Angela Morrison - Sing Me to Sleep

“My sweat’s kind of salty.”

“What causes that?”

He pulls me close. “Don’t stop, Beth. I didn’t want you to stop.”

I hold his eyes for a moment. We’re both trembling by the time I slowly bend my head and place my lips lightly on his neck. I run my tongue along his skin. I love the way he tastes. Salty-sweet mystery boy. I lick his jaw, suck on his chin, chew on his ear.

I want to be the first to say it face-to-face. “I love you.”

He picks me up and sets me on the counter. I wrap my legs around his waist.

“You’re crazy, Beth. You shouldn’t love me.”

“That’s not what I expected to hear.”

“I love you. A thousand times I love you, but you shouldn’t love me. Love Scott.”

I feel like he slapped me. I let go of him, slide off the counter, turn around, and hide behind my hair. “Is that what you came to tell me?” My eyes are burning. “That you want to call it quits? You’re dumping me?”

“No—don’t be dense—no. I want you to dump me. You could be happy with him. I’m—”

“Who I want. You did this to me. Made me feel this. You’re stuck with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I thought you had a plan. I was hoping for something more substantial than a motorcycle.”

“How about we run away together on the back of it.”

“That’s your plan?”

“Plan A.”

“Okay. Let’s go. As soon as my mom hits the hay. I’ve got about $5K saved for college. How far will that get us?”

“We could go to Nova Scotia and learn to fish. Have a bunch of kids and raise them up to the trade.”

I crumble inside when he says that about the kids, hunch over with my hands pressing hard against my gut.

“Oh, Beth. I’m sorry. I forgot. I didn’t mean it.”

“I’m such a beast.”

He guides me to the table and into a chair. I lay my face on the table. He squats down and strokes my head. “No you’re not. I’m the beast. I really do have a plan. I’m working out the details. It’s coming together. I should know by Friday.”

“Maybe we should discuss it. How come you’re doing all the planning?”

“We’ll talk about it when I come back on Friday. You’re going to love it.”

I sit up. He takes a cup out of the cupboard and nukes me up some chamomile tea. I watch him clean up the rest of the kitchen, polish the sink and counters, sweep the floor. He hands me the tea. I take a sip and add more honey. “I have a plan.”

He dumps the dustpan in the garbage and turns around.

“Why don’t you move into the den, permanently? You can visit your parents on holidays and every other weekend.”

He sits across from me and weaves his fingers through mine to stop how I’m drumming the table. He gives me a cautious grin. “You wouldn’t stay a nice girl very long if I did that.”

I snort. “Oh, I’m prepared now. I had to go to the doctor because of that test. They wanted to laser me, but I settled for a box of condoms.”

“Beth, don’t—”

“I need to talk to somebody. Please. I’m going to go nuts. I can’t talk to Mom. It reminds her of my father—and that’s so painful. She feels guilty, like she should have known better. Chosen a guy with better genes for my sake.”

He strokes my cheek with his free hand. “Then you wouldn’t be you.”

“I’ve never thought of it that way.” I look up at him. “I’m supposed to see a counselor in a couple weeks. It’ll take me months to get over that doctor’s appointment.”

He frowns and stares down at the table. “Doctors can be idiots. They aren’t all like that. It sounds like you need a new one. Find someone you’re comfortable with.” He looks back up at me. “Someone you trust. You don’t want a lot of bull and false hopes, but you don’t need a bully, either.”

“You’re right.” I nod my head. “I’m never going near that man again.”

“But find a counselor.” He squeezes my hand. “A good one.”

“How do you know so much?” I sip my tea.

“I’ve been around doctors a lot, used to want to be one until—”

“You started to compose.”

He stares past me at the two of us mirrored in the dark kitchen window. “I’d really love to be a researcher. The guy who finds cures.”

“Do it, Derek. Cure me.”

His eyes return to mine. “Don’t give up, Beth. They are working on unbelievable stuff. Especially with genetics. You’ll have as many babies as you want.”

His voice sweeps hope all through me. Then I remember that doctor. “He told me I have to disclose my condition to any—what did he call them? Oh, yeah, potential partners .”

Derek plays with my hand, lets me rant.

“And they should all be screened. Like I’m shacking up with half the football team. Good thing this isn’t about sex. If you ever decide to stop respecting me, you’ll need to get your cheek swabbed first.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry. I’m grossing you out now.”

He stands up, comes around to my chair, and pulls me to my feet. He holds me like I’m going to break. “When it’s right, Beth.” His voice is husky. “You and me. I’m your guy. I don’t care what that idiot doctor says.”

“You love me that much?” I press my face against his cheek.

“Of course. Any decent guy would.” He pauses. “Scott does, too.”

“Why do you keep bringing him up?”

“If you and I don’t make it,” he strokes my hair, “I like knowing there’s a good guy there who knows the real Beth—the Beth I love—who will love you better than I can.”

“How can we not make it?”

“I hope we can, but—”

“Whatever it is, Derek. You can beat it. I know you can. For me. I love you. Do it for me.”

His hand drops away from my hair. He lets go of me.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and press my face against his neck. “Tell me, Derek. I need to know. Where were you this summer?”

“I was at the cottage.”

“No, you weren’t. I’m not stupid.”

He kisses my hair. “I was at the cottage.”

“Please, Derek. Let me help.”

“You want to help?”

I nod.

“Then don’t ask me any more questions. And kiss me again.”

He gets his way—like the Phantom in my dream.

He always gets his way.

chapter 21

PLAN B

Derek parks his bike behind a teacher’s minivan, so we can say good-bye without an audience. Especially Scott. We don’t want to be in his face.

I walk through the hall, keep my eyes down. Scott’s leaning up against his locker with his arms crossed, glaring at me.

“What the hell, Beth. He spent the night?”

“In the den. My mom was there. And what business is it of yours what I do with my boyfriend?”

Scott gets in my face. “What are you going to tell our daughters when they want to sleep around? Go ahead—as long as he’s good-looking. I’m not having that.”

“What are you talking about?”

He realizes what he said. “I mean your daughters.”

My daughters? The sons? They’ll die in utero. All those miscarriages Aunt Linda had—they will be my children. The doctor said if an afflicted baby survived, it’d be severely handicapped—would spend its life dying. The other children will be carriers like me. Like my cousin. Like my dad.

Scott’s bracing for me to scream at him, but I don’t. I slump against my locker and touch his wrist. “You’ve got it all planned out, don’t you?” Scott comes from a big family. “Oh, Scottie, you still want to play house.”

He was so sweet when we were in preschool. He always wanted to feed the dolls. The stroller rides he gave would have made any real baby puke its guts up, but even that was sweet.