The Truth about Us (16 page)

The next morning, Mom is out of bed when I get up. Dressed. She's sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, drinking a cup of tea, her laptop on the counter. Her hair is in a ponytail. She actually has on eye makeup.

“You okay, Jess?” she asks.

“Is Dad home?” I stayed in my room last night and skipped supper because I didn't want to look at his face. No one bothered to call me down.

“No. He's gone to Houston.”

“Then I'm fine.”

I grab a mug and turn on the coffee. She gets up and walks over, putting her hand on my shoulder. I lean against her hand, watching the Keurig gurgle out hot caffeine. She moves away before I want her to. I want more.

“He doesn't want me going back to New Beginnings,” I tell her as she climbs back on the stool. I dump a large amount of sugar in my cup and take a sip.

“He told me,” she says.

I blow on my coffee and turn to her, surprised.

“He said you met a boy,” she says.

A laugh spurts from me. “He told you that?”

“I asked. I'm trying not to judge until I hear your side of the story.”

“Wow.” I frown at her and put the coffee down and rub my temples, trying to work out a headache that's forming. “Really?”

She sighs. “I'm trying here, Jess.”

I nod. “Flynn is a good person, Mom. I'm not going to stop seeing him because of Dad.” I'm afraid of sending her back to her room, but she keeps her eyes on me. Steady. “I don't want to let down the people at the shelter. They expect me back. It's not fair.” I lift my chin. “And I'll find a way to see Flynn if I'm working there or not.”

We're interrupted by Allie as she noisily walks in the side door of the house, her overstuffed backpack banging against the wall. Mom glances over as if she's surprised, as if she forgot she had two daughters.

Allie slips off her shoes, throws her backpack down on the couch, and walks in looking at us, her eyebrows raised.

“Hey,” she says. “I have a ton of laundry to do, but first, I need coffee.”

She continues into the kitchen, looks closer at Mom, and does a double take. “You look good, Mom. How you feeling?”

“Fine,” she answers automatically.

Allie touches Mom's arm as she walks to the Keurig machine, where I'm still leaning against the counter, and she sets it up for a new cup of coffee.

“What's going on?” she asks.

“Dad,” I say. “Tyranny.” I take a big sip of coffee and burn the tip of my tongue.

“What else is new?” she says with a scoff.

“Not for you. Since you're never here,” I mumble as I put my coffee mug down on the counter.

“Were you at Dana's last night?” Mom asks.

Allie glances at me and then back to Mom. I don't shout out Doug's name to bust her.

“Yeah,” she says. “I was. I worked first.”

“I met a boy,” I blurt out.

“And this is bad?” Allie asks, glancing from me to Mom. “Is he a criminal? Married?” She takes her coffee and sips at it. She drinks hers black.

“Worse,” I tell her. “He's poor.”

“He goes to the shelter,” Mom says.

“Where you work?” Allie asks me.

“Not as a volunteer,” Mom adds quietly.

“It doesn't matter,” I say, crossing my arms. “It doesn't make him a bad person. And he does help out, by the way. Because he wants to.”

“He uses the shelter?” Allie tilts her head, thinking. She keeps sneaking peeks at Mom, as if she can't figure out what's different but knows something is.
She's out of bed, for starters
, I want to yell. Enough pretending. It's not a day for sweeping things under the carpet. “And Dad freaked out,” Allie guesses.

“He can't order me around and treat me like I'm five years old. He tried to ban me from going back to the shelter. Flynn isn't a bad person. And it's not his fault. His mom used to have a nice home. They lost everything because of a deadbeat stepdad who gambled away all their money and then took off.”

“That sucks,” Allie says.

“You think?”

She has the courtesy to look embarrassed.

“Flynn has a little brother, and he looks after him so his mom can work. He brings him to the shelter sometimes for lunch. But Flynn helps out too. He fixes things. He's a good person. He has goals. And he likes plants.”

