In a Perfect World

"I bet." I paused, not sure how to phrase my next question. "So... do you plan on going back to the hospital later on this evening?"

He shook his head. "I can't. I left there today feeling like I'd been gutted."

"I understand." I wanted to find some common ground between us. "You know, I'm not close to my mom, either. Not anymore, at least. She and my dad divorced eight years ago, and not a year went by before she remarried. Unfortunately, my stepdad is a total asshole."

"Is that why you live with your grandmother?"

I nodded. "If it weren't for Grandma, I don't know what would have happened to me. I needed to find another place to live last fall, and she took me in. She's a widow now and doesn't have a lot of money, so I pay rent and help with groceries and utilities, and I do the chores that are difficult for her. I don't make much at my job, but I've been able to save a little bit. I'm hoping that if I watch every penny, I'll eventually have enough to get my own place." Jake studied me intently as I spoke, but I smiled and said, "I'm sorry. You certainly don't need to hear about my problems."

"I want to learn more about you, Morgan. That's why I asked," he replied. I blushed and ducked my head. "I'm sorry if that's too forward, but I tend to say what's on my mind. I don't like playing games, and you don't strike me as the kind of woman who enjoys them, either."

"You're right." I gave him a small shrug. "I guess I'm kind of simple that way. With me, what you see is what you get."

Jake leaned back and smiled. "You have no idea how refreshing that is."

Jessica brought the pizza to our table and set it before us, along with plates and two sets of silverware wrapped in napkins. "Anything else?" she asked.

"No, this is fine," I told her. As she retreated behind the front counter, I wondered if she'd changed at all since graduation. Did she consider petty gossip a waste of her time now? Or was she just waiting until her next break before she called her friends and told them about seeing me with Jake?

My nerves dulled my appetite, but I managed to eat two slices of pizza. Jake inhaled four. "You weren't lying," he said. "This pizza is great."

I beamed at him. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

As we ate, Jake told me a little about his work. He got along great with his boss, who had been very understanding when Jake revealed to him that his mom was terminally ill. "He told me to take as much time as I need. I hardly ever miss work, and I've never had a family issue come up before. I'm going to have to head back to Springfield soon, though," Jake said. "I don't want my boss to think I'm taking advantage."

"I'm sure he doesn't think that. It sounds like you're an excellent employee, and he's grateful for you."

Jake wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Still, it doesn't feel right just hanging around here. I feel like I should be doing something."

"You are doing something," I pointed out to him. The thought of him heading back to Springfield for good made my chest hurt. "You're spending time with your mother."

We finished our meal, and Jessica, who had been hovering near the cash register, brought our ticket. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Just the check," I told her.

"I'll take that," Jake said, and she handed the ticket to him and headed back to the counter.

"Thank you," I said, "but you have to let me take care of the tip, okay?"

Jake started to protest, but then he seemed to understand. "Okay."

He went to the register to pay, and I dug around in the bottom of my purse for change until I found a penny, which was all I left on the table for Jessica. "That'll give the bitch something to gossip about," I muttered, then walked out of the restaurant with Jake.

"So," he said as we made our way to his car, "would you like to see a movie, or..."

I grabbed his hand. "I'd actually just like to hang out with you in your room, if that's okay."

He glanced down at me and smiled. "Sounds perfect to me."

It was almost dark by the time we reached the motel. Jake unlocked the door to his room and we stepped inside, shaking off the cold. The heater ran in the otherwise silent room, and Jake and I didn't look at each other as we slipped out of our coats. "Would you like me to go get you a soda or anything?" he asked.

"No, thanks." I was still shaking, but it was no longer from the cold. Jake started to turn on the light. "Can you leave it off?" My voice was higher than normal, and I cleared my throat.

It was hard to see his expression in the deep shadows, but he froze, his fingers close to the switch. Then he let his hand fall to his side. "Okay." I could hear his confusion. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to unlace his boots. I took off my own shoes, feeling the worn carpet under my socks. Before he could get up from the bed, I made my way to him, standing so close, my legs brushed his knees. I could hear his breathing, a little faster than normal. Then he tilted his head back to regard me. A bit of light from the parking lot worked its way through the curtains, and I could see his eyes searching my face.

