Pretend You Love Me (30 page)

“Actually,” Mrs. Redman winced, “your bid was so low we didn’t think you were serious.”

“What?” My heart sank. “I was. I mean, I am. Serious. I could do this job for a lot less than Applewood. I’d do a good job.
Our work is guaranteed.”

“That’s what Mom said. She’s the one who suggested I call you. She has this friend in Coalton…” She studied me for a moment,
then her eyes glazed over.

What? She knew about me? About Dad? So what? What did my history have to do with my plumbing skills? Wait a minute. If she
knew about me, she’d give me the job out of pity. No, that wasn’t it. It was something else—

Oh, I got it. “Your husband didn’t think I could do the job, is that it? Because I’m a girl?”

Mrs. Redman met my eyes. “No, that
isn’t
it. I’m the one who didn’t think you could do the job.”

I about fell off the steps. “Why?”

She scanned me up and down. “Look at you. You’re, what? Sixteen?”

“Eighteen,” I lied.

“Eighteen. Even so, I understand you don’t have any employees. It’s just you. You’re not even licensed in the state. I checked.
Are you still in high school?”

“Yes, but the year’s almost over. I don’t need employees. They jack up the cost. If I need help I’ll ask my brother—” I choked.
That was stupid. He’d never help me. It’s not his gig. “I’d have worked full-time for you,” I told her. “Day and night if
you needed.”

She let out a weary-sounding breath and peered off toward the barn. “I hired a more established, reliable firm. You can understand
that.”

“Ma’am, Szabo Plumbing and Heating has been in business since 1932. We’re well established. I’m completely reliable. Ask anyone
in Coalton—”

“I don’t have to justify my decision to you,” she snapped. “We went with Applewood.”

I felt myself shrinking. “Yes, ma’am.” I backed off her porch. “Sorry.”

I wouldn’t. Wouldn’t cry. It was one job. So what? I didn’t need it. Who needed it?

I needed it. Because there was no way, no way in hell I was ever going to accept money from people in Coalton. Money was help.
Szabos didn’t need help. I didn’t. Once I started accepting help, it was all over.

“Are you speaking to me?”

“No.”

Jamie plopped down beside me on the lawn in front of the school. “Geneviève’s lemon-bacon bars were a bust. She says the world
isn’t ready for that much moistness. I say the world isn’t ready for their desserts to spark a grease fire. She’s leaving
me the recipe in her will. And honey, I’m leaving it to you.” He dropped a block of aluminum foil in my lap. “Peace offering.”

I’d skipped lunch to grab some sky. I needed space.

“Hi, guys.” Xanadu loped up and knelt down next to Jamie.

He scrambled to his feet. “I just remembered.” He pivoted in place. “Whatever it was I forgot.”

She frowned at his retreating back. “What’s his problem?”

“He has so many.”

She slapped my knee and smiled. Then held on and squeezed. My mood shifted, lifted. I’d been in a black hole ever since yesterday,
losing the Redman job. This sense of self-confidence Dad had inspired in me, this I-can-do-anything-I-put-my-mind-to attitude,
anything I want, was slowly seeping away. What I wanted seemed suddenly out of reach. It was stupid to want that camp. Forget
it.

“What’s that?” Xanadu eyed the foil.

“Lemon bars,” I said. “Grandma Dottie’s secret recipe.”

“Oh yum.” She didn’t ask about the secret, just snatched the package out of my hand. “I am ravenous. Bailey was supposed to
buy me lunch, but he had to stay after class and make up some lame assignment in English—”

“Xana,” his voice carried out from the building.

She raised her eyes over my head and her face lit up like fireworks. If I had a fire extinguisher, I would’ve doused that
flame.

He rushed over. “Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late.”

“Prove it,” Xanadu said.

Bailey arched his eyebrows. He lowered his voice. “I will. Tonight.”

She pushed to her feet. “We’ll talk later, Mike.” She touched my shoulder, then leaned down to my ear. “I still haven’t told
him. I’m such a coward. You need to give me courage.”

