Chapter 16 The Proposal
THE PROPOSAL
BECKY
At lunch, I’m sitting in my room grading papers when my classroom phone rings. I reluctantly pick it up.
“Ms. Duchamp, you have a parent wishing to talk to you.” Says Jill, an unusual warmth in her voice.
Shit, she likes this parent.
That’s fine. I’m not worried. This is fine.
“Okay, thanks Ji—“ BEEP. The beep signals the call change. I wish she’d tell me more than a parent is calling.
“Hello, this is Ms. Duchamp, may I ask who is calling?”
An incredibly low rumbling voice answers, and I don’t even need to hear his name to know who it is. “This is Billy Saul. Do you got a minute, Ms. Duchamp?”
Lordy, his voice is sinful.
“Of course, what can I do for you, Mr. Saul?” Hilarious that he’s calling me Ms. Duchamp.
“Billy. Please.” He’s not rude, but he’s also not gentle. I’ve always been able to vibe with people like Billy Saul.
“Okay, yes, Billy.”
“You doing the DC Trip tent again next week?”
“Yes, I believe Ms. Terri, Ms. Hall, and I will be running the tent.”
“Ms. Hall?”
“Oh, yes, the new Art Teacher, Sonya Hall, volunteered to help.”
“Right.”
“Okay, is that all you need Mr… I mean, Billy?” Snort.
“Yeah.” Something muffled comes over the phone, but it stops just as quickly as it started.
“Sorry, no. Look, I have a car that’s been donated to your cause.
Instead of a 50/50 raffle, y’all can keep all the money collected, and the winner gets the car.
It’s not new or nothin’, but it’s y’alls to use to raise your funds. ”
Holy shit.
“Billy, that’s amazing! I don’t know—”
A familiar muffled voice can be heard from over the phone. “Tell her it’s a good car, not some junker. Make sure she knows we checked it!”
“Okay, okay, I get it man,” said Billy to the other person, obviously, ridiculously, Carter. A gruff sigh, then louder to me. “It’s not brand new, but solid. Y’all can raise more with it than with raffle tickets. Oh, um, also, Ms. Duch—can I just call you Becky?”
“Umm, yeah of course. Thank you so much for your offer, but we—”
“It’s already done. So don’t do the, ‘Oh, I couldn’t’ shi—Ouch, what the fuck, Carter!”
Again Billy’s muffled voice, away from the phone. “I’m not saying that. Hell no.” More muffled talking. Finally, to me again. “Sorry, if you thought I was rude.”
“That’s not what I said!” That same achingly familiar voice says in the background of the call.
“Shut the fuck up, Carter,” Billy growls, not even bothering to cover the receiver this time.
“Don’t forget to tell her about the posters, Billy! Posters!” Carter is easily heard by this point, and I smile, but only a little. The image of massive, imposing, and stoic Billy while an energized, anxious, excitable Carter buzzes around is more endearing than I’d like to admit.
I wonder if Billy actually thinks he’s blocking the receiver end of the phone.
I snort at the absurdity of it all.
“We’ll do posters too. And Becky? Joey says Ms. Harrison is a bitch to you.
Carter said something similar. If that’s true, I want you to know, I got your back when you want to take this to the school board or what the fuck ever you do in these shitty situations.
Joey likes you. He needs good people in his life.
Just let me know, and I’ll support you.”
Off the phone I hear again, “...hitting on her…”
Then a muffled response, “I am not, Jesus, man.”
To me, again. “Okay, just remember that, bye Becky,” he rumbles.
Muffled, “bye Beck—”
And he hangs up.
I stare at the phone for a minute before I sit back on my chair and think. If the car raffle is enough of a draw to those who normally don’t care to enter the 50/50 drawing, this fundraiser may become the reason the entire class can afford to come on this trip.
The last three years I’ve done this, I’ve complained to Carter that a few lower economic students always end up missing out. The school system does not fund field trips, so kids always have to fundraise themselves. My first year I felt horrible when I found out too late how many kids couldn’t go.
The next year, I started having meetings with parents, writing grants, and planning group fundraisers to drop the total cost. That step made participation double, and last year it went up some more.
The booth at the music festivals had actually been Carter’s idea.
This plan, though, this might get us where we need to be for all of the children to come on our trip.
That… would mean a lot to me.
By the end of the day, I finish with some planning, then I gather my things to head home for the weekend. The flowers were lovely, but I gave them to the librarian because she was having a bad day with book banning drama.
I kept the note.
?????
My yard is freshly mowed and the poop is removed. I admired the fresh smell then let the dogs out to re-poop-ulate it. Laughing at my own stupid thought, I pull out my phone to send it to Carter. He’d get a laugh out of it too.
Oh, yeah.
The relentless sadness that has been hovering over me for weeks swoops back in.
My breath wooshes out of me at the sudden, staggering ache in my chest. God, this hurts.
It’s been hitting me at the most random moments, and always when I’m doing something mundane.
I’m not going out to any place significant to our shared history.
I’m just existing, but existence was something we shared.
Our lives were thoroughly intertwined, so the day-to-day moments of waking up, making coffee, breakfast, lunch or dinner, snuggling with my dogs, even brushing my teeth, were riddled with memories of us.
I lean against the railing on the porch and look out into our small yard. I may not own this house, but we had made it into our home.
“Ellie, Daisy, come here.” They play hard to get for a few seconds, then finally listen to my command.
Inside, they get a scoop of food, some fresh water, and I finally sink into my favorite spot on the couch.
My eyes move across the walls, and I realize everything is still there.
