Finally My Forever Page 2

  He did as she asked and we made our way to the huge SUV that was parked in the garage. Thomas offered me the front seat, but I told him I was content to ride in the back. The ride to the construction site only took us a few minutes, and Thomas talked the whole time about how cool the house would be and how many great things he and his friends would be able to do there. I assumed by his descriptions that there would be quite a few people helping out today, and I dreaded being the only one there who didn’t know anybody.

  Mrs. Bennett agreed to let me carry one of the bags inside when we arrived. I was greatly relieved to help since it gave me something to do with my hands. It was heavy and I couldn't believe she had carried that and the others by herself. I looked inside to find two 6-packs of Powerade.

  "That's for my baby brother," Thomas said, seeing me glance inside. "He likes the white ones. And Mom likes the white ones because they don’t make a mess if you spill."

  "I guess everybody likes the white ones," I said. At least I started to say it.

  Thomas, catching a glimpse of someone he recognized, cut me off in midsentence. He threw his arms up in the same way he had done for me when we first met. "Valerieeee!" he said.

  The girl, who was beautiful and seemed to be in her twenties, made the same gesture with her arms. "Thomasssss!" she yelled. She greeted Mrs. Bennett with a kiss on the cheek. "We're already getting a lot done in there," she said.

  "Oh, good," Mrs. Bennett replied, "Thank you for being here."

  "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

  "Plus, you get that cool t-shirt," Thomas said, proudly. He looked at me with a wide-eyed, serious expression. "You need a shirt too."

  "Oh, I'm okay," I said. I was tempted for a split second to add that my dad's company was the one who printed them, but I opted to stay quiet.

  Valerie and Mrs. Bennett were talking about all the work that was going on, and I followed them into the house, content with holding my bag of sports drinks and blending into the background.

  There were several volunteers visible when we walked in. Two men were laying tile around the fireplace, two were in the kitchen doing something with power tools that required them to wear goggles, and a few more were spread around looking busy. I followed Mrs. Bennett into the kitchen where she commented on how nice the new refrigerator looked and began putting the bottles into it. Thomas and Valerie disappeared down the hall to go inspect the rest of the house.

  "How can I help?" I asked.

  "How do you feel about painting?" a man's voice said from behind me. I turned to find a man about my dad's age staring at me with a big smile. He had mostly black hair with some gray on the sides and his eyes were the type that squinted when he smiled.

  "Honey, this is Carly," Mrs. Bennett said.

  "Mike's daughter!" he said, smiling.

  I was his stepdaughter but I didn't correct him. I assumed he must be Mr. Bennett. He stuck out his hand, and kept right on with that squinty-eyed smile. Something about it seemed warm and welcoming. I was glad for it at a time when I felt nervous and out of place. I shook his hand and smiled back.

  "I don't know much about painting, "I said, getting back to this question, "but I'd be happy to give it a try."

  "It's just a matter of rolling paint on the walls," he said. "We'll come behind you and do the trim. I don't think you can really mess anything up."

  He gestured for me to follow him, but then looked over his shoulder at his wife. "Unless you needed her for something," he said. I glanced back to see her smiling and shaking her head.

  Mr. Bennett brought me to one of the bedrooms and explained that it would be the arts and crafts room. The walls were being painted a neutral gray so all of their art projects would stand out when hung. There was another volunteer already working. It was an older lady who Mr. Bennett introduced as Joan. We greeted each other with a wave before Mr. Bennett gave me a three-minute explanation about how to get paint onto the wall without drips and other unwanted things happening.

  He didn't question me about my sudden urge to volunteer or imply that he knew anything about me being in trouble. I had been afraid of this sort of confrontation and was happy to avoid it.

  For the next little while it was just me and the grey paint. I could hear a radio in the distance along with the sounds of other volunteers talking and banging on things, but mostly, I was alone with my thoughts. Joan asked me a couple of questions at first, but otherwise she didn't say much. She left the room for a few minutes at a time but would always come back and pick up where she left off. We both seemed content to work quietly. I didn't regret being there and helping out with something that seemed to be a good cause, but I still felt like my parents had been a little harsh with the punishment, and I was in a fairly bad mood because of it.

