Running Lean (14 page)

Calvin rolled his eyes. So he had to apologize, but Flannery didn’t? No doubt he’d have to go through the same routine with Stacey.

If she even wanted to speak to him again.

L
et hm w8
, Zoe had said in her text message.
Let hm suffr til he begs u 2 4giv hm. DO NOT call hm 1st
. Zoe could say that. After hearing about Calvin’s note, she hated him.

But text messaging aside, Zoe wasn’t here in Stacey’s bedroom. She wasn’t here to boost her morale with anger and colorful language. Stacey suffered alone, her nerves like a static machine and her eyes making pillow puddles every time the digits on her alarm clock rolled over another five, ten, fifteen minutes and Calvin didn’t call.

Eight fifteen. His family would have finished with dinner long ago. The dishes would be washed and put away, and his mother trying to wrangle the little kids into bed. Calvin and Lizzie might be settling down to do their homework on the dining room table.

Stacey’s stomach was an empty cavern. Who could eat under this kind of stress? She’d made excuses and hidden her uneaten food in her room. Now, sitting with only a tiny pink vanity lamp to light the room, Stacey’s sobs sent a burning echo into the dark abyss of her belly and a warbling distress call to her heart.
Flutter. Flutter
. The stress murmur she’d had all her life kicked in worse than she’d ever felt before.

Why did she have to tell Calvin about Uncle Murray? Why?
She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. Didn’t want to remember what happened and all the fights before they moved. It was just … if Calvin knew … it wasn’t just bullies at school …

Stacey yanked three tissues from a box on her bedside table. She blew the junk from her nose, grabbed two more tissues to wipe her eyes, then an antiseptic wipe to kill the germs. She’d fill her little trash bin with tissues before morning.

Did Calvin have any clue what he was doing to her?

Eight thirty. Fully dark outside. Calvin’s mother would light one of her homemade scented candles on the table for her busy students.

Stacey’s breath rattled past her lips as she flipped open her chemistry textbook. The letters blurred, became meaningless.

She’d forgive him for everything if he would just
call
.

Her cell phone lay on the bed next to her wrist, the little screen black. Betraying her.

What would Calvin say was the Christian thing to do? Forgive seven times, or whatever it was Jesus said?

Her fingers caressed the outline of her phone. She nudged it, touched the first digit of Calvin’s number. Two. The number showed white on the screen.

She could hear Zoe’s groan and cry.
You’re pathetic!

Eight thirty-five.

Outside her window, frogs in the long, wet grass by the street chirped their nightly song. The world turned. Life went on.

Was Calvin done with her? Too much drama. Maybe they’d hung on to each other too long anyway. After Michael’s death, he
needed
her, and she’d loved that feeling. She was important to him. But now, in his mind, she was broken, something he had to fix or throw away.

I don’t need to be fixed
.

This was stupid. Waiting around for him to call, agonizing over it, unable to do anything else. Stacey pushed herself up. She had to get this thing resolved.

Zoe would hate her for it. Too bad, so sad.

Stacey punched two more numbers on her phone.

No, not good enough. Calvin would refuse to speak to her or hang up.

Stacey rocketed off the bed and yanked on a pair of jeans and her pink hoodie. She grabbed her phone, purse, and keys and flew downstairs.

Her father’s voice stopped her before she reached the front door. “Where are you going?

She turned toward the living room, where Daddy sat in his recliner with the newspaper in his lap. If she’d thought to grab a textbook, she could have used it as an excuse. “Uh, I’m going to Calvin’s house.”

“What for? It’s almost nine o’clock.”

State-mandated driving curfew. Of course her father would hold her to the law even though almost no one she knew paid much attention to those regulations.

“I—we need to talk about school.”

A subtle downward tilt of Daddy’s head and the narrowing of one eye told her he wasn’t buying it. “Call him. That’s what your phone is for.”

“I-I know, but …” She should have lied, said she was going for a short walk or even to sit on the front porch to have some fresh air.

Mom got up from her usual perch on the couch. She straightened her blouse and glided around the furniture. “Sweetheart, do you really think you should be going out?” She touched the back of her hand to Stacey’s cheek. “Your face is hot. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m not sick.” She fought the urge to slap her mother’s hand away. Instead, she moved her face to the side. “Calvin’s having a problem at home, and I just want to go see him for a few minutes.”