All of our random art and gadgets from the many antique and second hand stores we’ve been to are scattered about where we had decided to put them. Same with our photos.
Carter’s smile stares at me from his photos. I sigh.
He sent me flowers. He got me a whole ass vehicle for my students, and—I look around the room I’m sitting in and realize it is clean.
I have not vacuumed in weeks. So he’s not only taking care of the yard, but of the house.
I guess he remembers how much tunnel vision I get at the beginning of the school year.
“Fuuuuuuuck.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out the note.
Why did he do all that? Why did he throw us away, just to want me back so quickly? I rub my thumb over the words he sent me. He wasn’t himself for weeks, now, after he—
A notification goes off, and for just a moment, I consider it’s him.
I pull my phone out to see that it’s a message from an unknown number.
I ignore my disappointment, and click it immediately, wondering if it has to do with our booth in a couple weeks.
It’s a lot more involved than our last one because we are actually in school now, and more students tend to get involved.
And it’s the final music event of the season, so it’s always the busiest.
The image that loads makes me want to throw up or throw my phone.
The picture is dark, but the subjects are still crystal clear in the frame.
There’s Carter posted up against the wall of the bar, wearing what he wore the other night, and then there’s Taylor, in some barely there shirt and show-the-ass shorts, leaning against him with her hands on his body.
His eyes are closed. Savoring her touch.
Of. Fucking. Course.
I hold the image and forward it to Carter, then go to his contact and block his number. What a giant load of shit he’s been clogging my mind with when he’s out here doing this again, and in public, again.
With a deep breath, I go back to the message and read it.
Unknown
Don’t let the flowers fool you, bitch.
I screenshot the message with the photo, email it to my school account with the phone number showing, and exit out of the message again.
Then I go look for a box that can fit a whole lot of mismatched garbage.
I think a part of me believed him when he said his excuses because I hadn’t removed him yet.
Well, I got my scalpel out now, and I’m removing him with surgical precision.
?????
Carter
I take another look at the 2015 Ford Explorer, and I know it is going to be a fantastic vehicle for this raffle. Clean body, clean title, single elderly owner. It’s perfect, and it was a smoking deal.
“Stop slobbering on the truck. You’ll ruin the paint job.” Billy’s low baritone growls at me. I’d shit myself if I didn’t know the guy and he talked to me like that. He’s a big, scary, tatted, pierced dude, but he is a teddy bear.
“Stop fucking looking at me like that, Carter. Get back to work.” He growls.
He loves me.
I can’t help but be a bit jovial. A little giddy.
I feel like I’ve been sitting at the starting line forever, just waiting for that gun to go off so I can race as fast as humanly possible back to Becky.
I’ve had all this energy inside of me, and it’s time for me to be able to focus it on my number one goal. Becky. My LCC, my spitfire love.
I have a few irons in the fire as we speak, and as I get to work on my next vehicle, my plans roll around in my head.
While I’m bent over a car, I hear a car pull up. It’s after hours, and this time, I ignore it. As much as I don’t want the bad reputation Paul brings, it’s not worth the price I paid when I got in too deep with the last white knight shit show.
It’s when I hear Trevor ask for me that I perk up. He sees me and heads over before I get a chance to say anything. “Hey.” He says gruffly. I get a good look at him, and he looks rotten. Bags under the eyes, uneven scruff he normally keeps shaven. He looks slovenly.
“Hey….” I say awkwardly.
“Don’t start. I have a reason for coming. I want to talk to you about something.”
Okay… “Sure thing.”
He leans against the car I’m working on and says…nothing. I go ahead and keep on keeping on with fixing this one. I want to say it’s Patty’s ‘89 Camaro. He gives this world weary sigh and starts.
“I’m getting out of my family business.”
I smack my head on the hood of the Camaro, I come up so fast. “Ouch, fuck, what?”
He looks me in the eyes this time. “I can’t work there anymore. It’s not a good environment. I need out. So, I have a proposal for you.” He’s rolling his ring while he talks, and for once, I can read between the lines. His job is ruining his marriage. Fucking crazy.
“Your work is a bad environment, or your family?” I ask, knowing the answer.
His whole body droops. “Both, but that’s because they run the business. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I want to go in business with you.”
You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. “I’m not a finance person. I’m not really an anything-but-motors person, you know this.”
He shakes his head, holding my gaze. “I want to go in on a business loan with you to buy out Paul.”
Holy. Hell. “Oh, okay then.” I lean against the car, my brain racing with this news. “Seems like we have some shit to talk about.”
He smiles, a cautious expression, “That’s not a no.”
“That’s also not a yes.” And it won’t be until I get a chance to talk to a certain woman.
That’s when I get a text from her. I’m smiling as soon as I hear her notification. I got tired of rushing to every single notification, so I made a pretty chime her own personal sound. My smile grows when I see her name. I’m so ready to send my first text to her.
I freeze when I open the picture. Nausea rolls through me. No.
“Hey, whoa, are you good?” Trevor steps toward me and sees the picture over my shoulder.
“Oh, shit.”
Yeah, oh shit. I go and hit the call button.
Straight to Voicemail.
I start to panic. I hit call again. And again. Same thing.
I send a text.
Me:
It’s not what you think.
God, what a fucking cliche. I look for the read indicator, but nothing.
No way. I can’t and won’t let this happen.
I leave my stuff as is and walk past a confused and slightly concerned Trevor.
I hop into my truck, and tear out of there.
I’m going home to Becky. A mixture of fear and anticipation fill me as I recognize the truth.
It’s time to admit to everything—everything that led to and that happened that night.