Juniper Limits (The Juniper Series Book 2) Page 10

  “You know what, Mom? There is someone I’d like to invite.”

  “Give her a call. I’ll set out another plate.”

  He pulled out his phone, but decided against calling. “I think I’ll go on over to her house and get her. She’s more likely to say yes that way.”

  Mom stirred the soup and smiled softly. “Be quick; the bread will be done soon and I want to serve it warm.”

  Paul practically jogged to Celia’s house, but slowed down as he approached her front porch, noticing some laughter from out back. He walked around the house, patting down his hair to make sure it wasn’t sticking up funny.

  Mr. and Mrs. Young sat talking near the fire pit, huddled close together. Celia and Abe were in the grass, hitting a badminton birdie back and forth. Abe didn’t have a racket—he was using his hands to hit the birdie back to his sister.

  Paul watched for a moment, mesmerized by Celia acting goofy and unrestrained. The birdie bounced off Abe’s forehead, and he shouted, “Ouch!” gleefully. Celia managed to hit it back, but it went low and disappeared under a bush by the house.

  “Not again!” Abe exclaimed. Celia cackled as he dropped down to his belly to wriggle under the bush, clearly enjoying himself.

  Paul shuffled his feet in the grass, and cleared his throat, hoping to alert them to his presence without startling them. Celia turned her head in his direction. She raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together, a move he’d learned was designed to keep her from smiling or otherwise revealing that she was a human person who felt things.

  “Hello.” He waved awkwardly at her parents, then shook off the nerves and reminded himself he was good with grown-ups. “Hi Mr. and Mrs. Young. How are you tonight?”

  Celia’s mom straightened up in her chair and smiled. “Hello, Paul. You know Paul Martin, don’t you, Todd? Rebecca’s boy? I believe you went to school with Paul’s uncle Bill.”

  “Ah, yes, Billy Martin. He was a good kid,” Mr. Young said. “Moved to Texas, didn’t he?”

  Paul nodded. “Yes, sir, he did.”

  “Would you like to pull up a chair and join us, Paul?” Mrs. Young said, and elbowed her husband in the arm. “Don’t you think that would be alright?”

  Mr. Young rubbed his arm where she had jabbed him, and smiled at his wife. “Well, I don’t see why not. Come on over and take a load off. We’ve got iced tea and a real nice fire.”

  Paul didn’t want to offend Mr. Young by declining the invitation, but the bread bowls were almost done. Plus, Celia was looking a little pale. “It is a nice night for sitting out, but I was hoping I could steal Celia away for a little bit. My mom is making potato soup, and we set out an extra place for her.”

  “It’s a bit late for supper, don’t you think? On a school night?” Mr. Young said.

  Paul glanced at Celia, who dropped her head down, not giving him any clue as to how he should respond. Beside her, Abe dropped the retrieved birdie and picked up a long stick, which he used to poke holes in the ground, not looking at anyone.

  Paul looked back at Mr. Young. “Yes, sir. It’s kind of late. My mom worked a long day, and I had to work after school.”

  It was a good answer, and Mr. Young nodded his head once, quickly. “You do a little lawn mowing, don’t you, son?”

  “Yes, sir.” Pride tugged at Paul’s lips, and he fought the urge to tell him that it wasn’t just a little mowing, that it was a business and he was half owner of it. “I keep pretty busy with it. Mostly weekends now, but we have a few customers who talked us into weeknights.”

  “I do appreciate a hard-working man.” He tipped the cup of iced tea he was holding toward Paul, as punctuation on his praise. “It’s too bad we already ate. Celia doesn’t need two dinners.”

  Celia didn’t raise an objection. She sucked her cheeks in, looking like she was biting back some words, and kept her head down.

  Paul slipped his hands in his pockets and waited a moment longer. The fire crackled, and a cicada whirred from high up in a tree, but none of them spoke. “Alright. Well, I better get back home. Goodnight, Celia.”