  I'd been painting for what must have been over an hour when my neck began to get stiff. I sighed and set the roller down in the pan before stretching my arms upward.

  "Joannnn! Carlyyyy!" Thomas said coming into the room right at that moment. His eyes instantly went up to the area where the wall met the ceiling, and his smile changed to a look of concern. He pointed at the area he was staring at. "Are you gonna leave it like that?" he said, his face crumpling into a look of wary confusion.

  Joan answered before I could. "Of course we're not, Thomas," she said patiently. "Your dad's gonna come behind us and make it nice and straight with a paint brush."

  Thomas sighed and laughed thankfully. He giggled for a few seconds before his face turned serious again. He looked at Joan. "Did you know the Bible is Carly's favorite book?"

  "No I didn't!" she said sweetly. She smiled at me and I smiled back a little stiffly. Joan still had her roller in her hand, so she turned her attention back to the wall.

  "What's your favorite Bible verse?" Thomas asked with a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the blood rising to my cheeks the second he said it. I'd been to vacation Bible school a couple of times when I was a kid, but otherwise didn't know much about the Bible at all. I knew there was a very famous verse about God so loving the world, and I racked my brain trying to think of it. It took me a second, but I thought I had it right. I smiled as I said, "For God so loved the world that he gave his son—"

  "John 3:16!" Thomas said, with his hands in the air.

  "That's one of my most favorite verses, isn't it, Ms. Joan?"

  "Yep, you love that one, Thomas," she said without turning around.

  "It's not my most very favorite one, though," he assured me.

  What was there for me to do but ask, "What's your favorite?"

  He put his hand back on my shoulder and stared at me with an earnest expression like what he was about to say was a matter of national security. "John 1:29," he said. He cleared his throat in preparation to recite it. "The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him, and said…" Thomas stopped talking and out of nowhere sunk his crumpled face into his hand. He stayed that way for several long seconds.

  I glanced around, not knowing what to do.

  Joan kept right on working.

  I thought Thomas just had his head down, so it startled me when he started making a high-pitched wheezing sound as he breathed out. It took me a second to realize he was crying. He made this sound as he breathed out and then he took a shaky breath in. Once again, a long, wheezing cry came out with his face still covered by his hand.

  I glanced at Joan desperate for some help, but she kept right on painting. Thomas let out a few more high-pitched wails before wiping his eyes and trying to compose himself.

  He regarded me with a pitiful, tear-soaked face.

  "Behold…" he said. Another long, wheezing wail. "John said, Behold! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world." His face was contorted with the effort to hold back tears and his voice was much higher than normal as he said the last part of that verse. He regarded me afterward as if he was gauging how affected I was.

  "Is that the whole verse?" I asked. I didn't know what else to say. It seemed really sho
rt, and I honestly didn't understand how he was so touched by the simple line he'd just recited.

  "Didn't you hear it?" he asked, looking at me as if he was wondering why I wasn't crying.

  "Was it just that John saw Jesus and said, Behold, the—"

  Thomas cut in, "The Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the…" He lowered his head and breathed out a wheezing cry again. "The world," he concluded after that cry was out of his system.

  I glanced at Joan, who still had her back to us being no help whatsoever.

  "That's pretty cool," I said.

  "It's the most beautiful Bible verse ever," he said. "It's the only thing we need to believe—the one truth we need most of all." He stared at me as if trying to see if I suddenly understood. "God could have been born a big tough guy like with muscles like Micah. He coulda come to earth and punched everybody out who didn't listen to Him." He paused, but continued, "But instead he chose to be born a lamb—" And there it went again. He sank his face into his hand and let out that high-pitched wail.

  Joan was still no help, and I looked around wondering what in the world I could do or say.

