Queen of Broken Hearts (16 page)

After a couple of our late-night sessions at the Krispy Kreme, Dory and I got around to discussing guys. Although I'd had the usual crushes, I'd never really been in love, but Dory was and had been for as long as she could remember. She was pinned to her childhood sweetheart, a junior named Son Rodgers. They were already planning their wedding, a few weeks after her graduation, her future all mapped out. Both of their well-to-do families had vacation homes in Fairhope, on the Eastern Shore of Mobile Bay, where they “summered.” She and Son liked the area so much they'd decided to live in Fairhope after their wedding.

“Is it a part of the Redneck Riviera?” I inquired. Born and raised in Panama City, Florida, I didn't know a lot about Alabama, even though my maternal grandparents lived in the northern part of the state. I'd ended up going to college in Tuscaloosa because my high grades and SAT score earned me an academic scholarship. Unlike Dory's, my family background was strictly working-class and blue-collar. While some of my classmates thought that being raised in a resort town like Panama City was an exotic and endless romp in the sun, I knew better. My parents worked long, tiring hours in the seafood joint they owned and operated downtown, where I spent my sunny summer days running the cash register. For all we saw of the famed Gulf of Mexico, we might as well have lived in Podunk, Kansas.

Dory's and my lifelong friendship began during those hours spent at the Krispy Kreme following our study sessions; we talked and laughed and drank coffee until closing time. We'd leave the Krispy Kreme and stroll across the moonlit campus, still talking, until Dory had to sneak into the sorority house and me the dorm because we'd lost track of time and stayed out past the freshman curfew. Spending so much time with her, I was bound to meet her boyfriend, Son Rodgers. And it was just as inevitable that his best friend, Mack—Macomber Hayden Ballenger III—would be with him.

I'd heard almost as much about Mack Ballenger from Dory as I had about Son, since the three of them were close friends from their summers together in Fairhope. Dory told me that Mack was not a summer person but was fortunate enough to live in Fairhope, on the bay next to the Rodgerses' summer home. I listened wide-eyed when she described the Ballenger house, which she claimed was a big old Victorian mansion full of secrets and skeletons and all sorts of delicious Southern Gothic intrigue. Of course I was fascinated, but when I pressed for details, she was pretty hazy, saying Mack never talked about his family, like most guys. She knew that his parents had divorced when he was only two years old, and his father had married another woman, rumored to be his mistress, right afterward. Even though his real mother was nearby, Mack lived with his father and stepmother and rarely saw his mother, an unusual arrangement in those days. But Dory wasn't sure why, except it had something to do with his mother being “weird,” an old hippie or something, who had given up her only child to live in the swamps and raise birds. That was the official Ballenger version; it would be years before Dory and I would hear the truth from Zoe Catherine herself.

Dory confessed that as a little girl, she'd had a crush on both Mack and Son, although she begged me not to tell Son, who was the jealous type. As a teenager, she said, she'd settled on Son after having a kissing contest between the two boys. I'd laughed and asked if that meant Son was a better kisser than Mack.

“Noooo, it wasn't that,” she replied, eyes bright with remembrance. “Mack's plenty hot. You'll see when you meet him. But even at the tender age of fourteen, I had better sense than to fall for someone like Mack Ballenger. He scared the daylights out of me.”

Scared
her? Aghast, I asked what that meant. Did he torture small animals or pull the wings off flies or something? Dory threw back her head and laughed her infectious, bubbling laugh, which always made me laugh, too. “No wonder you're a psychology major!” she said before assuring me that Mack was actually much nicer and sweeter than Son was. Pressed to explain her fear of him, she thought about it a long time before saying, “Mack is one of those guys you could lose your heart to and never get it back. You know what I mean?”

I didn't, but little did I know that I was soon to find out. As an overly serious girl more interested in books and my studies than going out, I'd dated little in high school and not at all so far at Bama, so I had no experience with boys like Mack or Son. Then Dory said something that I've never forgotten. Later, I was to reflect on her comment and realize that it is not always how we feel about another person that's significant; more often it's how they make us feel about ourselves.

