What We Saw(44)

“Because I love you.”

He fires this back at me, then smacks a hand over his mouth. The words roll through my chest like a thunderclap. More tears stream down my cheeks and I try to wipe them away, but they won’t stop coming. How many times did I imagine hearing I love you from Ben? How many times will I wish I had kept my mouth shut so I didn’t have to hear it like this?

Ben collapses onto the floor, turning around to sit with his back against the couch, his arm against my leg. We stay like this for a long time staring at the dark TV screen on the opposite wall, watching different movies in our minds.

Mine is the image of Ben, walking back to Dooney’s that night, pausing on the stairs to tell Rachel and Christy good-bye as they leave. He finds John and Deacon in the kitchen, finishing the Cabo Wabo with Stacey. Ben waves away the shot they offer. He bumps fists with Greg. He hears Randy call up the stairs from the den. He stops at the top of the stairwell and yells a later back down.

Then he leaves.

In my mind’s eye, I see him closing Dooney’s front door and walking to his truck. He climbs in, he turns on some music, and he drives home. I see the Ben I have always known, being the person he has always been: honest and kind.

I see the guy who loves me.

Of course he’s angry and confused. Of course he doesn’t know who to believe. Isn’t that exactly how I feel?

Finally, Ben reaches over and slides his hand around my ankle. He runs his fingers up and down on my calf, hesitant, searching out some common ground between us. “You have such great soccer legs.”

“The better to kick your ass with.”

He turns toward me with a sheepish grin and I roll my eyes. “Where the hell did you learn to unzip a dress with one hand? Was there a clinic on that at basketball camp?”

“I’ve been the man of the house for a few years now,” he says quietly. “I’m good at zipping them up, too. Here, lemme show you.”

He stands and takes both my hands, pulling me to my feet. He turns me around and pulls the zipper up my back, adjusting the fabric on my shoulders. Then he places a tender kiss on my neck.

I turn around. He leans in and kisses my lips once. “Can I have a do-over?”

I nod.

“I love you, Kate Weston.”

“I love you, too, Ben Cody.” The words tumble out in a whisper.

He drives me home and walks me to the front door. Beneath the porch light, he gives me one last kiss. He wraps both arms around me, pats me on the back, and whispers in my ear the words he said that first time he hugged me when we were five years old.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be fine.”





UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE


HarperCollins Publishers

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twenty-four


I WAKE UP to the sound of laughter.

It’s early still, but I know it’s only me and Will in the house. When his crew is on a project, Dad always puts in at least half a day on Saturday, and most of the time, he doesn’t get home until five. Weekends, Mom meets her friend Mindy from work to speed-walk in the park. She talks about all the calories they burn when she gets home and makes sure to mention that afterward she had her omelet made from Egg Beaters, that yellow stuff that comes in a carton and looks like liquid eggs, but isn’t quite.

I smile as I think about Mom and Mindy, pumping their arms and swinging their hips from side to side in the funny way that speed walking requires. All that movement, but they don’t cover much ground. I know she’ll switch to Sundays with Mindy once soccer starts. Hopefully, Dad will finish up this project soon and be able to make some games as well.

Will is glued to the screen of his laptop when I poke my head in the door of his room. He’s sitting at his desk, his back to me and his earbuds in, giggling like a crazy person while he clicks through Facebook pictures. I can see he’s on a video chat with Tyler, who must be cracking him up. I smile and tiptoe sideways around his bed so I can stay out of the camera frame. It is my general rule that I refuse to appear on any camera in any way until I have looked at myself in a mirror. I also want to spook the crap out of my brother. Will likes to sneak up and scare the bejesus out of me. This is payback.

I am stretching out my hands to squeeze his shoulders and shout Boo! when he says something that makes me freeze.

“No way, dude. She’s a six, tops.”

I frown and slowly lower myself onto my knees so I’m below the sight line of the camera, but can still see the screen if I crane my head sideways. Will clicks back and forth between two pictures of a girl named Emily from his class.

“She’s got a mustache, Ty. I swear. That picture has more filters on it than Dooney’s hot tub.”

I see Tyler’s head pop back with a hoot of laughter in the tiny square at the corner of Will’s screen. Will giggles like he used to when we were little and spent Saturday mornings watching SpongeBob in our PJs instead of . . . doing whatever this is.

Tyler says something I can’t hear, and Will acquiesces. “Fine!” he shouts. “I’ll give her a seven, but she is not in the top three.” Will clicks to comment on the picture. He types a 7 then #JVbuccs, then #r&p.

As he moves to post this, I jump up and grab his wrist. “No!”