Truths and Roses Page 9

Because with a football in his hands, Will Kincaid was gifted.

  And so it went throughout their school years. Hannah won the spelling bees. Will was awarded first place at every sports banquet from fourth grade through twelfth. Their paths ran parallel but rarely crossed. Until one day during their senior year in high school. Mr. Wilks’s chemistry class. Fifth period.

  Most of the students in Mr. Wilks’s class knew that Will Kincaid did not want to be there. For him, the class was a means to an end, necessary for admission to the college of his choice, even if he was going on a football scholarship. He only had to pass.

  Forty percent of their grade would be determined by a project they were required to complete outside the classroom. On the day Mr. Wilks gave the assignment, Hannah had arrived late to class after meeting with her guidance counselor about a scholarship from the University of Virginia. The only seat left was in the front of the room. She slipped in and slid onto her stool just as Mr. Wilks said, “As you all know, your term projects will be due one week from tomorrow. Today, I’m going to divide you up into pairs, and that will be the person with whom you will spend much of your time over the next few days. To be fair, I’ll go in alphabetical order.” He began reading then. “Abrams, Beamer. Davis, Dillon. Fogerty, Hanover. Jacobs, Kincaid….”

  Hannah’s head jerked up. A wave of heat crept its way up her cheeks. She sat straighter on her stool, aware of the ribbing going on behind her.

  “Way to go, Will. You get paired up with the class brain. The only one around to score over 1300 on her SATs.”

  The heat in Hannah’s cheeks spread from limb to limb as she heard Will’s whispered, “Save it, Tom. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  Tom’s laugh held no amusement. “Yeah. Always the lucky son of a gun. Guess you won’t have to do a thing.”

  Hannah sat there, her back ramrod straight until the class ended. When the bell rang, she scrambled off her stool and headed for the door, not waiting to consult with her partner as most of the others were doing.

  Will caught her just as she rounded the corner of the hall. “Hey, Hannah! Hannah, wait!”

  She stopped at the sound of his voice, hesitating a moment before turning to face him.

  He stood there by a row of lockers reserved for the football team and cheerleaders, notebook tucked under his arm. “Aren’t we supposed to get together on this project?”

  She glanced down at the floor and attempted a nonchalant shrug. “Oh. I—I guess so. You know, if you’d like to get another partner, that would be fine.”

  Will looked away and then dug his toe into the floor. “Guess you heard Tom and his big mouth, huh?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does. And I’m sorry about that. He didn’t mean anything by it. Anyway, if it’s all right with you…I mean, I don’t want another partner. Do you?”

  Hannah looked up and met his eyes. “No. I guess not.”

  An uncertain smile touched his mouth, and his eyes brightened. “Wanna get together tomorrow after school?”

  She nodded, unsure she’d get a response past her lips.

  His smile widened. “Great. I’ll meet you at the library by the magazine rack around five.”

  She watched as he lifted a hand and then sprinted down the hall, his departing wave all but washing away the sting of Tom’s taunting. And not for the first time in the past few months, Hannah wished her best friend, Toby, had not moved away. What a gab session they could have had about this. With no one to share it with, she hugged the pleasure to herself and set off for her next class.

  The next day, Hannah arrived at the high school library fifteen minutes early. She found a seat, then went to the rest room, fixed her hair and checked to make sure some stray particle of food hadn’t gotten wedged between her front teeth. She then straightened the collar of her white blouse and brushed a few specks of lint from her red cardigan sweater.

  Heading back to the table, she met up with Will.

  “Hi,” he said uneasily. His blonde hair was tousled, and his hands were jammed in his pockets. “You were early.”

  She looked down and shrugged, trying to ignore the apprehension that had her heart pounding. “I got us a table already.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess we should get started, then.”

  She led the way, conscious of his eyes on her back.

  The Quiet Room was empty today. It saw action mainly during exam period, and she’d figured no one would mind if their work required a little talking. She sat down at the table and opened her notebook. She cleared her throat and avoided Will’s eyes as she explained her understanding of what it was they had to do.

  “Does that sound all right to you?”

  He smiled uncomfortably and said, “You obviously know what you’re talking about. Chemistry’s not my strength. I’m afraid you didn’t get the most helpful of partners.”

  “You might end up liking it after this. Who knows?”

  He shrugged and told her to go on, nodding here and there, but for the most part, remaining silent for the next hour or so. When she paused to riffle through the textbook to double-check an idea, he said, “I hope you aren’t still bothered about what Tom said in class. Sometimes he can be a real jerk.”

  She glanced up. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

  “I wanted to. He gets a little out of hand sometimes.”

  “It’s all right. Really.”

  “No. It wasn’t. And, anyway,” he added with a half shrug, “he was just jealous because he didn’t get to work with you.”

  She fiddled with the neck of her blouse, unable to meet his gaze, searching for a way to change the subject. “Ah, what do you like to do aside from football?”

  He propped his chin on one hand and stared out the window. For a moment, she thought he’d decided not to answer her. “Not much of anything, I guess,” he finally said with a frown.

