Countdown to Killing Kurtis Page 14

  “Oh, baby,” Kurtis coos, clearly thinking I’m crying tears of joy. “I’m so happy, too.”

  I bury my head into Kurtis’ shoulder to hide my tears from him, but all that makes me do is sob even harder into his chest. I’ve never really believed I’d see Wesley again, not really, but I reckon now that I’ve said yes to becoming Kurtis’ wife, forever and ever, ’til death do us part, I know it for sure.

  Chapter 20

  17 Years, 11 Months and 27 Days Old

  744 Days Before Killing Kurtis

  “I still don’t understand why I can’t go with you,” Wesley says. We’re standing under the big oak tree at our usual meeting spot. I’m eager to lock lips, as usual, but he’s so anxious about my imminent birthday and departure from the house in three days, he can’t even relax enough to kiss me.

  I sigh, exasperated. “Hells bells, Wesley. I already told you—you can’t come with me. Now, enough about that, let’s do some smooching.”

  He practically stomps his foot, he’s so mad.

  “Listen, Wesley. There’s nothing I want more—”

  “Then let me come. I’ve got to take care of you—you’re my princess bride.”

  I take a step toward Wesley and grab both his hands. “Think, Wesley, think. Use your noggin.” I pull him down to the ground to sit next to me under the big oak tree. “Wesley, you’re still sixteen, only just about to turn seventeen next month. You’ve got a full year left before you age-out. If you leave the house now, they’ll come looking for you. You’ll be classified as a runaway. We don’t want to be looking over our shoulders all the time, now do we? How’re you gonna take care of me if you’re constantly worried someone’s gonna haul you back here?”

  He grits his teeth.

  “When we’re finally together, I want us to be free as birds to do anything we want to do.”

  He looks away, thinking. I can tell my words are softening his resolve.

  “Listen, Wesley.” I put my hand up to his face and gently stroke his cheek. He tilts his face into my touch. “All I want in this whole world is to be with you,” I say, “but we have to be patient. We two are good at that, at being patient, aren’t we?”

  He smiles. “We sure are.” He rolls his eyes and runs his hand through his hair.

  “You know the minute I age-out I’m heading to Hollywood to be discovered. If you’re patient, if you wait ’til you age-out to come out to Hollywood, too, by the time you get out there, I’ll already be a big star. I’ll have a mansion all ready for us, with a swimming pool, and a tennis court, and a fountain with naked ladies and cherubs and a little cupid with wings.”

  Wesley laughs. “Well, all of that sounds good ’cept for the fountain—that part sounds kinda creepy.”

  No, it does not sound creepy, I think. It sounds beautiful and fancy. But I don’t say what I’m thinking because Wesley looks so darned cute right now, I have no desire to argue with him.

  Gosh dang it. What the heck am I gonna do about Wesley? I’d absolutely love for him to come live with me in my fancy mansion in Hollywood. This boy’s had just about the worst life of anyone, and yet he’s somehow managed to stay sweet as honey on a biscuit. I’d be tickled pink to watch him float without a care in the world on a raft in my pool—and lie naked with me in my bed at night—but the problem is I don’t know how Daddy’s gonna feel about getting an unexpected house guest after all this time.

  I’m surprised how often I dream about Wesley coming to live with me in Hollywood. For the longest time, I thought I could never wind up with Wesley, because... well, duh. Goofy and Marilyn can’t wind up together. And yet, when I saw that picture of Joe DiMaggio on that baseball card and started thinking about how Marilyn picked him when she could have had anyone, which means they must have made sense together somehow, I couldn’t help thinking maybe Wesley and I make sense together somehow, too—that maybe, just maybe, despite appearances, Wesley’s the salt that goes with my pepper in God’s natural order of things.

  But, even so, I’ve got another problem to consider here, too—and it’s a doozy. Can I fulfill my sacred destiny if Wesley’s tagging along with me in Hollywood? I just don’t know for sure.

  What I need right now is time. Time to get my butt out to Hollywood to get discovered. Time to find Daddy. Time to figure things out. I can’t be expected to come up with answers to everything all at once, for cryin’ out loud.

