The Fifth Stage Part 18

"What do you want?"

The thought of living with Lora quickened my pulse. We'd been dodging boys and prying eyes for six monthsnot a perfect way to start a relations.h.i.+p. Since our first night together, we'd managed to make love a few times, but each occasion left us more frustrated. We always ended up focusing on not getting caught instead of each other. What a luxury it would be to have our own s.p.a.ce where we could be ourselves instead of what everyone thought we should be. At that point, I was ready to sell my soul for one night alone with her, and I became light-headed at the prospect of spending every night together.

"I want to live with you, honey, but can we do it? Apartments in Spring City are expensive. I've only been working at the pharmacy since Christmas, and I don't have much saved up."

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"That's what I've been working on." Lora pulled a folded piece of notebook paper from her purse, opened it, and handed it to me. On one side, she'd listed expenses along with an estimate of their monthly costs.

On the other was a list of apartment complexes.

She pointed to the list. "These apartments are all close to campus, some even within walking distance, and they're cheap."

I recognized two or three of the complexes. They weren't exactly in fancy neighborhoods. "We'll have to find new jobs."

"It's a college town. I found all kinds of places that will let students schedule work around cla.s.ses." She grabbed a folded newspaper from under her seat. On the help-wanted section of the Spring City Tribune, she'd circled a dozen ads with red ink.

I stared at her. "You've done your homework. Think we could do it?"

"I know we can. I've been saving all my tips since November. We can use them for deposits on the electricity, phone, and whatever else we need." She glanced in the rearview mirror before leaning her head on my shoulder. "I want to be with you, Claire. I'm tired of having to look around every time I want to touch you, and I'm sick to death of trying to love you in a car."

"Me, too."

The dusty gravel road was empty. Only the budding maples and possibly a low-flying robin could see us. I lifted her chin and pressed my lips to hers. Her kisses always set me free. Sometimes she was soft and gentle, tasting me, caressing me, but other times she was hungry, pulling me into her, setting me on fire with her hot breath and roaming hands.

Either way, I was exactly where I wanted to be and would do anything to stay there.

A cardinal lit on the limb of a nearby spruce and sang, pretty, pretty, pretty. It sat there watching us, red and black nestled in a sea of green. It flew away and dropped a splat of p.o.o.p on the winds.h.i.+eld.

I pointed at the mess. "Hope that's not an omen."

"I hope it is. s.h.i.+t can fly at us, but it can't hit us."

"You sure are optimistic."

Lora gave me that pouting lip routine she always used to get her way. "Tell me, baby. Are we going to try it?" She didn't have to ask she knew she had me.

It wouldn't be easy to convince my parents. They'd argue I couldn't afford it, I needed to save my money, I wouldn't be able to work full time and keep my grades up. They could've been right on all counts, but they couldn't understand my motivation.

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"Let's do it," I said.

Her pout turned into a huge grin, and she glanced in the rearview before lunging over the console toward me. She squeezed me so tight I almost couldn't breathe. "Baby, I love you."

Seeing Lora so thrilled was the best thing I'd ever known. I'd do whatever it took to keep her that way, even if it meant working eight days a week and eating soup from a can for the rest of my life. I'd give her an apartment. One day, I vowed to myself, I'd give her the best mansion money could buy.

CHAPTER 22.

The phone rings. For a minute I don't know where I am or what day it is. Jitterbug sniffs my face. Okay, I'm at home. I glance at the clock 10:30. Oh yeah, now I remember. It's Sunday. Tonya brought m.u.f.fins from Thompson's.

I roll over and punch my friend. "Get that, will you?"

She picks up the phone and answers in a groggy voice. "h.e.l.lo. No, this is Tonya. Sure, she's right here, hang on." She hands me the phone.

I press the receiver to my ear. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Claire, this is Rebecca. Is this a bad time?"

Wonderful! The first time she calls, I'm in bed with another woman. "Uh... no, it's fine," I stammer. "My best friend, Tonya, and I fell asleep watching a movie."

