The Summer of '98 Page 6

  I felt grateful for his understanding. It would have been fair of him to be embarrassed or disappointed in me for being so ridiculous last night. But without failure, he had been tender and gentle and had taken care of me throughout it all.

  He told me that he was going to shower downstairs and would be back in half an hour or so. I could easily have spent that much time in the warm water, washing off the alcohol and regret. But I didn’t want to keep him waiting. I washed up as fast as I could, scrubbing with the loofah, hoping it might physically remove the humiliation that I felt over everything that had happened.

  After the shower, I stood in front of the mirror, a towel twisted around my hair and my skincare products laid out on the vanity. Each step—the cleanser, the toner, the moisturizer, and sunscreen, each applied in gentle upward motions—aided in feeling clean and relaxed. My soft cotton shorts and camisole smelled like home when I slipped them on, and I went back to the spare bedroom feeling a bit more alive.

  Leroy returned to my room in a fresh set of clothes half an hour later, as he said he would. His hair still sat a little damp, the strands sticking to his forehead as he sauntered in wearing a pair of sweats and a muscle shirt.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “Much.”

  “I figured you wouldn’t be up for a lot today,” he said, walking toward me, closing the distance as he encircled his arms around my waist. I subtly inhaled his fresh, masculine scent and rested my hands on his shoulders. “But Eric just phoned and asked if I could coach his baby brother’s flag football practice this afternoon. He’s got a wicked hangover apparently.”

  “Ooh,” I laughed. “Sounds like it’s not the first time?”

  “It’s not. But no sweat. I don’t mind helping. Is that cool? You can hang back if you’re not up for it?”

  “No, no. I’ll come.”

  He pulled me in at the waist, his sights settling on my mouth. “I’d rather we were staying in, though. Just the two of us.”

  I arched into him. “Me too.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about our night together last month,” he murmured, leaning in a little closer. “Your body, your screams, your—”

  His words were cut off as he swallowed, and his breathing became deeper. I couldn’t handle what happened to me when he spoke like that. His words did wild things to me—it had been bad enough when it was on the phone, but now, pairing it with the lust in his gaze . . . I was a goner.

  I didn’t wait another moment for him to make the first move I tiptoed up and kissed him. His hand tightened on my back, his fingers dragging inwards as he bunched the camisole in his grip. He pushed his tongue against mine and his hands moved with purpose, traveling the curves of my frame. His touch made me quiver and I moaned into his intoxicating mouth. He was the perfect hangover cure.

  He walked us toward the bed and my stomach felt like it was doing backflips as he pushed me down, never disconnecting our kiss, never removing his hands, never faltering. He kept one hand beside my head, kneeling between my legs as his free hand danced over the bare skin of my midriff. He slipped a hand under the material of the cami and dug his fingertips into my waist.

  “Are you feeling okay?” he murmured, pecking me between his words so that he could continue kissing me. He dragged his mouth downwards, nipping and sucking at the skin on my neck. I remembered that I was meant to be answering a question, but I could barely remember my own name.

  “I’m fine,” I answered with a gasp.

  “Would you like me to touch you?”

  I moaned as his hand grazed my shorts between my legs. “Yes, please.”

  His mouth was back on mine and he dipped his hand into the band of my shorts just as the sound of the door slamming came from downstairs, Noah’s voice hollering loud and obnoxiously. We both stilled and then Leroy cursed as he stood up and moved away from the bed.

  I was disappointed, but I reminded myself that we had all summer. Leroy stood with his hands behind his head, biting his lip as he swept me with his hooded gaze.

  “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch,” he chuckled, without the humor.

  I sat up and shrugged a shoulder as I ruffled out my wet hair.

  That’s not the only thing that’s wet.

  “Okay, should we go downstairs?” I stood and blushed at my own dirty thoughts. It amazed me that in the heat of the moment I felt like doing the wildest things. But I still felt nervous otherwise.

  “Yeah,” Leroy gestured at the door. “Go ahead. I’ll be down in five when this has gone down.”

