Running Lean (21 page)

“So you can control me?” he muttered.

“No! I need something that’s constant and someone who loves me. You said … you said you loved me.”

The tightness in his throat spread to his chest, his gut, and threatened to crush him from within. If only she could see how he was drowning in his love and his fears. He gasped, as if coming up for air from the bottom of a deep pool. The crushing sensation eased in his chest but moved at once to his sinuses. “I can’t …”

“I need you to love me,” Stacey squeaked.

“I do! That’s why this is killing me.” He sniffed, cracked open his eyes, and turned his face to her. “What am I supposed to do?”

Though her cheeks were soaked with tears, she reached up to
touch his. “You’re the only good thing in my life. Don’t—” She choked. “Don’t leave me.”

“Then please, go to the doctor. Please. Do it for me.”

Stacey lowered her head, and a tear fell onto the gearshift lever. She nodded. She
nodded!
A shuddering sigh escaped Calvin, and he clasped her head in both his hands. As he lifted her face to kiss her, she whispered, “I’ll try.”

He kissed her anyway, though those two simple words dug a trench through his brain. She’d try. What did that mean? All she had to do was make an appointment, get in the car, and drive there. Easy. The choice was either doing or not doing. What was there to “try”?

Stacey flung her arms around him, and her soft lips moved against his, caressing away his dark thoughts. Calvin’s fingers jammed against the plastic clip in her hair. He tugged it free and let it fall so he could tangle the locks in his hands. He kissed her as if it were the last time.

The bizarre thought tightened his chest again. He came up for air and rolled into his seat.

They held hands, staring at each other. Calvin couldn’t smile, and Stacey didn’t either. Her promise to “try” hung between them like smoke from a blown-out candle, seen and smelled but without substance he could hold on to. It forced an unspoken promise of his own, that he would wait, taking no further action, until she fulfilled her part or walked away from it. In the end, Stacey was in control.

The tightness in his chest sent tension down his limbs. He clenched his jaw, not really seeing Stacey’s face anymore. Sticking with her didn’t make him a hero, it made him a slave. “Ouch. Calvin, you’re squeezing too tight.” He let go of her hand and reached for the door handle. “I’ve got
homework too. Probably just as well I didn’t go with my family. The house will be quiet for a while.”

“I love you,” she said as he opened the door.

Calvin hesitated, exhaled, and said, “Love you too, Stace.”

You’re killing me slowly, but I love you anyway
.

He propelled himself out of the car and swung the door shut, stepping back off the gravel as Stacey put the car into reverse. Calvin stared at his scuffed brown dress shoes until he could no longer hear the sound of the Honda’s engine.

…
but I love you anyway …

No way he’d be able to study. The quiet of the house would only make the pathetic song that had invaded his thoughts echo louder. He had to do something to drive all the worries and anger away, if only for a few moments. He had to find
himself
again.

Calvin ran up the front steps of the house and found a key beneath a decorative planter filled with dirt and nothing else. He let himself in, allowing the screen door to slap behind him. He had his tie off before he reached the steps leading to the bedrooms, and tugged his dress shirt out of his pants as he thundered up to his room.
You’re killing me slowly, killing me slowly …
Calvin stripped out of his church clothes and pulled on a T-shirt and thick jeans. He yanked on the hiking boots he used for riding, then took the stairs back down two at a time.

The
ring-ding
song of the Yamaha’s engine drove the annoying tune out of Calvin’s head soon enough. He followed the service road around the cotton field, then cut into the woods, passing the place where he’d busted his throttle cable what seemed like months ago.

No memories. No worries or anger or remembrances of Stacey’s kiss in the night. He wanted to feel nothing but the rumble and surge of the motorcycle beneath him and the cool, woodsy air battering his face.

The uneven trail was a challenging ride. Calvin poured himself
into it, let the rocks and the short, steep ridges beat his body and push his endurance. Like an old friend, the bike would not betray him or demand its own way. Their goals were the same. He followed the trail to the border of the Greenlee property, splashed through shallow Flowers Creek, and headed into government-owned land bordering the Tar River. Here the trail was crowded with bushes and vines. Calvin slowed down, carefully picking his way through. He had a destination: a small clearing at the side of the river that was sheltered, quiet, and secluded. He and Tyler had discovered it and had camped there last summer. The mosquitoes had been unbearable.

