Better Not Love Me Read online

  Protruding from Denny's Bible were hundreds of little sticky flags in neon colors where Denny had flagged passages that spoke to her. She'd talk about them sometimes. Marcus was no Bible scholar, but it was some of the few times that Denny would talk, so he wasn't about to tell her to stop.

  He wanted to give her things, like an iPod or a new pair of sneakers to replace her worn-out Converse high-tops. But he didn't want to seem like he was giving her charity, like he felt bad for her or something. So he didn’t give her anything. He did plan on asking her to the movies though. There was a new movie out, based on a science fiction book that Denny had mentioned about people who lived in a bunker silo underground after the earth's surface became uninhabitable. He thought that, even if she didn’t want to go with him, she'd want to see the movie and accept his invitation. He just hadn't gathered up the courage to ask yet. He didn't have a great deal of confidence around girls, especially ones he liked.

  Denny's mom had ceased talking, passing that task to Logan who was loudly complaining about how "kids these days wear long shorts that look like high-water pants." Apparently this was rather bothersome, because he went on about it for quite some time. Marcus listened, not because he was interested, but because he couldn't help it. The man was so loud.

  From across the cafeteria, Denny glanced up at Marcus and that was all the invitation he needed. He walked over to the table when the conversation was at a lull.

  "How are you all doing tonight?" Marcus asked. "Dinner tonight was pretty good, huh?"

  He didn't think this was true, but it just came out.

  "We're not done yet, thanks," Logan barked at Marcus. His mouth was full of food.

  Marcus was taken aback at the comment.

  "Mom, can I be excused?" Denny asked. Her seldom-used voice was sweet. She even dared a slight smile.

  "I said we ain't done yet," Logan growled.

  Denny looked down again, the hopeful look in her eyes gone in an instant.

  "Logan, I think that—" Her mother began to say.

  "Did I ask what you thought?" There was a fire in Logan's words.

  Denny's mother took on the same downtrodden demeanor as her daughter as she just stared at the table.

  Denny brushed her hand through her hair and pulled up the sleeve on the left arm of her gray hoodie. Marcus didn’t have to look hard to see a black and blue bruise encircling her wrist and forearm. Marcus wasn't sure if the act was intentional, but what followed confirmed that it was. Logan quickly reached across the table and grasped at the sleeve of the hoodie, pulling it down toward her hand. The movement was so unnatural and out of place that Marcus was shocked at what he saw.

  While he reached across the table, Logan's stomach bumped his tray of food and his remaining Salisbury steak was sent flipping to the ground, splattering on the floor and wall. Denny pulled her arm back, but Logan clamped his hand down over the bruise and squeezed.

  "What did I tell you, girl?" He began to stand up from the table.

  The whole thing seemed to be moving in slow motion for Marcus, who was standing at the edge of the table, within reaching distance of both of them.

  On instinct, Marcus grabbed onto the wrist of Logan's outstretched arm and twisted it toward him. The wrist grab didn't release Denny's arm. In the same motion Marcus released his grip on Logan's wrist and turned his body toward the larger man, then slammed his flat palm into his chest. The palm strike sent Logan backwards to the floor. His feet got caught up in the legs of the table, but Logan managed to right himself very quickly and stood, his arms at his sides, fists clenched.

  "Run, Marcus!" Denny shouted.

  But Marcus didn't run. He stood his ground. He'd learned a few things over the last few years about intimidation and fear. You'll get pummeled if you're scared and you can't win if you're seeing red. Logan was seeing red. He was embarrassed and in the wrong. Marcus held the high ground. He was defending his friend from a beast.

  Marcus raised himself onto the balls of his feet and took a defensive fighting stance, slowly backing away from the older, larger man. This drew Logan away from Denny, which was Marcus' intent. Protect the girl.