  He turned to leave, when Mrs. Young spoke. “Paul, she can go. Be back by ten, Celia.”

  Celia’s head flew up, and Abe straightened in his seat. Paul looked back and forth between her parents. He sure hoped he wasn’t about to be cause of an argument.

  “It’s fine, isn’t it, Todd?” Mrs. Young added, and put her hand on her husband’s forearm.

  Silence stretched. Mr. Young took a slow drink of his tea, before looking at Celia. “I suppose it’s fine.”

  Abe let out a huge, loud breath, and Celia went to him and kissed the top of his head before walking over to Paul. “Let’s go,” she whispered. “Quickly.”

  “Good night Mr. and Mrs. Young, Abe,” he said, and gave a small wave.

  “Ten o’clock, Celia,” Mrs. Young said, and pointed to her watch. Celia nodded and grabbed Paul’s elbow, leading him back around the house.

  They didn’t speak until they were two houses past Celia’s. Every time he was with her, some time had to be spent waiting and watching as she shed her thick shell, let her husk fall away, and immersed herself in the present moment instead of where she’d just been. He was glad to wait.

  12

  “Sorry about that, whatever that was,” I said. He probably thought my family was so strange. I certainly thought so. Even so, I couldn’t believe I had been allowed to leave. Dad had declared tonight family night, and he wasn’t known for his flexibility.

  “I hope I didn’t cause any trouble. That was kind of intense.”

  “It’s okay. Pretty much just the way things are.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nodded.

  As we walked, Paul kept going slower and slower. I matched his pace, and we meandered down the sidewalk, almost lazy in our steps, prolonging this time alone together.

  “We don’t have any classes together,” he said.

  Today had been our second day of school. “Which makes sense, considering I’m a sophomore and you’re a senior.”

  “I thought we might at least get a study hall or something. We don’t even have the same lunch period. At least I get dinner with you.” He smiled.

  “About that. I’ve never really talked to your mom. I’ve taken her order and served her at the restaurant, but that’s it. Should I be nervous?”

  “No way, don’t be nervous.”

  “I hope she won’t hate me.”

  His fingertips skimmed the small of my back, then disappeared so fast I wondered if I imagined it. “Mom doesn’t hate anyone. She’s the nervous type. She’s probably home, stirring the soup, fretting over whether or not you’ll like her. It was her idea that I invite you over.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. And actually, I’m hungry. I know my dad said I already ate, but I only picked at dinner. Mom made liver and onions with rice, and I don’t eat organs.”

  He grinned. We had reached his house. “Good, because my mom makes the best potato soup.” We crossed the yard and went up onto the porch. He hesitated at the door, and studied my face a moment.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Just wondering what you’ll think of my house. And my mom. It’s strange to bring somebody over for the first time, you know?”

  “I know, Paul. It’s why I never, ever do it.”

  He leaned against the side of his house, by the door. “I’ve been to your house.”

  “You just keep showing up.”

  He smiled softly at me. “I remember the first time I brought Malcolm home, in the third grade. He was so stoked when we got there and my mom wasn’t home, and we ate three Ding Dongs each and then played Battleship.”

  I knew where he was going with this.

  “He said his mom would have made him eat carrots or apples, and would have made him do his homework first thing. I remember thinking about this book report I had t
o do, and how I hadn’t even started the reading yet, and my stomach hurt a little bit.”

  “Could have been the Ding Dongs,” I said, trying to lighten his mood.

  He cracked a smile. “Mom never checked to make sure I did my work, but somehow I usually managed to get it done. Especially the math—I never had math homework because I got it done in class. But I remember sitting there watching him scarf down a Ding Dong, the wrappers piled up beside us, and I put a peg in a ship that he hit. I felt bad about my book report and some other things, but good about my math worksheet, sitting in my school desk already finished.”