“He likes plants?” Allie smiles and goes over to sit on a stool beside Mom.

“There's a greenhouse at the shelter,” I tell them.

“You like plants,” my mom points out. “It's a sign.”

The two of them actually start to laugh. It warms my heart even as I frown. “It's not funny,” I tell them as they laugh. It almost feels like old times, but I blink quickly. I have to take action. I can't not see Flynn. It's not an option. “So I don't have to quit?” I say to my mom. “I can still work at New Beginnings?”

Allie freezes with her coffee mug at her lips. I don't move either. Neither one of us has pushed Mom in a long time. Asked her to make a decision. To defy Dad.

“You can keep working there,” she says and calmly sips her tea. “I'll talk to your father.”

I suck in a breath and slowly let it out. “Really? You're sure?”

“Really. Dad's gone for a couple of days. I'll talk to him when he gets home. No need to bother him while he's away. You keep doing what you're doing.”

I open my eyes like a deer in headlights but don't say a word.

She turns to Allie. “How's Doug?” she asks.

Allie's eyes open as wide and she quickly takes another sip of coffee, glancing at me to see if I've squealed on her, but I subtly shake my head.

“Good,” she says and puts her cup on the counter.

“I'm glad his family has been there for you.” Mom reaches for her hand.

Allie and I exchange another look. Maybe Mom has been seeing more than we gave her credit for? Maybe she's getting ready to come back and deal with it?

I leave them and head to New Beginnings early, hoping Flynn will be there helping out and we'll have a chance to talk. About my stupid dad. And his stupid mom.

He doesn't show up though. Not early. Not at all.

I repeat my steps the next day. I get to New Beginnings early and wait for Flynn and Kyle, but there's no sign of them. Not the next day. Or the next.

Mom is awake when I'm home, but I'm the one hiding in my room. I'm a wreck. I've lost Nance too, but that doesn't even compare to not being able to reach Flynn. He doesn't have a cell phone, and I don't know if he even has a landline. I keep expecting him to show up at New Beginnings with a logical explanation for why he hasn't been there, but I'm afraid. That my dad scared him away. That Flynn let him. I want to yell at him for not coming back. I'm angry. I have things to say. I'm scared. But most of all, I miss him.

“What'd you do to make everyone around here so mad?” Wilf asks on day three when we're carrying dirty dishes into the kitchen. Stella came in for a moment earlier and watched me with her lips pressed together, her eyes disapproving. After a moment she left without saying anything.

“Can I come to the greenhouse with you?” I ask instead of telling him. He's been away for a few days too. I haven't even talked to him about the herbs I want to grow.

“Sure, Chickadee,” he says. We put the dishes away and escape the kitchen. I walk beside him, keeping with his slower pace. “Leg is bothering me. Means it's going to rain. I'm more predictable than that nuisance weatherman on channel two,” he says as we head through the building. I glance over with a frown, forgetting to smile at his joke attempt. “Kind of like racing a turtle to keep up with me?” he notes.

“I like turtles,” I tell him.

“See?” he says. “That. Something is wrong, if you're letting that go without insulting me.”

“I don't insult you all the time.”

“Only when I'm around.” He chuckles.

I try to smile, but my lips fail to make the trip. There's a bad feeling in my stomach. We step outside, down the stairs that lead us to the greenhouse.

“This bad mood of yours have to do with the boy?” he asks.

I frown.

“What? You think I don't notice the way you two are always mooning over each other.”

I don't even call Wilf on using the word
mooning
.

“Stella doesn't approve,” I blurt out. “Neither does my dad. Or his mom. And now he's disappeared. I can't even talk to him about it.”

“That doesn't sound like Flynn.” Wilf rubs his chin and frowns.

He's right. And that's the thing. He's right. It doesn't sound like Flynn.

“Want to take my advice?” Wilf asks. “It's not like I usually use it anyway.” He laughs to himself.

