Model Behavior Page 4

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m taking you at your word, son. And that’s not something I do lightly. You’re operating a vehicle with her in it—I want you sober. Do we have an understanding? Okay. Have fun. Don’t stay out too late. Kel, you’ve got your phone and some emergency money?”

  “I do. Thanks Dad. Bye guys.” I grabbed Drew before my father thought of anything else mortifying he felt he should add in the line of fatherly duty. “Sorry about that,” I said when I was sure we couldn’t be overheard.

  “It’s fine, Kel. I get it,” he shrugged, our flip-flops clacking in time against the pavers leading to the water. “Is everyone in your family ginormous? Because I suddenly feel short.”

  “Kind of. It’s a McCoy thing.”

  “Yeah?” Drew suddenly stopped, catching me by the arm, halting our progress.

  I turned in surprise. He simply said “Hi.” And he slowly grinned, taking me in. I’d known Drew for less than three weeks and already I found myself cataloguing his smiles. Engaging, encouraging, encompassing and flirty—all of them intimate in their own way, every single one of them had found a way into my heart.

  “Hi.” I was suddenly feeling a little shy under the warmth of his stare.

  “I’m glad you could come.”

  “Me too.”

  “Tell me about your day?” And just like that our long legs fell back into their easy rhythm again.

  “It was mostly a lot of holding very awkward positions for long periods of time and then being told to act natural. Which apparently means ‘happy’ but I think they eventually had to settle for ‘intensely focused without looking constipated or like a serial killer.’ And I’m not even sure I managed that.”

  “Did you stick your tongue out like you sometimes do when you’re changing chords?” Drew playfully bumped me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Hey everyone, this is Kel,” Drew said as we reached the dock. “The guy behind the wheel there is Matt. That’s Travon, Mandy, Striker, and that’s Chris.”

  “Hi,” I said as Drew released the mooring line and we stepped into the boat with everyone watching. For the record, I didn’t trip or fall. “Thanks for stopping by to pick me up.”

  “No problem,” Matt shouted back over his shoulder, an orange Longhorn ball cap pulled down over the top of his overgrown, sun-bleached, sandy-colored hair as he reversed out and headed for deeper water. “You ready to ski?”

  My body was still aching from my day with Rachel, but there was no way I was going to wimp out in front of Drew and his friends. “Okay. Sure.” I quickly shed my shirt and shorts, grateful I’d braided my hair and put on waterproof mascara when I got out of the shower earlier as I fastened the buckles of the life vest Drew gave me.

  Travon was holding up my options. “What’ll it be, little girl: board or skis?” He was built like a tank and about my height, his hair was cut so short there was no visible curl, and he had a deep, rumbly voice with a sweet southern accent.

  “Skis, please. I’m still kind of new at this.”

  Matt idled while I jumped into the water and got my feet in the skis. After a few wipe outs trying to negotiate the wake I finally managed to stay up. The sun felt glorious on my shoulders and there was very little wind—it was a perfect day for skiing. Chris took my place in the water with the wakeboard when I was done. Drew wrapped my towel around my shoulders and scooted to open a spot for me next to him.

  “Thanks.” I blotted the worst bits dry and sat down. There wasn’t a lot of room on the bench. With the exception of Mandy, Drew’s friends were all broad shouldered and bulky. I was practically sitting on his lap. “Sorry, I think I’m squishing you.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He threw his arm around the back of my shoulders to open up a little more space and pulled my long legs over his. “There. Better?”

  Not if anyone expected me to be coherent.

  “My man Drew says you’re from Chicago,” Striker said and in his mouth Chicago sounded like a bad word. He had wavy brown hair and very hairy legs that were splayed out in front of him. Mandy, a petite blonde who obviously didn’t get in the water today—her hair and make-up were still perfect—must be his girlfriend. They were pretty free with the PDA.

  “I am.” I was squeezing the excess water out of my braid and feeling a little self-conscious. “We just moved here the end of June. How do you all know each other?”