  Logan charged like a bull, his right hand trailing behind him in a fist. He wound up for a swing that would have likely knocked Marcus out cold. But as Logan threw his weight onto his forward foot, Marcus pulled back and swiveled aside letting Logan's momentum propel the oaf right past him. The man's overconfidence in his right cross was his downfall. Marcus simply shoved him in the back and gravity did the rest. Logan stumbled and hit his head on a cafeteria bench. His knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. The whole thing probably lasted all of eight seconds, but to Marcus, it seemed much longer.

  "Gentlemen!" a powerful voice shouted from the opposite side of the room. "That's enough!"

  Marcus turned to see Pastor Isakson. The Pastor shook his head and pointed toward the exit. His face was a mix of disappointment and disgust. Marcus was immediately sick to his stomach. He took a deep breath, but decided not to try and explain himself. Not with his history of fighting. Who would believe him? He simply nodded and walked out the door.

  Chapter 42

  Marcus burst through the thick metal exit doors and out into the cold rain of the night. Second-hand cigarette smoke filled his nostrils from the smokers congregated under the door's small awning.

  Why does this keep happening? It was so fast. I couldn't think.

  He kept walking in a straight line through the middle of the parking lot. The rain bounced off puddles around him. He didn't care.

  That look on Pastor Isakson's face.

  It was something he never wanted to see again.

  He couldn't believe it. He couldn’t think straight. He finally had something that he enjoyed. He was helping people. Volunteering. Nobody told him he needed to do it. He just did it because it was the right thing to do. He owed the world something and maybe by mopping the floors and cleaning up terrible dinners for people in need, he was somehow paying the world back. It wasn't enough. He knew that. But he had to start someplace. One step at a time. He had to redeem himself. Be a better person. So why did bad things have to happen?

  He couldn’t get Pastor Isakson's face out of his mind. The one man he truly respected. He must think of him as a thug. It made him angry. Angry at himself.

  He stopped walking when he reached the end of the parking lot that overlooked several commercial buildings nearby. He saw the flat white rooftops reflected in the security lights in the driving rain. The center of the rooftop held a large thin pool of water being hit by the rain. He squinted and it looked like ice, easily broken and unsafe.

  He felt something strong in the pit of his stomach. He bent over at the waist and threw up his dinner on the ground below.

  That pool of water looked just like Rocktop Lake.

  * * *

  "Hey," came the call from close behind him.

  It was Pastor Isakson.

  Marcus wiped his chin and stepped in front of the vomit on the wet pavement to block the Pastor's view. It was stupid. He'd obviously seen him doubled over, but he didn't want to advertise it.

  The pastor, in a silver rain coat, just stood there looking at Marcus. It was dark and the pastor was backlit from the building. Marcus couldn't make out his expression. He couldn't anticipate what was coming next. A lifetime ban from the Annex? Mandatory enrollment in anger management classes? A call to his parents? He dreaded that most.

  But none of those things were coming. The pastor cleared his throat and began speaking.

  "When I was a kid I used to collect golf balls at one of the public courses by my apartment," he said. "They'd pay me five cents for every ball I'd find. They would use them as range balls or turn around and sell them to the bad golfers who needed to carry some cheap extras in their bag just in case. I used the money to buy baseball cards. You know the kind that come with a stale stick of gum?"

  Marcus nodded, wondering what this story had to do with what
just happened.

  "There was this pack of cards that I wanted to buy and it cost $1.30. I was trying to collect the whole series of cards and I thought if I could buy two more packs that I would be able to complete the series. It was a long shot, but I was 12-years-old. What did I know? I had earned about half as much as I needed one Saturday morning and I thought if I worked really hard I could find enough golf balls, and get paid my mere five cents apiece, to ride my bike to the card shop and purchase those two packs of cards."

  "OK," Marcus said.