I really do smile then. For a second. But it quickly fades. “What?”

He stops and pulls the key to the greenhouse from his pocket and opens the door for me. I slip inside.

“Fight for him,” he says, following me. “He feels the same way about you. I see it. And I understand. I had to fight for Rhea.”

I stare at him, fascinated. He walks to the cupboards where he keeps his gardening tools and keeps talking. “My mother was old-fashioned. And considering how old I am, that's pretty darn old-fashioned. Suffice it to say she didn't believe in mixed marriages. Especially with a poor brown girl whose parents could barely understand English. They worked so hard for so little.” He shakes his head. “She had her heart set on fixing me up with one of her friend's daughters. Proper white girls with lots of pedigree and money.” He opens the cupboard with his unsteady hands and pulls out shearing scissors.

I watch him, surprised. But also, not surprised.

“Rhea's parents brought her over from India when she was ten. They wanted her to marry a nice Indian boy and give them lots of babies.” He puts the scissors down, and I walk over and sit on a stool, watching him. He smiles at me. “I had to work on her parents. Finally I think they gave up because they knew I wouldn't go away. They accepted me. But my mother, she never really gave in. Not even when we married. She wasn't always good to my Rhea. But I let her know from the start. It was both of us or none at all.”

“Wow,” I say. “That's incredibly romantic.”

He sits down on the chair beside me. “I loved Rhea more than anything. I miss her every single day.”

“Tell me about her,” I say. “How'd you meet?”

“She was eighteen. I was twenty and just back from the Korean War. We were at a dance. She was a full foot shorter than me, but I spotted her right away. She had her head back, laughing, and our eyes met. Rhea, she marched right over and introduced herself. Then she asked me to dance.”

I smile as he stares into space, as if he's seeing the memory. I wait, intrigued with the story of Wilf and his Rhea.

He looks at me. “She always told people she asked me to dance because she knew I was too shy to ask her. But she was wrong. I wasn't going to let her get away that night. I already knew I was going to marry her. One look, and I knew.”

I don't say anything as Wilf sniffles and wipes under his eye. “She lived to boss me around, that little woman. It was funny. No one understood what we saw in each other. But it didn't matter to us. We worked. And people either liked it or they didn't.”

His story touches me deeply.

“Fight for him, Jess. I see myself in you.”

“But how?” I ask him. “How can I do that if I can't even talk to him?”

Wilf taps the side of his head. “Figure it out. Find a way.” He gets up from the stool and hands me the scissors. “Start with the ivy,” he tells me, and he reaches for a misting bottle.

There's a tear in the corner of his eye, but I pretend not to see it.

While I'm fixing the plant, I think of a plan.

• • •

Mom is up when I get home. She's in the kitchen with Allie, and they're baking.

They smile at me when I walk into the kitchen. “We're making chocolate chip cookies,” Allie says. “For Doug.”

“Are you trying to kill him?” I ask. Neither one of them is a baker.

“Hey! Join us,” Allie says. “We'll let you sample them first. To make sure they're not poison.”

I smile at her joke and promise to join them, but I have something to do first. I take the phone. “I have to make a call,” I say and take it to my room. I sit on the bed and dial the number.

No one picks up, so I leave a message.

“Hi, Jennifer,” I say. “It's Jess. I'm calling to, um, ask for a favor. I need to get ahold of Braxton Brooks, and I thought you might have his number? Or maybe you could give him a message for me? It's important. Can you call me back? On my landline. It's 587-896-1036. Thanks. Bye.”

I join my mom and sister and wait for the call back.

It doesn't come.

The next day, I head back to New Beginnings. When I arrive, Wilf is standing on the steps talking to Martin. They smile at me, and Wilf nods his head and points at the sock monkey hanging from my purse.

“Aren't you a little old for that?” he growls.

“No one is too old for a sock monkey,” I tell him. “It has magical powers.”

“Good gravy,” Wilf says.