I lifted a trembling hand and brushed the hair from his forehead. At my touch, he sighed and relaxed his shoulders. I drew Jake to me, and he rested his face against the soft fabric of my sweater. My palms slid over his back, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

I knelt before him and caressed his face. He closed his eyes when I touched him, allowing me to trace some of his slightly raised scars with my fingertips. I ran the pad of my thumb over his bottom lip, aching for him to kiss me.

It was as if Jake sensed my need. He took me by the arms and lifted me. When my face was level with his, he pressed his mouth to mine. It was a gentle, chaste kiss, the kind I wasn't used to. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and we fell back against the bed. Our kiss deepened, and when he opened his mouth to me, I dared to slide my tongue inside. Jake moaned and slipped his arms around my waist, pulling me tighter to him. I felt that familiar warmth between my thighs, the longing to be touched there.

I rocked my hips against him, my hand reaching between us to rest on his thigh. Jake broke the kiss, breathing heavily. "We shouldn't, Morgan."

His words were tender, but they felt like a rebuke, and I sat up quickly. "I'm sorry. I should go."

I tried to scramble off the bed, but he grabbed my wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but with a firmness that made me pause. "What? No, wait. I don't want you to go."

My face burned with shame, and I was glad he couldn't see. "I hope you don't think this is something I make a habit of doing." My mind raced. Was it possible that some asshole had seen me come to Jake's room last night, and then caught up with him later to fill him in on all the rumors about me? And if that was the case, why wouldn't Jake believe the rumors? After all, I'd showed up here uninvited last night with a six-pack of beer.

"No," Jake said, his voice low and soft. "Why would I think that?" I sensed his confusion. "I just don't want you to think that's all I'm after, Morgan. I really like you." I let him ease me back onto the bed. "Will you... just lie here with me for a little while?"

We stretched out on the bedspread, and he drew me close. "Are you cold?" he whispered, and I felt his lips brush the top of my head.

"No," I whispered back, closing my eyes. I rested a hand on his chest, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt. "How old are you, Jake?"

"I just turned thirty-one." He grew quiet for a minute, then asked, "Does that bother you?"

"No, why should it?"

"Well, to be honest with you, it bothers me a bit," he said. "I'm twelve years older than you."

I swallowed hard. "Is that why you don't want to...?" I left the rest of the question unspoken.

"That's part of the reason."

"Your age isn't a problem for me," I told him. "I hope, with a little time, me being almost nineteen won't be a problem for you." I snuggled closer to him, breathing in his scent, which had already become familiar to me. "Have you ever been married?"

"No. In fact, I... uh... I haven't dated much. I act like these scars don't bother me, and for the most part, they don't anymore, but I see how people react when they first meet me."

I flinched and struggled for the right words. I didn't want to patronize him and say that the scars weren't that noticeable. Jake would see right through that white lie. How could I explain to him that in the very short time since we'd met, his scars hadn't become invisible to me when I looked at him, but I now easily saw past them?

Jake didn't wait for me to answer him. "I'm sure you're wondering why I don't spend more time at the hospital with my mother." He drew in a deep breath. "I got these scars when I was a teenager. My mother ran around with rough men, and one night when I was eighteen, a man got a little too rough with her, so I tried to protect her."

My eyes widened in the dark. God, it all made sense now, why he wasn't spending every minute at the hospital with her.

"I was no match for the guy," Jake went on. "He had a good seventy pounds on me and had been in more brawls than he could probably remember. But I stepped between him and my mother after he slapped her, and I told him to back the fuck off. He punched me in the face, and I managed to stay on my feet, but my nose was gushing blood. My mother was begging him not to hurt me. He didn't listen; he was on me in an instant, pinning me to the floor. I'd always thought the guy was a sadist; he got off on hurting people. He carried around this pocket knife, and while he was on top of me, he took it out."

I didn't realize I was holding my breath, listening to Jake speak, until I let it out in a rush. My heart pounded so hard, I wondered if he could hear it.

"He called me a pretty boy, and then he cut me. It was a long gash down the left side of my face. I screamed from the pain and tried to fight him off, but he was too strong. I remember my mother screaming, too. She was hitting him on the head, but it was like he didn't even feel her fists. He just kept whittling away at my skin, laughing and saying I wasn't a pretty boy anymore."

