Chapter 6

School settled into a routine and I started to focus on my studies. I wasn’t a bad student. But I’d lost the habit of leaving my art in the morning to go someplace. With Annette picking me up every day, I needed to leave the house. Mom even succeeded in putting my lunch in my hands before I left in the morning. And we didn’t simply get naked and pet at every opportunity. That was something special between us. After the first time I’d touched her in the spring, we’d gone all summer without a repeat. After the first day of school, it looked like we might go all winter.

Which isn’t to say that we didn’t go out each weekend and that we didn’t spend time making out each weekend. We just didn’t get quite so carried away. We had a lot to learn about each other. I even got dressed up and took her—she drove—to the Homecoming Dance. I still got red in the face when I heard people mention us, but lately I was hearing things like ‘cute couple’ instead of ‘who’s he?’ After the dance, she took me home and walked me to the door like usual.

“I feel bad that you have to walk me to the door and then go home alone,” I said as we stood in the lamplight. “I need to drive sometimes and take you home.”

“Okay,” she answered simply. “Next weekend you can drive.” I was surprised it was so easy. With Annette. It wasn’t so easy with Mom when I asked her the next morning.

“Art, honey, how long have you had your driver’s license?” she asked. I thought back. I got it soon after my sixteenth birthday.

“A year and a half,” I said.

“And how much have you driven in that time?”

“A little.”

“Very little. In fact, you haven’t driven at all since Morgan got her car six months ago. First, Morgan drove you everywhere and now Annette drives you. I’m not comfortable with you suddenly taking the car out on a date at night.”

“Mom, what am I supposed to do? Where do I go?”

“Well, that’s part of the problem. You don’t go anywhere unless you are being taken somewhere. You need more experience behind the wheel.”

“How am I supposed to get that?” I complained. She tossed me her keys.

“The car needs to be washed and cleaned. Here’s twenty dollars. On the way home, I have dry cleaning to pick up. It’s prepaid. Here’s the receipt.”

“But Annette is coming over this afternoon!”

“She’ll wait. I’ve been wanting to have a conversation with your young woman. Now go and don’t rush. Remember you are supposed to improve your driving skills so you can take her out next week.”

“Yes, Mother.” I rushed to the garage. What did Mom want to talk to my girlfriend about? She’d been very hands-off about our relationship so far. Even when Annette came to my room to study, she never interrupted us. Dad occasionally checked in, but we were just studying. Sheesh!

I cleaned the car, waited in the long line for the automatic carwash, managed to get the tire in the tracks—on my second try—and picked up the dry cleaning. Annette’s car was in front of the house when I got home an hour and a half later. I went to Mom and gave her the keys, looking around for Annette.

“Dents and scratches?” Mom asked.

“None,” I answered. “Where’s Annette?”

“Your room studying. Too bad you can’t help her with her calculus. She’s struggling. I suggested that it might be a good idea for you to drive to school Monday morning.”

“Really?”

“Do I ever say things that aren’t really?” Mom mimicked me. I grinned and sprinted up the stairs to my room.

Annette wasn’t studying calculus. She was sitting on my bed crying. I was about to go yell at my mom when I saw what she was looking at. She had a box of my paintings open and was carefully turning each one over onto a neat stack as she looked at them. She wasn’t sobbing. She just had tears running down her cheeks and an occasional sniffle. I went to her and knelt beside the bed. She dropped the painting in her hands and threw herself into my arms. I just held her as she quietly cried.

“Did Mom make you look at all my paintings? I knew she had some diabolical plan,” I whispered. She snorted and shook her head. “Have you reviewed my whole life in art?” She shook her head again.

“Just the last few months. Since our first date.”

“Would that be the one where we went to the movies as a group or the next week when I took you and Morgan to Burger Burner for a date and didn’t know what to do next?”

“That was a short date,” she laughed. “They got better.”

“Why were you crying? Are the paintings that bad?” I asked.

“You doofus! Bad? How can you even think... ? I’m just so overwhelmed by the emotion on every page. How can you put so much on a sheet of paper in so little time?” she asked.

“Ms. Clayborn says that I have to consider these my artist’s sketchbook. I need to focus on producing real art that isn’t dependent on my dreams,” I said.

“She doesn’t like them?”

“She likes them. What I’ve shown her. She says that I’m so prolific with them and the medium is so cheap that there won’t be a good market for them. She wants me to paint canvases with oil or acrylic.”

“Arthur,” she turned in my arms and faced me. “I am not competing with Morgan!” She was so vehement in her declaration that I sat back on my heels and nearly pulled her off the bed. What brought that on?

“I’m sorry, Annette. I like you so much, but I know that I still put you second when I’m thinking about you and my sister. I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Listen to me, Arthur. I am not competing with her. Get that out of your head. I can see it in the paintings. I am never going to come between you and Morgan.” She suddenly tittered. “Well, if you sandwich me between the two of you I might come.”