Chasing the Boy

Chapter Eighteen

It was cold, very cold - even for December. Technically it was still fall– it was only December 1st – but it felt like the dead of winter. Outside, snow battered the house and covered the world in a soft, cold blanket. I stared out the window, my arms wrapped tightly around my waist. So many people hated the cold, the ice and the slush but not me. I loved this weather - it was peaceful and made everything feel new again.

The phone rang in the hallway and my brother got it. I heard him confer for a few moments before he hung up.

"Mom," he hollered. "Joey's coming over." He ran upstairs, two at a time.

"What?" my mother said. "His mother is actually driving in this weather?"

My brother's voice drifted down from the second floor. "No, she's not that crazy," he yelled. "Joey is – he's walking over."

My mother didn't say anything and I can only imagine that she was rendered momentarily speechless. I certainly was. Did Ryan say walking? There was a blizzard going on outside. I hurried into the kitchen, where my mother was making chocolate chip cookies. I watched her as she studied the directions on the tube of store-bought cookie dough.

"Mom," I said, interrupting her cookie-making process. "Joey is walking over here - in a snowstorm."

I was hoping the statement would spur her into action, maybe even compel her to trek outside, shovel her car out of the snowdrift and go rescue my brother's crazy friend from freezing to death.

My plan didn't work. My mother paused her scooping long enough to glance at me. "He'll be fine," she assured me, before digging another heaping spoonful of cookie dough out of the plastic tubing.

"Fine?" I demanded, wondering how she could sound so calm. "How can you say that? If it were Ryan out there, you'd be having a coronary and you know it." I was mad.

My mother looked at me again, the expression on her face searching. "Joey can take care of himself," she told me. "If he runs into any trouble, he'll call. Now, go and find something to do."

Feeling dismissed and frustrated, I stomped out of the kitchen and planted myself on the sofa. I had a book in my lap but couldn't concentrate. Instead, I stared out the window, searching for glimpses of red hair and glasses. Forty-five minutes passed and I began to get worried. It was freezing out there and God knows the idiot was probably wearing nothing warmer than a sweatshirt. I returned to the kitchen, which smelled of warm cookies. My mother sat at the table, a glass of Pepsi at her elbow and a plate of cookies within reach. She was thumbing through her Reader's Digest.

I didn't say anything at first. I just watched her and waited for her to notice my lurking presence. "What?" she finally asked, her eyes still on her magazine.

I sighed. Was I the only one who had not taken complete leave of their senses? "Do you honestly mean to tell me you aren't in the least bit concerned that Ryan's friend is wandering around town in a snowstorm? He could die out there. How would you feel then?" I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at her.

My mother turned in her seat and looked at me. She had a small smile on her face and a strange look in her eyes. I didn't like it – not one bit. "Well, I'll be," she murmured. Then she was silent.

"What?," I asked. "You'll be what?" I didn't like the way she was looking at me, like she knew some deep, dark secret.

Her smile grew even bigger. "You like him, don't you?"

At first, her words were so incomprehensible I didn't quite understand the question. "What?" I asked. "Who?"

"Joey – that's who," she told me. "You like him, that's why you're staring out the window, waiting for him to appear. Am I right?"