  I focus my gaze back on Wesley. Poor, distracted, anxious Wesley. He’s sitting here next to me, studying my face like he always does on account of me being so damned pretty. I pucker my lips as an invitation for him to kiss me, and he obliges, just like he always does. And when our lips meet, man, oh man, it’s like electricity all over again, even after all this time. Kissing this scrawny boy makes my heart race faster than bad chili through a hound dog—although, come to think of it, Wesley’s not quite as scrawny as he used to be. He’s filled out quite a bit in the time I’ve known him, actually. When the heck did Wesley’s shoulders get so broad?

  I shake my head, re-focusing on the task at hand. “Wesley, listen to me,” I say.

  He stares at me with mocking, undivided attention.

  I swat his shoulder. “Listen up. I’ve got an idea that will make it so that, if we’re patient, we’ll have it made in the shade like a Thanksgiving Day parade.”

  “Oh yeah? Tell me all about it—I’m all ears.”

  That’s an understatement. Wesley might not be quite as scrawny as he used to be, I’ll give him that, but those damned ears are still too big for that puppy-dog face of his, bless his heart.

  “I’ve been thinking this through,” I say. “The thing for us to do is swipe Mr. Clements’ very best baseball cards, and we’ll be set for life.”

  Wesley looks surprised.

  “I can sell the cards in Hollywood,” I continue, “and by the time you come out there in about a year, I’ll have us already set up to live like a king and queen.”

  Wesley looks up to the sky, like he’s praying to the Lord himself for patience. He sighs audibly. “Even if I wanted to follow this spiffy plan of yours, how the heck would we swipe Mr. Clements’ best baseball cards? I mean, we don’t even know where he keeps them or which ones they are—”

  “Mrs. Clements let it slip to me the other day in the kitchen that he keeps the best ones in a steel safe in his closet, and she said there’s a combination lock, and that it was Mr. Clements who set the numbers on the lock.” I can’t help but smile to myself. Even though I know I’m lying, my brain suddenly “remembers” Mrs. Clements and me, standing in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and talking about Mr. Clements’ safe.

  Wesley raises his eyebrows at me, but he doesn’t speak.

  “All we have to do,” I continue, “is figure out Mr. Clements’ numbers. Once we do that, we can sneak into his closet and steal his best cards right out from under him. Piece of cake.”

  “Mrs. Clements told you all that?”

  “She sure did. You know how much she likes me. She was laughing about how paranoid Mr. Clements is that someone’s gonna steal his cards—and then she got all worried that she told me and made me promise not to tell anyone.”

  “Well, that’s no good, then. You can’t steal the cards now. Mrs. Clements will remember she told you about the safe and think it was you who stole ’em.”

  I slap my forehead. “Oh, jeez. I didn’t think of it that way. Dang it.” I shake my head. “Gosh, I wouldn’t want the police coming after me, especially now that I’m gonna be an adult in three days. It’d be different if I were still a minor. I mean, if you steal something when you’re a minor like you, the worst they can do is put you in juvenile detention—and that’s no big deal, ’cause juvie’s nothing more than a dorm room and they have to let you out the very minute you turn eighteen. But if they catch someone stealing after they’re eighteen, like me, well, then they put ’em away into a maximum-security prison for a really long time.” I let out a long sigh. “Darn it, Mr. Clements is
always saying how he’s gonna retire on those dang cards, so they must be worth a mint.”

  Wesley squints and twists his mouth. I know that look—it means he’s thinking really hard, bless his heart.

  “Dang,” I say, “I really thought those cards could set us up for life. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through.”

  “Well, hang on,” Wesley responds. “Just give me a minute to think on it.”

  “Okay,” I say. “But how ’bout you kiss me while you’re thinking on it?”

  Wesley gives me a half-smile, clearly willing to oblige me. But before he can even lean into my face, I plant my lips right onto his and kiss the hell out of him (a happy surprise for the boy, I’m sure, since I almost always just sit back and let him have his way with my lips). The best way to describe Wesley’s physical response to my unexpected gift is that it’s like his entire body—head, limbs, torso, the whole thing—is gonna explode into a trillion pieces and then shoot into the sky like fireworks on the Fourth of July. But I want insurance here—I need to get those baseball cards so I can get my butt to Hollywood and find my daddy, and I don’t want anyone the wiser it was me who did it, either—so I do something the poor boy’s been yearning for and dreaming about since the very first minute he laid eyes on me. I grab his hand, remove it from my shoulder, and place it firmly on top of my right boob.