I pressed my face against his shirt, feeling sick. He stroked my hair, as if to comfort me, but he continued. "My mother finally found a heavy bottle and cracked him over the head with it. Even that didn't knock him out, but it gave me a chance to get away from him. I didn't care what happened to my mother at that point. The pain was maddening. I ran to a neighbor's house, and he drove me to the hospital. The doctor who stitched up my face told me that the scars would be bad. The police came, and while I explained what had happened, my mother showed up. When she first saw my face, she burst into tears. She kept wailing, 'My baby, my baby.' I hated her in that instant. In front of the police and the doctors, I told her, 'I'm not your baby, you goddamn whore.'"

My nausea grew worse. I wanted to get up and run to the bathroom, but I was riveted to the bed, my skin growing hot and damp as he held me.

"After I left the hospital," he said, "I moved in with my mother's sister and her family. My mother's boyfriend pled guilty to malicious wounding. He was already a felon, so he was sentenced to more jail time. My mother tried to visit me at my aunt's house, but I wouldn't see her. In my mind, she was dead to me. When I graduated from high school, I moved to Springfield. I lived in a run-down apartment building and got a job, and I also went to trade school. Since then, I've mostly kept to myself. I've gotten used to living alone."

"Have you forgiven her?" I whispered. "Your mother?"

He didn't answer for a long moment. "No," he finally said. "But she called me from her hospital room and told me she was dying. I don't know what made me come here to see her. Maybe I still have some sense of obligation as her son. She was never a happy woman, and she always made everyone around her miserable and drove them away, so she has no one else." Jake let out a heavy sigh. "Sometimes when I'm with her in the hospital, she sees the scars on my face and starts crying. She gets confused, thinks it's just happened, and I can't deal with it."

His story was like a bitter pill resting on the back of my tongue. I sat up, feeling my eyes burn with tears. "I'm sorry, Jake, but I can't... I can't stay here. You don't need someone like me in your life." I climbed off the bed before he could stop me. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but I turned on the bedside lamp so I could find my shoes.

Jake sat up, blinking against the light. "Morgan, what are you talking about?" I didn't answer him, just sat at the desk and started pulling on my shoes. "I'm sorry if what I said upset you."

Tears streamed down my cheeks. "It's not that," I choked. "But you're too good for me, Jake. You don't know the first thing about me, and if you did, you'd think that I'm a whore like your mother."

"Morgan, no—" he started, but I just shook my head and grabbed my coat. I made it out of the motel room, and even though he stood in the doorway and called out to me in the darkness, I ran to my car, barely able to see through my tears.

I hardly remembered the drive home. I was on autopilot as I maneuvered my car down the familiar streets. When I pulled up in front of Grandma's house, I wiped my face with my coat sleeve. It was only a little after eight, so I knew she would still be up.

Grandma and Eddie were in the living room watching some sitcom. "Hey," I said to them and then hurried to the kitchen.

"Hey, sweetheart. Is Leah feeling better?" Grandma called after me.

I poured myself some water. "Yep," I called back and then drank almost the whole glass. "I'm going to my room," I told them, keeping my head down so they wouldn't be able to see that I'd been crying.

In my bedroom, I lay in the darkness and pressed my face into my pillow, letting myself cry until I was exhausted. The shame, the humiliation—it all returned, hitting me like a punch in the gut. What was I thinking, believing that a man like Jake would be interested in me?

Before I fell into a restless sleep, I resolved not to think of him anymore. He'd be gone from this town soon enough, and I could try to forget about him, just like I tried to forget about so much of my past.

***

I was scheduled to work noon to close at the restaurant the next day. Sunday afternoons were always a busy time; people attended morning church services and then stopped in for lunch. I looked forward to working; it would help keep my mind occupied so I didn't dwell on Jake and what had happened last night.

Dressed in my work uniform, I stood at the kitchen sink and nibbled a piece of toast, trying to settle my queasy stomach. Grandma was at church, and Eddie was watching television in the living room. Outside, the day was overcast, and a red cardinal sailed by the window, a shock of color against the gray sky and brown barren earth.

