Read Online Waiting by Carol Lynch Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: Carol Lynch Williams
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gets out of the Toyota, walks like he’s going somewhere important, taking big steps, right up to me.
Then he pulls me in to his body, and I feel the dryness of his clothes.
He just holds me. Tight.
I work my hands out of my pockets and to his waist.
Grip the material of his shirt.
“You’re getting me wet,” he says into my hair.
His voice is so different from Nice Smile’s.
“I’m sorry.” I say this into his shoulder.
There’s rain in my eyelashes. I think it’s rain.
He pulls in a breath. “You remind me so much of your crazy brother.”
The car of guys must leave, but I don’t hear them. I just stand in the rain with Taylor not that far from where my dead brother is buried and remember how Zach loved the rain.
After Rachel moved,
after Zachy died,
I tried to get ahold of Rachel maybe a thousand times.
But she never called back.
She loves the rain too.
Once, the four of us picnicked on the beach.
We watched as the sky grew dark out over the ocean, watched as the storm drew closer, then closer, watched as the rain pelted the sand almost like bullets.
I sat there on a blanket, arms around my knees, Taylor so close I was warm down one side. He rested his head on my shoulder, and every once in a while he kissed my face and muttered sweet words. After a bit—we were already wet—he held a second blanket over us, to shield us from the stinging rain.
Closer to the surf
Rachel and Zach ran at the waves
and away,
laughing like maniacs.
Taylor said, right after I thought it, he said,
“They’re crazy together, London. Did you ever think he’d find someone as crazy as he is?”
“I never did,” I said.
Taylor looked at me then. He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I love you, London Castle,” he said. His breathwas warm, and I felt crazy happy myself.
In fact, I felt
right then
that everything in our world would have a happy ending.
“What are you doing out here?” Taylor asks. We’re in the car, and I’m dripping all over everything. My hair has turned to ringlets.
I look at him side-eyed. “You know.”
“Yes, but why alone?”
When I open my mouth, the words are trapped, and I have to cough to dislodge them. “There’s . . .” Can I tell him? Can I say, The whole family is gone? We’ve disappeared with Zach? Been buried with my brother?
I shake my head.
Without warning, Taylor pulls the car over to the side of the road. There’s a ditch next to us, filled with fast-running water.
“Look at me, London.” His voice is stern but not angry.
Was I staring at my hands? I think so. I turn my gaze to Taylor.
“I’m here.” He taps his chest. “I’m here. I’m always going to be here.”
He shakes his head. “You said we needed a break. I didn’t want a break. You said.”
I nod. I asked for that when things started to crumble.
When the yelling started. Before it was all over.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Taylor says. “Didn’t want to.”
“You’re not even eighteen.” Those familiar words are in my head, loud. And I say them to Taylor.
He looks out the window, which has gone all steamy. “I know what I know. I know how I feel.”
I wasn’t allowed in for The Talk.
Zacheus wanted me there. Wanted Rachel. But Daddy and Mom said no—like they already knew where this was headed.
And then the words came.
“I’m a religious writer! A missionary! You’re the son of a religious writer. Of a missionary! You’re not even seventeen!”
“So what! So what! What does age matter? I love her.”
“You’re too young to love anyone.”
Mom’s words were like a slap to Zach. He told me so, later.
“How will you take care of three people? You’re not even out of high school.” Mom’s voice was razors. I could hear that myself where I stood hidden in the hall. And then after a thousand beats, “What will the neighbors think?”
“Where are we
Then he pulls me in to his body, and I feel the dryness of his clothes.
He just holds me. Tight.
I work my hands out of my pockets and to his waist.
Grip the material of his shirt.
“You’re getting me wet,” he says into my hair.
His voice is so different from Nice Smile’s.
“I’m sorry.” I say this into his shoulder.
There’s rain in my eyelashes. I think it’s rain.
He pulls in a breath. “You remind me so much of your crazy brother.”
The car of guys must leave, but I don’t hear them. I just stand in the rain with Taylor not that far from where my dead brother is buried and remember how Zach loved the rain.
After Rachel moved,
after Zachy died,
I tried to get ahold of Rachel maybe a thousand times.
But she never called back.
She loves the rain too.
Once, the four of us picnicked on the beach.
We watched as the sky grew dark out over the ocean, watched as the storm drew closer, then closer, watched as the rain pelted the sand almost like bullets.
I sat there on a blanket, arms around my knees, Taylor so close I was warm down one side. He rested his head on my shoulder, and every once in a while he kissed my face and muttered sweet words. After a bit—we were already wet—he held a second blanket over us, to shield us from the stinging rain.
Closer to the surf
Rachel and Zach ran at the waves
and away,
laughing like maniacs.
Taylor said, right after I thought it, he said,
“They’re crazy together, London. Did you ever think he’d find someone as crazy as he is?”
“I never did,” I said.
Taylor looked at me then. He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I love you, London Castle,” he said. His breathwas warm, and I felt crazy happy myself.
In fact, I felt
right then
that everything in our world would have a happy ending.
“What are you doing out here?” Taylor asks. We’re in the car, and I’m dripping all over everything. My hair has turned to ringlets.
I look at him side-eyed. “You know.”
“Yes, but why alone?”
When I open my mouth, the words are trapped, and I have to cough to dislodge them. “There’s . . .” Can I tell him? Can I say, The whole family is gone? We’ve disappeared with Zach? Been buried with my brother?
I shake my head.
Without warning, Taylor pulls the car over to the side of the road. There’s a ditch next to us, filled with fast-running water.
“Look at me, London.” His voice is stern but not angry.
Was I staring at my hands? I think so. I turn my gaze to Taylor.
“I’m here.” He taps his chest. “I’m here. I’m always going to be here.”
He shakes his head. “You said we needed a break. I didn’t want a break. You said.”
I nod. I asked for that when things started to crumble.
When the yelling started. Before it was all over.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Taylor says. “Didn’t want to.”
“You’re not even eighteen.” Those familiar words are in my head, loud. And I say them to Taylor.
He looks out the window, which has gone all steamy. “I know what I know. I know how I feel.”
I wasn’t allowed in for The Talk.
Zacheus wanted me there. Wanted Rachel. But Daddy and Mom said no—like they already knew where this was headed.
And then the words came.
“I’m a religious writer! A missionary! You’re the son of a religious writer. Of a missionary! You’re not even seventeen!”
“So what! So what! What does age matter? I love her.”
“You’re too young to love anyone.”
Mom’s words were like a slap to Zach. He told me so, later.
“How will you take care of three people? You’re not even out of high school.” Mom’s voice was razors. I could hear that myself where I stood hidden in the hall. And then after a thousand beats, “What will the neighbors think?”
“Where are we
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