Chapter Twenty-Two
Eli
I couldn’t stay there, knowing they were up in the stands, knowing she was about to kiss him. So I limped my way off the field, threw my duffel in the back of MJ, and drove.
My knee, it’s really hurting today, which makes everything else worse. As I drive I wish I could go away somewhere to college next year.
Where would I go to school if I could?
I’ve never been to any of the campuses Mr. Chaffee talked about, though some of them have good lacrosse programs like he said. I just can’t imagine any coach will want an injured player. Plus my grades suck. It’s too late. I’m stuck here.
My knee throbs like a bass line and I drive and drive. The more miles I can put between me and Nora, the better. I won’t have to worry about her much longer anyway. She’s getting her license tomorrow. I have surgery on Monday. I won’t be driving her around anymore. I can spend the week recovering in more ways than one.
Thinking of her sends a flash of pain through my chest, like I might have ripped a muscle in my heart. But I know about injuries—they hurt the worst when they’re fresh. I’ll get over it.
Just a few weeks ago, I was fine knowing we’d only ever be friends. Then I saw that Emory email. That’s what sent me off on this dumb quest. Then it just kinda went off the rails.
I don’t even realize I’m getting off on the exit until the Tick Tock is in front of me. I’ve been here before without her. The day I had off from school, I went to the center and visited Gigi and asked her about pie making. She had Claudia look in a drawer and give me a small metal box. Inside were all her recipes. Then I stopped in here and talked the waitress, Fran, into sharing the black bottom pie recipe with me. I told her it was for a girl.
She winked. “The young lady who wasn’t your date?”
I didn’t answer, but she knew. I didn’t care that she was right, because I had a solid plan to take her to Silver Springs and to make her pie, and the rest was supposed to have been history.
What an idiot I am.
I park and make my way inside. It’s not crowded, so I take a seat at the bar and lean my crutches against it. I don’t turn around to look at the booth where I sat with Nora and lectured her about my scientific theories. She didn’t buy them then, and she doesn’t today. It was just a desperate ploy to change her mind.
I tap a rhythm on the counter while I wait for a server. I don’t see Fran anywhere. Fine. I don’t need her asking me how the pie went over with Nora.
A waitress pushes through the swinging door to the kitchen—Charisse, according to uniform. She brings me the slice of blueberry I order and a cup of coffee. I did not order blueberry pie because I’m feeling sentimental about Nora. I ordered it because I like blueberry. Period. And I shouldn’t have to justify that to anyone.
I douse the coffee with sugar and so much cream that it’s barely recognizable, just like my pride.
I wish I didn’t remember the first day we met so clearly. The details, like how the breeze blew her copper hair. She was like the Little Mermaid in real life, only with purple teeth.
I’m not sure I can eat any more. I push away the plate and consult the big clock that’s been ticking since 1949. It’s almost nine? I didn’t realize how long I’d been driving aimlessly.
I pull the plate back. There’s still plenty of time to wallow in pie.
“Want anything else?” Charisse asks when I’m done.
Yes, I want to say. I want to not feel like total shit. Is that on the menu?
“No, thanks.” I pay the bill, leave a decent tip, grab my crutches, and take off.
Back inside MJ, I open my duffel bag, check my phone, which is overloaded with texts from Mom of the “where are you?” and “please check in” variety.
I dial home and Dad answers Mom’s phone. “Where the hell are you?”
The muscles in my jaw clench. It’s always this way with him. “Dad, I’m sorry, I threw my phone in my bag and forgot about it.”
“Who are you with?” he barks in his gruff cop voice.
Shit, not tonight, Dad. “No one.”
“You’re alone?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sober?”
I put the keys in the ignition. I don’t need this right now. “Yeah, I’m a hundred percent stone-cold sober.”
He’s quiet. “You know your mother worries.”
I turn the key. MJ chugs once, then dies. I try again. Nothing.
“What the fuh—?” I say.
“Watch the mouth,” he says. “Get your ass home now.”
I try the key again. “I can’t Dad. I think my truck’s dead.”
Let’s just say Dad is not thrilled to have to drive all the way to the middle of nowhere to pick me up.
He slams his car door and strides over to where I’m leaning on MJ’s bumper. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
That’s what he opens with.
I feel numb and shrug at him. He doesn’t really want an answer. He looks under the hood (like I already did).
“This doesn’t look good.”
Already knew that.
“Engine’s seized up, I’m guessing.”
My guess, too.
“I’ll call a tow,” he says. “Looks to me like it’s DOA.”
I slam my hand down on the hood, because yeah, I knew MJ was on his last leg, but today? This is the day he dies? It’s like the universe has decided to drop trou and take a giant, cosmic dump on me.
I grab my duffel bag and a few other things. There isn’t much. I grip the steering wheel. You’ve been a good truck, Michael. The tow truck arrives in record time. Dad talks to the driver, who he knows, because he knows everyone, even out here.
I get into Dad’s Sentra. It’s new and smells like plastic. No character. He stows my crutches in the backseat and takes off. I recline the seat and don’t say a word.
After a few minutes, he clears his throat and I wait for the lecture to begin. “What were you doing out here anyway?” he asks. “Have you been to that place before?”
“Yep. Best pie in Florida.”
He chuffs. “So you killed your car for pie?”
I inhale and adjust my knee. It’s killing me. “I know it’s not a good enough reason for you, but that’s the whole story. Not drunk. Not high. Just getting pie. Your loser son just went to get pie.”
“Okay.” He merges onto the highway and we’re on our way home. “You want to tell me what exactly makes you a ‘loser’?”
We don’t usually talk about stuff like this, but he asked for it. “What doesn’t?”
He makes some grumbling noises. “No son of mine is a loser.”
“Yeah, well, this one is. Can’t get into college. Can’t stay healthy. Women…total loser.”
“All right, that’s enough,” he says. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” I mumble, eyes trained out the side window.
He’s quiet for a long time, which is not like him, but I’m not complaining.
“You listen to me.”
I spoke too soon. Here we go.
“First of all, State is a fine place to start.”
Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this all before. It’s my fault for even bringing it up. Should have kept my mouth shut.
“In a few years, you’ll transfer,” he continues. “You know you haven’t exactly put in the effort these last few years, so you’ll dig your way out of it. Second, you know you can’t rely on lacrosse, kid. There’s always the potential for injury, but you are going to play in college if it kills me. You’re too good and too young to stop now. And third, I don’t know what woman you’re talking about, specifically, so I’m going to go ahead and venture a guess.”
“Dad.” Don’t say it.
“Nora?”
“No.” I answer way too fast.
He huffs a breath. “Okay,” he says. “She came over tonight, looking for you.”
“I don’t want to talk about her.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m guessing it has something to do with that big white truck that dropped her off today. If you ask me…”
For the record, I didn’t. Still, it’s great to know the fucking tumbleweed brought her home.
“…you’ve been friends too long to throw it all away over a broken heart.”
I can actually feel it, I think, cracking open. “She did not break my heart!” I yell. Like, loud.
“Okay,” Dad says. “All right.” He wisely says nothing else. I slump against the window and close my eyes.