Abandon All Hope Page 4

  “Hope!” His voice echoed weirdly off the cinder block walls. As she turned, he caught a sad expression in her eyes a split-second before she recognized him, then a smile eased across her face to replace it.

  Chase ran the several feet between them and spontaneously threw his arms around her. He pressed Hope to him tightly, and they stood together for a second, her cheek resting on his shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut. Strangely, he felt a sigh of relief escape him, and realized he had been anxious over the thought of somehow missing her before she left. They drew apart and stood awkwardly for a beat.

  Hope tucked a strand of hair behind an ear, and dropped her eyes. Her cheeks were still glowing from excitement and exertion, and small tendrils were stuck to her face with sweat, but she was still drop-dead gorgeous. He felt that lurch in his stomach being close to her always gave him, like the feeling he got when he went over a dip in the road at too high a speed and became briefly airborne.

  “Great game!” Chase blurted out.

  “Thanks,” she said, seeming both proud and slightly ill-at-ease with the praise.

  “Boy! That’s some serve you have.”

  “Thanks,” she said again, glancing up, her smile becoming a little wider. She seemed uncomfortable, as if she were searching for something else to say, but she remained silent.

  “How’s your arm?” Chase offered.

  “Oh, it’s better. I got eight stitches,” she added, unwinding the bandage to show him. “I just put this on to cushion it in case I fell again.” The cut was long and jagged.

  “Oooh!” he said sympathetically. He touched her arm to turn it to get a better view. “Looks pretty bad.” Without thinking, he rubbed her forearm a little before releasing it. Her skin was velvety soft, and he was filled with a need to touch more of it.

  She let the arm drop to dangle at her waist, the other arm coming up to cross her chest and grip the bicep. She stood uneasily, shifting her weight from side to side and again appeared to be struggling for elusive words. She pressed her lips into a thoughtful expression. Chase reflected that even though mussed, her soft, brown hair framed her face appealingly.

  “Susie had a good game,” she said at last, looking up to search his face. Chase’s heart skipped a beat as he stared into those unbelievable eyes of hers, feeling as if she could see right through him.

  “Yeah,” he replied, shrugging a little. “So,” he added, digging for information of his own, “are you and Chip going out to celebrate?”

  For the briefest of seconds, something flitted through her eyes, as if the mention of Chip’s name was a slap in the face. She stiffened. “Chip and I are no longer going out. We broke up last week.”

  They both started as the door slammed open behind Chase, and Susie, with two of her friends, moved toward them, their talking and laughter sounding hollow in the stuffy hall. “Well, I guess I better grab a shower,” Hope said in a rush, not taking her eyes from the approaching threesome.

  “Yeah, okay,” Chase responded lamely as she backed away. He watched her as she took a few steps in the opposite direction.

  Before she had gotten far, Hope turned around and spoke quietly, “Thanks, Chase.” Then, she pushed through the locker room door and disappeared.

  Chase saw her again a few days later as he was searching for a book on the shelves of the school library’s balcony. As he was running his finger along the spines of the books in the most remote part of the stacks, searching for the correct series of letters and numbers, he heard her voice.

  “I don’t care what Chip told you!”

  Her voice sounded tight and irate. He squinted through the crack between the top of the books and the next shelf up. Practically swallowed up by a red letterman’s jacket, he could barely see her form pressed against the wall. He heard the low growl of a male voice, and then Hope, even more loudly. “Get your hands off me!”

  Abandoning his search, he raced down the aisle. As he rounded the bookcase, he heard the noise of several books hitting the floor. He saw Hope, arms extended, pushing against the chest of a football player. The guy’s hands were bracing the wall on either side of her, effectually pinning her there.

  “Is there a problem, Hope?” Chase inquired, jaw clenched.

  The football player turned, releasing one hand from the wall, and he recognized him as one of the school’s star linebackers, whose name he couldn’t recall. The behemoth stood twice his size, but he didn’t care.

  Hope shoved the football player as hard as she could in the shoulder that he still had toward her, forcing him to remove his other arm, her eyes spitting fire. “No,” she replied angrily.

  There was a tense moment when the football player glowered at Chase, sizing him up, and then back at Hope, seeming to try to determine if there was any give there. Having gotten in trouble the week before for a fight he started in the cafeteria, the football player, perhaps, didn’t want to push his luck with the coach. He glared at Hope one last time before shrugging his shoulders and marching past Chase without a word.

  Chase eyed him as he left, then turned toward Hope. She was bent, picking books up off the floor. He stooped and began helping her. He could see her hand trembling as she reached for a book near him; whether it was in anger or fear, he didn’t know. She slammed the books onto the shelf haphazardly, and then picked her backpack up from the floor, swinging it over a shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” Chase began.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped, brushing past him, eyes flashing, hands clinging to her backpack strap, the knuckles white.

  He followed her at a distance and watched her go into a ladies’ room. He waited, trying to appear casual, for ten minutes, keeping an eye on the door. When she came out, her eyes and nose were red, and he was sure she had been crying. He followed her to class, listening as the teacher gave her an afterschool detention for being late.

