Yours Always (4 page)

With her arm laced through Ben’s, Lizzy storms the table with gusto.  “Sorry about that.  I’m still in such shock that the Benz here is your friend!”

“Who’d a thunk?” Fletcher replies in what I immediately pick up on as sarcasm, but Lizzy remains clueless.  Ben shoots him a warning glance.  None the wiser, Lizzy continues to ramble about their childhood until the waitress comes by to take our order.  She takes a breath long enough to order a sweet tea, and the rambling immediately commences.  Ben listens to each of her words intently, but Fletcher and I were over the conversation the moment it started.  

At first, Fletcher’s gestures were simple and barely noticeable, but as soon as I realized what he was doing, I join in.  Before long, we are secretly trying to outdo one another.  He very casually starts out with a yawn/stretch combo, and as soon as he’s sure they aren’t looking, he gestures as though he’s hanging himself with an imaginary rope.  I cover my mouth to conceal my smile then slowly roll my hand to the side of my head to make a gun gesture with my fingers.  Before I can “pull the trigger,” Lizzy turns to ask me a question.  Smiling, I quickly redirect my finger to my ear and pretend to scratch an itch. Fletcher quickly looks away to hide his grin from the clueless two.

“Am I missing something?” Lizzy asks looking between me and Fletcher.

“I don’t think so.  Savannah, is Lizzy missing something?”

“Lizzy, my love, the only thing you’re missing is a mute button,” I toss out, and Fletcher nearly hits the floor from laughter.

Lizzy squints at me while smirking playfully, and slowly, her lips erupt into a full, lopsided smile.  “So, I’m talking too much? Okay, you asked for it.  I’m zipping it the rest of the night.  All future conversation is on you, and you alone.  Good luck with that,” she asserts while pantomiming zipping and buttoning her mouth shut before haughtily crossing her arms over her chest.

“What’s that mean?” Ben asks, looking confused.

“It means that she knows that I’m not much of a conversationalist, and instead of picking on my dear sweet friend for her incessant chatting, I should thank her for jumping in and taking some of the pressure off me,” I answer.  Lizzy smugly raises an eyebrow while a smirk crosses her lips.

“I have an idea,” Fletcher offers.  All eyes are now on him.  “It’s obvious that Lizzy and Ben have a lot of catching up to do, so why don’t you guys do that?  Savannah, if you’re okay with it, why don’t we get our own table and let these two do their thing?”

Lizzy’s eyes light up.  “Actually, I’m not really in the mood for pizza.”  I shoot her a nasty look because I know what’s coming.

“I was just thinking that, too,” Ben volunteers.  “I’m more of a steak kinda guy.  What about you, Lizzy Lou?  In the mood for a steak?”

“Why yes I am!”  she giggles while abruptly standing.  “Savannah, if you need a ride home, just call and I’ll swing by to pick you up.  Unless…” she flashes a pearly white smile in Fletcher’s direction.

“I have the bike outside.  I don’t mind bringing you home,” Fletcher says, catching the tail end of the non-verbal, gesture-laden scolding I’m giving to Lizzy for abandoning me with a man who is practically a stranger.  “Unless you’re uncomfortable with me bringing you home.”

Lizzy replies, “If it’s an issue, I’ll just ride with Ben and leave my car for you, Savannah.”

“Uh, no.  I’d rather take my chances with Fletcher,” I retort.

“Chances?”  Fletcher says with a laugh.

Lizzy’s hands are on her hips. “There is nothing wrong with my car, Savannah Rose Mason.”

“Your car is wearing mascara, lipstick, and a hair bow, Elizabeth Jordan Cole.”

“No way!  I’ve got to see this!” Ben exclaims, dashing to the parking lot.

“Wait for me!” Fletcher says, tossing a twenty onto the table to cover the drinks we’d ordered.  I’m right behind them, and everyone is laughing and cackling once we get outside.  Well, everyone but Lizzy.

“My car is cute!” she defensively calls after us.  “Don’t pick on her!  You’ll hurt her feelings.”

The guys stop mid-stride when they spot the bug.  All is quiet for a few beats before one of the men lets out a loud belly laugh.  He is quickly joined by the other, and before long, peals of laughter resonate throughout the parking lot.

“I thought you were joking,” Fletcher directs to me.

“Nope.”

“She’s a beaut,” Ben offers.  “Don’t expect me to go riding around town in her, though.”

“No one asked you to,” Lizzy says with a pout.  “She’s my baby, and I love her no matter what you meanies have to say about it!”

“It’s a great car, Lizzy.  I’m sorry I laughed, but I really thought that Savannah was exaggerating.  It caught me off guard, that’s all.  I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” Fletcher remarks.