Martin blows smoke rings and chuckles. “It's true, Wilf. Everyone knows sock monkeys make you brave,” he tells him.

I raise both eyebrows at Wilf. Martin and I already had this conversation. He's up to speed on the powers of Brave Monkey. Martin reaches in his pocket then and pulls out a miniature sock monkey of his own. One that I happened to give to him. I bought up every last one of them Target had in stock. Martha has one too.

I lift my chin. “Brave,” I tell Wilf in a haughty voice.

Martin's laugh follows me inside.

The lunch service comes and goes. No sign of Flynn. My bravado sinks.

I rush home afterward but there's still no message from Jennifer. Allie's gone, and Mom is back in her bedroom. Resting.

• • •

On Friday I'm a mess. I can't believe Flynn's given up so easily. I'd even be willing to see Kyle come in with his mom at this point, so at least I could hear Flynn's all right.

I don't want to imagine a world where disapproval from my dad would keep him away. I'm not willing to let other people stop us from getting to know each other better. I don't want him to either.

I want to talk to Wilf, but he doesn't show up for the lunch service again, so I force myself to stop by Stella's office even though I've managed to avoid her all week.

She's at her desk, and when I tap on her door she looks up over the top of her reading glasses. “Yes?”

“Wilf missed lunch. I need to talk to him. Is he going to be here later?” I ask.

“He was at the doctor,” she tells me. “He's here now. In the greenhouse.” She stares at me over her glasses. There's a thin layer of sweat on her upper lip. The office is stuffy. The small fan on her desk whirs noisily.

“Thank you,” I say shortly and turn to leave.

“Jess?”

I spin around.

“Your shift is done,” she says. “What do you want with Wilf?” The air in her office may be warm, but her voice is frosty.

“I need to talk to him,” I tell her. “We're friends. I hope that's all right,” I add with as much sarcasm as possible and rotate on my heels to leave.

“Is this about Flynn?” she says quickly.

That gets my attention. My back stiffens. “What about Flynn?” I ask and slowly turn to face her again.

She takes off her reading glasses, places them on her desk, and sighs. “You know Flynn hasn't been in all week,” she says.

“I kind of noticed, Stella.” I bite my lip and try to hide my hurt feelings.

She purses her lips tight. “Maybe that's a sign.”

If she's aiming for my heart, she makes direct contact. I lower my head but shake it. No.

“Sometimes Flynn brings Kyle here for supper. Not lunch,” she says.

I glance up, and she's folded her hands together on the desk in front of her.

“He's come for lunch since I've been here,” I say.

She blinks slowly. “Yes, I noticed that too.” She lifts a shoulder slightly. “It's not your job to keep tabs on our guests.” She emphasizes the word
guest
.

“Whether you like it or not, Flynn and I are friends.”

“Close the door, Jess. Come and sit,” she says. Her voice is firm, and I want to ignore her, but I can't. My mouth dries and my stomach flops with nerves, but I do what she asks. When I sit, my leg bounces up and down. Up and down.

“Flynn is a good-looking boy,” Stella says. I concentrate on the whirring of the fan. It's kind of insulting if she thinks this is about how handsome he is. There are hot boys all over Tadita. I don't care about any of them like I do Flynn.

“I know he's popular with girls,” Stella continues. She unfolds her hands and runs one over her hair.

I clench my hands into fists and stare at a pile of papers on her desk. “It's not like that,” I say through gritted teeth. “We're different.”

She sighs. “We all like to think we're different, Jess. We all think we're going to be the one to tame the broken boy.”

I look up, directly into her eyes. “I don't think he's broken,” I tell her.

“Well, his family is,” she answers quickly.

“They're not broken,” I say. “They're mending. There's a difference.”

She sighs and picks up her glasses, puts an end in her mouth. “You're right.” She sighs again. “Okay. Here's the truth. You deserve that.”

My leg stops bouncing.

