“Thanks,” I say as he hands me the keys. “Are you sure I can’t do anything to repay you for this?”
“Actually, there might be something. They don’t need me for anything else today, so I’m going to skip out early. I could use a ride home.”
I nod. “Sure.”
We drive to his house mostly in silence. Before he gets out of the car, I hug him tightly. He holds on for a very long time. If he didn’t have to leave, part of me believes he wasn’t planning to let me go. The other part of me disregards that thought, and I head home to spend the rest of the evening in my room crying it all away.
Chapter Twenty
Saturday, July 7th
The next day, I decide to walk to Lyndsay’s instead of drive because I need the exercise. I have been spending most of the summer driving places. When I walk up the driveway, I can see her peek out the window blowing on her fingernails. Her hair is slicked back into a high ponytail. Dropping my bag, I stand with my hands on my hips and yell up, “Hey! I thought we were going to paint our nails together.”
“Chill your britches, dear! We are! This is just a base coat, not color.” She waves her hands up and down. “Come on up. I have everything set up. You won’t believe how many hundreds of shades of pink I have.”
“Do I have to use pink?”
“The sooner I get rid of the pink, the better.”
“Why do I have to suffer with it?”
“Just pick up your stuff and get up here!”
She wasn’t kidding about having everything set up. She has a bunch of pillows and blankets all over her bed. There's also her old mini plastic picnic table set up in the middle of the room with all the nail polishes. Fifty percent of them are pink, from hot pink to light pink; the remaining half consist of a wide variety of purple, red, and glitters. She also has a stack of movies sitting next to the table.
She sees me eyeing the pile. “I wasn’t sure what kind of mood you would be in, so I picked out several childhood movies, some comedies, and some chick flicks. We could marathon a genre, or mix and match.” She sits down at the table.
Setting down my bag and sitting down across from her, I realize how lucky I am to have her in my life. There was so much wasted time before, and now I have these moments to experience. The simple pleasures. I smile at her, saying, “You’re the bestest friend in the whole wide world, you know that?”
“Yes, I do.” She picks up one of the medium pinks, then hands over the clear to me. “Now, bestest friend in the whole wide world, it’s time to paint some nails.”
Our marathon of movies consists of childhood classics: My Girl, Now and Then, and, yes, The Lion King. During “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?” she suddenly begins to belt out the lyrics in a high-pitched voice and we both end up on the floor rolling around in laughter.
It takes my mind off yesterday, but only momentarily. What I said to John plays like a bad song over and over again.
Unfortunately, my mind cannot be stopped like a song can.
Chapter Twenty-one
Sunday, July 8th
As I walk down the road to go home in the afternoon, I start to wish I had driven, with the heaviness of my bag weighing me down. I try to convince myself that walking was a good idea but I can’t find a solid argument for it. The sound of a car slowing down next to me catches my attention. I don’t think much of it, imagining it might be someone wanting to ask for directions. When I look, I am met with a surprise.
It’s Chevy.
“Hey,” he says. “Need a lift?”
I tap a finger to my mouth and say, “Sure, why not?”
He stops and opens the door across the console for me. “Let me get that,” he says, taking my bag from me and putting it in the backseat. After I buckle up, he starts to drive again.
“So what are you doing out driving today?”
“I was on my way over to your house.”
“You were?”
He nods. “I have something to tell you.”
“You do?”
He chuckles. “Are you going to question everything I say?”
“I don’t know, am I?” I say with a grin.
“Apparently.” He pulls into my driveway and puts the car into park. He clears his throat and turns to me. “My dad is getting help.”
My jaw drops and I stare at him in disbelief. That was the last thing I was expecting to hear him say. “He is? Wait, how…when…what happened?”
“He came home late Friday night. We thought he had gone out to drink again. Turns out, he got in touch with an old acquaintance of his who went to Alcoholics Anonymous. This guy convinced him to come along to the meeting with him that night. So he did. He has been sober since Friday night. And he wants to stay sober.” Chevy’s eyes begin to water.
It takes a lot of willpower to keep from bursting into tears myself. I can’t believe it. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it. “Oh Chevy, this is wonderful news. Just wonderful.” More wonderful than he can even imagine.
“I know. I still can’t believe it.”
“What changed his mind?”
He shakes his head. “He didn’t say.”
Part of me wonders if he didn’t want to admit he got a verbal lashing from an eighteen-year-old girl. If John won’t tell Chevy, I am going to respect those wishes. I turn to the house, and then back to him. “Want to come in? I can get you something to drink.”
He reaches back for my bag. “Actually, I am kind of thirsty.”
We walk into the house and I take my bag from Chevy and place it on the stairs. My mom walks down the hallway. “Did you have fun, sweetie?” She sees Chevy next to me. “Oh, hi,” she says, half surprised.
“You remember Chevy, right, Mom?” I ask.
“Of course, you’re Noreen’s son.”
“I am,” he says.
“Chevy was driving by when I was walking home and offered me a lift,” I explain.
She warmly smiles at him. “Well, that was very nice of you to do that.”
Chevy smiles. “My pleasure.”
My mom stares at me with raised eyebrows, hoping for an explanation. I don’t have boys over at the house, unless it is along with other friends. I only dated a couple of boys briefly in my freshman and sophomore years, and dating consisted of hand-holding, note passing, eating lunch together, and sneaking a few kisses. My mom knew about these boys but she never formally met them. I have a feeling she can sense something. Better change the subject before it's brought up.
“So, I was just going to get him something to drink before he leaves,” I say as I tug at his arm, leading him to the kitchen and away from my mom. I manage to stifle a laugh as I pour him a glass of water. I can feel her eyes through the walls. I lean back against the counter and ask, “What’s next for your dad then?”
“We’re working on getting all the alcohol out of the house for starters. He'll be going to the meetings every week and will get a sponsor. Other than that, we’ll just have to make sure he is staying on track. He wants us to keep him in line anyway.”
“You think you and your mom can handle it?”
He shrugs. “I hope so. Seymour's going to stay here for the rest of the summer before going back to college.”
“Oh, he is?”
He nods. “He was able to get the time off from his summer job for it.”
“That’s good then. Your father has a lot of support.”
“Yeah, he does,” he says, looking me in the eye.