Salvaged (4 page)

"Yes. I never said this journey would be easy; I just asked you to
join me on it."

"Before agreeing I guess I should have clarified further," I
teased.

"Perhaps." A sweet smiled formed on his face as we sat next to
each other under the window. "You're going to make it, Attie. You
and me together, just as we've always been. You can do this."

"How am I going to do this is the question."

A slight smile filled his face, and his head shook as a small laugh
escaped his lips.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"You remind me of Philip."

"Philip who?"

"One of my original disciples. He was so full of faith, but he
always asked for explanations. He practically wore me out with the
questions. It's one of the things I loved the most about him. He had
a curious mind and so do you. You want answers-to everything."

"Do you think you would have chosen me as a disciple?"

"Attie, a disciple is someone who simply chooses to follow me.
You've made that choice. I asked you to follow me, and here you are,
one of my chosen. My disciple."

His voice was so gentle and relaxing that I wished I could have
climbed into his lap and have his arms wrap around me. Sitting on
my mother's lap always brought me more comfort than her words
alone could, and for almost a year I missed the security that a loving
touch provided.

Changing the music on my iPod to Chris Tomlin, I closed my
eyes and pictured myself in my mother's lap as we were both wrapped
in our heavenly Father's arms.

Just as I drifted off to sleep, something latched onto my toe, and
out of instinct, I kicked my foot in an effort to remove it and ended
up coming into contact with something solid.

Throwing open my eyes, I realized that it had been Riley, and he
was laid out on the floor in front of me.

"Riley!" I threw my iPod onto the bed and ran to his side. "I'm
so sorry.

"You kicked me in the face," he said in a daze.

"Well, you startled me. Good grief, you snuck up on me."

"Did not, I called your name three freakin' times. Seriously, do
you have to be so violent?"

"Well, I said I was sorry."

"Holy moly, are you in karate or something? That kick was
hard." He rubbed his chin and grimaced. "What, are you like a third
degree black belt or something?"

Mr. Bennett must have heard my screams because he came barreling up the stairs and stopped in the hallway. He probably thought
we were killing each other.

"What's going on in here?" he asked.

"She kicked me in the face."

"It was an accident. He snuck up on me."

"I did not. I was sent up here to check on you."

Mr. Bennett stood just outside the doorway, never entering the
room. "Is he bleeding?"

"All of my injuries are internal," Riley accused sarcastically. "Call
the paramedics."

"Let me look at it," I said.

Riley sat up, so I placed my hands on his face and smiled just
before I threw his head back with an intentional jolt.

"Ow. Seriously, Charlie, settle down already."

"No, sir, he isn't bleeding."

"Dad, tell her to leave me alone."

I slapped him on the forehead before shoving him back onto the
ground. "Give me a break, you big baby."

His dad stood back and laughed. "You could've given him a scar
to complement the other one you gave him."

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"That scar on Riley's chin. You hit him with a baseball bat when
you were six.

I watched Riley as the tips of his fingers clumsily felt around
for the scar until he found the slight indention just below his chin.
"You did this?"

"Good grief, I was six. Cut me some slack." A quiet giggle
escaped me, but I regained my composure just before slapping him
on the forehead again and making my way to my spot under the
window.

"For such a little thing, you've always packed quite a punch,
Attiline. And you've gotta toughen up, Riley; you're getting your
butt kicked by a girl. Maybe Attiline can teach you a thing or two."

Little by little, Mr. Bennett was ripping out Riley's self-esteem,
throwing it on the ground, and stomping on it. I have to admit it was
fabulous to watch, but I ended up having to tuck my head behind my
knees to hide my laughter.

"Thanks a lot, Dad. I appreciate your concern."

"No problem, son. All right, Attiline, you gonna be okay tonight?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you need anything just make Riley get it for you."

"I'll be fine, thank you." I didn't bother to look up. "I think he's
had quite enough of me for one day."

"No doubt," Riley huffed.

"Well, all right then. Good night, kids."

We sat in silence for several seconds as Mr. Bennett made his
way back downstairs. I peeked out from behind my knees and caught
Riley moving his jaw in circles.

I lightly nudged his leg with my bare foot. "Anything broken?"
I asked.

"You mean besides my pride? No."

"You big baby," I teased as I lightly kicked him again.

"Shut up."

"Relax; I won't beat you up anymore. As a matter of fact, you'll
hardly even know I'm here. I'll make sure to stay out of your way."

"That sounds perfect." He threw his arms over his face in disgust, and I sat and watched as he lay lifeless on the floor.

"I think it was my physical therapy."

"Your what?" he asked, sitting back up.

"My physical therapy," I muttered.

He crawled over to the window and sat down next to me. "Your
physical therapy what?"

"I think that's where the powerful kick came from."

"Oh. You must've had a great therapist."

"I'm sorry, Riley, really I am. I hope you accept."

"For which time?" He was now laughing. "Evidently you have
a history of aggression toward me. You must have a subconscious
desire to kick my butt."

"Only because you've tortured me for so many years. Remember
the arrow you shot into my eye?"

"There was a plastic suction cup on the end for cryin' out loud.
It didn't even do any permanent damage."

"It still hurt."

"So this is payback?" he asked.

For the first time since my arrival that day, he smiled at me, and
I couldn't resist smiling back. "I guess."

"Just don't let it happen again. Please, I hardly have any pride
left as it is."

"Although I do have a very active imagination, I'll try my darndest to contain my sadistic subconscious mind."

"I'd appreciate that."

He got up and began to leave the room.

"I'm really, really sorry, Riley."

"Quit saying you're sorry," he said over his shoulder. "It's getting
annoying.