Try liquid courage, I thought. It’s stronger and it lasts longer.

She absconded with my lemon bars.

It didn’t matter. She could have everything of mine. Everything, if once, just once, she’d look at me with the same burning
desire she had for Bailey.

“Hello, Mike. Mind if I join you?”

I shielded my eyes against the noonday sun. What was this, Grand Central? “Pull up a chair,” I said to Mrs. Stargell.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Her joints creaked as she descended to the lawn. She sat, extended her legs out in front, and smoothed
her flowered dress over her bony knees. “Would you like half my sandwich?” she asked. “It’s liverwurst.”

Liverwurst wasn’t my favorite. At the moment, though, tree bark would taste good. “Thanks.”

She peeled back the Saran Wrap and handed me a wedge. “Dr. Kinneson and I were talking about you during my planning period
today.” Mrs. Stargell took a bite.

Why didn’t everyone just shut up about me? I suspected I wasn’t Dr. Kinneson’s favorite person these days. But she’d dredged
up everything. She was interfering in my life.

“I’d like to tell you a story,” Miz S said.

My stomach chose that moment to grumble.

“Eat.” She pointed to my sandwich.

I chomped into the middle. Soft white bread. Mustard. For liverwurst, it wasn’t bad.

“When I was in college, my senior year, I had an opportunity to go to England for three weeks on a study tour.” Miz S took
a bite of sandwich and chewed. She wiped the crumbs from her lips. “A group of select students were chosen for their particular
interest in British history and art and literature. I was one of the chosen few. Along with the tour, we’d read great works
of the masters and visit museums and attend concerts. We’d travel the countryside to see the birthplaces of Lord Tennyson
and Byron and even the Bard himself. It was the chance of a lifetime.” She paused for another bite. “And I didn’t go.”

I widened my eyes at her.

She lowered her sandwich to her lap, staring off into the distance, looking lost. Like she forgot she was telling the story
to me.

I said, “Didn’t you have the money?”

“What?” She blinked fast and returned from wherever she’d gone. “Oh no. It wasn’t that.” She raised her sandwich to her mouth,
then lowered it again. “My folks would’ve mortgaged the farm to have me go. But I was in love.”

My chin hit the ground, I’m sure. Miz S in love? I couldn’t picture it.

She sighed dreamily. “I’d met Terrence. My future husband. The first one.”

First one? Whoa. This was getting interesting.

“Terrence and I were hot and heavy. Ooh, baby. We were all over each other like gravy on grits.”

I choked.

She looked at me and laughed.

“Sorry,” I said. I shoved the rest of my sandwich into my mouth to plug it.

“We were a real item in Leoti. That’s where I grew up. I was loathe to leave Terrence. He, of course, didn’t encourage me
to go. Three weeks apart? Lordie, we’d die of separation anxiety. Long story short, I forfeited the opportunity. I’ll tell
you, Mike, to this day, I regret that decision. What I missed—traveling overseas, expanding my world, living my dream—it went
up in smoke. Poof.” She popped apart her fingers, and crumbs flew. “What I’m trying to say is, you should take advantage of
this opportunity you have to attend softball camp. Right now. Today. You may not get another chance to pursue your dream.
I didn’t.” She forced a smile, kind of wistful.

Her words swirled around in my head. My opportunity. My dream.

Right, Dad. My dream died. Again. Because of you. I should have left it dead and buried.

“Whatever happened to Terrence?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Your first husband.”

“Oh. Him.” She cocked a limp wrist. “He flew the coop. As did the second, and third.”

Third?

Unexpectedly, Miz S looped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. She smelled of chalk and liverwurst and rose water,
and I had the strongest urge to wrap my arms around her and hold on tight. Like I would a mom. The one I never had. But my
arms wouldn’t respond to my heart.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret, Mike,” she said, rocking me gently. “Some decisions you can never take back.”