  I glanced at where he pointed and giggled.

  It was about three when we got to the grade school field where a dozen little children were waiting with their parents. There must have been around six or seven boys and girls running around the vast space, tagging each other, throwing footballs, or sitting in the grass. Leroy held a net full of cones and footballs over his shoulder, his free hand intertwined with mine as we made our way toward the group.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked.

  “If you want to gather the kids and split them into two teams, then I’ll set up the cones.”

  “How about I do the cones, and you look after the kids? You’ve met them before?”

  He laughed, and when we reached the group of children, he dropped the bag and blew the whistle hanging around his neck. The children gathered in one quick swarm, restless with energy and excitement.

  “How’s it going, team?” he said, nodding to the parents in acknowledgment before he looked back at the children. “Eric is sick, Jordan might have mentioned that. No problem, we’ll have a good afternoon, won’t we?”

  The kids erupted into cheers.

  “That’s what I like to hear. This is Ellie—she’s going to be helping out, so listen to her and be nice. She’s going to split you into teams while I sort the cones. Remember, team one puts the flags on. Understood?”

  “Yes, Coach,” the little ones cheered in unison. Leroy strolled backward and winked, leaving me to organize the teams.

  “All right.” I felt overwhelmed having a dozen small faces staring up at me. Clearing my throat, I raised my voice. “I’ll give you a number and that’s your team.”

  I was about to begin giving them numbers, a simple one, two, one, two, like we did in grade school, when one of the mothers approached me with a kind smile. “It’s easier,” she whispered beside me. “If you hand out the flags. That way they don’t forget their number or attempt to argue so that they can pair up with their friend.”

  “That makes so much sense.” I was relieved at her help. “Thank you.”

  “No sweat.” She had thick bangs that fell toward her dark-brown eyes. “I’m Maxi Bryan. Let me know if you need a hand at all.”

  “I really appreciate that.”

  The practice was a lot of fun once I was comfortable. Granted, I didn’t do much except watch while Leroy directed the kids on how to pass and catch, and gave drills on dodging. Watching the children weave through the cones, sidestep, and their obvious delight when they caught a long-distance pass was so fulfilling. Not to mention how precious it was when Leroy crouched beside someone who was having a hard time and gave them some one-on-one direction. He was so patient and attentive.

  Practice was almost over when a little girl tripped as she was running toward her water bottle. Her chin hit the grass and her top tooth must have gone into her bottom lip because there was a drizzle of blood running down her chin when she stood up in tears. One of the mothers informed me that the little girl’s mom wasn’t here right now, so I ran toward her and scooped her into my arms.

  “Aw honey.” My heart broke at her distressed whimper. I clutched the bottom of my T-shirt and dabbed at her mouth. “I know, I know, cut lips are the worst. Can I please have a little look? Just to make sure that we don’t need to go to the hospital?” />
  Her gaze widened, her face reddened, and her wail became louder.

  “Oh gosh,” I panicked. “I’m sure it’s fine. Can I have a look? Please.”

  She didn’t raise her head for me and just continued screaming. I was flustered by all the parents watching.

  “Carrie!” Leroy jogged toward us. “What’s going on, kiddo? You been in a bust-up?”

  He kneeled beside me and I transferred Carrie to him, noticing his wince as he looked at my blood-stained shirt, not that it was of much concern to me right now. Leroy set Carrie on her feet and kneeled in front of her, gently cupping her chin.

  “Can I have a quick look? I won’t touch it, I promise. You know, one time, I slid over and split my knee open and my brother stuck his popsicle stick in it. He was only three, but it hurt. So, I know it’s super important not to touch people’s injuries.”

  She nodded, tears still streaming down her face. Her gasps for air were heartbreaking. Leroy inspected her lip and gave her a light pat on the arm. “Good news, it’s just a little cut. It’s almost stopped bleeding. You know, if you get a lemonade popsicle on that, it’ll make it feel a whole lot better. I can see Mom coming—let her know Coach Leroy said you need a popsicle.”