  My hand a mind of its own, or perhaps it had the mind of my heart, and it reached out and took hold of Paul’s. Our fingers twined together, and I released a soft sigh. “You never have to worry about what I think of your house, of your life. It’s not like that with me.” I tilted my head toward his house. “Anything that happens in there is okay by me.”

  He squeezed my hand but still didn’t make a move to enter the house.

  “These are gorgeous geraniums,” I said, and gestured to the planters on either side of the door.

  “They’ve done all right. We planted a flat of them for a customer this summer, and had a few extra, so I planted them.”

  “You planted these?”

  He lowered his head a little. “Plants are what I do.”

  “All you need is a swing or some chairs out here, and it would be perfect.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, it would be. I’ll have to work on that. I guess we should go in.” He went to the door and gripped the knob, pulling me by the hand. I’d never been around a guy who wanted to hold my hand so much of the time. He pushed open the door, calling through the house. “Mom, we’re here.”

  His mom walked into the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Hi, Celia. I’m so glad you could join us.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Martin.” I stumbled over the greeting. I didn’t know how to address a woman who had been abandoned years ago, but was never divorced.

  “Oh goodness, we don’t do fancy around here. Please, call me Rebecca.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean, yes, Rebecca.”

  “Come on to the kitchen, you two. The soup is ready.” She led the way through the house. “Paul, will you go get the chair from my sewing table?”

  He let go of me to go down the hall, leaving me alone with his mother. She pulled a tray out of the oven, and I was delighted by the round balls of bread atop it. “I thought you didn’t do fancy, Rebecca, but look at these! I feel like I’m in a French restaurant.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, but I saw her cheeks flush pink and her smile reached her eyes. I watched as she cut holes in the tops of the bread and scooped out the middles.

  Paul returned with the chair, Rebecca ladled soup into the bread, and we sat down to eat. It was crowded around the table, which was sized for two, but I liked the way my knee bumped against Paul’s every time he shifted position, which was often because he couldn’t seem to sit still. There was something to be said for small spaces. I smiled as I thought of us crammed into that tiny boat and stuffed beneath my hemlock tree.

  For a few minutes we ate, murmuring how delicious it was. “I don’t know if Paul told you,” Rebecca said, “but I have good news to share tonight.”

  Paul sat up straight and slowly set down his spoon, so I did the same. This suddenly seemed like a private family moment, and here I was in the middle of it.

  “I have a new job!” she announced, her face glowing and her hands clasped in front of her.

  “Congratulations!” I smiled and looked expectantly at Paul, who sat stiffly with his lips pressed together. His hand found mine under the table.

  “What about your job at the drugstore?” he asked. “I thought you liked it there, I thought it was going to stick.”

  “Well, they let me go. But it doesn’t matter, because I was hired as the receptionist at Dr. Shepherd’s dental office. I have such a big, beautiful desk, and I will be making a little bit more money, too. Isn’t this fantastic, Paulie?”

  “Yeah, Mom. Terrific.” His voice was flat. He wasn’t good at pretending, one of the things I liked most about him.

  Tension brewed between them. Fay had taught me how a good buffer should behave, and I recognized that tonight I was a buffer. “I think it’s wonderful. It’s hard to find jobs like that right here in Juniper. You’ll save a ton of money on gas, not having to commute to Bakerstown.”

  Paul bent his head low and shoveled in a huge spoonful of soup.

  “Yes, I think so,” Rebecca said. “I’m excited about this. I feel it will be just the change I need.”

  “Mmhmm,” Paul said, his mouth full of bread.

  I looked back and forth between them, wanting to make it better. “This soup is delicious. Would you share the recipe? I cook dinner a few nights a week, and I’m tired of making the same old things.”

  Rebecca smiled and chattered on about how she made the soup. I tried to listen, but Paul was a wall of tense energy beside me, and he kept squeezing my hand. When we finished eating, Rebecca shooed us away and insisted that she would do the dishes. Before we escaped to the living room, Paul dug around in the cabinet by the fridge. “Don’t we have any chocolate in here?” He was still snappish.

