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Butterscotch -48- Straight? (Final)
🕑 Added 2021-08-14 14:21:21 +0000 UTCMom dropped one of the little boxes of tissues they have in hospitals in my lap. “Wipe your eyes, princess,” she said. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I meant your foot,” she clarified.
“That, too.” I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, delicately as I could manage. “Mom,” I said, “I think I’m straight, and I feel guilty about it.”
She laughed softly. She had a pair of those light, angular crutches with her that she hung from the bar that stuck up from the back of the wheelchair. I guessed I’d be needing those, but just then, I was glad for the wheels.
An attendant came over to push my chair toward the exit. Outside, he waited with me while Mom fetched the car. He was a pleasant-looking older man, nearer Mom’s age than mine.
He smiled at me, and I smiled back. “You didn’t break your foot by kicking your boyfriend, did you?” he asked.
“Huh?” The question startled me. “Uh, no.” I thought about what had happened with Rory and Armand. “I guess I had thought of it, though.” I grinned because I recognized now that he was teasing. I was too young for him to flirt with, so he would tease me instead.
“You redheads, you’ve all got that temper.” He shook his head, his eyes twinkling.
“Not me,” I protested. “I don’t hardly have a temper at all.”
“Oh,” he said. “I guess you’re one of them heartbreaking redheads, then?”
“Uh.” Maybe he wasn’t just teasing. Had he overheard Marjorie and I talking? “I didn’t mean to,” I said. “It was an accident. I was holding it in my hands, and it just slipped.”
He laughed softly. Okay, he had been teasing, but he still sounded serious. “You gotta be careful. Looking like you do, all sweet and innocent, you’ll probably be breaking hearts all your life.”
“I hope not,” I told him. I read his name tag. “I surely hope not, Mr. Sommers.”
He squinted at me. “You look a bit like that actress, Heather Something—”
“Bock,” I said.
“Yeah, her,” he nodded. “And you know, that woman has broken enough hearts in this town, they could name the cardiac ward after her.”
That got a good hard giggle out of me, then Mom’s car pulled up alongside the curb, and behind it—a familiar big Toyota pickup.
Mom and Rory got out and began discussing which one would give me a ride home. Behind them, the streamers of color left by the sunset still made the night sky glow. I didn’t call out. If Rory could talk Mom into it, I’d be glad to ride home with him.
“Is that the boyfriend you didn’t kick?” Mr. Sommers asked.
“One of them,” I said with a small giggle.
Mr. Sommers laughed, too.
“He deserved, but I didn’t do it,” I added for another laugh.
Rory came over to me, swaggering like he’d just hit for extra bases. I grinned up at him.
“Your mom is tough,” he said. “She called me while you were getting pictures taken, and then she’s all, ‘what are you doing here?’ when I show up.”
I put my face up for a kiss and gave one back. “You’re forgiven,” I said.
“For what? Oh, okay.” He looked embarrassed. “I felt like a fool when I finally let Armand explain things.”
“Uh, huh,” I agreed. “I hope I don’t have to find someone Armand’s size every time you get stubborn. He wasn’t stalking me, Marjorie was.”
“Marjorie?” He looked around. “You’ve told me about her. Is she here?”
I shook my head. “She’s gone.”
Mom came over with instructions. “I’m going home, so you bring her straight there, Mr. Beeson.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “We might go through a drive-thru?”
She nodded to okay that. “But no side trips to any reservoirs or lakes.”
Rory snorted. How had she known about our side trip up to the reservoir the other night? But he didn’t admit to anything, just another, “Yes’m.” He grinned at me, and I grinned back.
After Mom left to get her car out of the way and head home, Rory helped me into the cab of the giant truck, and Mr. Sommers took the wheelchair to return it to the ER. He handed the crutches to Rory to store in the back seat, and I heard him give my guy some advice.
“You watch yourself. This one could break your heart with a twist of her fingers.” He winked at me as he said that!
Rory laughed. “I knew that. I’ll be careful.” He closed up and trotted around the cab to climb in on the driver’s side.
He leaned across the console, and we kissed, just a peck.
“I heard what he said to you,” I commented.
Rory grinned, maneuvering the monster truck through the crazy traffic around the hospital. “Funny old guy, huh?”
It had finally gotten really dark; the clock in the dash said it was after nine. The time in the hospital had mostly been empty and seemed to take forever, but now that we were out, it wasn’t really that late. But I suddenly surprised myself by yawning.
“Tired?” asked Rory. “Getting hurt always makes you tired. And you’ll be sore all over tomorrow.”
“Great,” I said. I put my hand in his when I felt he could handle the steering one-handed. I yawned again.
“Italians say that people yawn when they’re hungry,” Rory commented. “I could use something to eat. How about you?”
“Meh,” I said. “Maybe something.”
“Angelo’s?” he suggested.
