Jaded (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Never in my life had I done something so senseless. It had been a week since my discussion with Dodd, and even though I lay awake at night thinking about the way he looked at me, I spent the daylight hours mentally berating myself. My frustration with Momma had evolved into a relationship with Dodd that could hurt her.

So when he cornered me Friday in the teachers' lounge after everyone had gone, I didn't hesitate to turn down his request for dinner and a movie, maybe dancing. “Someone would see us, even in Lubbock,” I protested.

He grinned as he threw away his lunch trash. “Who said anything about Lubbock?”

“Well, we certainly can't be seen in Trapp,” I quipped. “Not that we have a movie theater.”

“You have no imagination.”

I rinsed my morning coffee mug at the sink. “Dodd, I've been thinking this isn't such a good idea.”

“I know.”

Relief and disappointment simultaneously swept through my lungs. “So you think we shouldn't see each other either?” I dried my mug with a paper towel and avoided his gaze.

A low chuckle came from deep in his throat, and he moved closer to me. “I meant I know you've been thinking it's not a good idea.” He took the mug out of my hands and set it on the counter. “It's sort of obvious. You avoid me in the hallways, sit with your back to me at lunch, and never,
ever
make eye contact. But I happen to disagree with you. I think spending time with you is an awesome idea.”

His nearness, coupled with the teasing look in his eyes, addled my tongue, so in lieu of an intelligent response, I crossed my arms.

He ignored my attitude and laughed again. “JohnScott will pick you up from the United tomorrow afternoon and take you to the Picketts'. He can stop by your house on the way. If anyone asks, tell them you're at Ansel and Velma's. We'll leave from there.”

“Dinner and a movie?” I huffed. “How?”

He walked to the door. “Trust me, Ruthie.”

 

The next afternoon, JohnScott picked me up from work and took me home, where I ran through the shower and pulled on clean jeans. My hair had been in a bun all day, but when I pulled it loose, it fell in soft curls down my back. Thank goodness for a good hair day. I touched up my mascara and squirted perfume on my wrists, and at JohnScott's suggestion, I wore boots and a warm jacket. A herd of butterflies fluttered in my abdomen. This date would never work. I interrogated JohnScott, but he refused to give me any details and insisted everything would be fine.

As I slid from his truck, Dodd came out of the Picketts' back door with Ansel's old dog right behind him, and the two seemed out of place. Like they didn't really belong together. “Ready to hit the road?”

The butterflies in my stomach thundered into flight. “Okay.” My voice quivered as he opened the passenger door of the El Camino.

“Have her home before curfew.” JohnScott cleared his throat. “And don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Dodd closed the door, but I could still hear him as he walked around the car. “Don't wait up for us, J.S.”

“I'll be right here, cleaning my shotgun.”

Dodd opened his door. “You don't scare me, Coach.”

My cousin's voice changed. “Seriously, you guys have fun. And honk if you need anything.”

Dodd peered into the car at me. “I've got everything I need.”

JohnScott ogled us as though watching the calf scramble at the Sheriff's Posse Rodeo, but then he ducked his head and shuffled into the house.

I looked at Dodd hesitantly as I buckled my seat belt, but he only grinned and shifted into first gear. He eased his foot off the brake, but instead of pulling toward the highway, he bumped across the pipe cattle guard into the back pasture.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you to dinner and a movie.” Dodd followed the gravel road behind the barn. “And if I'm lucky, dancing.”

My hands relaxed, and I realized I'd clenched them so tightly, they were cemented together. Maybe this would be all right after all. The farther we got from the house, the calmer I became, and my brain began to function normally again. Momma wouldn't find out about this date after all, and in a few minutes, I could simply explain to the preacher I wouldn't be able to see him again. Surely he hadn't thought it through like I had. Not only would Momma become irrational, but the church wouldn't take kindly to the situation. Dodd could even lose his job at the church.

He stopped the El Camino in a low spot behind the stock tank, where we were sheltered by the dam on one side and thick mesquite trees on the other. I sighed. Nobody driving down the highway would be able to see us. But what were we doing in the middle of the pasture? It was almost freezing.

I turned in the seat to ask, but Dodd was pointing to a pile of wood nearby. “I thought a candlelight dinner might be overkill, so I opted for a campfire.”

I studied the logs, neatly positioned and ready to be lit. “I'm grateful for the heat source, but …”—I raised an eyebrow—“dinner and a movie?”

He motioned to the back of the car. “Brisket sandwiches compliments of your Aunt Velma, chocolate-chip cookies from Mom, and my laptop computer for the movie.”

I squirmed uncomfortably. “
Everyone
was in on this?”

“You worry too much.” He opened his door.

When I met him at the tailgate, I realized the back end was filled with supplies I hadn't noticed earlier. Aunt Velma's wicker picnic basket, two camp chairs, and an old quilt. Dodd's laptop lay nestled between two cushions. I smiled in spite of myself. Even though this was our first—and potentially
only
—date, it might be a fun evening.

Twenty minutes later, we were eating sandwiches on the quilt by the fire, the picnic basket between us. The sun had set, leaving us in darkness, but the fire cast a warm glow twenty feet around. I shifted closer to its warmth and decided to wait until the end of the night to tell Dodd this wouldn't be happening twice.

“You cold?” he murmured.

“Only my back. I may have to turn like a rotisserie every few minutes.”

“The camp chairs might be warmer. Besides I thought our backs might start hurting if we sat on the quilt for the entire movie.”

“Sounds like you thought of everything.”

“We'll see.” He put an entire wavy potato chip in his mouth and smiled.