"Sorry."

As I watched him leave the room, my line of vision met the
bed, and fear instantly filled my body. There was no part of me that
wanted to sleep in Melody's bed tonight. I wasn't ready.

"Okay, come on."

"What?" I asked, looking back up at him.

"Come with me." His voice had softened, and he held out a
hand in my direction.

"Where to?"

"My room," he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my
feet. "You can sleep in my bed."

I stopped cold in my tracks.

"I'll sleep on the floor, Charlie. What kinda guy do you think I
am?"

I thought back to the time he held my face in the oven and pretended he was going to turn it on.

"Wait,"-he laughed-"you probly shouldn't answer that."

"Probably not."

(Riley)

I led Attie toward my room. "Thanks so much, Riley. I'll be out
of your room first thing in the morning. I just don't want to upset
your parents, not sleeping in Melody's bed and all. Cool room," Attie
said as she plopped herself onto my bed.

I dug through my closet as she raved about being back in Oklahoma. Although she spoke quickly, her voice was soft, and her words
were formal and polished. She probably thought I sounded like a
country hick compared to all the hoity toity New Yorkers she usually
hung out with.

I would be sleeping in the same room as Attie, and put bluntly,
I was a nervous wreck. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and
turned to face her. She'd already made herself comfortable by lying
on her stomach, and she watched as I unrolled the sleeping bag and
lay on my back with my arms folded behind my head. Peering over
at me, I could tell she wanted to say something.

"Yeah, what is it?" I asked, slightly curious.

"Nothing."

"Good gosh, just say it."

Placing her chin on the mattress, she looked down at me with
a scowl but didn't speak. I'm not sure how it happened, but before I
knew it I was sitting in front of her, and even though we were only
inches apart, I lowered my head so that I could see her eyes. She didn't startle or pick up her head; she slowly rolled up her eyes so
that she could see me.

"What already?" I demanded.

"Why have you always called me Charlie?" she asked. "Nobody
else does. Good grief, you and your dad sure have a thing for nicknames. In this house alone I'm called three totally different things."

My body relaxed as she talked. "Does it bother you?"

"Yes ... no, I don't know. I just don't see how you can get Charlie
from Atticus."

"I didn't."

"Why then?"

Her eyes looked drowsy, and it was clear that she needed rest,
but my eyes remained locked on hers. "You remind me of the Charlie Brown cartoon."

Her eyes narrowed and a crease formed between them as her lips
twisted into a crooked frown. "Why Charlie Brown? Other than a
big skull, I don't look a thing like him-do I?"

"No, and you don't have a big skull. You don't look a thing like
him. It's no big deal."

She waited for me to answer and somehow managed to look
intensely through tired green eyes.

"You say `good grief' all the time, just like on the Charlie Brown
cartoon."

"I do?"

"All the time, you always have."

The scowl turned slightly softer. "One more question?"

I sighed in an effort to act annoyed.

"You're unhappy that I'm here, aren't you?"

"Huh?"

"I could tell from the moment I got here. I realize that you don't
want me here. Why do you dislike me so much? Did I do something,
or maybe it's that I'm here and she's not."

I shook my head vigorously. "No. No, you're talking all crazy. I
don't dislike you, I just-I don't know, it's just weird."

"What's weird?"

"Oh ... uh ... having a girl in the house again. I kinda got used
to the quiet."

"Well, I can be quiet."

"I don't want you to be quiet."

"You don't?"

"No, of course not. You'll just take some getting used to, that's
all. It'll be all right."

"Just let me know if I'm being too loud or if I talk too much. I
haven't had anyone to talk to in a while, so I may go a little crazy."

"Well, I'll let you know if you start to get on my nerves."

"Good. I don't want to wear out my welcome."

"Well, you're gonna if you don't stop talking and go to sleep."

"All right, sorry."

"And stop saying you're sorry all the time."

"But I am." Her voice was hushed and the words trembled. "I'm
more sorry than you could ever know."

It was clear that we were no longer on the topic of her incessant
talking.

"You don't have to say another word, Charlie. You have nothing
to be sorry for."

She nodded her head as tears filled the lower part of her eyes. I
watched until they fell freely and then looked away. "You're gonna
do just fine." My own voice shook, but I refused to cry in front of her,
on the first night anyway. "You can relax now; you're home."

"Thanks, Riley."

I glanced back at her. "You're welcome."

Attie rolled over, and after only a few minutes of lying in silence,
I heard her begin to breathe softly as she drifted off to sleep.

I was in shock. Attie Reed was gonna be living in my house for
the summer. What were my parents thinking, putting an all-American hormonal boy and girl in such close proximity for an extended
period of time? This couldn't be good. To make matters worse, she
looked just as pretty in person as she did in the Christmas card we
received just five months before she arrived on our doorstep.

It wasn't your normal family photo, the one with the annoying sweaters and fake, tense smiles. This picture was different, as if the
photographer had caught a private family moment and those of us
who received the card were getting a peek into their private world.

Attie and her dad were wearing jeans and the same white longsleeve turtleneck with an OU logo on the front. Dr. Reed sat on the
floor cross-legged as Attie sat on his right knee turning sideways
with her bare feet resting on his left knee. His arms wrapped around
her waist, and hers were around his neck. The photographer must
have snapped the photo while they were laughing about something,
and I wondered if maybe Attie had told him a joke. Her hair rested
on her shoulders, and her nose scrunched as she smiled at her father.
It would have been the perfect picture had her mother been in it as
well. At the time, I thought the picture was meant to proclaim to
everyone that they were okay, they'd survived the darkest time in
their lives, and they were happy again. I hoped the picture portrayed
the truth.