“That’s not a drive-thru. It’s a drive-in.”
“Yeah, huh? But they got malts?”
I considered. Not everywhere had malts, and I didn’t get that many chances to have one at Angelo’s. “Okay,” I agreed. “No burger, just a small chocolate malt.”
We pulled into one of the stalls, and Rory used his phone to place our order. “You want any rings or fries? One of my old girlfriends used to like to dip onion rings into her chocolate shakes.”
“Eww! You didn’t have to tell me about it!” I giggled. “No, thank you, just the malt.”
Neither of us said anything for a bit. Rory messed with his phone for a bit then put it away. “I guess we’re a thing now, huh?”
“I kinda hope so?” I said. I looked at him sideways.
“Put your seat back so you can get your foot up. It’s gonna hurt less if you do,” he suggested, then showed me how.
“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t want it too far back. It would make it hard to drink the malt.”
“Uh-huh,” he said.
“What were you looking at on your phone?”
“Calendar,” he said. “Your birthday is in about three weeks.”
I nodded. “The seventeenth.”
“It’s on a Monday, and we don’t play on Mondays.” He meant his baseball team.
I nodded, thinking about that. I’d be eighteen on the seventeenth, the date Mom had hinted that I would not be in trouble for staying out real late. But a Monday?
“You should be off the crutches by then. We could go somewhere.”
“What? Like Disneyland?”
He shrugged. “If you like.”
“Huh?” I said, thinking about it.
The carhop came with our food, but she could reach the window to attach the tray, and Rory had to sort that out. He’d gotten a steak-and-BLT California burger for himself with fries and a tall water, and the small chocolate malt for me. The steak was medium-rare, sliced thin, and piled so high with the bacon, lettuce, tomato, guacamole and jalapeños that I wondered if he could get it in his mouth.
I watched in awe as he devoured this treat after spreading napkins all over himself and his side of the cab. The mess soon contained inside him; he offered me some of his fries while he cleaned up and left wadded napkins on the tray outside his window.
I ate two fries, crispy, unpeeled outsides with fluffy insides, delicious. “Why would anyone order onion rings at Angelo’s,” I wondered out loud.
He shrugged. “Not worth figuring that out,” he said. “Disneyland? Or….”
I blinked. “Or? What are you thinking.” I sucked at my malt while Rory took a deep breath. Was he…scared?
“My folks have a cabin up at Green Valley. It will be empty.”
“Where’s, uh, where’s Green Valley?”
“Turn north before you get to Arrowhead. It’s a bit quieter than the bigger resorts up there.”
He meant the San Bernardino Mountains, about fifty miles east of LA. Skiing in the winter, boating and hiking in the summer. “I’ve never been there,” I said. “I’m not much of an outdoor type.”
He flashed a grin, like both of us knew what we might go up to such a place for—not hiking or boating.
I chased the last of my malt with my straw. “I’m sorry, I didn’t offer you any of this. It was so good!”
He shook his head. “I try to avoid milk or ice cream in the evening. Bad for my breathing, I’m an asthmatic.”
“You what?” That startled me.
“Doesn’t bother me much,” he said, waving it away. “I haven’t needed any meds for a few years now.”
“Oh,” I said. I passed him my empty cup, and he put it on the tray outside his window, then flashed his lights to signal the carhop that we were done. He put some money on the tray before she came and when she took the tray, he started the engine, and we were on our way.
We were near the edge of downtown, still miles from where I lived. He headed toward Hollywood, the city bright around us. Because it was the weekend, things wouldn’t slow down till midnight.
“So,” he asked after a short time of neither of us talking. “Disneyland? Green Valley? Someplace else? How do you want to spend your birthday?”
I considered it very carefully. My heart thumped in my chest, and my breath seemed sticky in my throat. “Are we still going to be together then, Rory?”
He snorted. “For my part, yeah. If I have to break Armand’s head or put sugar in Marjorie’s gas tank, I’ll be there if you still want me.”
“Well.” I didn’t want to squeak or squeal or otherwise embarrass myself. “Well, I had kind of been planning on losing my virginity on my birthday.”
Rory grinned big, put his right hand over for me to grab, and then whooped like his teammates had when he hit one over the fence.
I giggled and blushed and squeezed his hand. I’d have to tell Mom, I reflected, but chances were that she already knew.
Comments
Erin Halfelven at BigCloset
Fortunately, it isn't necessary to figure that out. :)
Rose Howell
Why wouldn't Sherlock Holmes figure out a mafia to kill him, himself?
Erin Halfelven at BigCloset
Lol. Well, I haven't written book 2 yet but it is all plotted out.
Glenda Ericsson
Ooooohh! I do hope there will be a really romantic episode at the cabin without any serious catastrophes, they both need it. I shall lie here looking at this screen until Kissy gets awakened with a kiss.