  "Was Micah another person in the Bible?" I asked, in an attempt to distract him. I knew there was a guy in the Bible who was known for his strength, and I assumed after what Thomas said, that he was talking about Micah, which sounded like a Bible name. It was my best bet for trying to distract him from this Lamb verse that made him cry so much.

  He had tears streaming down his face, but he looked at me with a big smile. "Micah's in the Bible, but I was talking about my baby brother."

  "Oh, you have a baby brother named Micah?" I asked. He smiled and nodded, not even bothering to wipe the tears from his face. I had a towel hanging from my back pocket that Mr. Bennett had given me for drips. I hadn't used it for paint, so I took it out and used it to dry Thomas' cheeks. I sort of expected him to take it from me and do it himself, but he just waited while I patted the tears from his face.

  "I wouldn't call Micah a baby," Joan chimed in, finally.

  Thomas glanced her way. "He's fifteen months younger than me," he said. "He's nineteen and I'm twenty."

  "Yeah but that doesn't make him a baby," she said.

  "I'm turning twenty-one soon," he said, trying to strengthen his case. Joan just kept painting and Thomas looked at me. "Do you know my baby brother?"

  I shook my head indicating that I didn't, and without hesitation, he grabbed me by the hand.

  Chapter 3

  I really didn’t feel like being there in the first place, much less being dragged across the house to play meet and greet. I had been so frustrated with my parents about making me come that I'd barely even looked in a mirror beforehand.

  "My brother's outside making the patio," Thomas said, pulling me down the hallway. "The stones are really heavy, so I can't help with that. My dad said I have to stay out of his way."

  "It sounds like he's busy," I said. "Maybe I can just meet him later."

  "No, you can meet him now," he assured me. "We just can't help with the stones. But that's okay because you still have more painting to do. Remember how you missed those spots?"

  "Yep, that's why I should probably be getting back in there," I said. I gave him a slight tug in the opposite direction, and his grip tightened.

  "I promise you will like my brother," he said. "Every girl likes him."

  Before I knew it, we'd walked through the kitchen and Thomas was opening the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. There were three guys on the far side of the patio, and all of them were kneeling as they worked together to try to position a heavy stone.

  "Hey Micah, this is my new friend Carly!" Thomas called. All three of them looked our way at Thomas' exclamation. I caught sight of Mr. Bennett first. He was smiling at me and I smiled back as my gaze shifted to the next guy who was about Mr. Bennett's age. I smiled at him for the briefest of seconds before shifting my attention to the third guy—the one who was mostly hidden from my view. The third guy, who I assumed was Micah, stood up to get a better look at me.

  I'll never forget the first time I saw him. He had on torn jeans that rode low on his hips and a thin, white, skintight tank top that showed the rows and rows of sculpted muscle underneath. He used his forearm to wipe the sweat off of his brow. He looked like a commercial for… whatever. He could have been selling anything and I'd buy it. He might as well have stood up and wiped his brow in slow motion, that's how picturesque it was. He was comically gorgeous, and I felt myself smiling at the absurdity of the situation.

  The other two men went back to the task of shifting the rock as Micah started to walk toward us. I began shaking my head the instant I realized what he was doing. I had no idea what I looked like, but I knew it was bad. There was no way I could let him get close to me. As if shaking my head wasn't enough, I stuck my hand out to stop him. "Don't quit what you're doing," I insisted. "Thomas just wanted to introduce me to his baby brother." I smiled real big and waved as I started to turn with the intention of heading back inside.

  "It's okay," Micah said. "I needed to grab some water anyway." He looked at his dad and the other man. "You guys want anything?"

  "I'll take some water," Mr. Bennett said. The other man just smiled, shook his head, and went back to work.

  "Me and mom brought white Powerade for you," Thomas said proudly.