  Hannah doodled in the margins of her notepaper, feeling his gaze on her, yet unable to look at him. “I didn’t mean that the way it might have sounded. I’m sorry if—”

  “No offense taken.” He rolled his pencil between his palms and said, “What do you do outside of school?”

  She considered the question, her pen ceasing its meandering. “I like to read. And I love classical music.”

  He studied her for a moment and then slid lower in his chair, a look of interest on his face. “You know a lot about it?”

  Certain she’d just made herself an even bigger square in Will’s eyes, she blushed and stammered, “A little, I guess.”

  “Did your aunt teach you?”

  “She’s always loved it,” she said, nodding. “She wanted me to know enough about the music to decide for myself whether I like it.”

  “Do you?”

  She opted for honesty. “Yes.”

  “Who’s your favorite?”

  “Beethoven, I think. Maybe because he was such an amazing man. He started going deaf when he was twenty-eight years old. And a lot of people didn’t like him because he became sort of bitter, I guess. But wouldn’t your attitude change if suddenly one day you realized you might not be able to do the one thing for which you’d trained your whole life?”

  “Did he give it up completely?”

  “He kept playing and composing. Some people said that the deafness forced him to concentrate on composing rather than playing and that he might not have written his greatest pieces, otherwise. Aunt Sarah says that’s ridiculous, though. She believes that such a man would have written those pieces regardless. His deafness couldn’t prevent him from hearing the music in his head.”

  “It’s sad though, isn’t it? To devote your whole life to one thing and then realize you might lose your ability to do it.”

  “He didn’t go totally deaf until the last years of his life. But to do such great things when there must have been days when he felt like not going on at all….”

  Several moments of silence passed. “He must have really lo
ved music to have not given up.”

  “I don’t think he could have lived for anything else. It was a part of him.”

  “You know, it’s strange how the public develops a certain image of other people, especially famous ones, I guess, what they’re like, how they live. I’ll bet a lot of the time they’re nothing like that at all.”

  “Maybe they think the public doesn’t want to know who they really are. Maybe they think they wouldn’t be accepted. I’m sure Beethoven must have thought no one would believe in his music if they thought he couldn’t hear.”

  Will watched her, his blue eyes sharp and assessing.

  Hannah held his gaze, and in those few seconds she felt as though they’d caught a glimpse of the other’s soul. She glanced down at her notebook and said quickly, “I guess we should get busy.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  They got back to work again after that and discussed nothing that didn’t in some way relate to the project. But Hannah lay awake that night thinking of their conversation and wondering why the Will Kincaid she’d spent those couple of hours with seemed so different from the one everyone seemed to know in school.

  The next afternoon in the library, the conversation again strayed toward the personal and Hannah found herself asking, “Are you looking forward to going away to college, Will?”

  He propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on one hand. “Assuming I get there. I’ve been offered a full scholarship, but only if my grades are high enough. This class will make me or break me.”

  “Then we’d better make sure we get an A, huh?”

  He stared at her for a moment, as if surprised by her response. “I could use it,” he admitted. “After what Tom said in class the other day, I’d have thought you might hate me for needing a good grade out of this class.”

  She shrugged. “I’d like one, too. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

  He studied her, shaking his head. “You’re not exactly what I’d expected, Hannah.”

  She smiled and turned her attention back to the book. “Neither are you, Will.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  They finished their work on the project that afternoon. Will asked, “You got a ride home?”

  Hannah looked down at her books, uncertain what to say. “I can walk.”

  “Come on. I’ll take you home,” he insisted.

  She nodded and tried to look as if it was no big deal, but her pulse set up a rhythm that said otherwise.

  Outside, they climbed into Will’s Wagoneer. “You thirsty?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  He turned into Simpson’s Ice Cream and pulled up to the drive-through, ordering them both a Coke and a banana split with two spoons. Once on their way again, he said, “There’s a place I want to show you.”

  She sipped at her Coke, comfortable with the silence while he drove. That was the odd thing about the time they’d spent together. Whether they were talking or not, she felt at ease with Will, as if in him, she’d found a link missing in herself. She knew Aunt Sarah would be expecting her soon, but it wouldn’t hurt to be late just this once. She couldn’t bring herself to end their last day of working together yet.

  He drove for ten minutes or so, then turned onto a dirt road that led to the lake. He parked on a knoll of land that looked out over the water. Reaching for the banana split, he said, “It’s a little soupy now. But it ought to taste the same.”

  She smiled as he handed her a spoon, and they raced to see who would get the cherry. It was a tie, and they ended up dividing it in two just as the setting sun bowed across the lake, casting pink fingers of light across the water. “Wanna go for a walk?”

  She nodded, and they climbed out of the vehicle and wandered toward the lake. She breathed in the scent of spring and wished this afternoon could go on forever. They sat down on a grassy spot near the shore. Nearby, a blackbird sang for its mate. Crickets chirped in barbershop-quartet harmony.

  She gazed out at the lake where a fishing boat sat moored. “It’s so pretty here.”