  “Football, mostly,” Travon said. And suddenly all the muscle mass made sense. “Except for him.” He indicated Striker with a nod in his direction and a roll of his eyes. “He’s too big a wuss.”

  “Just protecting my asset.” Striker patted his right arm lovingly.

  Travon snorted. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

  “That or ‘Full-Ride,’ take your pick.”

  “Yo, Chris is down,” Drew shouted to Matt, who began to circle back.

  “Drew says he’s teaching y’all how to play the guitar.” Travon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “He any good?”

  Our close proximity was making me brave and possibly a little flirty. “I don’t know Drew, are you? I hear you’re only as good as your students.”

  He grinned and winked at me. “Then I’m a natural.”

  Striker stopped sticking his tongue down Mandy’s throat for a moment. “Hey, we going to eat anytime soon? I’m starving.”

  Travon sighed, shaking his head as he hopped up in a swift, graceful movement that belied his heft and leaned over the back of the boat to shout at Chris. “Y’all done? Bring it back in then. Princess here is hungry.”

  Chris nodded and pulled out of the boots, swimming for the boat with the board in tow.

  “You okay to hang a little longer?” Drew asked, his voice soft in my ear. His thumb occasionally trailed across my knee, sending shivers up my spine even though it was still blazing hot out.

  “I can stay.”

  We dropped the boat off at Matt’s and piled back into his family’s suburban to find some pizza. At some point, while we were waiting for Chris—who was the skinniest guy in the group but absolutely pounding it down, slice after slice—to finish eating, Drew threaded his fingers through mine under the table. We were holding hands and grinning goofily at each other while everyone else was bemoaning the fact that there was only a month of summer vacation left.

  “So what school will you go to, Kel?” Mandy asked.

  Because I was a little bit giddy with what Drew’s dreamy blue eyes were telegraphing it took a moment to realize everyone was waiting for me to respond.

  “Won’t be MacArthur, I’ll tell you that much.” Travon flicked his discarded straw wrapper into an open pizza box lid. “Her zip code’s too steep.”

  I blushed. “I’m at Barton.”

  I’d gone to private schools since kindergarten—Dad didn’t think there was any reason to change that my senior year. But the table had suddenly grown very quiet.

  Striker whistled, darting a quick glance at Drew. “And you call me Princess.”

  “You are,” Travon glowered.

  “I don’t think we have a football team though. I’m hoping I can come cheer yours on,” I said, wanting to change the subject. “When’s your first game?”

  “First Friday back,” Matt jumped in, saving me. “You should come, Kel. We’re pretty good. And by that I mean we look pretty good.”

  “Or if you’re Jarrod, you just look pretty.” Striker made a face.

  “Football envy,” Drew coughed.

  “Why would I want to play football? You guys suck.”

  “Yeah? I don’t remember the last time the baseball team made it past playoffs. Anyone want that last piece?” Chris asked, reaching for it.

  At the end of the night, Drew drove me home in an ancient black Ram truck he called Betty. “Thanks for coming, Kel,” he said as he placed Betty in park next to Uncle Bryce’s truck. I could hear Dad still hammering at the house. Th
e glow from the series of portable lights he’d set up so he could work at night was visible from the car. Charlie left him and was already bounding out to meet us. “I think my friends might like you better than they like me.”

  “Really? I’m pretty sure Striker hates me.”

  “He hates everyone.”

  Good point. “You want to come in for a bit?”

  “Yeah? Okay.”

  “Hey Charlie,” I scooped him up and dusted him off—he had a fine layer of sawdust on his fur. “You’ve got to stop hanging out with Dad, buddy. This is Drew. Say hello.”

  Drew scratched Charlie behind the ears in his sweet spot, earning him an automatic lifetime of love and devotion, which Charlie immediately started to dispense by enthusiastically washing Drew’s entire hand with his quick, pink tongue. “Sorry about the slobber.” I opened the motorhome door and started to step inside before stopping cold, causing Drew to bump right into me. “Promise you’ll close your eyes for a second?”

  “Seriously? What if I trip?”

  “I won’t let you.” I put Charlie down and turned to face him. “Give me your hands.”

