Effortless With You Lizzy Charles 8 page

Suddenly, Emmanuel’s arm whips up and grabs Justin’s shirt, dragging him down. Emmanuel punches Justin in the nuts. Alex bursts out laughing as Justin rolls to the side, gasping for air.

Luke lets out a breath before letting me go. He pats me on the back.

Emmanuel stands up. “Serves you right, Justin. Deadlines my ass. You almost killed us!” Emmanuel calls to me, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks.”

He shrugs, looking back at Justin who still lies on the ground cupping his groin. “Someone has to be thinking, right?” He rolls his eyes before holding out his hand to Justin, pulling him off the ground.

I turn around to Luke. “Thanks to you too. How exactly did that work?”

“Emmanuel’s from California. He loves to surf. He just rode the ladder down like a wave and handed you off before he hit the ground.” He points at Justin who’s still crunched over and groaning. “I’m pretty sure his fall was more to prove a point than anything else.”

Alex tugs on my arm. “Man, woman. Do you ever have a normal day?” He pulls me into a hug before giving me his signature pat on the back.

I wonder the same thing.

The wind picks up again. I jump at the sound of abandoned ladders crashing to the ground. The oak tree gives another protesting creak as its branches bend above us.

“Alright. Call it,” Justin yells. “Get your stuff and get home. Safely,” he adds.

Everyone breaks away from the huddle, grabbing everything in their path. I walk over to my ladder, grabbing its edge. My fingertips and palms protest in pain as I swing it up and over my shoulder. I search for my paint can, finding it in the daisies which are now splattered with white paint. The roof’s edge hangs above me where only moments before I’d been dangling. I can’t help but shudder at the what-ifs.

The oak tree makes a popping sound, jolting me out of my state of shock and awe. I readjust the ladder over my back. The ladder seems so much heavier than earlier that day. I watch the guys in the distance effortlessly throw their ladders and supplies into Justin’s truck bed. For the first time, I really do wish I was that large He-She-like creature that the senior girls called me. I could use the strength today.

I focus on Justin, climbing into the truck bed and surveying the supplies. The rest of the guys have taken refuge in their vehicles. Thankfully, the changing weather distracted everyone from my struggle. I don’t want any more attention.

I dig my feet into the ground, determined to get my ladder to the truck on my own. I refuse to be lame and leave it behind. But the oak tree urges me to with every creak. It doesn’t understand. I don’t always want to be the damsel in distress. I need to do this on my own.

Sheets of rain pour from the sky. The sound is near deafening. I readjust my grip on the metal. My palm stings as if glass has cut me. The ladder slips through my palms, crashing on the sidewalk below.

I bend over, determined to do something right. Surprisingly, the ladder lifts with ease. I look up as Justin takes it from me, swinging it over his shoulder. He pushes me in front of him toward the truck.

Damn. I’m sick of being so hopeless and weak.

Boom. A cannon of thunder.

Justin throws the ladder in the truck bed and pulls me around to the front. I reach up, grabbing the door’s handle only to be rewarded with pain shooting through my palms. Red blood drips down the side of Justin’s white truck.

Justin gasps as he reaches past me and grabs the handle, opening the door and lifting me onto the seat. White pellets fall on Justin’s shoulders and it’s like I’m stuck in a popcorn maker. Justin stands outside, oblivious to the hail and rain. He turns over my palms, searching for the cause of the blood. I look at my hands with the same curiosity.

My fingertips are scraped and raw, already swollen and bleeding. Large calluses have been ripped from my palms. Small holes weep blood in their place. Two deep cuts are positioned on my right palm where blood seeps freely.

Justin removes his hands from mine. He takes off his shirt, pressing the wet cloth into my palms. I close my hands around it and focus on the white fabric changing red. The shirt stings but I hold it tightly. It’s a good distraction from Justin’s abs. The door shuts and a moment later the other opens. Justin slides in next to me.

He grabs my wrists, pulling my hands back in his. “Lucy, crap.” Water drips down my face. I am pretty sure it isn’t from tears. At least, I hope not.

The sirens blare and the wind gusts pick up. Justin swears, dropping my hands, turning the ignition and throwing the truck into reverse. The radio broadcast continues, “Severe Thunderstorm Warning in effect.”