“Yeah, me too,” Ben affirms once he stops laughing.

“Me, three,” I say, pulling Lizzy close with a one-armed hug.

“What?” Fletcher says, looking in Ben’s direction.  “I think that’s a great idea!”  Ben gives him a confused look.  “Ben just whispered to me that he’s going to let you drive to the steak restaurant as a way of saying he’s sorry.”

“Wha…” Ben barely has time to stammer before Lizzy excitedly bounces up and down.

“Yay!  Beetle power!  Get in!” she squeals after unlocking the doors and climbing into the driver’s seat.  Ben shoots Fletcher a seething glare as he climbs into the passenger seat of the seafoam green automobile.  Fletcher pulls out his phone and steadily snaps picture after picture as the duo drives away.  His laughter is heavy as he reviews them, and I join in when he holds the screen so I can see them, too.

“This is some serious blackmail material!” Fletcher says before tucking his phone back into his pocket.  Our laughter fades, and it’s just the two of us in the dark parking lot near the pizza house.  “Should we go back inside?” Fletcher asks.

I shake my head.  “I’m not really in the mood for pizza anymore. You said you have the bike, right?  Can we go for a ride?”

“Of course,” he says, leading me to the far end of the lot.  There it is, and it’s exactly as Dad left it.  My emotions threaten to mutiny, but my brain overrides them.  With all that I’ve had to overcome in my life, I’ve gotten really good at swallowing down my emotions and keeping a perfect poker face—at least until it was time to meet Fletcher this evening.  I still don’t know what that was all about!  Stuttering, stammering, and talking gibberish: those are Lizzy traits, not Savannah traits.  Regardless, I’ve regained my composure, and no matter how sexy, good-looking, or amazing this man may be, I’m in complete control of my actions and emotions.

He offers me a helmet.  “Where to?  Do you have any suggestions?”

“Not really,” I answer while fastening the chin strap.

“I have an idea,” he says as he straddles the bike.

“Care to share?” I ask, taking the seat behind him.

“Nah, I’ll let it be a surprise,” he says, revving the engine.  He kicks it into gear, and we’re off on our adventure. 

“What in the world?” I ask, removing my helmet.  While doing a slow one-eighty degree turn in the parking lot, flashing lights, roaring rides, screaming kids, and sinfully delectable aromas bombard my senses.  Suddenly, my mind is screaming for funnel cake, and my gurgling stomach seconds the demand.  “A carnival?  Why are we here?”

“Would you rather go somewhere else?”

“I was six years old the last time I went to one of these things. It doesn’t really look as though they’ve changed all that much.”

“Six?  Wow, why so long?”

I shake my head.  “Too long of a story.  Do you think they still sell funnel cakes at these things?”

“I have it on high authority that they do.  Come on,” he says.  Taking my hand in his, he begins to lead the way to the concession area.  Uncomfortable with what I consider an unwanted act intimacy, my body stiffens, and he feels it.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have…”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “Don’t apologize, Fletcher.  I should probably tell you a little more about me, and I guess now is as good a time as any.”  He remains quiet as his eyes search mine for a hint of what’s to come.  “There are some things about me, things that happened in the course of my life, that make me different from other people.  I only have one friend, and I like it that way.  My last remaining relative is knocking on death’s door, and I’m not really all that freaked out about it.  Don’t get me wrong, my grandfather is one of the most spectacular men to grace the earth, but I know that once he’s gone my life will continue.  I don’t need to be touched, to be held, or to be fawned over.  I’m very self-sufficient, and if I find myself in a mess, I find my way out of it.  I trust very few people, I work hard, and I’m telling you this mostly so you’ll fully comprehend how absolutely uncharacteristic it was for me to accept your invitation to meet, much less for me to be here with you right now.  A lot of people mistake my forwardness and lack of social interaction for bitchiness.  I’m not a bitch, I don’t think I’m better than anyone, and I certainly don’t have a stick up my butt.  I’m just a loner, always have been, and probably always will be.  Anyway, I thought you should know.”

“What made you say yes?”

“Excuse me?”

“If everything is as you want it, why did you say yes to me when I asked to meet you in person?”

“I’ve repeatedly asked myself that very question.”

He smiles.  “I know why you said yes.”

“Oh, really?  Care to enlighten me, wise one?”

“You say you’re okay with your life, but you aren’t.  Your cynicism is a defense mechanism, and I know this because you and I are very much alike.  I’ve been hurt more times than I care to acknowledge, so I’m not even going to go there, but I learned something over the years: the journey through life isn’t meant to be a solo trip.”

“Who says?” I counter.

“Everyone.”

“Everyone?  Really?  Everyone told you that?”