Drawing on Mom’s sympathy for Calvin’s “loss” always worked. Yet Mom copied the exact questioning tilt of Daddy’s head. “You
can’t sort out all his problems for him, sweetheart. I know you care, but he really should be drawing close to his family at times like this.”

Change the subject, quick
. “It isn’t about Michael. Calvin’s problem
is
his family.”
Yeah. Familiar story
. “He’s really upset. I’m just going over to give him a hug and talk for a few minutes. I won’t be late.”

She stepped back, caught her father’s glare. He started to get out of his recliner. Stacey bolted for the door.

Her sister’s scantily clad figure leaned against the rail on the front porch. Cigarette smoke swirled through the air. Stacey rushed past Renee without making eye contact, focused on how quickly her feet could navigate the stairs. Hopefully Renee’s smoking would be the greater offense when her father came out, giving Stacey a chance to escape. She unlocked her car door and fell into the driver’s seat without looking to see what happened on the porch.

Her pulse fluttered in her throat as she drove, her hands moved on the steering wheel with each beat. Stacey’s determination wavered, going back and forth like a caged animal unable to find any means of escape. What if Calvin was so angry that he wouldn’t talk to her? There’d be an ugly scene at the front door. Maybe they’d break up forever. But what if he was so devastated that he’d locked himself in his room and only her voice could bring him out?

Yeah, right. Maybe in some cheesy romance novel. She wasn’t worth that kind of despair from anyone.

She made the sharp turn onto Victory Church Road. One more mile.

A scream wanted to break out of her. It scratched at her insides, pushing, tearing. Maybe she was having one of Mom’s anxiety attacks. Little pills always sat in the medicine cabinet … so easy to steal one later.

Stacey gave her head a violent shake. Was she really thinking about taking drugs?

Someone was on the front porch of Calvin’s farmhouse. His
mother, lighting citronella candles on the porch rail. Would Mrs. Greenlee tell her she should go home? Protect Calvin from his crazed girlfriend?

Had Calvin told anyone in his family why she’d puked in their bathroom? Or that she’d given the dog the fried catfish?

Stacey drove past the house, her eyes fixed on the road.
Don’t look at me!
Her heart felt like it would explode in her chest and kill her. Why was this happening to her? To them?

She hit her brakes hard at the entrance to the old church that gave the road its name, and swerved right into the parking lot. Then she made a big loop around the empty lot until she faced the way she’d come. A quarter mile away, Calvin’s house was almost invisible in the dark. Only a dark shadow with a few rectangles of warm light in the midst.

Breathe. Breathe. Figure it out
. She was sitting like a stalker looking at her boyfriend’s house. How sad. What a sorry wreck she was. She should’ve just called him. She could still do it.

Stacey pulled her phone from her purse and dialed Calvin’s number. Peyton answered and yelled for him to come to the phone. Stacey wiped a fresh flood of tears from her face, waiting for his voice to come through her cell.

“It’s Stacey,” Peyton yelled.

Then nothing. The pause was too long. Any instant now she’d hear a loud click as he hung up on her.

“Hey.” His deep voice and the single monotone syllable sent a shockwave through her.

What could she say? She’d left her sanity at home. “Hi.”

I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I need you to understand
. The words wouldn’t come to her lips.
Say something!
“Are you okay?”

He hummed.

“Calvin?”

“Not really.”

“I’m sorry. I should have given you a ride home.”

A hiss on the line was his deep intake of breath. “I don’t think that’s what’s really important right now.”

Stacey pressed her hand over her eyes, leaning her elbow against the steering wheel for support. “Well … I know. But. We need to talk.”

“You basically told me to go away. I’ve been thinking we broke up or something.”

“I’m trying to keep us from breaking up. Calvin—” A sob broke through. “I love you! I-I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything right this afternoon. I was upset and I got it all wrong. I’m just trying to get you to understand.”

“Understand what? That your uncle is a pervert who deserves to be strangled? I get that. What I don’t get is how I’m supposed to stand around and let you starve yourself.”

