The Whys Have It Page 11

  “I’m here.” I tear my eyes away from Cory and study my shoes. “Never mind, though. I’m sorry I called so late.”

  “It’s eight-thirty,” she deadpans. “I won’t turn into a pumpkin for almost four more hours. Did you need something?”

  I chance a look at Cory again just as he stands up and pulls a key ring out of his pocket. I feel the way you feel after a really good kiss, hazy and disoriented and slightly off balance. I saw him drive away, but he came back for me. I have no idea why.

  “No, I think I’m okay now. I’ll call you in the morning.” Hannah is still talking when I press the phone off and slip it inside my purse. By the time I look up, Cory stands in front of me. I try not to get nervous at the sight of him, but my heart doesn’t get the message; it flaps like a swarm of newly hatched butterflies from one side of my chest to the other. Not to mention I’m suddenly all fidgety and can’t stand still.

  “That didn’t take long. Are you ready to go?”

  I’m about to say that I can walk when he grins down at me and my mind goes soft. It’s a long walk anyway and probably wouldn’t be good for my health. Not to mention safety. I fall in step beside him. “I’m ready.” And like an obedient puppy, I follow him out into the chilly night air. “I thought you left for vacation. If I had known you were just sitting there for so long—”

  “It wasn’t that long. Vacation can wait, and it wasn’t a big deal. There’s no reason for me to rush back to the hotel anyway. The only thing waiting for me there is HBO and a bottle of wine.”

  “Not a bad combination. Keep talking like that and I might get jealous.”

  He laughs. It’s the first time I hear it, and it isn’t unpleasant.

  “You’re welcome to join me if you want to. I can’t promise I’ll be good company, but the movie might not be half bad.”

  I feel myself blush and give thanks for the darkness. I shouldn’t feel anything but mortification at his offer. The thought of me hanging out in a hotel room with Cory Minor… If the kids from high school could see me now, they’d all have a good laugh. Plus I’m not that kind of girl.

  “Just take me to my car, Cory. Just take me to my car.”

  Like a gentleman, he opens the passenger door and waits for me to climb inside.

  * * *

  Within minutes we pull in behind my silver Honda Civic. Next to Cory’s black Land Rover that looks like it just had a wash and wax, it looks perfectly dwarfed and ugly despite its newer make. The sight grates on my nerves, a final blow to topple over this bad day.

  “It figures.” The words are out before I realize I’ve actually spoken them.

  “What figures?”

  I gesture in front of us. “My car compared to yours. It figures yours is bigger, newer, and better.” I make a disgusted sound for effect. He’s been too nice to me all day. It’s time to put a stop to it.

  Except he laughs instead of playing along. “You rode in it earlier, remember? It’s not like it’s a surprise. And you do know that it’s a rental, right?”

  I shrug. “I know I did, but I didn’t see them side by side until now. Mine looks ridiculous. And I suppose in real life you drive a Buick?”

  “They quit making those years ago.” His comeback is weak, and I stare pointedly while he shifts in place. “In real life I drive a Lamborghini.”

  I snort. “Lovely. That makes me feel even worse.”

  “Just because I drive it doesn’t mean I like it.”

  “Oh what, are you telling me you’re a pickup kind of guy?” I’m not sure why I feel the need to give him a hard time. Normally I like my car. But right now it looks like a Happy Meal Toy, and I’m not a big fan of cheap hamburgers.

  “No, I’m telling you I’m a Honda Civic kind of guy.”

  Well then. I swallow at the innuendo and find myself disappointed that it’s time to leave. My erratic pulse and ricocheting emotions are exhausting, from sad at the funeral to embarrassed at the restaurant to anxious with my father. And now this. I clear my throat and pray my voice works. “Thank you for the ride, and for waiting for me at the nursing home. You didn’t have to do that.” He opens his mouth to respond, but I keep talking. “I still can’t figure out how you knew to go to the cemetery, but I’m glad you did.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m just glad we found him.” He runs his hands along the steering wheel, seeming almost nervous. Like he has something to ask but no idea where to start. It’s makes me strangely happy to know I’m not the only one struggling with nerves, but I don’t know him well enough to prompt him. I open the car door and take a reluctant step out.

