99 Percent Mine(25)

“Glad for me because I was poor,” Tom says in a wry voice. He looks up the ladder and puts a foot on the bottom rung. “Glad that your parents are incredibly generous and took me everywhere.”

“No, glad for you because staying behind sucked, and I wouldn’t wish it on you.”

I remember Loretta saying to me, Wave goodbye for God’s sake, they might all have a plane crash. You’ll regret it if you don’t. That kind of statement is even more startling when said by a fortune-teller. Smile and let them enjoy themselves.

The only translation I could possibly make from that was: Who could relax around me, the ticking time bomb?

“I’m glad you all got a vacation from stressing out about me.”

“We weren’t vacationing from you,” Tom says, surprised. He begins climbing up the ladder. “Loretta let you believe some things that weren’t true.”

For one sharp moment I feel like he knows that I confided in Loretta and she got me the hell out of town. But there’s no way he could. I’ve never told a soul. His eyes are mild and have no bad memories in them when he looks down at me.

“If you need anything switched on or off inside, ask me. I hid your hair dryer.”

“That just means you put it up somewhere high, out of my eye line? Your hiding skills are terrible.” I watch his butt as he climbs higher. “What are you doing up there, anyway?”

“Just looking at the gutters back here.”

“Me too.” I grin breezily up at him as he glowers back down at me. “What? I’m interested in the state of my house.”

There’s a loose rattling noise. Tom shakes the entire gutter about a foot away from the roofline. Slimy leaves splatter down onto me. Patty and I both yap like seals.

“You asshole.”

“You deserved that, you deviant.” He rattles the gutter again.

“Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Do you want to climb up this ladder while I stand down there looking at your butt? See how it feels?” Busted again. If he registers every time my eyes are on him, I’m doomed.

“I’ve got nothing on you, babe.”

“You sure did hide in the shower a long time. Didn’t know the water heater could handle that.” Tom’s hand goes to his back pocket and he pulls out a screwdriver.

“That water heater is a tin can. It was freezing by the end.” I just let it go cold, numbing me down to the bones, cooling the strange restless energy inside me to manageable levels. I’ve never actually taken a cold shower over a guy before.

He looks across at the neighbor’s roof, and in his profile, I see him swallow. In his mind, he thinks, Ew, gross. Darcy Barrett, a shivering drowned rat, boy hair flattened to her skull.

He hoists himself a little higher onto the edge of the roof. There’s a tile-scraping sound and the ladder trembles. I leap on the base of the ladder and wrap my entire body around it. “Fuck! Be careful.” Another wet leaf plops down on my face.

“It’s fine,” he says, treading down the rungs. He doesn’t turn, but instead spends a lot of time pulling the ladder down, folding and refolding it. I’m glad. I can hide my sudden heart jolt.

“I thought I was going to have to catch you then.” I move to the fishpond, my back to him. My heart has jumped up into my throat. I swallow again and again, but it won’t budge. Blood begins sliding the wrong way in my veins.

My heart says, Oh hey, did you just have a little fright? Cool, I’m going to make a big deal out of it. And now we’re pumpin’. Palpitations, pixelation, it’s all cranking into gear.

Quick, think about something else.

Aside from my heart situation, a worse pattern keeps repeating. I tease him like always, he calls me on it, and I remember Megan. I crush myself down inside like an empty beer can. Then I look at him and that joyful feeling expands, and the cycle happens again.

I know what the solution to this problem is, and it involves a cab to the airport.

“I bet you would catch me. You’d just …” He holds his arms up to the sky. “Get squashed flat. Hey.” He’s noticed my stillness. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” I say on a slow exhale. My heart is climbing up out of my body, fluttering and struggling in the base of my neck.

Tom’s hands are on my body. “Your little spool of thread,” he says with deep empathy. “Aw, it’s rattling around in there, isn’t it?”

“Stop it. Don’t fuss.” I tug away but he steps with me. “It will stop if I can just take my mind off it. Your hands are making it worse.”

He drops them like he’s been scalded.

He smells like he always has: a blown-out birthday candle, sharp and smoky. It’s that smell in your nostrils when closing your eyes and making an impossible wish, and your mouth is watering for something sweet.

“Breathe,” he says, encouraging me just like Jamie would. When I give myself one glance up at his beautiful face, the stark look in his eyes reminds me of why I stayed behind at the airport as a child. I am stress. Fear. Uncertainty.

I am a liability.

I make myself fake a big breath out. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing a little time on a beach somewhere can’t fix.”

He eases away and the chilling air fills the space between us. I step completely out of his reach and then put the fishpond between us. I pat my chest like I’m burping a baby. If I do it firmly enough, I can’t feel the individual off-kilter beats.