  "Don't worry, there's a point here," the Pastor said. "I dug under every shrub, rock and tall blade of grass and collected golf balls like crazy. But in my haste I wandered a little too close to an active game of golf and grabbed a ball that was still in play. Granted, it was way in the rough and there was nobody else around. I picked it up, tossed it in my bucket and moved on. I was just about to enter the pro shop and collect my reward money when a golf cart came screaming down the path and cut me off. Two men got out and started yelling at me. ‘That's the kid,’ one of the men said. ‘He's the one who stole my ball.’ Now remember, I was standing there with a bucket full of golf balls, so I couldn't very well deny it, but this one fellow was in a fit of rage. He knocked the bucket out of my hand, spilling the balls all over the path and grass. He pushed me up against the wall of the pro shop and shoved his forearm into my neck. I could barely breathe and I tried to pry his arm off me but it didn't matter. He was twice my size and full of anger."

  "What did you do?" Marcus asked.

  "There was nothing I could do. That's the point. He had me pinned and I'm not sure what would have happened if the guy's buddy hadn't panicked and pulled him off of me. The other guy picked up one of the balls from the ground and said, 'Jesus, Bill, he's just a kid. Take this and be done with it.' He did. They got into their cart and drove off. I never saw them again. I didn't pick up the golf balls. I was so frightened that it might happen again that I left and I never went back."

  "But it was an accident," Marcus said. "You didn’t do anything wrong."

  "You don't have to do something wrong to get bullied," Pastor Isakson said. "Tell me. Why did you shove Logan?"

  "Because he was hurting Denny's arm," he replied.

  "Why did you push him into the bench?"

  "Because he charged me. I just stepped out of the way."

  "So, did you do anything wrong?" the Pastor asked.

  Marcus paused for a moment before answering, not sure what the right answer was.

  "I get in trouble for fighting a lot."

  "I know, I've talked with your parent's about it. They asked me to watch you. And I watched you tonight. You defended your friend from a bully. That's not fighting. Logan was one incident away from being kicked out of the Annex already and this put him over the top."

  "I think he's hurting Denny and maybe her mom too."

  "I suspect the same. They never gave me any reason to think that until tonight, but it's pretty clear that's the case. I saw the bruises on her arms."

  "That must be why she's always covered up with that hoodie," Marcus said. "Can you protect them?"

  "Yes, if they want help. We'll do our best. Mrs. Isakson is talking with them now. We'll see what they'd like to do. When she's done you can go back and see Denny."

  Marcus nodded a thank you.

  "I thought you were going to banish me from this place."

  "Not even close," Pastor Isakson said. "The world needs more people like you, who look out for others and help them when they are in need. You did a good thing Marcus. You were a man tonight. I'm proud of you."

  Pastor Isakson pulled Marcus in and embraced him.

  "Now, let's get you out of this blasted rain."

  Chapter 43

  Amelia walked down a massive corridor inside the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport, trying to find her gate. She was upbeat and happy. It felt good. When she left Nate's house he was up and talking with Chloe about the Texas Rangers. The girl was going to be quite an actress someday. Amelia had long ago given up on listening to Nate ramble on about the baseball team, but Chloe stuck with it and she admired her for it.

  Amelia promised to return in a few weeks. Nate, for the first time in their relationship, really showed some emotion about her leaving. It was good to be missed, she thought. But that also meant she would miss him too. And she would.

  Amelia paced the rows of seats at her departure gate, looking for somewhere to sit. The airport was massive, and crammed with humanity. Nearly every seat was filled with either an awaiting passenger or their bags.

  Why did people have to place their bags on the seats where actual people could sit?

  She traveled so much for Mr. Z's that she had access to the Delta Sky Club private lounge, but by chance the lounge was under construction, which meant she was stuck finding a place to wait along with 200 of her fellow passengers. She picked a seat between an elderly woman and a businessman in a suit. She slid her carry-on bag under her seat and closed her eyes.

  After a layover in Salt Lake City, she'd be in Spokane late and lucky to be at her house by midnight. She was exhausted and looking forward to sleeping on the plane. The waiting area was loud. The buzz of people around her numbed her senses and soon she was asleep.