“Your dad and I have been talking. I told him I was concerned about your relationship with Flynn. He told me he saw you kissing in front of the shelter. He was very angry.”

“My dad is always angry,” I interrupt. “He has no right to say who I…”—my cheeks burn darker—“kiss.”

“Jess,” she says quietly. “I think it's sweet. That you and Flynn like each other. I do. But here's the thing. Flynn is a guest here. You are not. He has challenges that you can't possibly understand. You come from different places. He's not in a position to have a carefree summer romance. I don't want to see either of you get hurt. You're both good kids.”

“It's not a summer romance. It's more than that. We don't plan to hurt each other. We like each other a lot.” I suck in a breath, struggling to keep believing that. Flynn hasn't come back. Doubt is creeping in, starting to find its way in the cracks.

“But he has responsibilities. Much more than you do. He doesn't have the luxury to be carefree,” she says.

“I'm not making things worse for him. Maybe I'm making them better.” I close my eyes and clench my fists.

“I know you don't want to hear it, but there are plenty of boys in this town. Boys who are more like you.”

My eyes pop open. “More like me? You mean messed up? My life isn't the perfect life you seem to think it is,” I say with quiet fury.

She leans forward in her chair. “Jess,” she says slowly. As if I'm a dim child. “I never said your life was perfect.”

“No, but you implied it. We may have money, Stella. But trust me. Things that look perfect on the surface are masking flaws. Big fat flaws. You have no idea about my family.”

She frowns as she studies me over the top of her desk. “Is everything okay? At home?”

I glare at her. She's never asked before. She's never tried to find out more about me before. Considered that my life wasn't all fine wine and roses. “It's fine,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I'm sorry,” she says then. “Maybe I haven't been fair. It's just, well, we both know your dad brought you here against your will.” She shakes her head. “And yes, you've proven to be much more dedicated and committed than I thought you would. I know the people here really like you. I think Wilf wants to adopt you. But you and Flynn. You're not meant to be together.”

Outside her office a group of volunteers laugh. I want to stand, yell at them to stop, ask them what's so funny. “This shouldn't be about what my family has or his family doesn't have,” I tell her. “The way we feel isn't about how much money is in our bank accounts. It's real. Flynn is the first boy I've ever felt this way about. And he feels the same way about me.”

She whistles under her breath.

“We get each other,” I say.

The people outside her office laugh again. It feels like it's aimed at me.

“Has Flynn told you that he feels the same way?” she says quietly and not unkindly, but her voice is firm.

“Yes.” Maybe not in exact words. I look at Stella, and something in her expression makes it hard to swallow, and my eyes begin to burn. Pity. She pities me. She doesn't believe it. That Flynn could feel that way about me. She thinks I'm another one of his girls.

The fight goes out of my body, and I slump down in my chair, suddenly tired, staring down at my feet.

“Your dad told me that he banned you from working here any longer, but that you insisted. That your mom intervened.” I glance up at her. “He asked me to talk to Flynn. So I did. I spoke with Flynn early this week,” she continues. “I asked him to stay away from lunch for a while. There are other shelters in town where he can take Kyle if he needs to.”

The betrayal hits me in the gut. Slams me. I stare at her, shocked. That she would let my dad allow her to do that. That I caused that.

“You let my dad stop one of your ‘guests' from coming to your shelter?” I ask her, emphasizing
guests
the same way she did. I get to my feet. “You told Flynn to stay away because of my dad?” I ask. “My dad doesn't have a right to dictate who uses your shelter.”

It's not even enough that he's kept him away from me. He's stopped Kyle from coming. Interfered in Flynn's life. I feel responsible and horrible.

“I spoke with Flynn's mom earlier. She wasn't a fan of you two being together either. I'm sorry, Jess. I wish things could be different. I see now that you really care about him. But I called your dad with my concern first. Remember? We don't fraternize with the guests at New Beginnings. It's too complicated for everyone.”

