We finish the living room and dining room in record time, stopping only to shuffle stacks of boxes out of the way. I'm thinking that she has a lot of stuff, but then I remember she's had years to collect it. Everything I own fits into my fourteen-by-twelve-foot bedroom.
Once she tells me she's happy with where we've put the furniture, she says, “Let's take a break. Do you like cappuccino?”
“Sure.” I'd have drunk cat pee if she'd offered it. “I saw a coffee shop on my way here.”
She laughs. “I have a machine in the kitchen, silly.”
I feel my face get red but follow her into the kitchen. The machine sits on the counter, and I watch her every move as she makes the coffee.
“Sit,” she says, and I grab a chair at a small round table in the corner. “I worked at Starbucks in college,” she says. “I can do this with my eyes closed.”
The coffee smells great and tastes even better. I tell her so.
“You don't have to call me Ms. Settles when we're off campus,” she says. “I'm Lori.”
This makes me feel special. “I promise not to forget when we're on school property,” I say.
“You better not, or I'll give you a detention.”
Her eyes sparkle and I know she's teasing. It's hard to look away, but I do. “I don't have to be anywhere else, so I can work all day.”
“Really?” She sets her cup down and her hand brushes mine. It feels like an electric shock shooting through me. We both jerk away. She laughs. “Static electricity.”
Maybe so. But my heart's pounding like a drum and every nerve in my body is jangling. I jump up from the table. “What's next?”
She looks at me levelly. “Why, my bedroom, of course.”
Honey
I'm bummed out because Ryan's a no-show. On the third Saturday of every month, I take my brother to the library for story hour. It gets Cory out of the house and gives him exposure to the real world, and it gives Mom a break. Ryan rarely misses meeting us there. We've done this together for years. He can handle Cory if he gets unruly, plus Cory likes both Ryan and story hour. When I talked to Ryan at school on Friday, he said he'd be at the library, but he isn't.
After I settle Cory in the reading room with the other kids, I call Ryan's cell. No answer. I leave a message, hoping I don't sound whiny or hurt or mad, which I am—all of the above. Next I call his home and his dad answers.
“I dropped him off at some coffee shop to meet with some kids from his science class about ten this morning.”
I know this is totally bogus. Ryan would have told me about any science project. “Um—oh yes, I forgot about that.” I hate myself for covering for him, but I do it anyway.
“You tried his cell?”
“He didn't answer.”
“I'll tell him you called.”
We hang up and I slide into a blue funk. Where is he? Why has he blown off me and Cory? Even though he'll never see me as anything more than a gal-pal, I see him as the world's most perfect male specimen. It's the dark hair and blue eyes and thousand-watt smile. It's his wit and charm and sense of humor. It's him. Totally him that lights my fire.
I call Jessica. “Want to hit a movie this afternoon?”
“Hey, you sound down. What's the prob?”
The girl must have radar. “Just stuck at the library for Miss Ethel's Story Hour. The woman's dressed up like Mother Goose. Gag me.”
“Isn't Ryan with you?”
“Not today.”
“And that explains why Honey's unhappy. Did he bail?”
No use protesting the obvious with Jess. “He didn't come. He didn't call.”
“You've got to get over him, girlfriend.”
“Why? Maybe I'm addicted to pain and frustration.”
“Then you should be medicated.”
That makes me laugh. “Can we go to a movie or not?”
“We can go. Call me when you get home from story hour.”
I feel better after talking to Jess, and punch off. I hear loud voices coming from the reading room and I run toward them. Inside, Cory is having a tantrum, kicking and screaming on the floor. I rush over and lift him, get behind him and lock my arms and legs around him. He struggles, but he can't move. I know he hates being pinned in place, but I don't have a choice. He can't be reasoned with when he gets this way. “Call our mother,” I say to a librarian.
Kids have scattered like ants and are in little huddles, watching Cory wide-eyed. I get angry at Ryan all over again. He should have been here to help. He said he would be, but he isn't. So where is he?
The pure sweetness of him makes me feel warm inside. The adoring glances he threw my way all afternoon. Not like the lecherous stares of grown men. I hate the way they look at me, as if they want to tear my clothes off. The jerks. Not like the young ones, who long to touch but don't.
I look at my hand, at the place where our fingers touched and sparks flew. I smile. How tender and dear that moment. The heart-pounding part came when I took him into my bedroom. He looked scared, then curious, as he crossed the threshold.
I said, “I'm thinking the bed should go on this wall. That way when I wake up in the morning, I can look straight out that window at the tops of the trees and the sky behind them. Good idea?”
“Y-yes. Good plan.”
His voice is hesitant, as if a woman has never asked his opinion on anything. Together we struggle with the queen-size mattress, standing it on end to better move the bedframe. When the frame is in place, we tug the mattress onto it. For a moment, I think about letting him help me make the bed, but decide it's too soon. We move the dresser next, then my jewelry box, a large piece of furniture made of dark wood.
“I really hate to put my computer desk in here,” I say. “Bedrooms shouldn't be used for work, but I really don't know where else to put my computer— you know, the lesson planning and bill paying.”
He puckers his brow and I can tell he's really thinking through my dilemma. “Maybe you can figure a way to hide it. Like a screen or something.”
“Why, Ryan, that's brilliant! How clever of you.”
My words make him blush. I love seeing his skin turn pink and his eyes shine. The boy is starved for approval. I wonder about his parents, his mother especially. In time I'll get him to tell me about his family. Not today.
I look around the room. “I guess that's about it. I shouldn't keep you any longer.”
“It's no problem.”
“Oh, go have fun. It's Saturday.” I smile, walk out my bedroom door. He has no choice except to follow.
In the living room, I pick up my purse. “Let me pay you.”
“That's all right. You don't need—”
“Of course I do. I promised.” I extract two twen ties from my wallet and hand them over.
“That's too much.”
