Making Faces(59)

“Do you know she writes them too?”

Ambrose jerked his head around to meet Bailey's smirk. “Really?”

“Yep. I think she must be on her sixth novel. She's been sending her books out to publishers since she was sixteen. So far, she hasn't gotten a deal, but she will eventually. They're actually pretty good. A little sappy and sweet for my taste, but that's Fern. She writes under a fake name. Her parents don't even know.”

“A fake name? What is it?”

“Nah. You'll have to get that info from her. She's going to kill me for telling you about the books.”

Ambrose nodded, his attention riveted on exactly how he was going to coax little Fern to tell him all her secrets. The desire for her rose again, and he almost groaned out loud.

“I've always liked to read. But I prefer a little different kind of book. Romance is just torture for me, you know?” Bailey added.

Ambrose nodded, his mind on the fireworks, the way it felt to lay next to Fern as light exploded above them, her sweetness, the smell of her skin and the soft sweep of her hair. He understood torture.

“So let's hear it, man. What's the deal? I can't kick your ass, but I will definitely know if you're lying to me. Is Fern right? Are you just taking what's available?”

“Hell, Bailey! You remind me of Beans–” Ambrose winced at the pain that lanced through him, like he'd pressed his fingers into a fresh wound, the sharp sting silencing him immediately. But his silence only fed Bailey's fears.

“If you are stringing my cousin along and you aren't head over heels in love with her, I will find a way to kick your ass!” Bailey was getting agitated and Ambrose laid a hand on his shoulder, soothing him.

“I do love Fern,” Ambrose admitted, his voice hushed, his gaze heavy with confession, and felt a frisson of shock at the truth. He did love her. “I think about her all the time. When I'm not with her I'm miserable . . . but when I'm with her I'm miserable too, because I know it's Fern that's settling. Look at me, Bailey! Fern could have anyone she wanted. Me? Not so much.”

Bailey laughed and groaned loudly. “Boo, freakin' hoo! Waaa! You big baby! Do you expect me to feel sorry for you, Ambrose? 'Cause I don't. It reminds me of a book I just read for this online English course I'm taking . This guy, Cyrano De Bergerac, was born with a big nose. Who the hell cares? So Cyrano never got with the girl he loved because he was ugly. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life! He let his big honker keep him away?”

“That Cyrano guy? Wasn't he the one that wrote love notes for the good looking guy? Didn't they make a movie out of that?”

“That's the one. Remind you of anyone? I seem to remember someone writing you love notes and signing them Rita. Just like Cyrano. Kind of ironic, isn't it? Fern didn't think she was good enough for you then, and you don't think you're good enough for her now. And both of you are wrong . . . and so stupid! Stuuupiiiid!” Bailey dragged the word out in disgust. “I'm ugly! I'm not worthy of love, waaa!” Bailey mimicked them in a whiny, high-pitched voice, and then he shook his head as if he was thoroughly disappointed. He paused a moment, gearing up for a new rant.

“Now you're telling me that you are afraid to love Fern because you don't look like a movie star anymore? Shoot, man! You still look like a movie star . . . just one that's been through a war zone is all. Chicks dig that! I keep thinking that maybe you and I could take a road trip and tell all the girls we meet along the way that we're both vets. You've got a messed up face and my war wounds have put me in this chair. You think they'd believe it? Maybe then I could get some action. Problem is, how am I going to get a handful of tit if I can't lift my arms?”

Ambrose choked, laughing at Bailey's irreverence, but Bailey just continued, unfazed.

“I would give anything to do one of those Freaky Friday switch-aroo things with you, Ambrose. Just for one day I want to trade bodies with you. I wouldn't waste one second. I'd be knocking on Rita's door. I'd pummel Becker a few times, throw Rita over my shoulder, and I wouldn't come up for air until neither of us could move. That's what I would do.”

“Rita? You like Rita?”

“I love Rita. Always have. And she's married to a dick, which is actually comforting in a very selfish way. If she was married to a cool, nice, awesome guy I would be more miserable.”

Ambrose found himself laughing again. “You are something else, Bailey! Your logic is priceless.”

“It is kinda funny. Funny ironic, I mean. Fern always said Rita has spent her whole life being chased by boys. Because of that, she never had a chance to stop running long enough to figure out who she was and what kind of guy she should let catch her. It's kinda ironic that Rita and I are friends, seeing as I've never been able to chase her. Maybe that's the silver lining. I couldn't chase her, so she never had to run.”

After a time, Ambrose picked Bailey up in his arms once more, and together they descended the hill from the memorial, lost in their own thoughts of life and death and silver linings.





Uncle Mike looked surprised when he saw Fern slip into the wrestling room with Bailey Saturday night. He did a double-take, then seemed confused, and then he looked at Fern again, frowning a little. But when Ambrose noticed her sitting on a rolled-up mat next to Bailey's chair he smiled, and his smile negated Uncle Mike's frown.