and wake up. I need to wake up and know that I would never ever hurt her.
CHAPTER 13
As usual, Dad and I went to work on Saturday, at the Conlon place.
Rather than keep you in suspense (if you even still care by now), I might as well let you know that this time she was there, and she was as brilliant as ever.
I was still working under the house when she came
to me.
“Hey, I missed you last week,” I said when she showed, and immediately chastised myself in my head — the statement was so ambiguous. I mean, did it mean I missed you as in I just didn’t see you (which was the intended message), or did it mean I was really heartbroken that you weren’t here, y’ stupid bitch? I wasn’t sure what me I was sending out. Overall, I could only hope she thought I was saying we just didn’t see each other. You can’t seem too desperate in a situation like that, even if your heart is annihilating you from the inside.
She said, “Well …” God, she said it with that voice that made her real. “I wasn’t here on purpose.” What the hell was this? “What?” I dared to ask. “You heard.” She grinned. “I wasn’t here …”
“Because of me?”
She nodded.
Was this bad or good?
It sounded bad. Very bad.
But then, it also sounded good, in some sick, twisted way. Was she having me on? No.
“I didn’t wanna be here because I was” — she swallowed — “scared to make a fool out of myself — like last time.”
“Last time?” I asked, confused. “Wasn’t it me who said something stupid?” It was me all right, who said, “I like workin’ here.” I remembered it and cringed.
We were both crouched down under the house and these wooden beams hovered over us, warning us that one loss of concentration would leave our heads nice and bruised. I made sure not to stand up straight.
“At least you said something.” She pushed her argument.
Suddenly, something poured out of me.
I said, “I wouldn’t hurt you. Well, at least I’d try like hell not to. I promise.”
“Pardon?” She stepped away a bit. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if … Did you have an okay weekend last week?” Drivel. Drivel talk.
“Yeah.” She nodded and stayed where she was. “I was at a friend of mine’s house.” Then she slipped it in. “And then we went over to this guy’s place — Dale.” Dale.
Why was that name so familiar?
Oh no.
Oh, great.
“Dale Perry?”
Dale Perry.
Greg’s mate.
Typical.
A hero like that.
I could tell she really liked the guy. More than me. He was a winner. People liked him. Greg did.
Though he could depend on me.
“Yeah, Dale” she replied — confirming my worst fears — nodding and smiling. “You know him, do you?”
“Yeah, I know him.” It dawned on me then as well that this Rebecca Conlon was most likely one of the girls in the group at Lumsden Oval, on that day that seemed decades ago now. There were a few girls like her there, I remembered. Same real hair. Same real legs. Same … It all made sense. She was local, and pretty, and real.
Dale Perry.
I almost mentioned that he’d nearly burned my ear off just over a year ago but held it back. I didn’t want her thinking that I was one of those completely jealous guys who hated everyone who was better than himself — which actually was exactly the kind of guy I was.
“My best friend reckons he likes me, but I don’t know….”
She went on talking but I couldn’t bring myself to listen. I just couldn’t. Why in the hell was she telling me this anyway? Was it because I was just the plumber’s son and I went to an old state school while she most likely went to a Saint something-or-other school? Was it because I was the kind of guy who was harmless and couldn’t bite?
Well, I came close.
I almost stopped her to say, “Ah, just go away with your Dale Perry,” but I didn’t. I loved her too much and I wouldn’t hurt her, no matter how much I myself was hurting.
Instead, I asked if she knew Greg. “Greg Fiennes or something?”
“Fienni.”
“Yeah, I do. How do you know him?”
And for some reason, all these tears started welling up in my eyes.
“Ah,” I said. “He was a friend of mine once,” and I turned away, to keep working and to hide my eyes.
“A good friend?”
Damn this girl!
“My best friend,” I admitted.
“Oh.”