Beautiful Mistake(24)

“That’s him. He made me say a bad word, and I got detention. We both got detention.”

“How did he make you say a bad word?”

“We were reviewing shapes in class for some state test. The teacher drew a diamond on the board and asked what shape it was. We’d learned rhombus a few years earlier, but when she called on me to answer, I forgot the word. The teacher gave me a hint to try and help me. She said it started with an R. I got excited because I thought I remembered, and I yelled out the wrong R word.”

“What did you yell?”

“I yelled rectum.”

I had to stifle my laugh. “Do you know what that means?”

“I do now. Tommy explained it to me by yelling that I was an A-hole.” She paused. “He said the whole word, too.”

I tried to provide some priestly guidance. “Your mistake was honest. It sounds more like Tommy is the one who sinned by using the bad word intentionally. Not you.”

“Well…I used it, too.”

“Oh?”

“At recess, some of the kids were still making fun of me, calling me an A-hole lover. So I told the kids I learned the word rectum from Tommy…because when he has his hands down his pants he sometimes sticks his thumb up his rectum during class. Only I didn’t use the word rectum when I said it.”

What I wanted to say was Atta girl, but instead I stuck to my priestly ways. “You’ll say three Hail Marys for using the bad word. But, between us, it sounds like Tommy’s a jerk and deserved it.”

My little lamb giggled.

“Anything else?”

Last week she hadn’t mentioned home, and I was anxious to find out how things were going. The only thing I’d been able to draw out of her, other than her own admission that she had bad thoughts about her stepfather, was that he drank too much and yelled.

“How are things at home?” I prompted. “Did anything happen to make you have bad thoughts?”

“I wore the headphones you gave me.” Two weeks ago, she’d told me she got scared when her stepfather yelled at night. She had trouble falling asleep sometimes. I’d suggested she put on headphones and listen to her favorite song to drown out the sound. But she didn’t own headphones. So last week I put my extra set in the booth before she arrived and told her to take them home. I explained how shutting her eyes and singing quietly along with the music would help ease her into sleep.

“Did it help?”

“Yes. I fell asleep after the fourth time.”

I was probably delusional, but I felt like I was helping this kid in some screwed-up way. “That’s good.”

“I told my sister to try it, but she said she couldn’t.”

“Does she not have headphones?”

She didn’t respond for a few minutes. I’d begun to learn that her silence often spoke louder than her voice did.

“She has headphones. She got them for Christmas the year before our mom died. They were in her stocking.”

That feeling of dread hit the pit of my stomach. “So why does your sister think she can’t wear them? Does she not like music?”

“She has to listen for Benny.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sometimes when he’s drinking and mad, he comes into her room at night.”





Rachel



“Are you hungry?”

I’d debated asking the question in my head for the last five minutes. Even though I’d spent all day with Caine, I wasn’t ready for it to end. But I wanted my suggestion to have dinner to come off casual. He’d asked me to grab a bite to eat before, yet for some reason when it was me doing the asking, I felt like I was asking him out on a date.

Caine glanced over and then back to the road. He was quiet, and I got the feeling he was debating the appropriateness of our situation before answering. I was surprised when he said, “Starving. What did you have in mind?”

“I’m easy. There’s a Greek restaurant a few blocks from my place that’s good. Or there’s Chinese on Grand Street. Or we could go to O’Leary’s and then it’ll be my treat again.” I smirked at that last part.

“How about Greek, and my treat this time?”

“Sounds good. Take a left on Elwyn Street. It’s up on the right if we can find parking—Greek Delight.”

Inside the restaurant, the hostess sat us in a quiet booth in the back and brought us hummus and pita chips to snack on while we looked at the menu. I knew what I wanted, but Caine took out glasses from his pocket to read the menu. Those really worked on him, although I couldn’t help myself.

“How old are you that you need reading glasses?”

He looked up over the rim of his studious Burberry frames. “You wear glasses. Why does my needing reading glasses mean I’m old?”

“I have an astigmatism. I’ve needed them to read since I was in a training bra.”

Caine’s eyes dropped to my cleavage before returning to the menu. He grumbled something I didn’t catch. When I continued to stare at him, he took his glasses off and looked up at me. “What?”

“You didn’t answer my question. How old are you?”

“Old enough to be your professor.”

I dipped a piece of pita in the hummus and popped it in my mouth. “So, what? About sixty then?”