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Asking the very question I had wanted answered since day one.
“I’m not sure and to be honest with you, I’m starting to think I don’t care.”
That surprised even me.
“You don’t?”
“Nope,” I realized, “It doesn’t matter to me. It’s ours and that’s all that concerns me. I don’t want to have to find an explanation for it. I sort of like that it’s beyond our comprehension, like it’s not meant to be defined.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” she teased.
We ate our food and pushed our plates to the side. We drank about seven Dr. Peppers a piece, just to have an excuse to talk, until Thatcher’s closed. He had to kick us out. We hadn’t even noticed that everyone else had left, probably hours before. I decided to drive Julia to her house down the street because I didn’t feel right having her drive her own car from the school at nine o’clock at night by herself. Her dad would have killed me. Also, I had an ulterior motive, I wanted to be with her as long as possible the next day and I promised to pick her up for school the next morning.
“So, you think you’re going to London for spring break this year? With Mr. Cray’s English class?”
“I hope so.” She smiled. “If I can afford to go. I would die to see Shakespeare’s Globe, or at least the tribute to his Globe.”
“Me too. Such a pity Puritan law was.”
“For apparently hating the subject so much, you seem to know a lot about its history,” she accused.
“Ah, you mistake my knowledge for interest in the history of literature, when in fact, I am truly only interested in history itself.”
“Is that so? I think that you pretend that you are not interested Elliott. I believe you like the subject and are probably superlative at it, just not as much as your sciences.”
I pulled up to her house and put the truck in park.
“What can we do to afford it?” I asked, assuming it was going to be a joint effort.
“Well, let’s see,” said Jules, “I hear they’re looking for nude models at the community college in Charleston. Maybe they’ll throw in a little Fawlty Towers, make a secret keeper out of you yet. How comfortable would you feel getting naked in front of a multitude of strangers and posing with a bowl of fruit?”
“I think I’d do alright actually, but only if they removed the pears. They make my face appear yellow and that would just throw off the whole aesthetics.” I threw a devious smile her direction. “And you miss Jacobs? Would you feel comfortable? Maybe we can invite Sawyer Tuttle. I’m sure he’d be a very willing student.”
She couldn’t say anything, desperately bit at her bottom lip to keep from giving me the smile I was asking for and shaking her head in mock disapproval.
“I mean, if you are comfortable don’t hesitate to tell me,” I continued. “You know?” I put my finger to my chin. “Come to think of it, I’ve been meaning to take up sculpting. I wonder if it’s too late to register.”
“Elliott!” She finally laughed, hitting my arm, briefly igniting our light. “I would never do anything like that, ever!”
“It would be for art Jules. It’s different. But I can see that you’re not that kind of girl,” I teased. “If you’re not into nude art I’ve got something else for you that you may go for.” I leaned in really close to her face, “My Uncle Danny said the county is looking for someone to canvas the major highways for dead animal carcasses. How does getting in my truck with me and perusing for smelly deer sound?”
“That’s disgusting. Is that a real job?”
“Of course it is Jules. What do you think happens to all those animals? We have to prevent diseases you know. Plus, it’s just unsightly.”
We smiled at each other. Then she paused and looked at me strangely.
“Wow Elliott, I must say, I’m a little affected by you.”
“To say the very least, Jules.”
When I got home, my mom was livid but my dad was too interested in what happened at practice that morning to let my mom rant anymore about the no good I was probably up to. I let her know I was at Thatcher’s with some kids from school from the time I had left until just before I got home. I told her she could check with Thatcher. While my dad asked me about my day, my mom checked my story and called Thatcher. If that woman was anything, she was diligent. I tried to keep up with my dad’s questions but couldn’t help but try to eavesdrop on my mom’s conversation with Thatcher.
Thatcher was usually pretty good at keeping the gossip to a minimum. He was a no nonsense kind of guy, but I could tell from my mom’s facial expression that he was spilling the beans and I was trying to come up with the answers to the questions that were about to barrel my way.
My mom finally clicked the phone quietly on its receiver and stood staring at the wall. My dad realized how quiet she was, hushed himself and waited for her to turn around.
“Shelby?” He finally asked.
