Chapter 4

© Copyright 2006 by Elizabeth Delayne



Kevin sat alone in his kitchen and buried his head in his hands. He was at his grandmother’s table ... and he could almost see her looking at him from her spot over by the stove.

I raised you better then this, Kevin Damron.

She had–he knew she had.

At his feet Regal lay, softly growling at him.

Where had his life gone wrong?

He felt terrible about lying. He wasn’t sure why he had. What had seemed so desperate, so important?

And when had Jenny Morton become so important to him?

Cassidy had been asleep when he’d gotten home last night, but from the lack of communication this morning, he had a feeling he was in trouble. He’d forgotten that Jenny had picked Cassidy up for the garage sale ... so Jenny would have brought Cassidy home.

And Jenny would have known he was lying.

With Cassidy out on her morning walk, he sat alone in the kitchen and let the despair roll though him.

At the knock on the kitchen door, he looked up. There through the window was Jenny ... her gaze all too telling.

She stepped in without waiting for him to get up and quietly shut the door. She held up the morning paper in her hand. “Did you know about this?”

“Not until the evening was over.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? Cassidy and I have grown so close. It was a terrible excuse.”

He shook his head. “I know ... I’m sorry. I don’t have ... I don’t have an excuse.”

She slapped the paper down in front of him. On the front page of the lifestyle section was a picture of her from one of her publicity shots. The headline read ...

LOCAL CHEF PRACTICES HER CRAFT OF MISTAKES

Kevin glanced through the article, saw where he’d been quoted, then looked back up Jenny. “Those comments were taken out of context and completely unfair.”

“I’m not upset about the article. I could care less about how the public views me. I’m already known for being an imbicile, why should it bother me about this?” She took a step back, and for the first time he noticed that her hand trembled. Apparently, she noticed as well, because she tucked it away as she crossed her arms across her chest.

“You lied to me–you lied to me about where you were last night, and who you were with. I just can’t wrap around myself why you would go to that much trouble to cover your footsteps. It’s not like you’ve made any type of committment. Couldn’t you have just said, ‘hey–gotta date?’”

“Oh–you can’t?” He grabbed her wrist when she tried to walk away. Slowly, he stood up. “You mean something to me.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better? That you would lie to someone you ... care about?”

“I haven’t been able to work my mind around you since I bumped into you at the grocery store,” he dropped her hand to push his own through his touseled hair. “I didn’t come home for this ... I wasn’t prepared to take it–you on. I just don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I want. I just–”

She pulled her hand away. “Find out before you start making promises.”

“That’s why I haven’t ... yet.”

“So you can just string me along? We can be friends as long as it serves your purpose? There’s an invisible line that you draw–you move–and you keep secret. This is like high school all over again.”

“High school?”

“We weren’t just partners. We were friends–at least I thought we were.” She held up a hand, mentally stepped back. When she opened her mouth again, her voice was clear and controlled. “As long as we were winning, good ol’ Jenny ... then bam. You dumped ... me.”

“I wouldn’t call it dumped–competition.“

”Left me high and dry for Sandra Liemon.”

“State Championship was on the line–“

”So were a lot of other things, apparently,” Jenny eyed him. “Even now you can justify things with winning and losing. Does it not matter that we were friends?”

“We were in high school.”

“Not anymore. Why did you pull such a high school trick? I can understand now, wanting to go out with another woman. As you said, you made no promises to me. We’re not in high school anymore, but lying though part of high school, still isn’t acceptable.”

As she turned to leave, he stood. “Is this about me now or then?”

“How am I not supposed to compare the two? You hurt me back then–in a very large, high school kind of way. We might as well have gone to opposing schools. You didn’t talk to me for the rest of the year. Oh– don’t look at me like that. I knew why you wanted Sandy. So did everyone else.”

“She was an excellent cross examiner.”

“I’m sure she examined a lot of things.”

“It was never like that–between us or anyone else.” He was insulted, but he saw the hurt and the jealousy for what it was ... and he knew he deserved every ounce of mistrust.

“You’re right. That was wrong and rude and completely out of line. It’s a topicality issue anyway,” she waved a hand to dismiss it and wondered further around the room. “Let’s focus on the issues here. You wanted to win state. You were desperate for it.”

“Something like that,” he stuck his hands in his pockets, wondered why he was so restless.

“You got all your NFL points, more then enough. You came in second, did decently at Nationals. Earned a pretty good reputation and scholarship.”

“So it all worked out in the end.”

“Maybe,” she lifted a shoulder, stepped close, and tugged on his tie so that they were eye to eye. “My senior year? My partner and I came in second at State, too.”

She tugged him a bit closer, whispered his ear, “But we went all the way at nationals. First place ... champ.”

She released him and spun on her heel. The sound of the door as it closed was like the gavel in an empty courtroom.



He watched her walk away, snapping the door shut behind her. He gave her the win. It seemed she had trumped him in another area. She could have been a lawyer if she’d wanted, but she’d chosen another road–to teach. He didn’t know why–he hadn’t let himself find out why.

He grabbed his keys and headed out for a drive. He didn’t think, didn’t let himself think about where he was going.

But when he pulled into the parking lot, he felt like he’d been driving back there all his life.

He parked in the senior section outside the old English hall. He found his spot–second row, with a direct shot to the door. The faded number on the asphalt was still the same.

31.

He got out, sat on the hood of his car and stretched out onto the windshield to staare up at the blue summer sky. In the distance, he could hear the drum line practicing for the marching season. The familiar cadence washed over him.

Some things never changed, something started anew–each year, every season.

The band would play, the crowds would come, the football stadium would fill and the coaches would call plays. The calls were sometimes debated brought up year after year–but mostly forgotten.

But they came. The people, the players, they were all different ... but the cycle kept turning.

And he’d come back, with less confidence then he’d left with. What he’d wanted, what he’d dreamed seemed ... ineffectual now. Arguing, debating hadn’t kept his grandmother around, hadn’t gotten him the girl.

Funny how it was the girl he suddenly wanted, when he didn’t know anything else.

Jenny had graduated from these same halls ... and she’d come back. Her dreams had changed, and she’d ended up on her feet. She was steady.

He didn’t know why, why she’d cahnged, or what made the difference. He hadn’t asked. Perhaps he’d held back from asking. Maybe he was afraid to find out.

In any case, it was time he found out.

But he was through with the sparing. He was ready for the show down.

And this time, he would win.

First place, or nothing.


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