“Thunderstorm warning? Look outside.” Justin shouts at the radio. I glance through my window. Clouds swirl above us as Justin speeds away from the neighborhood. He pulls onto the highway. We’re flying with a few other cars at over eighty miles per hour.

“That’s a Severe Thunderstorm Warning for Hennepin County.” The radio voice reiterates. A siren blares from the radio. “Update: Tornado Watch in effect for West Hennepin County.” I roll down the window for a clear view at the sky. The clouds drop lower, spinning in opposite directions above us. “Justin, the clouds …” Cars stop and drivers run down into the ditch.

The truck screeches to a halt with them. I turn, fumbling with the door’s latch. “Forget it,” Justin shouts over the wind. A bush blows past my window as he pulls me over his lap with one arm. He throws the door open, pushing me out of the truck and into the ditch.

Justin shoves me against the ground. I duck, covering the back of my head like they taught me in elementary school. I feel more pressure over my head as Justin’s body presses over me. Two women scream as the sound of a train approaches. Cars scrape against the pavement and smash into one another. Justin lies next to me, one hand over my head. The train drowns all noises.

I hold my breath.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The train roars. Sour iron particles coat my tongue. Dirt. My throat swells. There’s no way this is happening. Justin’s hand presses down harder on the back of my neck. “HOLD ON,” he yells in my ear.

To what? I grasp a fistful of grass.

Metal screeches cut through the wave of noise. The tornado has arrived. A vacuum attaches to my ears. My brain is being sucked out. My feet and legs lift, suction dragging me across the grass. Shit. I’m gone. I scream, grasping for more grass but ending with fistfuls of mud. Suddenly, a huge pressure falls on my body.

Hot breath blows against my neck. Justin.

The wind sucks harder, but I don’t budge. It dampens as leaves and branches surround us. Justin grunts. His breath is wet and rapid on my neck. I pray.

The roaring of the train disappears as quickly as it arrived. Justin’s breathing slows. He waits a moment before rolling off of me. I open my eyes, looking straight into the branches of a tree. I didn’t even hear it fall on us. The trunk hangs suspended above our ditch, between the road and its base. We army-crawl out from underneath. I sit up, surveying the damage. Justin’s truck stands untouched but a few cars are flipped over and one has been thrown against the concrete barrier. Trees are flung through the noise-barrier fences, exposing backyards and houses with partial roofs.

“Is everyone okay?” a man nearby yells.

Justin’s eyes are glazed and his mouth hangs slightly open. Totally frozen. “Alright here,” I yell out, responding for us. I stand up, still clasping Justin’s shirt in my hand. Justin stays on his knees, pressing his face into his palms. I turn toward the screaming next to us.

I run to the group of women huddled on the ground. “Are you okay?” They cling together. I pull them apart, quickly assessing for injuries. All are breathing and uninjured. Just rightfully terrified.

I check for passengers in the two flipped over vehicles.

“The red one’s mine,” a man shouts from the ditch.

“And the white one’s ours,” a woman says as she places her hand on my shoulder. “We’re all accounted for.”

“So everyone’s alright?”

“It seems like it. Everyone’s fine.” She looks up to the sky. “Thank you,” she whispers. Her eyes fall on the bloody t-shirt in my hands. “You, on the other hand, what happened?”

“It’s nothing.” She lifts her brow. I further explain, “I’m a painter and the ladder blew out from under me. I had to hold onto the roof.”

“My, brave girl.” She motions to the people still in the ditch. “You were the first up checking for injuries and here you are the injured one.” She turns to her car and kicks in the passenger side window. “Luckily for you, I’m always prepared.” She crawls down on the pavement and reaches into the glove box, pulling out a first aid kit. “Now, how about we get you out of the middle of the highway and fixed up?”

We return to the ditch where Justin still sits frozen, hands behind his head with his eyes closed. Maybe he actually is injured? My heart races as I rush to his side. I put my hand on his shoulder, “Are you okay?”

He reaches up and grabs my hand. Not letting go, he rises. He touches his forehead to the top of my head before pulling me into his bare chest. My heart leaps into my throat.

“Lucy,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry.”