  Amelia was startled when her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. The tickling on her thigh meant a text message, likely from Marcus or Susanna. She rubbed her eyes and fished the phone out of her pocket. She didn't know how long she'd been asleep.

  The notification was from Chloe. She punched in her security code and the full text message appeared on the screen.

  _Chloe: I know U R flying out now but I'm in an ambulance w/ dad. Going to hospital. It's not good. I'm scared. He won't wake up. I don't know wht 2 do.

  Amelia didn't hesitate.

  She keyed in a quick reply as she ran down the terminal and outside in search of a taxi.

  _Amelia: I'm on my way to you right now.

  What could have changed in just a few hours?

  Chapter 44

  The taxi ride to the hospital was a blur. And Chloe didn't respond to any of her other messages. The emergency room staff wouldn't allow her to go back into the room because she mistakenly said she was Nate's girlfriend. Only family members were allowed beyond the waiting room. She sat there for hours, in a worn chair, just like the airport.

  A medical assistant came out and told her to go to another waiting room when Nate was moved to the Intensive Care Unit. She wouldn't tell her anything about his condition though.

  The ICU waiting room was nicer. It had some windows and fewer people. The Price is Right blared from a TV mounted to the wall. Drew Carey held that impossibly long handheld microphone as he urged the contestants to bid on prizes. She couldn't help but watch.

  A sailor in a Navy uniform just won a new car, with "California emissions," whatever that meant. The guy jumped up and down like he was on a trampoline. It didn't feel like reality. None of this did.

  The hours ticked away. Drew Carey was replaced with daytime talk shows and an infomercial about a new type of wheelbarrow.

  The waiting and not knowing made Amelia hurt inside. If this was Nate's final moments, then she didn't want to spend it without him. She wanted to be next to him, holding his hand. She could comfort Chloe, who had to be scared out of her mind. She lost one parent years ago when her mother died in that accident, and now this?

  * * *

  It was late evening when Chloe appeared in the chair next to Amelia. Her pretty face was swollen from crying. She had a small notepad and a pencil. A messy scrawl lined the pages.

  She looked much older than a 17-year-old. The burden of a sick father wore heavily on her.

  "They'll let two people back now. I had to tell them you were my aunt, otherwise they wouldn't let you back. You're not on any of his paperwork as family or next of kin," Chloe said.

  Her words were matter-of-fact like a new doctor practicing proper bedside manner.


  "Thank you," Amelia replied, then stood to go back. She thought that this was the invitation she'd been waiting for.

  But Chloe didn't stand, so Amelia sat down again and began rubbing Chloe's back to comfort her. Amelia wondered if Chloe's mother ever did this for her when she was a child. She knew how a simple touch conveyed what words couldn't.

  "It's not good," Chloe said.

  "What did they say?"

  "I took notes, but I'm not sure they make sense. They said that something went wrong with the dialysis at home. It's supposed to take out all the bad stuff in your blood that your kidneys normally do naturally. They said there are two types of dialysis, too."

  "Peritoneal dialysis and hemodialysis," Amelia said. "I researched it when he started treatment. He was doing Peritoneal or PD."

  "Right. Well, we're doing the PD one because of his previous cancer treatments. It would fill him up with fluid and then drain it. The doctor explained why, but I don't remember exactly what he told me. He said a lot of stuff."

  "That's OK," Amelia said. "What happened at home?"

  "This part I know. He went into hypovolemic shock—I wrote it down—because the PD took out too much blood. Some of the good stuff, that is not supposed to be filtered out, came out too. That's when he passed out and I couldn’t wake him up. I can't believe I didn't watch it close enough. I should have seen it before."

  "Chloe, you can't blame yourself," Amelia said. "Please don't. How were you supposed to know? None of us knows this stuff inside and out. It's a very complicated process. And you did see it. You're the one who called for help. He's getting the care he needs right now because you acted."