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand, nodded, and ran off toward her mom who was coming in from the parking lot.

  After the practice was over, the equipment was cleaned up, and the field had cleared, Leroy and I lay beside each other in the grass. The afternoon sun was warm, but the breeze was refreshing.

  “How come you made sure that little girl knew you wouldn’t touch her lip?” I asked, still thinking about the exchange and how gentle he was.

  “You don’t remember being a kid and having an irrational fear that someone was going to assault your injury?”

  “Not really,” I said. “You obviously have some unresolved trauma from the knee thing, though.”

  He laughed. The wind carried the sound and gave it notes that had to have come from the heavens. “It’s not just me, I swear. Kids have this panic when an adult wants to see their cuts or scrapes or whatever. Watch any child when their mom inspects a cut finger or grazed knee. Their immediate response is, ‘Don’t touch it! Don’t touch it! Don’t touch it!’”

  My stomach ached from laughing at the high-pitched squeal he put on in place of a child’s voice.

  “It’s true!” he said.

  “I guess I wouldn’t know,” I said, watching a puff of white cloud being pushed across the blue by the wind. “Mom just kept the Band-aids low enough that I could reach them if I needed them.”

  From my peripheral, I saw Leroy turn his head to look at me. “Your mom didn’t help when you got hurt as a child?”

  “If it was bad enough, I suppose. She just didn’t like to fuss. She said it made me more hysterical when she fussed.”

  My tone was nonchalant. Factual. But the truth was, it stirred a mild hurt to admit that out loud. I’d never given it much thought before. It was just a norm. Cut knee, grab a Band-aid, get over it, and clean up the mess. Hugs and fuss were just coddling and there was no need for that.

  Leroy laced his fingers with mine, the cool grass resting beneath our hands. “Noah didn’t stick a popsicle stick into my knee.”

  I looked at him.

  “I did it to him.”

  “Leroy!”

  He burst into a loud laughter. “I felt so bad.”

  “You are awful.”

  “I wanted to see what would happen. I didn’t think about the fact that it would hurt.”

  “You’re a monster.”

  “I was four! He screamed and then I screamed. It was chaotic.”

  We were both doubled over with laughter, facing each other in the grass, our vision blurred.

  Leroy

  After dinner that night, Ellie and I were watching a movie in the living room. Mom and Dad were upstairs, retired to bed to read and catch up on the paper before they popped their sleeping pills. Mom had work in the morning and Dad had decided to give us the living room for the evening. The DVD rack beside the television was stacked from top to bottom, and I told Ellie to take her pick.

  “You have a DVD player?” Her mouth fell open as she stared at all the titles. “Our VCR doesn’t even work now, it’s so old.”

  DVD players were just over a year old, and as soon as they were on the market, Dad had one under the television. “Dad was like a kid on Christmas when he got that,” I explained, settling into the sofa.

  “Aw,” Els cooed, running her finger down the spines of the DVDs. “Can I put it in the machine? We should watch this—”

  She held up Mrs. Doubtfire and I nodded, using the remote to switch it all on. Watching her excitement, my heart sped up. The task was almost mundane to me at this point. Put the DVD into the machine, play, watch. Ellie treated it as though she was delivering the crown jewels, tongue between her lips, focused, a wiggle in her shoulders when she was done. I loved to see it.

  “You know what I love about this movie?” she said, sitting beside me.

  “Robin Williams in a dress?”

  “Ha, Robin Williams is a treasure. But, also, he’s literally the best dad ever. He loves his kids so much that he pretends to be an old woman just to spend time with them. How devoted. I can’t even imagine what that must feel like!”

  I felt for her.

  “That’s the sort of dad that I’d want for my children.”

  Then that was the sort of dad that I would be.

  I pushed her hair behind her shoulder and drew her into me. “You ever think about your dad? Miss him?”

