Driven

CHAPTER 6

The warm California sun relaxes me as I drink in its warmth in my backyard. I recline in the chaise, tilting my head to get the last rays before they ebb and fade to dusk. The leaves of several palm trees that line our backyard fence rustle with the light breeze, providing me with a sense of calm.

The day’s events have taken their toll on me. My meeting and revelations with Colton were no less exhausting than my day with the boys. And with Josie down with the flu, I’ll be back at the house in less than twenty-four hours to cover her shift. Despite it being early evening, I really should be getting ready for bed—sleeping off some of my exhaustion from my long week. But I’ve let Haddie talk me into a glass of wine and some pizza that she’s putting together in the house.

I close my eyes, leaning my head back, sighing as I allow myself to believe that the new facilities can actually become a reality now. That our new approach in treating orphaned children can expand and hopefully become the pioneering protocol for change in our foster system. The premise that kids can thrive in a home environment even when they don’t have their parents or family around. The idea that by creating small groups of these misfit kids under one roof—where they have consistency of guardians, rules, school, counseling—will lead to healthy, more society-ready adults. A place where if they don’t get adopted, as most kids these ages don’t, they will not have to move from foster home to foster home, or feel like a pariah at school because they are embarrassed that they don’t have a home to live in, but rather an orphanage. They will have a place where they belong.

With the money that Colton is helping provide, our new facility is a reality. Random houses in regular cities where kids who are used to having nothing will get something new for the first time in their lives. Somewhere they’ll feel safe, they’ll be loved, and they’ll have a sense of family.

A shiver of pride runs through me as I think of all of the possibilities and all of the hope that we can create with the completion of this project.

And then juxtaposed with the excitement over the new facility is my angst in regards to Colton. I’m so sick of thinking about it, him, and why I should keep my distance—of mentally making my pros and cons list and weighing them against each other. I still can’t figure out what to make of his comment that he doesn’t do the “girlfriend thing.” Why do I still keep thinking about him if there’s nothing there? Because there is. I can’t deny that he’s more than easy on the eyes. And I definitely can’t act as if the sparks that shoot up my arm when he touches me are imaginary. But I don’t want to get involved with him and his purported womanizing ways, especially now that I have to because of work.

I sigh heavily when I hear the sliding door open and Haddie walks out with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a pizza box stacked with plates and napkins on top. I suddenly realize how hungry I am. She walks toward me, the sun framing her tall figure, setting her blond hair alight like a halo surrounding her head. Long, lean legs stretch from short khaki shorts and her oversized bosom is covered in an orange camisole. As usual, she is accessorized perfectly and styled flawlessly. And despite her tireless perfection that makes me feel inadequate in so many ways, I love her like the sister I never had.

“I’m starving,” I announce, sitting up from the chair to help Haddie place everything on the table.

“And I’m starving for information on what’s going on with you. On why you’re out here so deep in thought.” She prods as she pours the glasses with the red wine, and I serve pizza on the plates.

“Just like in our college dorm room,” I state nodding at our meal, laughing at the memory of two frightened freshman thrown together away from home.

She was my freshman roommate. I could have never of guessed that first week of college orientation that the Barbie Doll I was roomed with would turn out to be the person closest to me in the whole world. She had waltzed in our dorm room, a model out of a Ralph Lauren ad campaign, so confident and sure of herself, her ad-worthy family following behind her, taking in the meager surroundings of the painted brick walls and small closet space. My gawky self watched her, cringing inwardly at the thought of having to be reminded every morning I woke up at how inferior I was to a beautiful creature such as her.

I sat picking at the hem of my dress as her parents left for good. She shut the door, turned to me, a huge grin on her heart-shaped lips, and said, “Thank God they’re finally gone!” I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she sagged against the door in relief. She angled her head, studying me, sizing me up. “I think it’s time to celebrate!” She said hurrying over to her suitcase.