  “Sam, don’t leave yet.” I exhale at the words I wanted to hear. But now that he’s said them, I’m not sure what to do. “About Kassie and Megan.”

  “Cory, don’t.” I close my eyes and scoot back into my seat, not ready for this conversation. This day has been crap and I have a feeling it’s about to get worse.

  “Please just let me say this one thing.”

  It’s the pleading in his voice that makes me look at him. “I’m tired, and you don’t need to—”

  “Let me finish before I lose my nerve.” He inhales a slow breath, one that visibly shudders through his chest. “Being at the funeral today, seeing Megan’s parents, even seeing you with your dad. It made me think of how everything we do affects others, even if we don’t know it.” He rubs the back of his neck and stares out the windshield a long moment. “I know I wasn’t driving the bus that night, but I still played a role in the accident. It was my bus. My driver that I employ. I just want you to know how sorry I am. I feel terrible that I’ve caused everyone so much pain. Especially you. I don’t know why this happened, why it had to involve me, or why everything seems to involve me.” He sighs. “I’m going to do my best to make things right, even though I’m not sure what that means right now. And I want you to know that I don’t care if you sue me, Sam. I really don’t. I never should have asked that question in the first place, and next time I see my manager…”

  He trails off, and I study him for a moment. He’s angry. At himself. At the higher-ups surrounding him. But more than those things, I recognize his grief because I’ve lived it for years; there’s more to it than just my sister and this accident. It isn’t my problem to solve, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. Without thinking, I reach out and place my fingertips on his. When he glances down at our hands, I pull mine away and tuck it under my leg. Maybe I shouldn’t have touched him. Maybe it was too personal. I’m not sure of anything anymore, except of the words I need to say.

  “That’s just it, Cory. You can’t fix it. All you can do is pick up the pieces and move on. It’s what I’m trying to do. What you need to try to do. What I want you to do. Don’t vilify yourself forever. If you can’t do that for your sake, then do it for mine. And I’m not going to sue you.”

  He runs a hand over his mouth and studies me. “Okay. But what if I can’t? Move on, I mean. It hasn’t been that long.” His voice catches. There’s nothing I can do to stop the emotion he’s feeling. That’s the thing about trying to cope; people are forced to do it on their own time, in their own way. No amount of encouraging words or platitudes offered to make you feel better will rush the process along. I know this. I’ve known this for way too many years.

  A tear runs down my cheek. “You will eventually. Trust me, I know.”

  For a long moment all we do is breathe. And then he rolls his eyes. “Good lord,” he says.

  I blink at the change in his tone, my mouth falling open a bit. “What?”

  “You’re crying again. I thought you said you were sick of crying.”

  This time I don’t care if it’s too personal, I reach over and smack him on the hand. “I am sick of crying, and I’m tired of you making me do it over and over again. What is it with you? Do you enjoy seeing women in pain?”

  “Depends on the circumstances.” There’s a wicked glint in his eyes, and I’m blushing all over again. “But if you must know, som
etimes a little pain with women isn’t such a bad thing depending on what you’re—”

  I hold up a hand and bite back a laugh. “I’m sorry I asked. Please don’t elaborate.” My face is on fire and I have a feeling the darkness isn’t hiding it. I reach around for the door handle and step out of the car, feeling lighter than I have in a while. Laughing is nice, something I haven’t done in way too long.

  “Hey, Sam?” He leans down for a better look. “Are you working tomorrow?”

  My laughter dies. The way my heart pushes into my throat kind of cuts off the sound. “Yes, from ten to three, I think.” I shrug, trying to appear aloof. Maybe he’ll stop by. Maybe he’ll ask me to take the day off. Maybe I should get a grip. This is Cory Minor and I’m ordinary. Plus he’s leaving tomorrow and I have no plans to get attached.

  “Mind if I come by before I leave town? My flight doesn’t leave until five o’clock.”