  She tilted her head. “I never knew him, so I miss the idea of him. I’m fine, it doesn’t upset me, and I can’t miss someone I never knew, but sometimes I think that it would have been nice to have had a dad that I could be close to.”

  “Yeah.”

  I couldn’t imagine not having mine.

  Halfway through the movie, we paused it so that Ellie could run to the bathroom. Which was timed well because I heard the front door open and shut and then Noah came in, dragging his feet. He fell into the sofa beside me and I caught a whiff of his stale odor.

  “Dude,” I shook my head. “Shower.”

  “Shut up. What’s on?”

  “Mrs. Doubtfire.”

  He scoffed. “Why are you watching this?”

  “Ellie chose it.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Bathroom.”

  He folded his arms and settled farther into the sofa.

  “You’re in her seat.”

  His eyes moved to my lap. “You sure?”

  “Go and have a shower. You smell like a gym sock. What have you been doing this afternoon?”

  “I’ve been at Natalie’s.”

  Of course he has. Ellie walked back in, her attention moving between Noah and me taking up the entire sofa, leaving only a small gap between us. She was about to head for Dad’s recliner beside me, but I gripped her wrist and pulled her into my lap, ignoring Noah’s smug expression. It was quiet for a few minutes, the three of us staring at the television, the atmosphere growing awkward. Plus, the smell was intensifying, but I decided not to call him out in front of Ellie.

  “How was your night, Noah?” Ellie asked.

  He watched her with a curious glare. “I’m wondering how yours was. What happened to your head?”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten about that,” she touched the Band-aid on her temple and flinched. It was starting to bruise. “I spun out this morning, hit it on the side table.”

  Noah laughed and I punched him in the thigh.

  “It was pretty funny,” Ellie said.

  It was a relief that Els was making an effort with Noah because I knew that he wouldn’t. The fact that she was patient and sweet despite how hostile he was when
they first met was gracious of her too.

  “Cass was great too,” she added, talking to Noah. “She’s a lot of fun. Have you guys been together long?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “We aren’t together.”

  “Oh . . . I—”

  “She’s a nightmare. An actual demon derived from the pits of the underworld whose specific purpose is to drive me so insane that I want to put my own dick in a paper shredder.”

  “Noah, what the hell?” I said.

  “Okay, so this morning before I got home,” he sat up straight, “we’re in bed and she goes, ‘I feel like a breakfast burrito from Rocky Ryan’s and I’m sitting there with no clothes on thinking, ‘Cool, do that then.’ And then she said, ‘There’s a two-for-one on Sunday mornings.’ And I’m like, ‘Hungry much?’ It’s quiet for a while and then she starts getting all pissed off and throws the blankets off and I asked what the hell her problem was and she said that I should have offered to go with her and get breakfast together because we just spent the night boning and that’s the nice thing to do. Like I’m meant to be a mind reader. Same shit with her all the damn time.”

  Neither Ellie nor I responded. I heard this sort of thing from him all the time, stupid complaints about stupid arguments that he could avoid if he’d paid attention occasionally. Noah acted as if Cass was difficult to read but all she wanted was for my brother to get his head out of his ass and open the car door once in a while. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

  When Noah realized that Ellie and I weren’t going to empathize with his complaints, he shrugged. “Good night, though. It’s all good when she’s not talking. You know?”

  Ellie tensed on my lap.

  “Don’t be a dick, Noah. Stop talking so much smack about her.”

  He flinched, reddening across the nose. “Whatever,” he stood up and left the room.

  I didn’t care if he felt embarrassed for being called out. His stupid attitude was the embarrassment.

  It was around midnight, and Ellie and I were at the park at the end of the hill. We’d decided to go for a walk so that we could make the night last longer, neither of us wanting to retire to our separate bedrooms. Our curfew was ten, but Mom and Dad were crashed out. They wouldn’t know that we’d left. Streetlights cast a luminous yellow haze on the vast space, hitting the treetops and creating leaf-shaped shadows on the grass. It was warm and we sat on the ground beside the playground, throwing a handball back and forth.