  “There should be a box of cookies in the back.”

  He found the cookies and turned to exit the kitchen, but his mom stopped him with a hand on his forearm. I turned away and headed for the living room, to give them a little privacy. As I walked away, though, I heard what she said.

  “Be happy for me, Paulie. This is good news. We’ll even start saving for your college again. You’ll see. I’ll have to show you, but you’ll see.”

  I sat on the couch quickly, not wanting to hear his response. When he did come into the living room, he stood in the doorway looking diminished in size and spirit. “You okay?”

  He nodded, but didn’t smile.

  “We could go sit out on the porch.”

  “There are no chairs out there.”

  “Who needs chairs?” I could tell he needed to get out of the stuffy house.

  Outside, the air was cooler and clearer. We sat on the concrete porch floor and leaned back against the closed door, our shoulders pressed together.

  “Did I see some cookies?”

  He passed me the box, and rested his arms on his bent knees. I slipped a cookie between his fingers.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “About how my mom can’t keep a job for more than a year? Or how I’m not sure if she got fired for not showing up, or for being wasted on the job? Or heck, maybe she stole some drugs. She’s never stolen before, but I never thought it was a good idea that she work at the pharmacy, even if she was just the cashier. Or should we talk about how she thinks each new job is the cure for her depression?”

  “Yeah. All of those.”

  “Nah, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay.”

  I ate three cookies, passing time to see if he’d say anything else. Slowly, the tension I sensed in him abated. He let his arms fall to his sides, and his legs inched forward, finally relaxing. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “I think she invited you so that I wouldn’t show her the full extent of how upset I am that she got fired again.”

  “I’m okay with it.”

  “I’m not. I’m pretty pissed off at her right now.”

  I waited until the tension eased further. “You know what, Paul?”

  “What?”

  “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.”

  “Not even kayaking or shopping in New York City?”

  “Not even sipping a slurpie with my feet in the pond.”

  “Wow.”

  “You know what else? I’ve decided I think you’re right.”

  “It’s about time,” he said, looking over at me with a small smile. “What am I right about?”


  “We’re a little bit alike.”

  He scooted closer to me, and our legs rested on the porch, side by side. He put his hand on my knee. He tilted his head down to look at my face. “Can I take you on a date sometime, Celia?”

  I looked up at him, our faces only inches apart. His warm breath fanned across my face, his warm eyes lit up from within. “Yes. Take me on a date.”

  13

  Paul sat on the top step of his porch, doing some math in his head. They’d lived slim the last week, eating lots of noodles and rice, but his mom would start her new job tomorrow and he could breathe a little easier. And now that she was planning to add to his savings account again, he felt a growing sense of possibility.

  Most of his money had always gone to help pay the bills, and he hadn’t managed to save much for school. She had cleaned out his savings account last time they got behind, which had been fine with him, but also left his head spinning with worry. He liked to have his own funds, and though he kept a stash hidden in his room, he would be glad to see that savings account grow. He tapped a rhythm on his legs, restless.

  Malcolm’s truck hurtled down the street toward his house. The moment the truck lurched into park, Malcolm hopped out and slammed the door, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “Take it easy, man. You’re going to throw the mower off the trailer.”

  Malcolm flung himself onto the step beside Paul, slapped his hand down on the concrete, and then ran both hands through his hair and down his face. “She’s coming back.”

  “Who?”

  “Fay. She’s coming back to Juniper. To live.”

  “She’s moving here?”

  “Yeah, man. She and her mom. She’s going to our high school. I can’t believe this. She could have calculus with me.”

  Paul leaned back against the railing, and slugged his friend on the shoulder. “Good deal, dude. When’s she coming?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. It depends when they find a house. But it could be really soon.”

  “Wow. That’s great! This is going to be good for Celia, too.”