Within moments, she produced a bottle of tequila, hidden deep in her belongings. She came back toward me, flopping on my bed next to me. She unscrewed the cap and held the bottle up in the air between us, “To Freshman year!” she toasted, “To friendship, freedom, cute boys, and having each other’s backs.” She winced as she took a swig of the strong liquid and then handed the bottle over to me. I looked nervously back and forth between her and the bottle, and then wanting desperately to be liked by her, took a swallow, the burn bringing tears to my eyes.

“My God, we were so naïve back then. And young!” she joins in my reminiscence. “We’ve been through so much since freshman orientation!”

“All we need is that cheap tequila to bring us back.” I laugh and then fall into silence as the impending night starts to eat the sun’s rays. “Eight years is a long time, Had,” I admit, taking a deep drink of the tart wine, letting it soothe the anxiety gnawing at the edges of my mind.

“Long enough,” she says taking a seat, looking at me over her own, “that I know something is bugging you. What’s going on, Ry?”

I smile softly, so grateful to have a friend like her and cursed at the same time because she knows my every nuance. I feel tears burn in my throat, the sudden force of my emotions surprising me.

Haddie leans forward, her perfectly tanned legs bending beneath her as she reaches out and places a hand on my leg. “What is it, Rylee? What has you so twisted up?”

I take a moment to find my voice, wanting to tell her everything, to get her opinion on whether I’m being obtuse in my confliction over Colton. Maybe I know what she is going to tell me if I confess, and that’s why I find myself holding back. Not wanting to hear that it’s okay after all this time to let go and feel again. That being with someone else does nothing to tarnish Max, his memory, or what we had together.

“There’s too many things, I don’t even know where to start,” I confess, trying to sift through my mental baggage. “I’m exhausted from work—worried about Zander’s lack of progress, wrapping up all of the details from the benefit last Saturday night,” I say running my hands through my hair, “and the fact that I’m back to the house tomorrow to cover Josie’s shift because she’s sick … ”

“Can’t someone else cover it?” She asks taking a bite of pizza. “You’ve worked way too many hours this week. I’ve barely seen you.”

“No one can. Not this week. Everyone’s hours are maxed out because all of the extra time I had them put in for the benefit … and since I’m on salary … it’s left to me,” I explain.

“I understand why you do it, Ry—why you love it—but don’t let it kill you, sweetie.”

“I know. I know. You sound like my mother!” I take a bite of my pizza and chew it slowly. “The good news though, is that I think we secured the rest of the funding for the facility.”

“What?” she sputters, sitting up quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me? This calls for a celebration,” she says, clinking her glass with mine. “What happened? How? Details!”

“We’re still ironing out the final details before making anything public,” I say, trying to hide my contempt for how we secured the funding from my voice, “and then we’ll make an announcement.” I hope that my answer will be enough to keep her questions at bay.

“Okay,” she says slowly, eyeing me—wondering why I’m not being more forthcoming. “So then what’s up with your auction date thing that Dane was telling me about?”

I look down, twisting the ring that sits on my right hand ring finger. I worry it around and around out of habit. “Not sure yet,” I say, looking up, noticing her watching my twisting of my ring.

She looks up, tears in her eyes. “It’s because the anniversary is coming up soon isn’t it? That’s why you seem so overwhelmed?” She scoots out of her chair and sits next to me, wrapping her arms around me.

For a brief moment, I allow myself to give in to the memories and to the thoughts that surround the approaching date. I haven’t really put the two together, my sudden sentimentality and my scattered emotional state over the possibility of acting on the nonexistent connection with Colton. It’s ironic to me that someone else has noticed it. I guess I’m subconsciously ignoring the traumatic date, wanting to close my eyes to the grief that will forever smolder in the depths of my soul.

I wipe a tear from my cheek and withdraw from the warmth of Haddie’s embrace. “Yeah,” I shrug, “just too much all at once.” This is the truth, but I feel guilty in not telling Haddie the whole of it.

“Well, sister,” she says reaching out and handing me back my glass of wine. “Let’s drink a bunch more wine, wallow in pity, and laugh at our stupid selves.” Her sincere smile permeates my mood.

I clink my glass to hers, thankful for her friendship. “Cheers, my dear!”