Justin’s chest is warm and I feel safe in his arms. I want to stand with him like that forever. But I can’t. Justin is not mine to have. Only this morning he made that perfectly clear. I feel his heart thud. Millions of butterflies take flight. And that’s when I know I have to push away. I have to protect myself from this certain heartbreak.

I put my hand against his chest. I push back lightly as I step away, putting an appropriate distance between us. He steps back too but takes my injured hands in his.

The woman from the white car flashes her first aid kit to Justin. Justin nods, directing us toward his truck, holding both my hands along the way. The woman climbs in behind me, sitting in my spot while Justin goes around to the driver’s side while I perch on the center console. She unravels Justin’s t-shirt from my hands. “So,” she looks past me to Justin, “how’d this happen?”

“I told you,” I interject, “the roof.”

She smiles at me and pats the back of my hand. “I know dear. I just want to hear his side of the story. I’m interested in knowing how you ended up hanging off a roof’s edge.”

Justin takes a deep breath. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing since the moment I saw her dangling.”

“I see.” She unwraps my hands. “So, her ladder fell, you stopped painting and got stuck in a tornado?”

“That’s the basics of it,” I answer for Justin.

Justin shakes his head. “No. You’re forgetting why you were up there in the first place. I wanted to finish the house before taking cover. I put you at risk.”

“No,” I shook my head at the woman. “He didn’t. He was listening to the radio and the storm came on suddenly. He had no way of knowing the wind would knock down my ladder.”

Justin throws his hands back, pulling at his hair and shaking his head. “And then you know what happened? I was so worried about getting her down that I forgot to hold the base of the ladder that was used to get her from the roof.” He hits the steering wheel. “Of course it would blow to the ground!” The woman’s eyes grow wide and she starts looking at my whole body for injuries. “No, she’s fine. Someone caught her.” Justin explains.

The woman lifts up my hands, “You call this fine?”

“Of course not.” He places his hand on my shoulder as he leans over me, almost whispering to the woman. “And then,” Justin starts laughing in a crazy way, “I totally forgot her. I was so worried about getting everyone and all of our supplies to safety that I forgot her.” My stomach sinks with the words forgot her. Why am I so easy to forget?

Justin continues, “I told people to pack up and head home. Then another ladder hit the ground. I look back and realize she thought she had to drag her eighteen-foot ladder back to the truck on her own.”

“Hmm,” the woman begins. “That would explain these.” She points to the deep cuts on my right palm.

“The ladder slipped when it started to rain. It cut me.” I turn toward Justin. “It’s not your fault that I grabbed my own ladder. I wanted to. I’m always such a burden, a liability,” I add. “After falling in front of everyone, well, I—”

The woman lays her hand on my arm. “You wanted to prove yourself.”

“Something like that. Yes.”

She pulls me into a hug. Her compassion surprises me. I usually avoid stranger hugs but, in that moment, a hug from someone attached to no emotional confusion is exactly what I needed. She releases me before laughing. “I was right. You are a brave girl.”

I laugh back. “Or severely crazy.”

“And apparently easy to underestimate,” she aims her comment at Justin. She opens her first aid kit. “I need to disinfect your wounds and abrasions.” She points to the dirt from the ditch that has managed to finagle its way in. “I’m not going to lie. This is going to burn.” I nod, watching her take out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. “Do you want me to count?”

“No, just do it.” I look away, waiting to feel the cool liquid burn my skin.

“See,” she says to Justin, “brave girl.”

I flinch as the cool moisture hits my skin. I cringe and close my eyes as the burning penetrates the cuts. The burning intensifies as the air bites at my palms. I suck in my lower lip. Justin’s hand squeezes my shoulder. I want to shake it away. This needs to stop. My heart aches.

A dry cloth pats my skin and the burning subsides. “There,” the woman says. She places a piece of gauze over each palm and bandages my fingers before wrapping each hand with an ace bandage. “This is a little bulky but it will do for now.” She smiles down at me, “You’ll need to stop in at the doctor to get some ointment and better bandaging. You may need stitches on the long cuts.” Sirens blare next to the truck as a police car pulls up. “I need to go report my wreck,” she says as she opens the door.

“Thank you,” I offer.