"I see." She pauses and clears her throat, sounding a bit confused.

"I wanted to thank you for last night. I had a great time."

I wipe the sleep from my eyes and look at Tonya, who's giving me a thumbs up. "Me, too. I hope Elizabeth wasn't too pushy. She's decided you and I need to move in together."

"One of these days I'm going to have a long talk with Elizabeth."

Rebecca giggles and lets a couple of seconds tick away. "I would like to see you again."

"Maybe we can get together sometime this week." I glance at Tonya, who's now sticking her tongue out at me.

"I'd love to, but my evening manager had a baby last night, so I'll have to cover for a few days. Maybe by Friday, though."

"We can work something out."

"Will you come by for lunch tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

I hang up and drop the phone on the bed. My stomach is in knots.

On one hand, I want to see Rebecca again. Her smile makes me feel good; her kiss makes me feel better. But on the other hand, I don't want to get carried away. All these conflicting ideas are teetering back and 112 113.

forth, making me more anxious than ever. This whole charade may be more trouble than it's worth.

Tonya rolls toward me and sn.i.g.g.e.rs. "My little Claire is growing up."

"I think your little Claire is going insane." I run my hand through my hair. It feels greasy.

"What do you mean?" She props herself on one elbow and gives me a rare serious look.

"I don't know, I'm just so moody these days. Sometimes I feel great about things, you know, almost like my old self, but sometimes I'm on the verge of suicide."

Tonya purses her lips. "No middle ground?"

"A little."

"How long do your mood swings last?"

I sit up and stare at my friend. Tonya seems concerned, and that bothers me. Fly By Knight doesn't give a horse's patoot about much of anything that doesn't wear fishnet stockings, and if she smells trouble, I might need professional help.

"h.e.l.lo, in there. Anybody home?" she says, tapping my forehead.

"Oh, the mood swings, right? They might last a day or two, but I can be happy as a clam and just start crying."

"Probably a good sign." Tonya falls back on the bed and closes her eyes. Jitterbug hops across me and sniffs her sweats.h.i.+rt.

"A good thing?"

"Think about it. As angry and depressed as you've been, at least you have some up time now. Maybe the depression is easing up. You know, working its way out of your system." She smiles. "I have to admit, you've seemed a little less intense for the past couple of weeks. I think you're getting better."

"Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Knight?" I slap her stomach, and she acts like I've knocked the breath out of her. She rolls onto her side into a fetal position and jabs at my ribs.

I curl up, trying to make a smaller target. "Hey, cut it out!"

Tonya grabs my wrists and wrestles me onto my back. "Don't even try to fight me. I can still take you down." In one deft move, she's straddling my hips and smiling.

"Get off me, you beast!"

"You can't fight destiny, my dear," she croons, doing a horrible Cary Grant impression.

A silent alarm goes off in my head. We can't do this, and there are a thousand good reasons why. I've always told myself that my main 114.

reason for not pursuing a physical relations.h.i.+p with Tonya is because it might ruin our friends.h.i.+p, but there's another reason, a more basic excuse which I've kept to myself. On the outside Tonya is all woman curves and long legs, lipstick and perfume, high heels and little black dresses. But on the inside she's stone butchone of the most extreme cases I've ever seen. No one will ever touch Tonya Knight again, not even me. I respect it, but I don't think I could stand it.

I struggle against her grip and she releases me.

"d.a.m.n, I'm tired." She rolls away, saving us from the conversation that usually follows one of these moments. She pulls the blanket over her shoulders, and I tuck it under her chin.

I brush her hair from her cheek. "Sleep as long as you want. I'll be here when you wake up."

"I know." Tonya closes her eyes and snuggles up to my chest.

Staring at the ceiling, I wonder what will become of me. I'm too old for all this indecision and emotional mayhem. My life wasn't supposed to be this way. Lora should be here, like we planned. Why won't she just come home?

CHAPTER 23.

