His voice sweeps hope all through me. Then I remember that doctor. “He told me I have to disclose my condition to any—what did he call them? Oh, yeah, potential partners.”
Derek plays with my hand, lets me rant.
“And they should all be screened. Like I’m shacking up with half the football team. Good thing this isn’t about sex. If you ever decide to stop respecting me, you’ll need to get your cheek swabbed first.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry. I’m grossing you out now.”
He stands up, comes around to my chair, and pulls me to my feet. He holds me like I’m going to break. “When it’s right, Beth.” His voice is husky. “You and me. I’m your guy. I don’t care what that idiot doctor says.”
“You love me that much?” I press my face against his cheek.
“Of course. Any decent guy would.” He pauses. “Scott does, too.”
“Why do you keep bringing him up?”
“If you and I don’t make it,” he strokes my hair, “I like knowing there’s a good guy there who knows the real Beth—the Beth I love—who will love you better than I can.”
“How can we not make it?”
“I hope we can, but—”
“Whatever it is, Derek. You can beat it. I know you can. For me. I love you. Do it for me.”
His hand drops away from my hair. He lets go of me.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and press my face against his neck. “Tell me, Derek. I need to know. Where were you this summer?”
“I was at the cottage.”
“No, you weren’t. I’m not stupid.”
He kisses my hair. “I was at the cottage.”
“Please, Derek. Let me help.”
“You want to help?”
I nod.
“Then don’t ask me any more questions. And kiss me again.”
He gets his way—like the Phantom in my dream.
He always gets his way.
chapter 21
PLAN B
Derek parks his bike behind a teacher’s minivan, so we can say good-bye without an audience. Especially Scott. We don’t want to be in his face.
I walk through the hall, keep my eyes down. Scott’s leaning up against his locker with his arms crossed, glaring at me.
“What the hell, Beth. He spent the night?”
“In the den. My mom was there. And what business is it of yours what I do with my boyfriend?”
Scott gets in my face. “What are you going to tell our daughters when they want to sleep around? Go ahead—as long as he’s good-looking. I’m not having that.”
“What are you talking about?”
He realizes what he said. “I mean your daughters.”
My daughters? The sons? They’ll die in utero. All those miscarriages Aunt Linda had—they will be my children. The doctor said if an afflicted baby survived, it’d be severely handicapped—would spend its life dying. The other children will be carriers like me. Like my cousin. Like my dad.
Scott’s bracing for me to scream at him, but I don’t. I slump against my locker and touch his wrist. “You’ve got it all planned out, don’t you?” Scott comes from a big family. “Oh, Scottie, you still want to play house.”
He was so sweet when we were in preschool. He always wanted to feed the dolls. The stroller rides he gave would have made any real baby puke its guts up, but even that was sweet.
“That’s kind of impossible now.”
He looks away from me. “Because of Derek.”
“No. It has nothing to do with him.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” The pain of seeing me all over Derek leaks out with his words and splashes around us in tiny bitter drops.
I look away from his face. “I should have told you sooner. I’ve been busy running away from you. Resisting you isn’t easy.”
“Then stop.”
“That’s what he said.” I make myself face Scott. “Derek told me to dump him and go out with you.”
“He’s not as dumb as he looks.” Scott recrosses his arms.
I take a deep breath. “This summer—”
“Doesn’t he want to play house?”
I shrug. “I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who plays house.”
“But you are—Beth—you’re a house-playing girl.”
I nod. “But I can’t play house.”
“Sure you can.” He relaxes his arms. One drifts toward me. “We’ll get married and play house as much as we want.” He cradles my elbow, gently strokes my arm.
“It won’t work with me.”
“Of course, it will.” He takes hold of my other arm, too. “When Derek self-destructs, you’ll come to your senses and come back to me.” He leans in and whispers, “Just don’t sleep with him, okay? I was ready to run him down with my pickup when I saw him dropping you off this morning.”
I swallow hard. “Like I’d tell you.”
“You don’t think I’d figure it out? You’re a crap liar. You told me just now that you didn’t.”
I push away from him. “Our relationship isn’t about sex.”
“Good—because ours will be.”
I put my hand on his chest. “Shut up and stop sidetracking me. This is important.”
“I’m sorry.” He takes both my hands in his and squeezes them.
I let him. I even squeeze back. “I probably can’t have babies.” My head drops.
He touches his forehead to my drooping head. “Who told you this?”
“A doctor and a genetic test.”
“When?”
“I got my cheek swabbed right before the tour.”
He starts, pulls back. “That was the bad news?” His voice sharpens. “You never said a word to me about this and you told a perfect stranger?”
“Post-prom things were all weird with you.” I flush. That was all my fault. “And he wasn’t a stranger. We have a connection you wouldn’t understand.”
“Right.” Scott lets go of my hands. “Him all over you. Making a play when you’re falling apart.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“You are so naive.” He turns back to his locker and starts slapping his books around.
“This isn’t about him.” I grab his arm and jerk him back. “It’s about you. I can’t be that girl in your daydreams rocking the baby while you play catch with our son. That’s what you want. Find someone who can give you that.”
He takes me by the shoulders, squeezes really hard. “Is that what you think of me? That I care about some stupid fantasy more than I care about you? The dream can change, Bethie. As long as you’re in it—that’s all that matters.”
“I’m sorry, Scottie.” My eyes sting. “I really am. I’m not in it.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Find somebody cute and sweet who adores you.”
“Don’t make me retch.”
I sniff. “Please, Scottie, stop torturing yourself. Stop torturing me.”
“No way.” His face gets hard. “I’m here, Bethie. Every day. Loving you. Wanting you. I’m not going to run off into a hole and lick my wounds. I’m going to bleed in front of you. I’m not going to fake it with somebody else. I’m going to be right here in your face—until the day I die.”
“You following me to college?”
“Yep.”
“What if Derek and I decide to get married? Will you walk me down the aisle?”
“You won’t marry him. He won’t last. I will. You’re going to marry me.”
I pry his hands off me. “Your crystal ball needs a tune-up.”
He stands in the hall, his face full of pain. “I love you, too.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me, Bethie. You do.”
“I’m sorry, Scottie. If I make you bleed, I’m so sorry. I can’t help it. I love him. I’ll love him forever.”
Scott won’t talk to me the rest of the day. Every time I see him, I want to hold his hand and tell him it will be okay, but it won’t. I can’t.
Thursday he’s the same, but at least I’ve got choir to look forward to. I play Derek’s CD all the way down to Ann Arbor. Terri plans to tell us her ideas for this season. I used to always love the first practice when she introduces new music. The challenge of sight-reading the parts and making sure all my altos get it right. But Bliss can’t hack the really challenging stuff.