“No problem. I gladly serve the brave my dear.” She smiles at me. “And you,” she looks at Justin, “be more aware. She deserves it.”

“Of course,” Justin jumps out of the driver’s side and back into the rain, where he helps the woman out of the truck. I wave goodbye as I slide down onto the passenger seat. I examine my bandages. They look like very ugly oven mitts.

I greet Justin with a clumsy wave as he climbs back in.

“Lucy,” he begins.

I put my hand up for him to stop. I can’t let him tell me how he feels. I don’t need more of a reason to like him or dislike him, depending on the direction he takes. I rush through his apology for him. “I know. You’re sorry. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” I wave my clumsy hands again in his direction and smile. “I’ve got a new set of boxing gloves. I can do it for you.” He doesn’t crack a smile. “For real though. You’re forgiven. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.”

“Remember, today was way better than yesterday.” I roll my eyes dramatically. Justin’s chuckle rewards me.

“Lucy, that’s not saying much. Nothing was worse for you than yesterday.”

“Nope. Not true.”

“Oh?”

“I was worse off the day before, remember? I just didn’t know it yet.” I smile at him, teasing him about our earlier conversation. He doesn’t respond so I try another approach. “So, can I ask you a question?”

“You don’t need to ask permission.”

“Good. Just checking.” I hold up my bandaged hands. “Can I have the day off tomorrow? Doubt I can paint like this.” Wiggling my fingers, I ignore the resulting pain.

Justin turns to me and laughs, “Sure, you can have two days off.”

“For real?”

“Why not?” Justin looks over at me and flashes his mischievous smile. “Joke’s on you though.”

“Why?”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

My parents freak out when I arrive home in bandages. I explain my story, eyeing Justin to leave out all of his guilty details. If I want to keep painting, I have to convince my parents that this was entirely my fault. They buy my story without question. Mom thanks Justin a million times before Dad insists we leave for the doctor. She invites Justin to come with. He declines, explaining he has already made dinner commitments.

But she won’t take no for an answer. “Please stay. You rescued our daughter again. She’s been too much trouble for you, Justin. Come with us to the doctor and we’ll take you out to dinner.”

Justin shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Zwindler, but I can’t. It sounds lovely but I have a dinner date with my girlfriend tonight.”

Jennifer. A perfect gut punch.

I hold my smile steady as my heart deflates.

“Fine.” Mom laughs. “I see you can’t be persuaded.” She looks over at me and back at Justin. “You need to find Lucy a guy like you. After what that Zach boy did to her, she needs someone great.”

“Mom,” I interject. She holds out her hand to silence me.

“No, Lucy. Let me speak.” She turns back to Justin. “Good guys usually have good friends. Match her up, will you? After what she’s been through, she could use a good date.” Mom giggles as she leads Justin to the door. “Think about it. We welcome anyone you bring through this door.”

“Mom. You aren’t arranging a marriage. Let him leave.” I stand up, forcing a smile in Justin’s direction. “Have a nice date with Jennifer tonight,” I add, proving to him that I am satisfied with our friendship.

He waves goodbye before closing the door behind him. A large part of me protests at his absence. But that part can wait. My blood churns and I swing around, glaring at Mom. “Was that really necessary?” I snap.

“What, honey?”

“You know what. Here I am your bleeding, injured daughter, sitting in your living room. And, what do you do? Try to get me a date!” I stand up abruptly, crossing the room toward the stairway.

“Be careful,” Dad urges from the couch.

“No! Shouldn’t she have the decency to know what is appropriate?” I turn back to Mom. “Are you determined to humiliate me every chance you get?”

Mom steps in front of me, blocking my exit. “Lucy, be reasonable. I was only opening a door—”

“To what, Mom? Another humiliating saga of my life? Give me a break! I was cheated on yesterday. Trust me, that wound is fresh enough without you pouring alcohol in it.” I push past her and walk up the stairs. “If you don’t care about me enough to notice those wounds, then I can’t expect you to really care about these.” I wave my clunky bandaged hands.

We glare at one another. My labored breathing is the only sound in the room. I refuse to move my eyes from hers. I'm not backing down. Dad moves toward Mom and grabs her hand. She shakes it away before storming out of the room, slamming the kitchen door behind her.