But nobody would find him there.

Calvin found a relatively flat spot and cut the Yamaha’s engine. He set the kickstand and swung his leg over the seat. The sound of rippling water and a breeze in the leaves gently drowned out the ringing in Calvin’s ears and the echoes of a song he now hated. He sat cross-legged at the top of a ridge that fell down to the river’s edge, and pinched a chunk of papery bark off a birch tree. Sunlight sparkling on the water dazzled his eyes. He mindlessly toyed with the bark while his heart reached for some kind of peace … but couldn’t find it.

He was supposed to pray at times like this. Pain clamped down on his heart again.

“God …” Desperate, hurting, frightened, confused, angry. What could he say? “Please. I don’t know what to do. Show me what to do.”

Taking deep, desperate breaths to ease the pain in his chest, Calvin looked at the sky and grimaced—the prayer felt meaningless, like all the words he’d used trying to save Stacey from herself.

C
alvin’s Facebook message dimmed as Stacey’s computer shifted to sleep mode. Cradling the laptop in a nest made of her quilt and her crossed legs, she flicked her finger across the touchpad to make the screen go bright again.

Weary from a third day battling the flu, Stacey tugged at her lower lip and jiggled her foot to keep herself from falling into sleep mode again.

Though she’d read Calvin’s message nine times, she was no closer to giving him an answer. It didn’t seem like he really wanted one. Stacey stretched out her cramped legs. When her computer settled into the new position, she read the message one more time.

Hey, Stace. Hope you’re feeling better. I’m at Tyler’s house right now. Can you believe there’s only three weeks left of school? Anyway, we were talking about our camping trip. Here’s a link to a website that has pictures of Badin Lake. It’s going to be so cool. You’re coming back to school tomorrow, right? I’ll see you there. Love you. Cal.

She wanted to cry, but there didn’t seem to be a rational reason why she should.

With her first reading, she’d been stunned. Weren’t they going
to talk about that trip? He hadn’t mentioned it in a long time, and she’d forgotten about it.

With her second reading, anger darkened her vision. Nothing in his message suggested that he really cared what she thought about him going away and leaving her behind, about him going away with another girl.

With the third reading, fear crept in. Other than his closing declaration of love—which could have been obligatory or just a habit—the message could have been written to anyone, a friend, family member, or someone he knew casually at school.

With successive readings, a feeling of loneliness had settled over Stacey like Calvin was already gone.

Maybe he was. Maybe the camping trip was actually irrelevant.

For days after Calvin’s ultimatum it seemed they were together but just existing in the same space. If they looked at each other in the eyes for more than a second, hurt surfaced, and they turned away. Their private moments had become awkward and their kisses rare.

He didn’t press her to answer any of his questions, didn’t beg her again to see a doctor or ask if she’d eaten anything. Rather than feeling relief, she knew the peace wouldn’t last. The conflict between them had fallen back, and meaninglessness had moved into that vacant battleground. The conflict would lie hidden, like a patient predator, waiting for the smallest cue to roar into action again.

Stacey leaned back against her pillow and let her eyes rest, gazing at the gentle movement of her curtains over the air conditioning vent. A lavender-scented candle flickered on her bedside table. Her body settled into her mattress, calling her back to sleep.

Not yet. She needed to respond to Calvin’s message with something that would matter. She had to pull him back. Maybe a poem.

Stacey forced her lethargic muscles to move. She sat up, settled the laptop in a workable position again, and opened a new document. Then she breathed, waiting for inspiration. Should she pour
out her heart to him in hopes that he would understand? Or tell him how much she loved him, so he might forgive and forget? What could she say that would reverse time and take them back to the place where their lives danced together?

Dancing. Maybe something with dancing as a metaphor.

Pas de duex
is a dance of two, but my heart dances alone
.

Not right. They weren’t really alone. They were just … not moving. Stuck. Paralyzed.

Pas de duex,
a dance of two, a maiden and her prince
.

Erg. Not happening. The lines were as meaningless as the time they’d spent together over the weekend, watching television and hardly speaking to each other.

