So. Long(228)

A rock sinks into my gut.

Every last detail?

Great.


* * *

Mrs. Trumball always did dote on Buck. Today is no different.

I sit on the folding chair in the corner. The Rec Center staff, some having long ago retired or moved on from their positions, all showed up today to gather at the feet of the now famous Buck Wylder. They act as though they’ve always known Buck would make good.

In reality, none of them liked him or me much back then, except Mrs. Trumball. Of course, she knew him better than she knew me. He did a lot of work around her house for her in the summers.

She shuffles over, pushing her walker. Back in the day, she was in better health. Her lavender hair reflects the fluorescent lights as Buck pulls a chair out for her. He leans in, dropping a sweet kiss on the back of her blue-veined hand. She pats his cheek and says something that makes the crew and all those loitering around laugh.

Her rheumy eyes glisten as she looks up at Buck, a smile playing at her thin lips. She takes a bit of Buck’s shirt, pulling him down, speaking into his ear. His gaze finds me and he nods. When he straightens and heads my way, one of the camera men follows.

As he approaches, he holds out his hand—not in a requesting sort of way. No, that hand is firm and, without saying a word, he conveys his demand that I join him and participate in whatever it is Mrs. Trumball wants.

I let out a slow sigh and place my fingers into his upturned palm.

Buck, having his best manners in place for the cameras, pulls out a chair for me next to the little old lady who was one of the few adults who took time for either of us when we were kids. However, I always got the impression her friendliness toward me was simply an extension of the affection she felt for Buck. Or it seemed that way to the eleven year old me.

Though, there was that one time when she paid for me to go on a field trip the Rec Center set up. Maybe she did like me.

The group takes turns talking to the camera about what kind of kid Buck was. Most of them recall a different version than the Buck I remember. Their stories have a lot of scrapping with the other boys, a lot of phone calls to his Pops, a whole lot of reasons why they thought he was the way he was, most of it to do with his parents’ exit from his life, and a lot of knowing someday, even though he had a rough start, Buck was destined for big things.

Yeah, right. Whatever.

Buck wasn’t destined for anything. He made it happen. Like he made it happen that even though I didn’t want to get involved with him again, here I am, in a room full of people, with his hand on my knee under the table and his chair so close to mine that his heat seeps into my skin, right through to my soul.

After everyone else has told their stories, it’s time for Mrs. Trumball to talk.

She winks at him before she turns to the camera. “It makes my heart happy to see Buck again. Unlike most everyone else at this table, I had no inkling Buck would be famous and go on to do great things, but I always knew he had a great love in his heart.”

Everyone looks to Buck, silence converging on the room.

After a few seriously uncomfortable moments, he clears his throat, and his dimples deepen for just a second.

Mrs. Trumball lays her unsteady hand atop mine. “You know, Loula Mae, he mowed my grass for an entire month so you could go to the zoo with all the other kids? Do you remember when I paid your way for the field trip? That’s how he paid me back.”

I try to swallow the tightening ring forming around my throat.

Buck’s hand leaves my leg only to come to the top of the table where he laces his fingers with mine. Right here, for everyone to see. This isn’t just him protecting me from crazy Wylder fans, or dragging me to join a group of people. This is him declaring something to the world. Something that isn’t true.

Or is it?





SIXTEEN





Lou turns to me, her fingers twisted in her lap. “What if I trip and fall? These heels are almost as bad as the ones that about broke my fucking ankle.”

I pat her knee. “You’ll do fine. Just hold onto my arm, look adoringly into my eyes and smile for the cameras.”

“What if I say something embarrassing?” Her knee jumps beneath my hand.

I lace my fingers with hers. “I’ll be surprised if they ask you anything. Hell, they may not even ask me anything. I’m just a supporting actor. Who knows?”

“Couldn’t I just stay in the car? I mean, really, I don’t have to be there, do I?”

My grip tightens. “I already told you: you’re with me. So that means you’re with me.”

Lou pulls out of my hold. “This is a mistake. It’s going to send the wrong signal. This is a temporary situation. Attending the premiere of your latest film with you seems like it’s saying we’re something we aren’t.”