  Stop by. It works for me. Still, I search my mind, flipping through responses. My eyes are fixed on the dimple just under his chin. It’s easier than looking at his eyes. One look at them, and my nervousness would double.

  “Fine by me, but don’t be surprised if we put you to work. The place has been a mess lately, and the papers, they’re everywhere.” I close the door and lean into the window. “Come in comfortable clothes, something you don’t mind getting dirty. Nothing…” I raise an eyebrow and let my gaze sweep his figure. “…like that.”

  He laughs. “I get the message. I’m a little offended, but I get it.” He shifts into reverse and I step back. “I’ll be there before noon. See you in the morning.”

  I watch him go for a minute before I climb into my own car. Once behind the wheel, I close my eyes and let my thoughts swirl and tangle over the events of today. I think of the funeral…of Cory standing in the back of the church. I think of the restaurant…of Cory sipping his wine. I think of my father…of Cory helping him into the back seat of the car. I think of the nursing home…of Cory waiting on me in that chair.

  Why is Cory infiltrating all my thoughts?

  And why is he always waiting on me lately?

  Don’t get attached.

  I open my eyes and sit up straight, telling myself to get a grip. This is wrong. Completely inappropriate. This is Cory Minor I’m thinking about, someone I wouldn’t even know if it wasn’t for the awful circumstances that surrounded our meeting. I’m being selfish. Unfair to Kassie’s memory. A traitor to the posters hanging all over her bedroom wall. My loyalty is to my sister, not to some overblown pop star who leaves town tomorrow.

  But that’s the thing about people. Once something gets inside their minds, they aren’t easily distracted. Once something wiggles its way into their hearts, the heart swells to make room for more. Because humans seek connection above everything else, and they will rationalize their way into finding it, usually no matter what it takes.

  By the time I pull into my parking space at home, I’m already looking forward to tomorrow. I feel guilty about it, but the anticipation is there all the same.

  CHAPTER 18

  Cory

  There’s more dirt on my clothes than on this warehouse floor, and I’m pretty sure I ripped a hole in my jeans a few minutes ago, but I’m not about to complain. It’s bad enough that I wore a pair of two-hundred dollar designer jeans as “work clothes” and Sam spotted the mistake right away—she’s given me crap about it all morning—but it would be worse to let her see weakness. Pretty sure she has me pegged for halfway feeble already.

  Still. My favorite Prada shirt. Ruined.

  I lift another box onto the dolly and stack it on top of three others. I’ve moved more boxes today than I unloaded at my new home in Los Angeles, and we haven’t even started on the furniture yet. An armoire and settee need to be moved into the main room, but first they need to be wiped with a damp cloth and sprayed with fabric cleaner. I’ve visited a few antique shops before; never knew the work it takes to get everything to smell only musty and old. Musty and old are twelve steps up from the mess I’m standing in now. This place reeks like old urine over a subway grate.

  “Cory, you have a hole in your pocket. I can’t believe you wore those pants today.” Sam blows a strand of hair off her sweat-streaked forehead and straightens a stack of books. There’s a one-inch black Sharpie mark on the end of her nose and it’s been there for an hour, but I’ve kept that fact to myself. At least I’m not the only one who looks stupid.

  “Are you going to say that every time I walk past you? Because I’ve only heard it, like, twenty times so far and it’d be a shame for you to stop now.” I roll my eyes and toss another box onto the stack.

  “Well, I told you to wear something different…”

  “Twenty one.”

  “…like sweatpants and a t-shirt. Do you own any of those?”

  “Twenty two.”

  “Oh, stop it. And look…” She reaches for the hem of my white linen button up—I know, I’m an idiot—and turns it over in her hand, fingering a one-inch tear along the bottom. Her knuckle accidently brushes my stomach, and my heart skitters into a weird rhythm. “…it’s ripped. I bet your whole outfit cost more than I make in three days, and you’ve gone and ruined it.” With a final flick at the hem, she drops my shirt and turns away.