  At three o’clock Chase strode into the detention room, hauling his backpack off his shoulder and placing it onto a desk next to Hope with a thump. “What are you in for?” he asked her in his best gangster voice.

  She beamed. “I was late to class fourth hour. How ‘bout you?”

  “The same.”

  She turned in her seat to touch his arm. “I don’t even know why you’re talking to me. I was so rude to you earlier. Chase, I’m sorry. It’s just…some guys are real jerks.” Her face darkened with the memory briefly, but then she hurriedly added, “But not you.” She shut her mouth tightly, perhaps afraid she had revealed too much about the strange encounter in the book stacks.

  “It’s no biggie, Hope.” He covered her hand with his, squeezing it.

  Just then, the teacher on duty arrived with his stack of papers to grade. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat pointedly, and the pair turned to face the front of the classroom. The rest of the detention time they were forced to spend silently, but Hope gave Chase a smile every now and again. She had this way of smiling when she was tentative about something or uncertain of herself. He found it to be the sexiest smile, her upper lip turning up a fraction and quivering in a way that made his stomach do flip-flops.

  Chase rubbed his arms, turning from the window that had served as a type of TV screen for his memories. He switched off the lamps in the room one by one and meandered into the large bedroom on his left. He sat down on the edge of the bed for a minute, suddenly tired. The memories of her were so vivid. Even now it seemed he could smell the sweet fragrance of her skin, a scent that reminded him of ripe pears and apple blossoms. He imagined touching her arms, brushing the hair away from her face.

  Chase shook his head angrily. Hope had left him. Without a word, she had left him. That pain, too, he could taste as if it were yesterday, the bitterness like rancid milk on his tongue. He pulled his t-shirt off over his head in one swift motion, balling it up to toss it at a chair across the room. He overshot and watched it land, in a heap, in the corner behind the chair. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, feet spread apart. Fingers rake
d through long blond hair furiously for a minute, as his broad chest expanded with each deep breath.

  Chase laughed mirthlessly, surprised by the intensity of his emotions after so much time. With a practiced deliberateness, he pushed the thought of her from his mind. He slipped his jeans off, letting them lie in a puddle on the floor, and climbed into bed. Switching the last light off, he let darkness engulf him, as if being submerged in water. He slept restlessly, thoughts of the meeting with Hope in the morning running through his head painfully, like a long family slide show.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A half-finished glass of Riesling sat on the tile floor of her bathroom. Hope stretched a foot out and expertly turned the hot water back on to warm up the now tepid tub. The candles burned low as Hope drew in a breath and let herself slip under again. The water closed over her face with a gentle kiss, and she could hear its deadened roar as it cascaded into the tub, hair floating lazily around her. That sensation of being light as air transported Hope back to a summer night just before her senior year of high school.

  “Are you ready to go to the Hattons?” her mother called.

  Hope peeked in the mirror one last time, applying a final layer of lip gloss, just in case Chase happened to be home. The teen turned sideways, pleased with the way the halter top she had chosen accented her newly curvy figure. Though athletic, she was no longer the tomboy she had been when they first moved next door to Chase Hatton, and for the hundredth time, she hoped he would notice the difference.

  “Arggh!” She laughed at herself, grabbing a purse from her bedpost. “He’ll probably be out on a date anyway.” Chase had been seeing a number of girls since his basketball playing had led the way to Lincoln’s victory at the state playoffs.

  “Come on, Lady Jane!” her mother chided.

  Hope hustled out the door and crossed the lawn with her mother, as they had when she was twelve all those summers ago. She held a chocolate cake in her hands, something she had spent the hot afternoon baking, necessitating a second shower before they left the house. She was disappointed when she did not spot Chase on the porch, and decided he was almost definitely out on a date. But when they entered the door, he came scurrying down the stairs. He had on a pair of khaki shorts and a black polo shirt with leather sandals on his feet. Dressed to go out, she decided, but at least she had gotten to see him, if only for a moment.

  “Hi,” she greeted him, feeling a little shy.

  “Hey, Hope.”

  “Hope, honey, that looks delicious,” Mrs. Hatton commented, taking the plate from her.

  “I’m afraid it’s melted a little on the way over here.”

  “I’ll stick it in the fridge and it will be just fine.”

  “Can I help?” Hope’s mom asked.

  The adults moved off into the kitchen through the swinging door separating the two rooms. The door closed behind them with a swish, leaving Chase and Hope alone. After a moment of nervous silence, they both began talking at once.

  “How’s your summer—?”

  “You look—”

  They laughed. “You go ahead, Chase.”

  “I was just going to say, you look nice.”

  “Thanks,” she said, feeling her face get hot. “So do you. Are you going out on a date?”

  Chase seemed surprised by the question. “No. I’m eating here with you.”

  “Ah. Sentenced to entertain the neighbor girl again, eh?”

  “Not hardly,” he replied quietly, holding her gaze for a beat. The door swung open and the adults started filing in, laden with platters.

  “Do you need any help, Mrs. Hatton?” Hope asked quickly.

  Chase’s mom seemed to sense she had interrupted something, but smiled at the pair. “I think we have it all,” she replied lightly.