Fletcher lets out a laugh. “Yep.”

I smirk while shaking my head. “You’re such a nerd.  Come help me find a funnel cake.”  I feel a little foolish for overreacting to his hand holding by assuming it was an act of intimacy.  The man was simply guiding me toward the concession stand, and I freaked.  To rectify the situation, and by rectify I mean to save face, I take his hand in mine and practically drag him towards the action.  Fletcher doesn’t say anything as he takes large strides to keep up with my fleeting pace.  Once we arrive at the brightly lit food trailer, I look over and catch him snickering.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, taking my place in line.

“I bet you were the bossy kid growing up, weren’t you?” he quips.

I ball up my fist and hold it in his line of vision. “Yep, and I was the kid who went around giving fat lips, too.”

“I absolutely believe that,” Fletcher remarks.

I plant the same fist steadfastly on my hip.  “Really?” I ask, incredulously.

Fletcher feigns fright.  “Oh, no!  Are you going to hit me right here in front of all these people?”  One of the women in line turns to give me a nasty glare.

“No, I’m going to save that for our second date,” I retort.

“Ah, so you’ve committed to a second date with me.”

“I did no such thing.  That was a joke reply.”

“Joke reply. 
Pffft.
  If ever there were a Freudian slip that was surely it.  You want to date me.  Admit it.”

“I’ll do no such thing, and if you don’t cut it out, our first date is as good as over.”

He squints his eyes at me.  “I call idle threat on that one.  You’re having far too good of a time to leave.”

“I don’t make idle threats, and the jury’s still out on the good time.  I’m here because of a sweets craving.”

“Which you got because of….”

“You.  I’ll give you that one,” I hold up my index finger, “but that’s it.”

Fletcher chuckles.  “Victory never tasted so good.”

I’m next in line, but before I can order, I’m stopped by a cacophony of pre-pubescent giggles.  “Uncle Fletcher, you came!” a young girl with dark curly hair and sky blue eyes exclaims as she throws herself into his arms.  The trio of preteens with her say in unison, “Hi, Uncle Fletcher,” before shamelessly resuming the giggle fest.

“Of course I couldn’t miss your carnival night fundraiser, Molls.  Have you been having fun?” he asks, placing her on the ground.

“Lots!  I dunked mean old Principal Collins with my first pitch!”

“Atta girl!  See, Uncle Fletcher’s pitching practice pays off.”

“I wish you’d teach me how to pitch,” one of the trio requests.  Two more requests and another round of giggles follow.

“Is she with you,” the dark headed girl asks loudly enough for me to overhear.  Fletcher nods, and before he can speak, she’s thrust her hand toward me.  “Hi!  I’m Molly.  Did you know that my uncle is a hero?  He’s even got the medals to prove it.”

“That’s enough, Molly.  She’s not interested in all of that,” Fletcher says, suddenly red with embarrassment.

I arch a brow.  “Hero, huh?”

Fletcher vehemently shakes his head.  “Far from it.  Veteran, yes.  Hero, no.”

“Molly!  What did I tell you about wandering…  Oh, Fletcher.  I didn’t expect to see you here.”  A woman who looks like she’d just finished sucking a bag of lemons approaches.  It’s a shame that she wore such a deep scowl; otherwise, she’d be a beautiful woman.   Her hair is golden brown and falls to her shoulder blades, while her eyes are the same shade as Molly’s.  Though she has pale skin, it’s becoming on her, not wan looking. 

“Julia.”   Fletcher’s greeting matches her icy tone.  “Molly asked me to come, so here I am.”

Julia shoots daggers in Molly’s direction, but once she realizes that Fletcher isn’t alone, she thaws a touch.  “I’m Julia Halsey, Fletcher’s sister.  And you are?”

“Savannah Mason.  It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Julia dryly replies.

Fletcher pulls a couple of twenty dollar bills from his pocket and passes them to Molly.  “Here, share some of this with your friends.  Go have some fun.”  Before a word can be uttered the group is gone.

Julia sighs heavily.  “I was trying to get her to leave.  Now she’ll be on the rides for at least another hour.”

“Would you mind getting those funnel cakes for us, Savannah?” Fletcher asks, passing me a bill before he shoves the wad back into his pocket.

“No, not at all,” I answer, overjoyed to have an excuse to get away from the palpable tension.

Though they aren’t loud, I can tell from their body language that the conversation isn’t lightening up any since my departure.  They’re still at it once I have the funnel cakes in hand, so I make my way to one of the picnic tables and slowly begin picking at the pastry.  It’s even better tasting than I remembered, and I allow myself to get lost in the sweet memory that accompanies it.

“Daddy, can I have funnel cake every day?” I ask.  Powdered sugar dusts the entire front of my lemon yellow sun dress.