A fog settled over Stacey’s mind, while parts of her body twitched involuntarily. A muscle in her leg. A twinge in her back. Her fingers, jumping off the computer keys for no reason at all. She gave in and closed her eyes.

In what seemed like a second later, the door of her room opened. Stacey’s body jumped at the sound. She shut her laptop before anyone else could see the screen.

Her mother came in with a tray. “Here’s your supper, sweetheart.” She first slid the tray onto Stacey’s dresser so she could set up a TV table beside the bed. “Have you taken your temperature again?”

Stacey nodded. “Normal. I think I can go back to school tomorrow.”

“Ah, good. I made you some soup. Hopefully you’ll be able to keep this down.”

As her mother moved the tray down onto the TV table, tomato broth rolled up the side of the bowl and left a liquid red stain on the white stoneware. Too thick to ebb back into the bowl, which meant
there was something fatty in the soup. Stacey pulled her pajama sleeve down to cover her knuckles, then placed the back of her hand against her mouth.

“I added cauliflower and garlic to tomato soup,” Mom said. “I read in a magazine that certain veggies are especially good to boost a person’s immune system.”

That’s all she needed, medical advice from a supermarket tabloid. “Mom, you know I hate cauliflower.”

“Don’t worry. I cut it up small and added a touch of brown sugar to sweeten it. You’ll hardly taste it. Try to eat it all, sweetie. You can’t get better without food in your stomach.”

Stacey fell back against her pillow. “I’m tired. Can I eat it later, please?”

Mom arranged a napkin and the silverware on the tray. “Eat it now, then you can go back to sleep.” She then lifted one side of Stacey’s rumpled quilt off the floor and smoothed the whole thing across her bed. “You don’t need to be missing any more school. I’m sure to be hearing from the principal’s office soon.”

And then she reached for Stacey’s laptop.

“No! Mom, please. Leave it there.”

“But you’re going to sleep after you eat. You don’t want to risk kicking it off the bed.”

“I’ve got the flu, not a broken leg. I can move it when I’m ready.”

Her mother tilted her head in disapproval at Stacey’s tone then pointed at the tray. “Eat that soup. I want to see the bowl empty when I come back.”

“Yes, Mom.”

No big deal. A little while after her mother left, she could sneak into the bathroom and dump the stinky soup in the toilet. Even the small mountain of crackers next to the bowl would go down easy if they were crunched up. The veggies by themselves didn’t have a
lot of calories, but Mom had to add all kinds of junk to the soup to make it taste better. Brown sugar? Really?

Yet the woman wouldn’t be so easily dismissed. She stood there at the foot of Stacey’s bed, her arms crossed, as if she would supervise the eating of the miracle soup. Stacey groaned and pushed herself up. She swung her legs over the side of her bed. Cool air hit her skin laid bare by her bunched-up pajama pants. Somebody had turned the air-conditioning up full blast, and when Stacey complained Mom just said her chills were because she was fevered. With her fever gone, so was the excuse. Stacey rubbed her legs. The movement brought her nose too close to the soup, and the smell of cauliflower made her stomach lurch.

“Ugh, why did it have to be cauliflower?”

“Stacey …”

“What? I’m sorry. I’ll eat it.” She picked up the spoon. “See? I’m eating.”

Mom came around the side of the bed, her eyes wide and her brow pinched. “Stacey, baby …”

“What?”

“Your legs! Your … your feet!”

She looked down, then jerked her legs back under the quilt. She bumped the TV table in the process, and soup sloshed out of the bowl and into the plate beneath it. “They’re cold, Momma, just cold.”

“They’re blue! And so thin.”

Mom reached for the quilt to pull it back, but Stacey fought her, tugging the quilt tight over her body. “I told you, I’m cold. Can you please turn the air-conditioning down? Please? Or at least close the vents in this room?”

Mom straightened, but her face was flushed. She raised trembling fingers to her face. “I’ll talk to your father. Just … eat that soup. I’ll be back.”

She left. As soon as the door closed behind her, Stacey flung off the quilt and dove down to the floor to look for her slippers under the bed. Better yet, she could put on those thick wool socks Grandma Jenny knitted for her for Christmas. She planted her arm on top of the bed to brace herself, but as soon as she pushed upward, the familiar dizziness attacked her and rocked her backward. She fell onto her butt, and the impact rattled up her spine to her skull.