  Man, oh man, if Wesley was gonna explode before that maneuver, now he’s gonna skyrocket straight up into outer space and orbit the moon a few hundred times and then scatter across the galaxy into a trillion tiny stars. The minute Wesley’s hand makes contact with my chest, he jolts and jerks like he’s a june bug on a string. He slams his body against me, hard, almost hurting me, actually, and tackles me all the way to the ground, moaning loudly, all the while groping my boob like he’s a blind man looking for a peanut in a bag of walnuts. And, oh my goodness, I like it. I like it a whole lot.

  I wrap my legs around Wesley and press my pelvis into him, suddenly aching between my legs like nothing I’ve felt before. Oh lord, it’s all I can do not to rip his pants off and see for myself what all this trajectory-changing ejaculation business is all about.

  Wesley moans and so do I, as our kissing and the pulsing between my legs intensify. But, no, no, no! What on God’s green earth am I doing? I’ve got to get a hold of myself—keep my eye on the prize. I’ve come too far to let one self-indulgent moment with Wesley change the entire trajectory of my life. I cannot forget, even for an instant, that I’ve got a destiny—a sacred destiny to pick up Lana and Marilyn’s torch and carry it ever-farther into the catacombs of history. I’ve got to stay true to my destiny, even when every molecule of my stupid, disobedient body aches and screams and yearns to fuse with Wesley’s, to open my legs and feel him plowing deep inside me. Oh lord, all of a sudden, it’s like I’ve got a horrible itch and Wesley’s the only one who can scratch it. This is not good.

  I abruptly push Wesley off me and sit up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “No,” Wesley begs. “Please, no.”

  I leap up and begin pacing around Wesley like a wild animal.

  “Please,” he says again, his voice cracking. He’s grabbing at his crotch, his face twisted up like I just crushed his trouser-snake in a vise.

  “Wesley,” I choke out. “I wanna be with you so bad. But only when everything’s situated, so we don’t have to look over our shoulders. Please, Wesley, you’ve got to stay here until you age-out. If you come with me now, I’ll be an adult, and you’ll be a minor—and, oh my God.” I put my hand over my mouth, the picture of a girl having a sudden epiphany. “If I get with you now, I’ll be committing a crime. Oh no, Wesley, if I get with you now, when I’m eighteen and you’re still a minor, we’d be doing something illegal.”

  Wesley’s crumpled on the ground in an undulating heap, looking like he’s going to throw up. He lets out a mangled cry, like the pain is too much for him and finally grunts out, “Please come back over here.”

  “Wesley, if we cut off the dog’s tail, we can’t sew it back on.” I put my hands up over my eyes. “Lord have mercy, I’m having flashbacks. Horrible flashbacks. It’s just like with Jeb... only... now I’m the adult, and you’re the kid. That’s just not right, Wesley—we have to wait ’til we’re both adults or I’m no better than Jeb. I couldn’t live with myself like that.” Tears squirt out of my eyes. Good lord, I hate lying to Wesley like this, I really do, but I’ve got no choice. I can’t let him come with me to Hollywood yet. I just can’t.

  As I’ve been talking, Wesley’s been hunched over on the ground, grabbing at his crotch like I just whacked him with a baseball bat, but, bless his heart, being that he is Wesley, after all, when I start crying buckets of tears, he jumps up and comforts me in my time of need. He wraps me in his arms—which, like his shoulders, I notice, aren’t quite as scrawny as they used to be—and presses his body against mine. When he pulls back from our embrace, there’s tenderness in his eyes. He wipes the tears running down my cheeks with his thumbs.

  “I have an idea,” he says quietly, his voice soothing. “Just leave everything to me.”

  “What are you gonna do?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Just leave everything to me.”

  “Tell me.”

  He pauses a beat.

