Dirty Secrets

Part 59

Lyla was aware of Packer's suburban neighborhood but, being a city girl, she had never ventured out into this part of town. Rich kids lived in these housing plans, rich kids who attended schools like Emerson. She remembered her dad saying that not so long ago, the housing development was a wooded hillside. And now here they were, driving up a newly-paved road flanked by expansive luxury family homes standing one beside the next, separated by emerald lawns and flowering varieties of shrubs and trees.

With a steady hum, the center garage door opened on a stately, modern home with a stone facade. Ms. Packer steered her car into the garage.

"Ready?" She said, her smile unable to conceal her apprehension. "You can leave your backpack in the car if you want. I'll take you home."

"Uh, okay," Lyla replied. The car door felt heavy when she pushed it open. She followed Packer's mom through the mudroom and into a kitchen space that seemed larger than her home's entire first floor. She made a conscious effort not to utter, "Wow" as she looked around, though she knew it was written all over her face.

"Oliver. You have a guest," Ms. Packer called.

She led Lyla across polished wooden floors into a spacious living room where Packer sat in the corner of a sectional couch. His long legs spanned a few seat cushions and were covered with a blanket. With his scarred shaved head and the dark raccoon rings beneath his eyes, his appearance was jarring.

When he saw her, his blue eyes lit up and a smile arced across his pale face. "Hey, gurl. What's... poppin?"

"Hey," was the best she could manage.

"Have a seat. Make... yourself. Sit down... at home."

She smiled and sat on the far cushion.

"Lyla, can I get you a drink or a snack?" his mom asked.

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

"Get her a, a glass... of water, Mom. I know she."

"Yeah, water," said Lyla. "That'd be good."

"I was upset with the hospi... with the doctors there," he said. "They could've given me... a couple... uh, bolts." He gestured with a shaking hand to his neck. "I could have gone... full, full Frankenstein."

She grinned.

He tapped his scarred dome. "Hey. It's only hair. It'll grow. And my scars. You... won't even be. You won't see them. And I look... good...good in hats."

His mom returned with a glass of ice water.

"Thanks." Lyla smiled.

"I'll leave you two to catch up," she said. "If you need anything."

"The food in this place. It's av-average. But... but the service." He gave a thumbs-up to his mom as she started up the stairs.

"This is super,... super un... un...comforble for you," he said to Lyla. "I get. Know that."

"No, it's not."

"So I'm gonna... spare you. Uncomffff questions. Here's what... it is." He pointed to the maroon scar carved into his head. "You may not... have, have noticed but I... I had a little, a little brain surgery. Not saying... my brain... is little. The surgery. The surgery is... is what's little."

She smiled, warmed by his sense of humor. The witticisms that had flowed so effortlessly, were now a chore. It was painful to watch him work so hard to connect his thoughts and convert them to language.

"You may also have made... noticed that I haven't... I haven't moved... my, my legs. That's a tem... " He scrunched his brow, searching for the word. "It's a minor thing... is issue. Working on that."

There was a slight movement beneath the blanket.

"They said I may, maybe... not walk." He waved dismissively.

She noticed that he was using only one hand. His other arm hadn't moved, the hand cradled in his lap.

"Can't wait to see it," he said.

"What?"

"The look on... on all their faces when... when I dunk on them." He laughed. "Tell me I won't... I won't play ball again. That's all I... what I need to mo-vate. I'll be back.... Write it down."

"I left my backpack in the car."

He smiled. "Good one."

He looked toward the kitchen area then whispered, "My mom over there?"

"I think she went upstairs."

"So okay. That dude. That dude... he owes me... a new car."

"What?"

"The guy. The boyfriend guy."

She took a shaky sip of water.

"He's kind of a dick. No wonder you.... Can't blame you."

She set her glass on the coffee table.

"He was standing. Side of the road. Just... standing."

"Who?"

"The guy with the..." He gestured to his neck. "And there was... a girl. Little girl... Curly hair. Weird look on her. Trance. Her eyes... looked... trancing."

Lyla knew the terrifying little girl all too well. 

"She walked. Right out... right in front. In front of the my."

She felt the sensation of her lungs filling with sand. She couldn't catch her breath.

"I turned fast as I...and then...I don't even know... what. They said a truck. Was a truck. They said."

She covered her mouth and slowly drew in a labored breath.

"You like guys with... when they shaved heads, right?... All shaved?"

She shook her head slowly.

"That was a joke."

She nodded.

He drew a breath then slowed his speech. "So nice to see you," he said as though he had completely forgotten the horrific event that he had described only moments earlier.

"You too."

"Could I maybe. Maybe... you for... for a favor?"

"Sure."

"Could I hold your... your hand? For just a minute? I mean you... it's okay... If you don't."

She walked to the corner of the couch then knelt beside him. She took his cold hand in hers, looking into his blue eyes. She gently brushed his cheek with the back of her other hand. When her hand neared his mouth, he turned his head and kissed it.

"I missed you. So much," he whispered.