“You could, but you’d have no teeth before long.  Look at all of that sugar.  I think you got more on you than in you.”  He playfully tugs at one of my pig tails.

“I already lost four of them,” I say, smiling broadly to show the newly vacated spaces.

“I know.  Don’t remind me.  You’re growing up way too fast.  I’ll blink, and the next thing I know, you’ll be graduating.”

I giggle heartily.  “No way, Daddy.  I’m going to be your little girl forever.”

He stoops down to my level.  “You won’t always be little, but you’ll always be my girl.”  He tweaks the tip of my nose and wraps me into his overly large arms as he showers me with kisses.  “Sugar kisses!”  I burst into peals of laughter.  His last kiss lands on my forehead.  “I know I’m gone a lot, but you know I love you right?”

“Yep!” my tiny voice squeaks out.

“How much do I love you?” he asks.

My eyes roll around as I recite the poem he made up for me. “You love me more than crawfish stew.  You love me more than the roogarou.  You love me more than a mosquitoless night.  You’ll love me forever with all your might.”

“That’s my girl!  What do you want to ride now?” he asks, tossing the empty paper plate into a nearby garbage can.

“The Ferris wheel!” I shout.

“Oh, really?  That looks awfully high to me.  You sure you want to ride that?”

“Yes!  Yes!  I want to ride it, Daddy!”

He chuckles.  “Alright, we’ll ride the Ferris wheel.”  A car stops in front of us, and the attendant helps us into our seat.  The wheel jerks mightily as it moves to load the next rider and my stomach begins to do nervous flips.  By the time the attendant loads four more carts, my heart is pounding.

“Daddy, I don’t want to ride anymore.  I’m scared.” I dig my face into his side.

“What are you scared of, sweetheart?”

“It’s so high.  What if we fall?”

“Daddy will never let you fall.”

“You let me fall when you were teaching me to ride my bike and when you taught me to skate.”  He gently rubs my arm.

“True, but those times were different.  Daddy will only let you fall if it’s to teach you a valuable lesson.  There’s a big difference between letting you get a scuffed knee so you’ll be able to ride with your friends and letting you splat off a Ferris wheel, right?”

“Daddy!  That’s gross!” I say with a giggle.

“You’ve got nothing to be scared of.  Daddy’s got you.  Look, I think I see our house from up here, but I’m not sure.  Look out that way the next time we come around, and you tell me what you think.”

I became so busy searching for our house that I forgot to be scared.  Dad taught me to divert my attention when I became afraid, and that technique still gets me through many tough times.

“Hey, you okay?” Fletcher asks, taking a seat on the bench across from me.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I answer, shaking off the last few remnants of the memory I’d recently been lost in.

“I’m sorry for the way my sister acted.  She’s a bitter old hag sometimes.  I usually just ignore her when I can.”

“You don’t have to apologize for her.  It’s fine.”

“Eh, still…”  He lets his sentence dangle as he bites into his funnel cake.  “You looked like you were in deep thought.  What’s running through your mind?”

“Oh, not much.  Just remembering my last visit to a carnival is all.”

“From when you were six?”

“Yeah.  My dad brought me.”

“Did you have fun?”

I give a slight smile.  “I did.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to him?”

“He died,” I icily reply.

“Yeah, I know that, but…  never mind.  Do you know that you have powdered sugar here?” He pantomimes rubbing his entire chest, and I look down with horror.  Sure enough, I’m completely dusted.  A white cloud poofs around me as I brush the sugary mess from the front of my shirt.

“Well, that’s embarrassing,” I mumble under my breath.

“It’s cute,” Fletcher counters.  I give him an eye roll.

“Any on my face?” I ask.

“Just a little,” he answers, gently brushing my nose, both cheeks, and my chin with his fingertips.

“Oh, my gosh!  Really!  Evidently, I eat like a pig.”

Fletcher laughs.  “Stop being so negative.  Do you want to go on a ride?  Play some games?  What’s your pleasure?”

I give it a little thought before answering.  Rides sound fun, but all the ones I’m seeing intimidate me.  “Games.”  Without another word, we venture towards the Ping-Pong ball toss.  I’m relieved to see little trinkets nestled away safely in water-tight baggies instead of the bloated, semi-alive goldfish that are generally regarded as the grand prize in this activity.

“Awww, no fish?” Fletcher asks.

“Too many parents complained, so no fish,” a gravelly voiced septuagenarian with a vapor cigarette tucked behind her ear rasps in explanation.  “Got plenty of other crap for you to win, though.”

A young female with not a hair out of place softly chastises the cantankerous woman with a very simple, “Mrs. Velma, remember our talk?”