  I swallow a Sam-sized knot in my throat and tell myself to stop. But her hips, her waist, her shoulders, her neck. I spend more time staring than I should, tearing my eyes away only when she begins to turn back around. I roll my neck to work out the tension and remind myself that I’m leaving tonight. That I have less than four weeks off before it’s time to head back to la la land and the never-ending pull of my public life. Nothing good can come from this, not even in my thoughts.

  “Sorry, Mom,” I say, trying to lighten my own mood. “I’ll try and do better next time. And as for the sweatpants, of course I have those. Everyone does.”

  “Bet yours didn’t come from Walmart.”

  “Bet they—oh shut up. It’s not my fault Calvin Klein makes them soft.”

  “Well then, they’re perfect for you,” she practically sings.

  At that, I laugh. “You’re a brat, you know that?”

  When she looks over her shoulder and winks, my heart skips a beat or three. “I’ve been told that before.”

  “No surprises there,” I say.

  When she laughs behind me, my pulse trips. Between it and my heart, I’m surprised I’m still standing. Especially since I’m still thinking about those hips. Sam is driving me crazy this morning.

  Little known fact: I’m a great musician, but I’m also a somewhat decent actor. Playing it cool is what I do. Imagining myself standing in the middle of a cold shower—that works too. With a sigh, I heave the dolly backward onto my leg and wheel it toward the front room. It’s just the two of us here—her friend Hannah was supposed to arrive an hour ago but still hasn’t shown—so Sam follows me. I can feel her everywhere in the space behind me. Since she can’t see me, I give the room a great big angry eye roll.

  I’m way too attracted to her. It’s going to be the world’s longest day and it isn’t even noon.

  I straighten the stack of boxes, reach for the box on top, and slice through tape with a razor knife, being a little loud about it but who gives a crap? Yanking at the box, the lid pops open and a wadded up piece of newspaper falls to the floor. It falls a little hard. There’s something inside it.

  “Be careful!” Sam shoots me a look. “You’re going to break it!”

  “As if that would be the worst thing to happen.” I pick up the newspaper and unroll it to find a blue china teacup lid. I study it, decide to be a guy, then flip it from my left hand to my right. “So if I juggle it like this…” I flip it again, left hand to right then back again. “There’s a danger it might break?”

  It takes her less than a second to lunge. Good thing I’m tall. “Give me the lid, Cory.” She jumps; I hold the lid up higher.

  “No, I’m learning how to juggle.” Wi
th my back to her, I flip it hand to hand again.

  “You juggle with balls, not old teacup lids.” An arm swipes in front of my face. I raise my arm higher, the lid out of her reach.

  “I bet you’d like to see that.” She’s moving around, but I see her blush. Mission accomplished. She swipes her arm my direction, and her hand lands on my butt. I smile to myself. Her face is on fire.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she says on a growl. “Of course you can’t do anything the normal way.”

  “Lady, I’ve never done anything the normal way.”

  “You’re wearing Prada in a dusty antique store to help move furniture. No kidding.”

  “For the love of everything holy, that’s twenty three. Does it ever stop?”

  “It stops when you give me that lid. It costs two hundred dollars.”

  That gets me to stop. I plant my feet and look at her. “Two hundred dollars? For a teapot?” I can’t keep the incredulousness out of my tone. “It’s not even pretty.”

  “No, for the lid,” she says. “The teapot adds another five hundred. And yes it is pretty.”

  I hold out the lid. I have money, but I don’t relish the idea of spending it on something so dumb. “That’s a matter of opinion. But fine, keep your stupid lid.” I open my mouth to say something when a low rumble fills the silence.

  Sam frowns. “Was that thunder? Is it supposed to rain today?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. “I can’t believe you were juggling this.” She grabs the lid from my hand and reaches around me to place it on a table, and all I can smell is lavender and mint. The scent is nauseating, except it isn’t. For a second there, I almost had myself convinced. Sam’s hair brushes my shoulder and I flinch. I take a step back and focus on the weather because that’s what men do when nakedness and warm showers and all kinds of things they shouldn’t be thinking about start running through their minds.

  What would it be like to be with Sam?

  I think about strangling myself but don’t have a rope. It just isn’t my day.