Hear that, Dad? You made your choice. You can never take it back.

I decided to skip Coalton Days. Xanadu was right. It was Toto. A hicktown hoedown. Who needed it? Besides, I’d gotten up at
the crack of dawn every day this week to work on the fountain. It was a bigger job than anticipated. Not only did the pump
need to be replaced, the pipe to the water main had to be chiseled out from under fifty years of tree roots, then new pipe
cut, laid, reconnected. I couldn’t do it after school because of my
real
job. My paying job, which paid shit. And the hundred dollars I’d quoted Mayor Ledbetter didn’t cover the replacement cost
of the PVC. Thanks, Dad. You could’ve taught me how to bid on jobs before you bought it.

“What do you mean you’re not going to Coalton Days?” Jamie had a hissy fit on the phone. “You have to go. It’s tradition.
I already signed us up for the sack race.”

“Ask Beau to hop in the sack with you.” From the back of the house, I heard the toilet flush and Ma crack the floorboards
in the hallway.

Jamie whined, “Please? It’s no fun without you. Anyway, I have to talk to you. I need to show you something I can’t show to
anyone else.”

What could that be? His limp dick?

Jamie added, “What are you doing today that’s so important?”

What
was
I doing? It was Sunday. The Merc was closed. I was banned from the VFW. It wasn’t like I had a hot date. The TV blared to
life in the living room and I pictured myself holing up here all day with Bloody Mary. Or Derelict Darryl. “For a little while,”
I told Jamie. “But only so we can retain the world title.”

“Praise Ra,” he said. “I thought I’d have to give up the trophy. It’s holding my condom collection, you know.”

T
he year Dad died Coalton Days had been canceled. Not only because of him; it’d rained that entire week. The sidewalk sales
were washed out and the park had become a mucky swamp. Nobody felt much like celebrating anyway. Today the weather was warm
and balmy, a perfect spring day.

The stores along Main were all closed. Even Hank’s Hardware and Tiny’s Salon. I hoped I wouldn’t run into Xanadu and Bailey.
Bailey and Xanadu. Ever since he got her that ring, they’d been like French horndogs. Not Xanadu. Bailey. He couldn’t keep
his paws off her.

The Old Farts band was tuning up in the gazebo. They weren’t too bad, except all they knew were polkas. The gazebo was decked
out in bunting, the traditional red, white, and blue.

“There you are.” Jamie rushed out from behind the bake sale table. He called over his shoulder, “I’m taking a break now, Geneviève.”
Dottie fluttered fingers at him. She was busy collecting money for a box of Grandma Dottie’s that Dr. Kinneson and her husband
were buying.

Dr. Kinneson spotted me and waved. I waved back. She didn’t act too mad at me. I hadn’t changed my mind. Dreams were for other
people. People who could afford them. People who had a farm to mortgage for their kids.

Our last softball game of the season was tomorrow after school. Maybe afterwards she’d get off my case. I’d have to figure
out a way to give the money back. All of it.

Jamie was standing in front of me, gawking.

“What?”

“You, making a fashion statement.” He snaked a hand down my chest.

I’d decided to wear Dad’s suspenders. I don’t know why. Patriotism? Tradition? “What did you need to show me?” I asked Jamie.

“Patience, my dear. All will be revealed.”

I exhaled indifference.

Jamie headed for the picnic area, but I pulled him up short. Too many people. I steered him in the direction of the fountain
instead.

It was working great, better than it ever had. Shooting ten-foot cones of recycled water over the bronze statue of John Coalton,
our town founder. Darryl had done a research paper on John Coalton for his senior project or something. He’d dug through
Gazette
archives and talked to old-timers. He unearthed the fact that our founder had been run out of Oklahoma for bilking old people
out of their life savings in a land fraud scheme. That history lesson dropped a few chassis in town. We didn’t celebrate John
Coalton anymore. The statue remained though. He was our legacy, like it or not.