sometime.”

Apparently, she had forgotten I was already there once with P.

Chad
glanced at me, but I tried to ignore the dream in his head of the two of us there together.

Becca rattled about her job as a part-time hostess at an upscale restaurant—the same one Doug took Aunt P and me to. He certainly was a creature of habit. Most likely he took all of his women there. I wondered if Becca even realized he was separated or had a son. Flip.

Chad
dropped us off at my mother’s house. As Becca and Doug unloaded the suitcases, I stayed with
Chad
inside the vehicle.

“Thanks for driving.”

“Sure.”

Not knowing what else to say, I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

I moved toward the door, but he cinched my wrist and pulled me back. “Tell me we’re okay,” he said. “Tell me I didn’t fuck everything up.”

I soaked him in—the topaz of his eyes, the windblown hair. “You didn’t.”

The tension on his face eased, and he leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. I knew I shouldn’t, but I kissed him back.

“I love you,” he said, fingering the side of my mouth.

I felt the trickle of tears. He wiped them away.

“What is it?”

“I love you, too.”

I exited the car and helped Becca with her bag. A cross-section of
Chad
’s face was visible in the rear-view mirror. I watched him drive away. I so wanted to chase after his car and kiss him again, but I didn’t deserve him.

We dragged the luggage along the pathway. Our mother answered right away. At first she revealed no emotion. Then she held both hands to her face, trying to restrain the feelings that threatened to erupt. She threw her arms around Becca who took a moment to return the embrace.