None of this made sense. I didn't have a lot of dating experience, but Dodd felt more like a brother or a cousin—my lips quivered into a smile—except when he didn't.

“What's that smile for?” Dodd popped the top on a can of Dr Pepper and handed it to me, then reached for another.

“I was wondering if JohnScott built the fire for you.”

He snorted. “I'll have you know I earned Boy Scout merit badges for camping as well as fire safety. You're in good hands.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I never figured you for a Boy Scout.”

“It was something my dad and I did together.” He gazed into the fire and sipped his drink. “I didn't follow through with Scouts in my teen years, though.”

His reminiscent tone hinted I might not be out of line asking about his father, so I tested the waters. “Sounds like he was a good dad.”

“The best.” He opened a Cool Whip container and offered me a chocolate-chip cookie. “When I was young, he would set up a tent in the backyard, and we'd sleep out there. It was against city ordinance to build a campfire, but we'd have a couple of gas lanterns going. And we'd roast marshmallows on a camp stove.”

“S'mores?”

“Sometimes.” He chewed a bite of cookie. The way the fire reflected in his eyes made them look gray, and I hoped he'd tell me more. He wiped the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin. “He always wanted the best for me and encouraged me to make something of myself. Even when I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, he told me to take my time and follow the Lord's guidance.” He chuckled. “He always wanted me to preach, though.”

After stirring the fire, I added another log.

“When he died, I think part of me died too, you know?”

I turned my back to the fire then, and my face tingled in the coolness of the shadows. “I know exactly what you mean.”

He moved the picnic basket and scooted across the quilt until we were facing each other cross-legged. “Your dad?”

I nodded. “He's not dead, but sometimes it feels like it.” I leaned back, resting my weight on my outstretched palms. “He spoiled me. Momma ran the discipline, but whenever I got in trouble, Daddy would sneak around and let me off the hook. She hated that.” I wasn't sure why I was telling him about Daddy, but I couldn't think of a reason not to. It seemed fair somehow.

“I'm sorry.” He said the words simply, as though he would undo the hurt if he could.

“I still love him.” I shrugged. “Though sometimes I wish I didn't. I daydream everything would be better if he were here, but then I feel guilty, as if I'm unsupportive of Momma.” I exhaled with a slight laugh. “But his memory is so much better than her reality.”

“Do you ever see him?”

“No.” The word sounded too loud and stark for the conversation, and I shifted awkwardly. “For the first few years, I watched the mailbox, but nothing ever came, and after a while, I stopped hoping.” My voice trailed off and hung in the night air.

Dodd reached for my hand and held it between the two of his, rubbing my fingers with a thumb. I didn't mind. It felt natural, and I had the urge to curl into a ball with my feet toward the fire, and fall asleep dreaming about my daddy … while Dodd held my hand. What was it about this man?

He squeezed my fingers. “Ready for a movie?”

“Sure.” That might have been a lie. I would've been happy talking to him for another two hours. Or holding hands. Or staring at the fire. But a movie was fine too. “What have you got?”

“Mom sent
Les Misérables
, and Grady insisted I bring
Monty Python
.” He pulled three DVDs out of the picnic basket.

“And what did
you
choose?”

He ducked his head.
“The Notebook.”

“Thank goodness. You had me worried for a minute.”

“You like Rachel McAdams?”

“No, I like Ryan Gosling.”

He inserted the disk into his laptop. “Quilt or camp chairs?”

“Chairs. But we're going to have to build up the fire before we start the movie. It's getting colder out here.”

We worked our makeshift campsite for ten minutes, and when we finally hit Play, we were cocooned in the camp chairs with the quilt draped across our backs and shoulders. Our chairs were so close they were touching, and the chocolate-chip-cookie container balanced on the chair arms between us, with the laptop nestled in the top of the picnic basket. One lone butterfly remained in my stomach, and when Dodd moved the cookies into his lap so he could lean across and hold my hand, the butterfly flittered across my midsection, releasing pleasant warmth. “Thanks for all this, Dodd.”

His eyes teased. “Thanks for finally saying yes.”

I remembered my determination to never say yes again, but I forced it out of my mind. I'd have plenty of time to deal with that on the way back to Aunt Velma's house. For now, I was planning to enjoy the movie.

About the time Rachel McAdams's parents dragged her away from Ryan Gosling, we turned our chairs because we were both broiling on the front and freezing on the back. I transported the picnic-basket entertainment center while Dodd maneuvered both chairs, but neither of us stood up completely because we didn't want to readjust the quilt. We hobbled a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree shift before flopping back in place.

When Rachel finally returned to Ryan, we both stood and stretched. I snuck another cookie. “Should we stir the fire so it'll burn down?”

He moaned softly. “I guess it's about time, but it'll be a while before we can leave it.”

I didn't want the evening to end. “Did you say something about dancing?”

“Yes, I did.” He chuckled. “We've got to do
something
while we wait for the fire to burn down.”

“We do.”

Dodd clicked his laptop a few times, and the opening notes of “Waiting on the World to Change” tinkled from the speakers.

“John Mayer. Are you serious?”

He paused, caution etched on his face. “Is John good or bad?”

“John is good. Mostly. This song is good.” I rested my palms on his shoulders, and he touched my waist lightly. “I've never danced to him, but that's not saying much, because I hardly ever dance.”

“I usually just sway.”

“But if you sway to the beat, it counts.”

As my boots crunched dried grass, I stared at his Adam's apple. I felt drawn to look into his eyes but worried he would think I wanted him to kiss me. I wasn't sure if I did or not, but I knew I didn't want him to
think
I wanted him to.