“Lucy, you need to see a doctor,” Dad insists.

“Not with her.”

Dad shakes his head, always refusing to choose sides. He pulls his keys and wallet from his pocket, holding them out to me. “Then go on your own. But at least go.”

“Fine.” I snatch the keys out of his hands. I glare back at the kitchen door. “Why, Dad? Why did she have to do that?”

“She cares about you,” he offers.

“Well, she has a wicked way of showing it.” I walk past him. He snatches my arm pulling me around to face him.

“Listen. I know you don’t get along with your mother right now but you don’t have to go out of your way to intentionally hurt her. We didn’t raise you that way.”

“Sure, Dad. Whatever. I’ll stop intentionally hurting her when she stops doing the same to me.”

“You know she isn’t being intentional.” He takes a deep breath, “Your mother’s off the mark sometimes, you know?”

“Right. That’s the nice way to put it, Dad. She’s a lunatic. I’ve never known her another way.” A gasp comes from behind the kitchen door. I don’t care.

I try to wiggle my arm loose from Dad’s grip. He tightens it. “Get out of here, Lucy. And don’t come back until your head is on straight. Try having a real conversation with your mother and I sometime. Without the snark.” He shakes his head, disappointed. “I’m serious. Don’t walk back in this house without compassion for your family. You aren’t welcome here if you can’t learn forgiveness and understanding.”

“But Dad, you know she’s being completely unreasonable. I mean … who does that?”

“That may be true. But let’s discuss it. Not yell at one another. We’re always open to a real conversation about our relationship with you.” He nods toward my hands, “Good luck at the doctor. I hope you’ll join us later.”

He flips off the light and swings open the kitchen door to find Mom. I stand alone in the dark with his car keys and wallet resting on my bandaged hands. I fumble with the door handle, holding back more tears. It seems like I'm always crying lately. At least it's an improvement over barfing.

I turn the ignition in Dad’s car and peal out of the driveway. Why does Mom have to be so cruel? Does she really think a good boyfriend will solve everything? Just magically fix the betrayal I felt the day before? And pleading to Justin to get me a date. It's as if she was created to ruin me.

I can’t handle her anymore.

A few cars sit scattered in the urgent care parking lot. I blot the wetness from under my eyes. I guess it doesn’t really matter what I look like anymore. When I enter the building, a nurse glances up from her desk, drops her pen and rushes to my side.

I knew I looked horrendous.

She directs me into a back room where I wait for the doctor. She probably misinterprets my crazed appearance as shock from my injury. The fluorescent lights hum above me and hurt my eyes. I swing my legs back and forth with my eyes closed.

This day needs to end.

The doctor examines my hand, remarking how beautifully the wounds have already been cleaned. He suggests stitches on the two deep cuts, leaving the decision up to me. He tells me I am going to scar either way, so I might want the scars to align.

After my day, the thought of someone sewing my flesh together doesn’t seem so bad. I shrug, handing him my palm as I grimace into my shoulder. He quickly sews me up before sending a nurse in to finish bandaging my palms. I leave urgent care with flexible and less glove-like bandages. I drive aimlessly, not yet ready to go home per Dad’s standards or my own.

Why does Mom always have to be so awkward? Why can’t she understand that she is socially inappropriate? I have tried approaching her calmly, with concern. I have tried ignoring her. I have tried yelling at her. She never gets it.

I pull the car into an empty parking lot. How can Dad expect me to find compassion for her? She doesn’t seem to have any for me. I lean my head against the steering wheel, remembering her hand on my leg the night before, my packed lunch in the fridge, and her look of worry as I walked through the door this evening.

I relent. I don’t have enough energy to rationalize against the truth any longer. Mom does care. I just chose to ignore it.

My new troll appearance stares back at me from the rearview mirror. Why can’t I just be nice to her? Why do her unintentional moments of humiliation outweigh her kind gestures? Why can’t she just sit down and talk to me? Or, even better, listen?

But why didn’t I know how to sit down and do the same?

I groan, hating my conscience. This isn’t my fault.

And, that’s when it dawns upon me. Just as our issues aren’t exclusively my fault, they aren’t hers either. We are both responsible for what we’ve become. I will try harder. I’ll start small, showing her compassion in the ways she showed me. I rub my cheeks as my eyes grow heavier. I can do that. I turn the key in the ignition. That will have to be enough for Dad. I’m not ready for a group share, but I can start being better.