"Hey," Eddie said from behind me, and I turned around. He stood in the kitchen doorway, not looking at me but down at his feet. "I just want to say sorry for yesterday. I know all that stuff they say about you isn't true. I just get so mad, though..."

I took a sip of coffee so I wouldn't have to speak right away. "Eddie," I finally said, "as long as they see they're making you mad, they're going to keep saying stuff. It's like a game to them, and you can't let them win. The best thing to do is ignore them."

"But you're my sister," he said, raising his head to meet my eyes. His chin quivered just a bit. "I can't let them say that kind of crap about you."

I raised my eyebrows. "You have to consider the source. The kids saying stuff—are they friends of yours?"

Eddie scoffed. "No! They're jerks."

I shrugged. "Then it shouldn't matter to you what they think. What do you care, right?"

"I guess," Eddie sighed.

"I have to get to work," I said, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I gave him a quick hug on my way to the living room. "No more fighting. You can't imagine how upset I'd be if you got seriously hurt." He nodded reluctantly. "Tell Grandma I'll be home before ten."

The restaurant was half-full by the time I arrived, and I knew it would only get busier. Will glanced at me when I stepped into the kitchen. "What's wrong with you?" he asked. "You look like hell."

"Fuck off," I snapped.

He drew himself up to his full height. "Aw, did you and your freak boyfriend have a fight? I heard you've been running around with that guy. Can't say I'm surprised."

I tried to follow the advice I'd just given Eddie—to consider the source of the insult hurled at me. Still, my entire body shook with the effort to contain my rage. I wanted to jump on Will and pummel him. Instead, I went back to the dining area and seated more customers.

At quarter after one, the lunch crowd was still in full swing, people dressed in their Sunday best as they ordered meat loaf and Salisbury steak. I was on my way back to the kitchen to pick up an order when Leah stopped me. "Morgan, a guy just came in here asking for you. He has some scars on his face. I told him you're busy with customers, but he said he'd wait outside until you got a break."

The restaurant suddenly felt too warm, and my underarms grew damp. I knew I wouldn't be able to take care of customers and get orders right while Jake was outside waiting on me. I had to see him, if only to tell him to go back to the motel.

Contrary to what I'd told my grandma, Leah and I weren't great friends. We worked together efficiently but didn't socialize outside of work. Still, I'd covered for her when she went home early. "Leah," I said, grabbing her arm, "can you please cover my tables for three minutes while I go outside? I promise I'll be quick."

She gave me an exasperated sigh. "Morgan, we're swamped! I have more tables than I can handle."

"I know, but this is important." I didn't wait for her to answer. Even as she called after me, I took off for the entrance.

Jake leaned against the side of the building, hands in his jacket pockets. When he saw me, he stood quickly. "Morgan, I know you're busy," he began.

"That's an understatement." I glanced around. Customers inside the restaurant couldn't see us here, but plenty of people were milling in the parking lot, heading in or out of the building. "You shouldn't be here."

Jake stepped closer to me. In the dry frigid air, I could feel the warmth emanating from him. "Morgan, I don't know what I said to upset you last night, but I'm sorry." I forced myself to meet his gaze, and I saw the pain in his face. "I shouldn't have told you so much about my past. You hardly know me—"

I shook my head. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" He brushed my hand with his fingertips, and I closed my eyes. "Whatever it is, you can tell me." I opened my mouth to speak, but he took my hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Come by the motel when you get off work. Please."

I wanted to tell him no, but all I could think about was the way his skin felt on mine. When I opened my eyes again, I found him waiting for my answer. "Okay," I told him, my voice shaky. "I get off at nine, so I'll be there soon after."

"Thank you."

I didn't trust myself to say anything else. I only nodded, and he released my hand. Hurrying back inside, I muttered a quick thanks to Leah as I passed her, ignoring the dirty look she gave me.

By two that afternoon, the lunch crowd had dispersed. I waited on the few stragglers and busied myself filling the salt and pepper shakers at each table. Nina, an older waitress, came in at four, and by that point, I felt ready to crawl out of my skin. "You okay, Morgan?" she asked.