“I’m not … I’m not …”

The world darkened. Pressure built in her head, like she’d been dunked underwater and every cell in her brain screamed for oxygen.

“I can’t do that, Stace. I can’t watch you kill yourself to be skinny. Besides, you’re not fat. Since I’ve known you, you’ve never been fat. I loved the way you looked when I met you, and I love you now.”

“Calvin …” She sobbed again, but choked out more words. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Please. I can’t lose you.”

His breath whispered through the phone. “I’m not going anywhere,” he finally said, his voice strained. “I just don’t know what to do.”

His inflection yanked another sob out of her. So what could they do? Compromise? Stacey stroked her thumb and forefinger along her eyebrows, rubbing away an assault of vertigo.

Calvin would never understand. He’d make himself an expert in anorexia, and then one day, despite any promises they made
tonight, he’d throw all that information at her again and they’d argue. Maybe even worse than today. How could she live with that inevitability looming all the time?

Stacey shifted the phone to her other ear. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Too fast, too easy. Did he mean it or just say it automatically after her?

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“Eat like a normal person. I mean, people go on diets and lose weight all the time, but they still eat. You can do that. You don’t need to … stuff your face and turn into a chunky bunny.”

She winced. He’d thrown back the words she’d used against him that afternoon. Obviously, he wasn’t done being angry.

“I do eat.” She caught her breath and forced her bitterness down. “Please … Do we have to go through this again? I know it looks bad. Passing out and stuff. But I promise there’s a good explanation for it.”

“Maybe you just need a doctor to give you a diet that’s safe. You know, because of that heart problem you had when you were little.”

Now she wished she hadn’t told him about her surgeries. He’d use that against her too. She could see him already fussing over her, playing the hero in her life. Bossing her around like her parents. The silent scream inside her rose up again, grabbed her by the windpipe, and sent a cold tremor down the rest of her body. “Calvin, I had surgery to
fix
those problems. Forget about that. I’m fine.”

His groan sounded distant, like he’d moved the phone away from his face so she wouldn’t hear it. “You keep saying that. You’re fine.”

“I am!”

Except for right this moment. Was the temperature dropping outside?

In the distance, the farmhouse looked almost creepy. Somewhere inside Calvin paced the floor, tugged his hair, and devised ways to get her to confess everything he thought she was doing. The battle
she waged wasn’t over the phone. It was inside Calvin’s head. She had to convince him. Their relationship was at stake. Because she couldn’t live with his suspicions, and today’s confession had failed.

Start with a promise. Buy some time. She’d try harder and make it work.

“Calvin, I promise, if I get sick again I’ll have my mom take me to the doctor.”

“Okay.” His tone went up with the last syllable, making it a question.

“And if I don’t pass out or anything, you have to promise you’ll trust me. I know how to take care of myself.”

“Sure. If you’re healthy, then I don’t have anything to worry about.”

“So we’re agreed?”

He sighed, took too long to answer, but finally said, “Yeah, I guess so.”

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the steering wheel.

How could she keep herself from getting dizzy again? Stacey didn’t even know what had caused it the first time. Vitamin deficiency? Maybe she should swallow some of those pills. She’d have to do some research of her own to figure it out.

“It’ll be okay, Calvin. Really. I promise.”

“‘Kay.”

“Want me to pick you up in the morning?”

“Sure, that’d be great.”

“I’m really sorry. I treated you horribly, and I know you’re just concerned for my health. I was just so—I don’t know … That note. It was …”

“Yeah … I’m sorry about that. It was stupid. I’m not like you. I’m, like …” He paused for a second. “Ah ain’t too good with wrahtin’, y’know whut ah mean?”

She giggled at his comedically thickened drawl. A tiny shaft of warmth seeped through her, easing the chaos a little. “Promise me something else?”

“What?”

“You’ll never talk about breaking up again.”

“Ever? That mean we gon’ git hee-itched?”

She imagined his sweet lips widening, creasing his cherubic cheeks. That smile could rival the angelic expression in any Renaissance painting.

“Ma-a-ay-be,” she cooed.

“Oh, Lord, save me.”