***

I maintain a low profile at home that weekend. I sleep a lot between loads of laundry and trying to do small things for Mom. I organize the gardening magazines on her desk, walk Eric down the street to his friend’s house, and vacuum the stairs. I doubt Mom really understands what I am trying to do but it does seem to keep her out of my hair.

While I am folding laundry, our home phone rings. I usually ignore it but recognize Justin’s number on the caller ID. The white receiver is thick and foreign in my hand and the curled cord is so restraining. I won't be able to pace as we speak. I take a deep breath before answering.

“Hello?” My voice weakens at the end. Crap. I sound nervous. I sit down on the blue wingback chair, hoping it will help give my voice stability.

“Lucy, why didn’t you call me back?” Justin’s voice, even in frustration, makes my heart pound.

I speak slowly, containing the rush of energy through my system. “Sorry. I didn’t know you called.”

“Was your cell broken?”

I’d purposely left my phone in my purse all weekend. That small—well, now large—part of me wanted Justin to call. I couldn’t have my phone taunting me. I didn’t want to be that girl hovering over her phone, waiting for a boy to call. I'm pathetic enough already.

“Nope, I just haven’t checked it. What’s up?” My legs itch. How do people talk without pacing? “Can you drive yourself to work tomorrow? I’ve got some errands I want you to run.” His words sting. I thought he was calling to check on me.

“Sure,” I say lightly.

“Great. I’ll text you all the info you’ll need for the morning.”

“Okay, sounds good.” I force the rhythm of my voice to sound upbeat.

“Alright. See you tomorrow afternoon.”

The phone clicks before I can say goodbye. I keep the receiver up to my ear, softly hitting it against my temple to the dial tone. I’m completely helpless to this stupid heartache. There is nothing I can do. I can’t flirt or dress my way into his attention. I wouldn’t even try. Justin has a wonderful relationship. I'm not like Marissa. I would never try to screw that up. I just need a distraction so I can move on.

I wander up to my room to check my phone. I have missed two calls from Justin and two texts. One’s from Matt.

Matt: Sorry about Zach. You’re better off. Please still come to my party, next Friday. Don’t forget, you promised me during pool at the restaurant!

I read the message but don’t respond. Crap. I did say I’d go. I’ll have to cancel. There’s no way I can handle being anywhere with Marissa and Zach making out.

I scroll to the next text.

Justin: At Rivervalley Library, please pick up books that I have on reserve. They are expecting you. Then stop at Target and pick up home design magazines and a notebook. I’ll pay you back. See you 9ish.

I fumble through my desk for a pen and post-it to make a clearer list. The bottom drawer is jammed. With a pen, I slide out the offender. My essay on Pride and Prejudice falls to the floor. The red C- seems larger than before.

C-. That sucks. I curl up on my window seat and scan the essay. The format is perfect but the content is absolutely laughable. It's obvious I haven’t read the book. A C- was generous. I can’t believe I wasted Mr. Taden’s time with this. On the last page, I discover a short note scribbled in red pen. “Lucy, you try to sell yourself short but your potential shows through. Please re-do before the last day of school.”

My gut sinks. I’d never taken the time to look past the grade.

I pull Pride and Prejudice off the above bookshelf. Boring Victorian figures sit ghostly together on the cover. The binding has never been creased. I ruffle the pages, smelling them. I used to be able to pick a good book by its smell. This book smells old and flowery. It's worth the read.

I believe I’ve found my distraction.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The morning drive to work is an eternity without Justin bothering me. I double park him as punishment. The guys are on their breakfast break when I arrive, but I won’t allow my eyes to linger to pick Justin out from the group. But his dark hair and neck muscles are pretty hard not to notice. I give a quick wave in everyone’s general direction before fumbling with my keys. Crap. No pockets. I pull down the visor, pinning them to the garage door remote.

“You do know Luke likes to steal cars, right?” Alex teases, reaching in through the window and grabbing the keys off the visor. He slips them into his pocket before he opens my door. “I heard about your hands. That sucks, huh?” I step out of the car.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 517