  He did. I took them in mine. “And I’m doing this because?”

  “What? Do you have trust issues? Because I tore out of here earlier. And I have under—er, embarrassing articles of clothing thrown around. No peeking.”

  He laughed. “I’m not.”

  “One more step up. Okay, I’ve got you. Turning you around. Sit here. There’s a chair just behind you.” I let go of his hands once I was sure he’d backed up enough to feel it hitting the back of his legs. “Eyes still closed?”

  “Still closed.”

  I dashed around tidying. It didn’t take long. One of the great things, possibly the ONLY great thing about living in a small space was you were forced to live virtually clutter free. “Okay.”

  “Okay, it’s safe to open my eyes?”

  “Yes. Open away.”

  Drew blinked up at me and grinned. “Hi. Again.”

  “Hi.”

  He got to his feet and looked around. “So this is Home Temporary Home?”

  “Cozy, right?” I opened the fridge and surveyed our options, even though I’d just done the shopping. “I’m sorry we don’t have any soda. Would you like some lemonade? Juice? Ice water?”

  “Water’s fine, thanks. Are the glasses in here?” He took two down out of the cupboard. “Hey, looks like your mom’s home.”

  I froze.

  Strangely, I kept pouring. Even though it felt like all the air had left my lungs and there was a dangerous buzz growing weirdly in my brain, I continued to pour. Steady. I slowly looked up, through the window over the sink. It was Aunt Shae. She was painstakingly picking her way through uneven ground in high heel sandals from the construction site to Uncle Bryce’s truck.

  “That’s not my mom.” It came out so quiet I wasn’t even sure I said it out loud. Just rip the Band-Aid off, Grace. “My mother. She…she was…killed. She was killed in a car accident…in January. She was hit by a drunk driver. She’s dead.”

  “Oh, Kel. I’m so sorry.”

  I could see in his stricken face that he was. He was mentally putting together my dad out there alone in the dark, driving himself to assemble a house that was more about consuming long, empty, evening hours than a need to actually live in it, and desperately wishing he could rewind back to moments ago when everything was light and breezy and unsaid. But it wasn’t Drew’s fault. I handed him his glass, suddenly exhausted. “Me too.”

  He put the glass down on the counter and took me in his arms. For the longest time we just stood there, as if clinging to each other could ward off everything bad in this world. At some point he started humming a song I didn’t recognize and rubbing soothing circles along my back. That was when the tears began to fall in earnest. And Drew just held onto me as tightly as he knew how.

  “Mom would say I’m milking this. ‘Enough already with the damsel in distress, Grace,’” I sniffed with a watery laugh, lifting my head off his very solid and reassuring, now very moist chest to swipe at my eyes. “I really miss her, Drew. Sometimes so much it hurts to breathe.” Clearing my throat I disentangled myself from him, mopping up my face and blowing my nose with several tissues. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. I must be really tired. It’s been a long day. Aren’t you glad you took me up on my invitation to come in?”

  “I am, actually.” He rubbed his thumb tenderly along my jawline, his eyes taking in every inch of my face. I was pretty sure I was a horrible, blotchy mess but I held his gaze. “But I should go. You look like you’re ready to drop. You going to be okay?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.” Well, not really fine. But good enough. Sometimes good enough was all you got for a while. It was a placeholder, not a final destination. “Thank you, Drew.”

  He kissed my forehead. “Get some rest, Kel.”

  I didn’t brush my teeth or wash my face or take my contacts out. I didn’t change out of my clothes or get under the covers. I laid down on my bed and was fast asleep before Drew even backed out of the drive.

  3

  “We’re walking the wire, love”

  Imagine Dragons

  “How are you feeling, Rob?” I asked, his post-surgery care instructions that Dad just went over with Rob’s mother printed out, along with a little brochure I made that had a few humorous dos and don’ts, in my hand.

  Rob was grinning goofily and drooling slightly after just having his wisdom teeth extracted. He wasn’t feeling any pain. “You’re pretty.”

