Page 9 of Drive Me Wild
My mind trails off because I don’t know how to put words to what I’ve been feeling since late spring.
Since I met Zoe.
Those brief encounters with her woke something in me that had been asleep for a long time. I’ve been trying to put words to what I’ve felt all summer, but I’ve never had that ability. I’m not my twin, Cody. He’s quiet as a mouse until he has something to say. Then he has all the words in every dictionary and encyclopedia, and you just fight to keep up with what’s coming out of his mouth.
He squeezes my shoulder before I can muddle my way through an explanation.
“It’s alright, son. I understand. I wanted more, too. And then I got your mom and you boys. I’m not saying that is what you need in your life, but it was for me.”
I was still in diapers when my mother loaded us in the car one night and drove us out of California. Cole was old enough to remember most of what happened, but I don’t. When Mom’s car broke down outside Owl Creek, Buzz picked us up, and the rest is history. For me, it’s all I’ve ever known. He’s all the father I’ve ever known.
“So am I in?”
“I’ll talk to the administration about sending you the paperwork. It’s not much. School starts on Monday, and we meet on Mondays and Thursdays from three to five. More often when it’s close to competitions. Can you work around that schedule?”
Relief blooms in my body. This is something. This is the start of something.
I nod and try to shake his hand, but in typical Buzz style, he pulls me in for a hug.
“I’m proud of you, son.”
He pats my back and then I break away to throw my towel and swimsuit in the back of my truck, giving me easy cover for wiping the mist that escaped my eye.
Chapter Five: Zoe
Iwatch from the apartment window as Caleb and Buzz hug. Seeing a dad like Buzz makes me wonder what life would have been like if mine had stuck around.
My mother never talked about him. I know his first name and that he was an Alaska fisherman, and that’s it. There are no pictures of them together, no birthday cards that came in the mail, and no threatening looks when I went on my first date with a boy.
I stopped asking about him when I was young because my mom filled my world with as much happiness as she was able. She worked hard and wasn’t always around, but we made it work. We were a team. And then I met Renée, who taught me a ton of things that dads are supposed to teach you because she grew up in a house of boys.
I push the curtain over the window and walk to the bookcase to start unpacking. After all that people-time, I need some solitude. Solitude and a good book are how I recharge my battery.
I peel open the first box of books and run my fingers over the bindings. These stories are my escape when I need it. My inspiration. My passport to the world and everything I will never in a million years have enough time or desire to see with my own eyes. Stories help me know people. They help me find compassion for people— even the ones I don’t like.
I get three of the six boxes emptied when I hear a gentle rapping on my door. I have to jump over my duffle bag of clothes to reach it, and open up to see Renée standing there with a food box.
“Sorry we haven’t had any alone time together today.”
“You had to play host.”
“I thought I’d bring you some essentials so you don’t have to come down to the house if you don’t want to.”
She steps inside, and I push the military green canvas duffle bags out of her way so she can get into the kitchen area. She pulls out a bag of pre-ground coffee, a small bottle of cream, a few bagels, butter, jam, and some leftovers from the party.
Renée turns from the counter and motions for me to come closer. She pulls me into a hug and holds me while we rock back and forth.
“I’m so happy you’re here, Zoe.”
“Me too.”
“And I’m really sorry to be the one to tell you the bad news.”
My body freezes as she whispers in my ear.
“We still don’t have internet in the apartment.”
We fall apart laughing, and she glides over to the bed, plunking down and looking around.