  Hope couldn’t remember what they had for dinner that night, only that it was delicious. At the end of the meal, she and Chase escaped to the garage for a game of table tennis. The garage was large, with a low, raftered ceiling holding bikes and boxes, and shelves built into all of the walls along the sides and back. It had a nice, damp, woody scent, albeit somewhat musty. There were center support poles running between the two garage doors, and on one side, a large table tennis table awaited.

  The game started off friendly, but soon the pair’s natural sense of competition heightened and it escalated into a battle of major proportions. Hope couldn’t help but notice the muscles on Chase’s arms tightening as he played, his skin tanned from hours at the pool. He shook hair out of his eyes with a smile, and she felt her insides melt like the cheese oozing out of a grilled cheese sandwich.

  Chase found he had his hands full, as the same twist of the wrist that sent a volleyball spinning, also sent a table tennis ball spiraling out of control. Hope had a knack for hitting the ball just close enough to knick the table before it tumbled out of bounds. Add to this the fact that he seemed distracted at times. She served and his reaction was just a tad slow as the ball hit the paddle, sending it into the net.

  “Ohhh!” he groaned.

  She grinned. “15-16.” The next serve he didn’t have a chance at.

  “Geez! What was that?” Chase exclaimed as the ball whizzed past him.

  “16 all!” Hope began hopping around.

  “What are you doing?”

  “My sandal strap came undone.” She set her paddle down and bent to fix it, and he went to retrieve the ball from where it had rolled behind a rake. After he scooped it up, his eyes swept across the floor under the table to where she curled her leg up to fiddle with the buckle. She caught his eye.

  “Ouch!” he muttered under his breath with a half whistle.

  “Huh?”

  They both straightened up, gazing across the table into each other’s eyes.

  “Nothing.”

  He bounced the ball to her.

  “Ready?”

  “Damn straight!” he returned.

  The battle raged back and forth until Chase stood ready to serve, the score 24-25, in Hope’s favor. Game point. But he wasn’t about to quit.

  “You stick your tongue out when you’re concentrating.”

  “I do not!” Hope replied, slightly embarrassed.

  “Yes, you do. It’s cute.”

  Hope felt her cheeks get hot. “You’re just trying to distract me,” she rejoined, shifting her feet from side to side like she did on the volleyball court, her paddle poised.

  “Darned right I am! I can’t let myself get beat by a girl.”

  Before he had even finished his sentence, Chase tried to zing the ball past her, but Hope’s reactions were too quick. With a flourish, she returned the ball, hitting it off the side of the table for the final time as she scored the winning point. She hooted and hollered, enjoying an elaborate victory dance on her side of the garage. Chase laid both hands on the table, appearing exasperated. Catching his glare, Hope stopped her dancing.

  “Oh. That wasn’t very sportsmanlike of me was it?” She grinned. “Oh well!” And with that she started dancing triumphantly again.

  “I’m going to kick your ass!” Chase taunted, coming around the table toward her.

  “You and what army?” she threw back, skirting around to keep the table between them. Chase faked in one direction and moved in the other, but Hope wasn’t taken in. She laughed and darted about so as not to lose her positioning.

  He chuckled. “I give,” he said, breathing hard. “Want to go for a walk?”

  “Sure.”

  Chase turned toward the door.

  “You’re not going to leave my body out in the cornfield, are you?” Hope teased.

  “Don’t give me any ideas,” he called over his shoulder dryly.

  They strolled across the lawn at a diagonal to the wall of corn defining the edge of the Hattons’ property, heading in the direction of the woods, which stretched to the east of the fields.

  “Have you ever had Mr. Stout?” Chase asked out of the blue.

  “Yeah. Freshman year, fo
r algebra. He’s great.”

  “Yeah. I love it when he’s in the middle of an equation that takes up half the board and then he goes, ‘Oh, who cares what x is anyway? Have I ever told you about my train collection?’” Chase mimicked his teacher’s baritone voice.

  Hope laughed at his imitation. That was what made Mr. Stout memorable; his students enjoyed his obvious enthusiasm for his hobby. “Yeah. He’d spend a whole hour talking about his models.” She smiled, remembering the way the big man would sit on the edge of his desk and gaze out the window and talk about engines and track designs.

  Chase eyed her, his head cocked sideways. “Did he have a nickname for you, by any chance?”

  She glanced up quickly. He had lured her into a trap. She turned to look straight ahead, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Yes,” she said slowly.

  “And what was it, exactly?”

  Her lips quivered as she smiled, but she remained silent.

  “Was it…Harlequin?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And why did Mr. Stout call you Harlequin?”

  “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  They were meandering, taking pleasure in the night air, which had brought a slight respite to the day’s heat. After entering the shelter of the trees, they followed a dirt path, which was worn in the wooded lot over the years.

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Even though I’m sure you know, Mr. Stout called me Harlequin because he saw me reading Harlequin romance novels in his classroom, a lot.”

  He sniggered and Hope hit him hard on the arm.

  “Ouch!” he said, rubbing it. They walked a little farther, Chase still seeming to revel in his verbal victory, until Hope started chuckling.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about this one time in Mr. Stout’s class.”

  “What happened?” Chase was curious now.