I never convinced my parents it was better to have an apartment off campus than stay at home or live in the dorm. The debate turned into a contest of wills. Both Mom and Dad had fiery stubborn streaks, but they hadn't counted on me being as ornery as a borrowed mule. We argued for three days.

Dad insisted that it was too dangerous for two girls barely out of high school to live alone. "Lord only knows what goes on in those shabby apartment complexes. There's probably more drugs in just one of them than in all of Franklin."

"Don't kid yourself, Dad," was my snotty reply.

Mom said, "If you live here and commute, I guess we'll have to buy you a new car. That old Datsun won't last much longer, and I know you've had your eye on that blue Mustang down at Keener's."

But her serene expression didn't faze me, and I smarted off again.

"Bribery will get you nowhere." Boy, was I ever a nasty little twerp then.

After the initial battle, we all retreated into silence. Then it was just a matter of who sent up the white flag first. So when Mom came creeping into my room one afternoon, I smelled victory.

She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, looking defeated. "I don't know why this is so important to you, but I guess we have to let you go."

The truce was simple. My parents would pay for my tuition and books as long as I kept a 3.5 grade point average. As for rent, utilities, and food, I was on my own. I was determined to grow up, and they were determined to give me a good dose of it.

Three months later, on a scorching July afternoon, I stood in the middle of a tiny living room, surveying what would be our home for the next four years. Homethe word sent a tingle though me. Lora and I were beginning the long journey of carving our niche, a s.p.a.ce unbound by bricks and mortar, which we would share through good and bad.

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It didn't matter that the tiny kitchen had barely enough room for a small table, or that the gold refrigerator and stove looked like they'd come over on the Mayflower. We didn't care that the shower hadn't had a good scrubbing since before we were born, or that the bedroom carpet was so full of cigarette burns it looked like an old slab of wormy chestnut. We were intoxicated by new freedom and by each other.

Nothing could bring us down.

I'd w.a.n.gled a job working four nights a week in the archive room at Mercy Hospital. It paid just a dime over minimum wage, but I'd settled on a business major, so it seemed a good place to start.

Lora, with her great big grin and unusual good looks, had found a waitress job at Spangler's Steak House. At the time, it was the only place in Spring City where you could get liquor by the drink and a good meal in the same building, so it stayed busy with doctors, lawyers, professionals of all kindsthe types who ordered big and tipped bigger.

I stumbled around a few unopened boxes and wondered how in the world we'd ever get the place cleaned up. The sun was already casting long shadows through our lone living room window and forming a rectangle of amber light against the paneling. We'd stirred up a good bit of dust moving in, and the lingering particles swam through the beam of light like snow in one of those Christmas globes my Aunt Trudy collected. The air smelled like mothb.a.l.l.s and turpentine.

Lora had gone to K-Mart for cleaning supplies and was taking her time getting back, so I was alone, sticky hot, and irritated. Already things weren't going as planned. For months, I'd been dreaming of our first night alone, imagining soft music and candlelight, but it looked like I was going to spend more time with Mr. Clean than with my lover.

For the moment, two empty pillowcases served as curtains. I pulled one away from the window and peeked out. A dozen cars dotted the yellow-lined parking s.p.a.ces. Most of them looked like my poor old Datsunbeat up and in need of a paint job. Across the way, in the window of the first floor apartment closest to the Dumpster, an obese cat sat licking its front paw. I slid up the window and flicked an ant off the sill into the yard below.

As I watched the black speck tumble to the ground, Lora's Pinto lumbered into the parking s.p.a.ce in front of our apartment. She scrambled out of the car and hoisted three brown bags from the back seat. On her way up the sidewalk, she stopped and put down the bags.

She stepped into a deep patch of clover and plucked something from the gra.s.s. Then she retrieved the bags and bounded up the steps.

I opened the door for her. "What took you so long?"

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She set the bags down and held up a four-leaf clover. "Look what I found out front. It's a sign, a good-luck charm."