  “You know, I get that a lot from guys who are on drugs, but thank you.” I handed the printed materials to Rob’s mother. “Let me get the door for you.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” Rob slurred. “I’d kiss you but your lips are WAY too far away.” He was cackling as his mother dragged him out.

  “Kel, your cell phone is buzzing,” Maggie, Dad’s office manager said, handing it to me from behind the front desk. In her other hand she had a stack of brightly colored folders—her new filing system, and she was very proud of it.

  “Thanks.” I didn’t recognize the number. “Hello? This is Kel.”

  Have you ever gotten an unexpected call—so unexpected you were suspicious you might be the victim of a prank? You hear them talking but you can’t quite believe what they’re saying. I started taking notes so I could keep everything clear. “May I get back to you shortly with an answer? I work, so I need to make sure I can get Friday off first.”

  Disconcerted, I found my father looking at x-rays in his office. “I just got a call from a friend of Rachel’s—Jake’s Rachel.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to clarify this. He only knew one Rachel that I was aware of and she was all anyone in the family talked about—when they weren’t giving him a hard time about Drew—at dinner yesterday. Maybe it was because it WAS Rachel and that made the rest of this somehow more believable.

  Dad nodded and leaned back in his chair.

  “Her friend Ashley is in charge of putting together a back-to-school fashion show for the mall. One of her models broke her leg over the weekend. Ashley wanted to know if I’d be willing to step in last minute and be her replacement. I guess Rachel recommended me.” I glanced down at my notepad. “There’s a mandatory meeting Friday morning from 9:00 to 1:00 so they can assign everyone their outfits and do a run through before the real thing Saturday afternoon. Crazy, right? What do you think?”

  “About you taking time off or this modeling thing?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “Check with Maggie but I’m pretty sure Cheryl can cover the front for you. Is this something you want to do, Kel?”

  “I guess. I mean, it’s flattering to have been asked. And it sounds like Ashley’s scrambling. Obviously—she’s calling me.”

  “Okay then. Work it out with Cheryl.”

  If you were a McCoy, Sunday was family day. Gran had a big wicker basket sitting on a lace doily on the table of h
er front entry that we all had to drop our cell phones into when we first walked in the door—house rules.

  Because we were the only ones currently living in a trailer and in desperate need of large amounts of air-conditioned space to roam freely around in, Dad, Charlie, and I were usually the first ones there and the last ones to leave. Every Sunday we went to church with Pops and Gran. I helped Gran in the kitchen. And after dinner, after everyone else had gone home, we worked on the sweater I was knitting for Dad, originally for his birthday in September but at the rate I was going he’d be lucky if he got it for Christmas.

  So, besides responding to an early morning text to make sure I was okay, I hadn’t really had a chance to talk to Drew since my emotional meltdown Saturday night.

  “Hey,” Drew’s face lit up when I stepped into Strings with my guitar case in hand for my 5:15 lesson. He dusted off his hands and then wiped them assiduously on his jeans. “Sorry, Jesse wanted this promo display reset. We should clean more.”

  “It looks good.”

  “Yeah? So do you. Come on.” He took my free hand in his and I followed him back to the studio.

  I waited until we were seated across from each other, our guitars tuned and ready to go before launching into the little speech I’d been mentally composing for most of the day. “So, I just wanted to clear the air about Saturday night first, if that’s okay?” I rubbed nervously at the slick surface of my pick. Deep breath, Kel. “Sorry again for the waterworks. You’re just the first person I’ve actually told about my mother’s death. Back in Chicago everyone who knew us already knew. I think my father might’ve told Maggie, his office manager, when he was opening his practice here and she spread the word because the staff kind of tiptoe around conversations that have anything to do with mothers. Or drunk drivers. Or funerals. Anyway. It’s not something we ever really talk about. Like ever. I don’t want you to feel bad, Drew. It had to happen at some point. I’m glad it was with you.”

  “Me too, Kel.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  I tucked a fallen bit of hair back behind my ear and smiled shyly at him as I positioned my fingers for playing. “Did your shirt eventually dry out?”