“Son may be dumb as dirt,” she told me, completely serious, “but he's good-looking, funny, and sexy. Most of all, he seems to adore me, and shallow as it sounds, I've found that I adore being adored.”

And then one night in April, when everything green was exploding into flower, and the air had turned as soft and sweet and fragrant as a newly mowed field, Mack Ballenger appeared and turned my orderly life upside down. Dory and I were heading toward the Krispy Kreme after our study session when she casually remarked that Son and Mack were going to stop by later on. She'd talked about me so much, she said, that both of them were just
dying
to meet me. Although I doubted it, I was more intrigued than I let on. An hour later, when they walked in the door and headed toward our booth, I recognized them immediately by the many vivid descriptions I'd cajoled from her. The grinning, curly-haired Son was even better-looking than Dory had described him, and watching him walk our way, I understood why she was so taken with him. If you were looking for a boy toy, she'd found the perfect candidate.

But Mack Ballenger—he was a different matter altogether, and I couldn't imagine how anyone, especially a girl as sharp as Dory, could've chosen the brash, brawny Son over someone like Mack. With his classic looks and elegance, Mack appeared to have stepped out of the pages of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. He even looked like the photograph of the delicate-featured author on the back cover of
The Great Gatsby,
a book I'd just discovered in my American lit class. Later, I was to realize that I'd fallen in love with Mack the moment our eyes met, but I didn't have enough sense or experience to know it at the time. All I knew was, something happened that threw me off course like a small planet hit by a massive meteorite.

At first I was nervous and self-conscious, but both Son and Mack were so gracious to me that I relaxed and enjoyed the evening. Originally Son was all charm, his way with every woman he met, and his flattery had me laughing and blushing at the same time. Mack, too, was funny and captivating and quite attentive to me. I was perfectly content to admire him from afar, though, and not dream beyond that. In the past, I'd tried to pass off my social awkwardness as a sort of intellectual aloofness, but the truth was, I had no idea how to go about winning over someone like Mack. I considered myself a plain Jane, having no idea how to dress or apply makeup or make the most of my best features, the heavy caramel-blond hair that fell in unruly waves around my face, or the brownish eyes that could turn to amber in the right light. Inexperienced as I was, I was way out of my element with Mack, who had celebrity status as a star pitcher for Bama's baseball team. That in itself would have made him a magnet for every girl on campus, but Mack—with his easy elegance and long, lean-muscled body, his fair hair and dreamy gray eyes—proved to be as sweet and sensitive as Dory had said. If only he'd been as cocky as Son, I would've come away with my heart intact.

As the night went on, Mack surprised Dory and Son—but most of all, me—with his apparent interest in me, and later, with his relentless pursuit. Sitting across from me in the booth over coffee and donuts, Mack ignored his closest friends in order to engage me in long, intense conversations. His silver eyes, glowing like the fire of opals, never left me. But Mack wasn't the only one staring. Son, under the mistaken impression that I was so wide-eyed and innocent that I'd be malleable and easily influenced by him, beamed at me, winking knowingly whenever I happened to meet his eye. The irony would come when I realized how he'd been such an ally at first and encouraged Mack's interest in me. Dory, on the other hand, watched me nervously, chewing a fingernail. Finally she could stand it no longer, and she dragged me off to the restroom. Pushing me inside, she whispered, “You and Mack are scaring me, Clare! Don't go falling for him, you hear? Don't you remember what I told you about him? He's a heartache waiting to happen.”

I brushed her concerns aside, saying there was no way he could be interested in me, but Dory shook her head. “I've never seen him look at anyone like he's looking at you, and I've known him all my life,” she said. “Christ, I feel so guilty! He'll end up breaking your innocent little heart, and it will be my fault for introducing him to you.”

Dory was soon to forget about me and Mack, though. It wasn't long before she and Son were entwined, unable to keep their hands off each other. The eroticism they gave off was like another presence at the booth, and I stole fascinated glances their way, unable to help myself. When I caught Mack regarding me with amusement, I colored hotly. Smiling, he inclined his head toward the door and said, “Come on, Clare. I don't think the lovebirds will miss us.”