“That's an actual law?” I ask. “A rule? Because I don't remember signing an agreement or anything that said that.”

Stella doesn't say anything. Tears burning behind my eyes fight to escape. One slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away with a tight fist. My chest hurts. “I don't want to have to quit working here,” I tell her, struggling to keep in sobs. “I like it.”

“You don't have to quit,” she says with a sigh. “We can juggle schedules. School starts soon, and you can work nights. We'll work things out.”

“I can't be responsible for keeping Flynn's family away.”

She sighs. “You're not. We'll work it out. I can talk to his mom. Let her know when… It's an unfortunate situation, Jess. And I understand what you think you feel for Flynn, I do. But you're so young. It's best to keep you separate.”

“Do you have any idea how patronizing that sounds?” I demand. “Or how archaic?” One of us has to stay strong. I need to find Flynn and tell him it doesn't matter to me. What my dad says or what Stella wants to enforce.

She sits up straighter. “I'm sorry. I'm not without sympathy. But I already talked to Flynn. I asked him not to come around when you're here,” she continues. “He gave me his word. No trouble.”

The heat of my anger evaporates my tears. I swivel away fuming and stride to the door. “Maybe he
should
make trouble,” I say, and then rush out of Stella's office, ignoring the curious stares of the volunteers in the hallway.

I run outside to the greenhouse. The door is unlocked, so I run inside and stop, panting as I try to catch my breath. Wilf is standing in the middle, his back to me. He's bent over, not moving. He doesn't seem to have heard me.

“Wilf?” I walk closer, trying to shake off a bad feeling. Trying to forget Stella's hurtful words. “You okay?” I can't keep the panic from my voice.

He's stooped over, and from behind, with his gray cardigan sweater and his wispy gray hair that circles his head like half a bowl, he looks feeble and older than I've thought. A flash of fear makes me frown.

When I reach him, I see his eyes are moist and red. His lip trembles.

“Wilf,” I say softly and put my hand on his back. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

“Argh. I'm an old man feeling sorry for himself.” He wipes under his eye and sniffles loudly and stands straighter, batting away my hand. “I'm fine.”

My own troubles fade. “What's wrong?” I demand. There's a box of Kleenex on the workstation, and I go pull out a few tissues and hand them to him.

He takes them and blinks a few times as if he's confused. “Nothing. I miss my wife. I'm old. It takes me five minutes to pee.” He blows his nose loud enough to chase away the mice that live in the walls in the building next door.

“You're sure? There's nothing else wrong?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing else? You ever try to pee and can't do it?”

“Stella said you were at the doctor again. Are you sick?” I ask. I'm done beating around bushes. So done.

“Sweetheart. Of course I'm dying.”

I inhale a deep breath.

“Oh, don't look so worried,” he says quickly. “We're all dying. We're like time bombs ticking. Waiting to go off.” He makes an explosion sound and flicks open his hands.

I frown and squint my eyes. “That's not even a little bit funny. Are you sick? For real?”

A fly lands on my arm and I swat it away.

“I have an old-age problem. Is that a disease? Call me in about sixty years or so when you have the same thing. We'll make a decision on that together,” he grumbles and shuffles off toward Rhea's azaleas. “Of course, by then I'll be long gone, so we'll have to do it by séance.”

I watch him, staring at his back as he sticks his finger in the dirt to check moisture in the soil. “So you're okay? You're only sad?”

He snorts. “That's what I love about you, Chickadee. You're not all soft about the sad stuff.”

“Maybe I am,” I tell him. “Maybe I've just learned to hide it.”

“Maybe you have,” he says and moves to the next plant. “And maybe it's time you started facing things.”

“Maybe you should drink more water instead of giving it to all the plants,” I tell him. “To help with the peeing.”

He snorts again. “Maybe you should be politer to your elders?”

I walk closer to him. “Wilf, I'm worried about you, okay?” I say softly.