  “My father used to bring me fishing here when I was younger. Great place for bass. That was one of the few things we did together after my mother died.”

  “You aren’t very close, then?”

  He studied the grass beside him. “He’s usually busy.”

  “Oh.” She pulled a dandelion from the ground and blew the seeds into the wind.

  “How about you and your aunt?”

  “I love her very much.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  The words were said with such raw honesty that Hannah ached for him. “I’m sure your father loves you, Will.”

  “As long as I follow the path he wants me to take.”

  “Which is?”

  “Football. The right college.”

  “What about what you want?”

  “Football’s all I know.”

  “Is it what you want to do?”

  “Never really thought about doing anything else.”

  She fiddled with the hem of her skirt. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “You didn’t,” he said. “It’s all right.”

  “I guess parents don’t always handle things the way they should,” she murmured, thinking of her own mother and father. They hadn’t loved her enough to put up with the changes she brought to their life. And for the first time ever, she found herself admitting, “My parents left when I was small.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess I was what you’d call an accident. They were young and not ready to be tied down by a baby.”

  His voice went soft with compassion as he said, “So what happened?”

  “They decided to go away for a while. Sow some wild oats, Aunt Sarah said. They were killed in a car wreck just a few days after they left.” Her words trailed off, her throat too tight to allow her to go on. Her parents’ faces were nothing but a blurred memory to her and yet the sadness still tugged at her.

  He reached out and pressed his hand over hers. “I kind of know how you feel. Mama died when I was nine. And I still miss her.” He looked away as though expecting ridicule at the admission. When he didn’t get it, he said, “You know, you’re awfully easy to talk to.”

  She looked away, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into her cheeks. “So are you, Will.”

  He reached down and pulled at a blade of grass. “What do you want to do when you get out of school?”

  She considered the question at length. “I’ve always wanted to teach. In a university somewhere. Maybe even write a book someday.”

  “You’d be a great teacher. I could testify to your patience,” he said with a rueful grin. “What kind of book do you want to write?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Something about the paths people take in life, how they get off track.” She suddenly realized she’d admitted more than she wanted to. “Anyway, that’s enough about me.”

  He sent her a level look, his gaze intent. “I like talking about you. It’s funny how a person can be so different from what you’d imagined. I wish we’d had a chance to get to know each other sooner.”

  “Me, too,” she said with a shy smile.

  “Guess I ought to get you home,” he said after a moment. “Wouldn’t want your aunt to worry.”

  She nodded. “I guess so.”

  But they remained there, both reluctant to leave, aware that after this, they had no reason to be together, that tomorrow they’d go back to school, two pegs perhaps wanting to fit into the same hole, but certain it was impossible.

  “I’m glad we got to work together, Hannah. Even though I was a little intimidated at first.”

  Her eyes widened. “Intimidated? By me?”

  “Well, yeah, with your being so smart and all.”

  “I’m glad, too, Will. Even though I was a little intimidated at first.”

  He chuckled and said, “Of me?”

  “Of you. Star football player. All-round ladies’ man.
”

  Will’s cheeks went red. “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true,” she teased, enjoying his embarrassment.

  They smiled at one another, and then he stood up, offering her a hand. Hannah took it, coming up a little too close to his chest. She gave a small gasp, pressing one palm against him to steady herself.

  The fishing boat growled to life, then set off into the distance with a roar. And still they stood there, staring at one another for a long-drawn-out moment, before he looked out at the water, turned back to her with a boyish grin on his face and said, “Why don’t we go for a swim?”

  “A swim?”

  “First one of the year,” he said, and slapped a hand against his leg. “What do you say?”

  She grappled for words, enthused by the idea and yet uncertain at the same time. “I don’t have a suit and I-”

  “I’ve got some shorts and a T-shirt in the back of the Wagoneer.” He grabbed her hand and started for the vehicle. “It’ll be great. Come on.”

  Hannah tripped along after him, too surprised to resist. “Will….”

  But he’d already let down the back and had begun rummaging through a large duffel bag. With a triumphant, “Aha!” he yanked out a navy T-shirt and a pair of red shorts. “These ought to do. You can change inside. I won’t look,” he promised.

  She didn’t know what convinced her—the excitement of spring in the air or the fact that Will Kincaid could talk a stone into walking if he had a mind to, but whatever the reason, she’d never done anything so impulsive in her life.

  Caught up in his enthusiasm, she took the clothes and made for the front of the vehicle, climbing inside to change, and at the same time trying not to think about Will changing in the trees twenty feet behind the car.

  She slid out of the Wagoneer five minutes later, pulling and tugging at the makeshift swimsuit.

  Will came around front with a grin, surveying her where she stood with the waistband of the shorts bunched in one hand. “It’ll work. Sorta.”

  “You know what’s going to happen if I let go,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t complain.” He chuckled and slid into the vehicle, poking through the ashtray. A few moments later, he turned and announced, “Found it. One oversize safety pin oughtta do the trick. Come here. I’ll fix it for you.”