Stacey lay on the floor while the room spun. Tears flooded down the sides of her face and pooled in her ears. Her heart jumped around inside her ribcage. She’d fallen too hard. She needed to still the panic. Breathe in, breathe out, slowly, deeply. It was okay. The pain eased some, and Stacey rolled to her side. Gripping her bedpost, she carefully pulled herself up, then settled on her bed by the TV tray and breathed to still the swaying in her brain.

The floor creaked in the hallway outside her room. Stacey tugged her quilt over her legs and filled her spoon with soup. She raised it up toward her mouth just as her doorknob turned.

Daddy entered the room before Mom. His scrutinizing eye passed over her. “What’s going on in here?”

Stacey blinked. “I’m eating my soup.” She lifted the spoon, a whitish lump sitting in the pool of red, as irrefutable proof. With Daddy watching, she daintily sucked the tomato portion into her mouth and swallowed it.

Behind her father, Stacey’s mother held on to the door frame as if for support. Her eyes were red rimmed. “It’s all those fashion magazines she reads,” she said softly.

Daddy’s lips pursed for a moment. “Your mother says you’re not eating enough, and you’re getting too thin. Is that true?”

“What do you mean? I’m sick. I’ve been throwing up, so I haven’t had much of an appetite. But it’s coming back. See?” She took another bite to prove it.

“You’ve been dieting a long time. Don’t you think you’ve lost
enough weight? You’re probably sick because you don’t have enough energy to fight things off.”

Stacey looked down at the tray and gently slid the spoon into her soup. Daddy wouldn’t buy denial. Maybe another tactic, just to satisfy him. “Maybe that’s true. But Daddy, everything Mom cooks is, like, really fattening. Sorry, Mom, but I just have to say it. Can’t we try to eat healthier? I’m so afraid I’ll get fat again.”

Mom eased farther into the room until she stood beside Daddy. Unity. This was going to be bad. “Sweetie, you’re not one of those girls who refuse to eat, are you? Like, what’s her name? That singer. Karen Carpenter?”

Stacey winced. “Who?”

“Anorexia,” Daddy said. “That’s what the disease is called. Back in Rocky Mount, I got called to a house where a young woman died from it. That better not be what’s going on here.”

The tears sprang out of Stacey’s eyes again. “It’s not, Daddy. I promise. I’ll start eating more. Please believe me.”

Daddy puffed a long breath out of his nose. He nodded toward the bedside table. “Get rid of those magazines,” he told Mom.

“But I use those so I can learn about fashion design. Please don’t—”

Daddy held up his hand to silence her. “For a while. When I’m convinced that you’re eating properly, you can have them again.”

Mom bent to collect everything that was in the cubby of Stacey’s nightstand, including her sketchbook. She shuffled the magazines into a pile in her arms and turned to leave the room without a word of apology. Daddy remained where he was. He stared, and his lower lip quivered before he spoke again. “Eat your dinner. When you’re feeling better, we’re going to sit down and talk about this.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Beneath the TV table, Stacey clasped her hands together to stop their shaking and squeezed until it hurt.

He glared down at her for another long, agonizing moment, then finally turned to go. He left the door hanging open.

Worst thing ever. She didn’t care about the magazines. She wasn’t afraid of what her parents would find in her sketchbook. But now they were watching her. Like Calvin had been watching her. Nowhere was safe anymore. Her privacy had been invaded, and if she knew her father, it wouldn’t end with the magazines.

Stacey tried to spoon soup into her mouth, but her hand shook too badly. How could she eat anything when she stood on the verge of a total collapse of everything that mattered to her?

What if Daddy confiscated her laptop and read Zoe’s emails?

Or Calvin’s?

Stacey pulled her laptop under her pillow, then forced herself to eat the soup. It was worse than she’d thought. She managed to down half of it. By the time Mom came back to collect the tray, she’d curled up under her blankets and pretended to be asleep. As soon as Mom blew out the candle, turned off the light, and shut the door, Stacey rolled onto her stomach and pulled out the computer.

She kicked her heels up and down, up and down, burning off soup calories while she went from one program to another on her computer, deleting all the evidence.