  Micah was approaching us by that point. I was mortified at the thought of him coming close to me looking the way I did, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  "White Powerade, my favorite!" Micah said, reaching out to ruffle Thomas' hair. I could tell by the way he approached us that he thought we would all go back into the kitchen together, but he put a hand on Thomas' shoulder and looked at him with a concerned expression on our way inside. "You okay?" he asked, noticing his brother's red eyes.

  Thomas stared at him as if he had no idea what Micah was talking about. "He was telling me about his favorite Bible verse," I explained.

  Micah understood instantly and regarded me with a relived smile. "He's tenderhearted about the Bible."

  "The Bible's Carly's favorite book too!" Thomas said.

  Micah reached into the fridge, got a bottle of Powerade, and leaned against one of the counters as he unscrewed the lid and took a drink. He had shaggy brown hair that was damp with sweat and haphazardly held back by some sort of headband. I watched in awe as he chugged down half the bottle of his drink. I could see the muscles in his neck flex as he swallowed. He was dark complected, and beads of sweat ran down the side of his jaw and onto his neck. It was all I could do to keep my mouth from literally hanging open as I stared at him. He was a flawless human being, and I was completely mesmerized.

  I glanced away for fear of being caught gawking. Thomas was preoccupied staring at the nozzle of the sink, no one else was in there, so I figured I hadn't been caught. By the time I looked back at Micah, he was done drinking. He set the bottle onto the counter and gave me an appraising smile. He had straight white teeth that were framed beautifully by full but masculine lips. I had to pull my eyes away from his lips so I wouldn't be the weirdo who stood there and stared at them.

  I looked at his eyes instead. I hadn't seen his eyes when we were outside, but I could see them clearly now. They were an odd shade of green—a soft, greyish green that stood out in stark contrast to his dark complexion and strong features. They were so beautiful I got instantly uncomfortable looking at them and quickly shifted my gaze to the floor.

  "So, the Bible's your favorite book?" he asked.

  My eyes snapped up to find that he was regarding me with a sarcastic little half smile. I had no idea how to answer his question. All I wanted to do was make a good impression on him. I thought about telling him I had only said that for his brother's sake, but Thomas was standing right there and I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

  "Thomas knows way more about the Bible than I do," I said, hoping that was a safe answer.

  "Thomas knows more about
the Bible than most preachers," Micah said.

  "I don't know more than Pastor Dale," Thomas said, still messing with the nozzle of the sink.

  "Where'd you go to school?" I heard Micah say. I turned to see that he was looking at me. I instinctually adjusted my ponytail and shifted my weight. Micah was so comfortable and confident leaning against the kitchen counter, and all I could do was stand there feeling nervous and tongue-tied.

  I had to swallow hard before speaking so I could find my voice. "Warren," I said. "I still go there. I'm going into my senior year." I paused, but continued, "What about you?"

  He crossed his legs and braced his weight on his arms. "I went to Reagan, but I'm at UT Austin now. I'm going into my sophomore year."

  "Micah's in the band!" Thomas said, with his arms raised.

  "Not the marching band," he said with a smirk. "I'm in the commercial music program."

  "Like where you make commercials?" I asked, having no idea what he was talking about.

  He let out a laugh like he thought my question was cute. "No, commercial music just means pop, rock, jazz, and so on—you know, anything besides classical. I'm also taking some business classes in case I end up going into construction like my dad."

  "So what do you play?" I asked.

  Micah started to tell me but then looked at Thomas. "Hey brother, can you please bring dad a bottled water from the fridge?"

  "You were gonna bring it to him, but you started talking to Carly about music," Thomas said, looking back and forth between Micah and me. "I'll tell dad you're busy."

  "I'll be out there in a second," Micah assured him. Thomas was looking in the fridge when Micah shifted his attention to me again. "I sing and play guitar and bass—mostly guitar though. I'm in two combos at school, but I'm in a band that keeps me really busy."

  "What kind of music does your band play?"

  He shrugged. "I don't really know how to classify it—alt rock would be the best way, I guess." He paused and looked me over. "Are you eighteen?" he asked.