It was Mack who walked me home that night, rather than Dory. With his hands thrust in the pockets of his jeans as we strolled across campus, he talked as freely and easily with me as if we'd been friends all our lives, like he and Dory. And a strange thing happened to me when I was with him. I forgot to be self-conscious and nervous, and I found myself laughing breezily, countering his light banter with clever, witty comebacks I had no idea I was capable of. He and I sat in the moon shadows of a tree near my dorm and talked for hours. Even though I tried to go in several times, he begged me to stay, his shining eyes intense as he took my trembling hand in his and held on tight. In spite of all that, when I at last reached the safety of my room, I convinced myself that this couldn't be happening. Surely I had better sense than to imagine—to hope against hope—that someone like Mack could be attracted to a nobody like me. I refused to let myself relive how I felt when I was with him because I knew I was in for a huge disappointment if I did. Drifting into a troubled sleep, I told myself that I was
not
going to fall in love with him. I couldn't! Dory was right: If I were foolish enough to do such a thing, then I'd deserve the heartache that was sure to follow.

When Mack stopped by my dorm the next day to ask if I'd like to come to ball practice with him, I turned my head so he couldn't see my face light up, and I prayed he didn't notice that my knees had turned to water. “Oh, I just
love
baseball!” I gushed foolishly. The truth was, I knew nothing about baseball or any other sport, which made me even more of an oddity on a campus where sports were more like a religion than a pastime. I had no way of knowing then that what happened at ball practice that day would be what sealed Mack's and my fate.

At the ballpark, I sat in the bleachers and watched the field intently in an attempt to figure out what was taking place out there. What was taking place
off
the field became much more obvious, and I kept my eyes straight ahead, mortified. Since Mack and I had arrived late, everyone had watched us enter. The girlfriends of the players huddled in one section of the bleachers, laughing and gossiping. I'd been too shy to join them, so I sat apart but within earshot, unfortunately. As soon as I sat down, a buzzing erupted from the group.

“Well, well,” I heard someone say. “Mack's got a new one today.” After much whispering, another voice reached my burning ears. “Think he's just trying to make Amy jealous?” More giggles and whispers, then I heard, “What else could he possibly see in
her
?” They stopped their whispering long enough to yell and clap when their boyfriends appeared on the field, then bent their heads together to continue their careless chatter. Finally I couldn't stand it any longer and, trying to be nonchalant, glanced their way casually, hoping for a friendly face. Instead, several pairs of eyes glared at me malevolently, though I had no idea what I'd done. Evidently it was that I'd invaded their territory, unwelcome and uninvited. During my brief glance, I was sure I recognized some of the girls from Dory's sorority. As I turned my head away from them, it struck me anew how strange it was that Dory had befriended me, and I felt a surge of affection for her. The barriers between us were as obvious as the chain-link fence around the ball field and as impregnable as the distance between me and the gaggle of giggling girls who sat behind me.

I tried to put them out of my mind as I watched Mack on the field, his graceful pitching movements as finely choreographed as the steps of a ballet, which brought a chorus of wistful sighs from the girls behind me. What was I thinking, being here with him? Dory had been right to be alarmed last night, and the gossiping girls were right, too—I didn't belong. I was way, way out of my element. If I had any sense, I'd get away while I still could, before I fell any harder for Mack Ballenger than I already had. Although I could feel the stares of the girls like laser beams on my retreating back, I picked up my purse and made my way out of the ballpark. Not sure where I'd end up, I took off walking toward the setting sun.

Depending on how you interpret those things, whether you believe in destiny or not, my timing was either right on or terribly off. I'd gone first to my room, then the library. But I was too restless to sit still, so I began walking the campus again. I was wandering aimlessly, trying to figure out where I'd go, when a car pulled up to the curb nearest me and came to a squealing halt. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that it was Mack in his snazzy little sports car. I'd just cleared the main campus and passed the bookstore, and I had a wild impulse to duck into it, hiding behind the towering shelves of books. Instead, I walked over to Mack's car with a sense of dread. All he said was “Get in, Clare. Please.”