  “Wesley, what in God’s name are you gonna do?”

  He smiles broadly. “You can’t steal Mr. Clements’ baseball cards, but I most certainly can.” His eyes flash with pride at his big idea.

  “What are you talking about?” I try to look confused.

  “Mrs. Clements told you about the safe, right? But she didn’t tell me about it. And she doesn’t know we ever talk. She’d never guess in a million years you told me about the cards in the safe.”

  I arch my eyebrows, like, Hey, there’s a thought.

  “And, worst case, if I ever do get caught, well, all they can do is send me to juvie for a year, right?” His voice is suddenly edged with confidence. “And that’s nothing but a dorm room, anyway.”

  “That’s true.” I pause. My goodness, this boy really does have a heart of gold.

  “And juvie can’t be any worse than this Godforsaken place, can it? I mean, what’s the difference if I’m here or there?”

  “Juvie might even be better than this hellhole,” I say.

  “It probably is,” Wesley agrees.

  I purse my lips, considering. I take a small step away from him, trying to process his big idea. “Well, that all makes a whole lot of sense. You’re so smart, Wesley, so much smarter than me. I never would have thought of any of that.”

  He puffs out his chest, just a little bit. “Yeah, the more I think about it, this is a great idea.” He nods emphatically, like he’s made a decision. “You’ve got to be good and gone from the house before I do anything, so they’ll never suspect you. After you’ve left the house for good, I’ll steal the cards and leave them in a safe place for you to come and get them on the way to your bus. Hey, I’ll leave them right here, under the oak tree, under this rock.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I nod, letting the idea gain steam in my mind. “And I’ll sell the cards in Hollywood, so no one around here will ever be able to trace them back to either of us.” For this next part, I lower my voice to an intense, breathy whisper. “And when you finally come to Hollywood after you turn eighteen, I’ll just be sitting there, laid out like a picnic supper for you.” I give him a heated look, a look that unequivocally promises future carnal relations. “It’ll be just the two of us, never looking over our shoulders, doing whatever we want to do.” I lightly graze my hand across my boob, as if I’m imagining a delicious day about a year from now when it will be Wesley’s hand doing the boob-grazing.

  Wesley exhales loudly and closes his eyes.

  “You just have to be patient and wait ’til you turn eighteen,” I say. “That’s the only thing you’ve gotta do.”

  He exhales again. “Okay.” There’s resolution in his voice. “I’ll wa
it. I can wait as long as it takes, if it means being with you.”

  I step toward him. “Oh, Wesley, you really do take such good care of me.”

  “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you forever and ever. I always have and I always will.”

  “You know what? I truly believe that.”

  “Can I touch your boob again?”

  “No, I had a moment of weakness, and I’m sorry about that. But we have to wait, considering you’re a minor and all.”

  He sighs like a flea-ridden dog with mange.

  “Just think, though, in about a year from now, you’ll be able touch me and my boob—or both of ’em —every single day.”

  He swallows hard. He’s actually trembling, the poor boy.

  I swallow hard, too. I reckon I’m trembling, too. “Forever and ever,” I add softly, my skin suddenly electrified at the thought.

  The expression on Wesley’s face is so tortured, I know it would be kindest for me not to say anything more. But, damn it all to hell, I just can’t help myself. “In fact, when you’re eighteen and you come out to Hollywood, I’ll let you do anything you want to me. I promise.” I lick my lips and exhale.

  Wesley shudders and closes his eyes.

  Good lord, what am I doing? I’ve got to get my head back in the game and think about the task at hand. “But for now,” I say, taking a deep breath, “let’s try to figure out those numbers on that combination lock, okay?”

  Wesley opens his eyes and stares at me, his face on fire. Damn. I’ve never seen him look quite like this before. It’s as if he’s turned into a man just now, right in front of me.

  “Wesley,” I breathe. A funny kind of throbbing has announced itself inside my panties.

  He bites his lower lip.

  There’s a long beat. I’ve lost my train of thought. My face feels hot. “We’ll make a list of our ideas on the numbers,” I finally say. “And the day after I’ve left the house, you go up to that safe and try ’em out when no one’s home.”