The Dare

Chapter Twenty-one

"Crackerjacks!" Grandma slammed her fist onto the table. "I'm trying to tell you a story, Gus! Stop interrupting!"

"I'm just trying to understand how their love story ends with a kidnapping, that's all, ma'am."

"No, you're frying my very last nerve, Gus, and I won't have it. I'm eighty-six, and though I look strong, it wears on me, it—"

"Ma'am?" theaAgent whispered. "Ma'am?

He slowly rose up from his chair and tapped Grandma on the shoulder.

With a snort, she opened her eyes. "Oh," she stretched, "such a good sleep. You were saying?"

Jace

"Grandma." I cleared my throat, managing to only clog it further as she held out the pencil and paper. "I still don't understand what you're asking me to do."

For the last half-hour, Grandma had lectured us on how to keep a relationship strong… in the bedroom. My ears had bled, and I'm pretty sure, given the circumstances, a few of my sperm had just given up and died.

I wouldn't blame them. I'd wished for death when she'd gone into graphic detail about her late husband, Bill. Apparently in his final years he'd gone blind in his right eye, but Grandma wanted to be sure that we understood that physical ailments should not deter us from participating in what she weirdly referred to as Charades.

What followed was an actual pie chart about erogenous zones that are awakened when other parts of the body are physically… on the injured list. Our torture in hell had ended with pictures. Not normal pictures, because that would be too easy. She erected, poor choice of words, I know, a felt storyboard that I could have sworn my Sunday School teachers used to use in order to tell us Bible stories, and then told us a story about Sad Sam and Happy Hannah, and how Sad Sam turned into a Surprised Sam when Happy Hannah learned how to take Grandma's advice.

There was a poem.

And finally a song that was sung to the tune of "Mary Had a Little Lamb."

I would never eat lamb again.

I thought the torture was done, until Grandma gave us pencils and said we had a pop quiz. The questions had to be the stupidest ones I'd ever had anyone ask me, and I'd had a lot of stupid questions.It was part of the job.

"Write out your answers on this piece of paper and discuss."

"But the questions are stupid."

"So are you, and I don't go telling it to your face, now do I?"

"You have," I argued. "Twice."

"It's true," Beth chimed in.

Grandma waved me off. "Question one."

"Shit."

"How is that donkey?" Grandma sighed happily. "He's quite old, you know."

"We know." Beth sighed. "Can we just hurry and get this done? We're burning daylight, and I really need to get a tan."

"She does," I agreed. "White as a ghost."

"Yeah, throw stones in a glass house, Viagra. Let me know how that works out for you."

"Children!" Grandma clapped. "Honestly, what's wrong with you this morning?"

Beth's face fell. "Nothing, sorry, I didn't sleep well."

Was she actually pissed I hadn't made a move on her? Seriously? Did she think it was easy for me to turn around and sleep when I knew she wanted the exact opposite? I'd heard every sigh that escaped her lips, every breath she'd taken, every moan she'd made, every damn toss and turn. I'd almost slept on the floor.

I broke the pencil in half and grimaced when Grandma threw another one at my face. I barely caught it before it impaled itself in my cheek.

"Question one." Grandma sniffed. "As a child, the cartoon character you most identified with was…?"

Grumbling I wrote down my answer.

"Question two." After a teacher pause, you know the pause teachers do to make you sweat it out for a minute before they ask the next question, Grandma spoke, "Name your most secure moment as a child."

Grimacing. My pencil hovered over the paper. I honestly didn't know how to answer. My entire childhood had been based around my parents' approval. I was secure in their love — but not secure in my success. When I was six, I'd had nightmares that my dad had told me he wasn't proud of me anymore.

I scribbled down my answer and waited.

"Final question," Grandma called. "If you were a food, you would be what? And why?"

I rolled my eyes. "Is this even real or just another one of your ploys to get us to…" I shook my head, letting my voice die off.

"Aw, Jace, you scared you're going to get the wrong answer? It isn't a test," Beth joked. "Just answer the questions so we can hurry up and go."

Rolling my eyes, I answered the last question and gave Grandma my paper.

"I see." Grandma read my paper and then compared it to Beth's, which was a little humiliating.

What if her answers were better than mine? What if mine were stupid? Why the hell did I care?

"Lovely." Grandma beamed. "Just lovely. You're dismissed."

"What?" we said in unison.

"You may go." Grandma's smile widened.

"But…" I scratched my head and let out a nervous laugh, "you didn't even tell us how we did? I mean, wasn't there a point to that exercise?"

"No," Grandma took a sip of tea, "I was just curious. You know me, flighty as a seagull." She laughed. "Ta-ta. Use sunscreen!"

Beth jolted up from her seat, but I kept my eyes firmly on Grandma. Something wasn't right. She was tricking me, but I didn't know how. The longer I stared the more mischievous her smile became. And then she blew on her hand and winked.

"You're evil."

"Thank you." She beamed as the door closed behind us.

Beth was a good few feet ahead of me, making her way toward the pool.

"Slow down!" I called after her.

"Keep up," she called back.

"Can you just, I grabbed her arm, "stop for one damn second?"

She stopped walking and put her sunglasses on. Hell, did that mean she was crying?

"What's wrong with you?"

"I just want to relax in the sun. Is that so much to ask?

"Yes," I snapped. "I mean, no."

"Jace," Beth put her hands on her hips, "what do you want?"

"I want you to stop yelling. I want to stop going to therapy with a senile eighty-six year old with felt pictures. I want my life back, but I want to kiss you more. So that's what I want," I grumbled

"Your life back?"

I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her against the wall. "The second part."

"A kiss?"

"I want more than a kiss, Beth. Don't you get it? I'm trying to protect you. I'm trying to do the right thing. I want you. Don't you see that I want you? Give me a reason not to want you—"

"My cartoon character was She-Ra."

"Huh?"

"I wanted to be a warrior princess."

"That doesn't help."

"I thought it would weird you out?"

"You wearing battle gear and wielding a sword?" I chuckled. "Not even close to helping."

"My most secure childhood memory was when I got second place at the science fair. My mom and dad weren't able to make it, so my grandpa came. He told me that as long as I had a heart to go along with my brain I'd turn out okay. He said hearts and brains shouldn't work separate but together." Her eyes glistened with tears. "He said I was smart, but he kissed me on the cheek and said what was more important is that he loved my heart."

I reached for her hand.

"He, uh, died the following day. Stroke."

I pulled her into my arms and kissed her head.

"And I hate vegetables." Her voice was muffled against my chest. "If I had to be one, I'd ask to be put in vegetable soup so I'd suffer a veggie death. I hate green things. I know I'm supposed to like them. I know I'm supposed to be super-healthy, but damn it, Jace, sometimes I just want a cookie!"

"I think I can do that."

"Really?" She stepped away and wiped underneath her eyes.

"Yeah." I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead again. "I'll buy you as many cookies as you want. And if your plan was to get me to fall just a little bit more for you, you succeeded."

"Oh yeah?" Beth sniffled, "Why's that?"

Grandma was a damn spy and had dug into my childhood, that's how. "I wanted to be He-Man when I was little. My most secure moment was when my dad said he was proud of me after I won Student Body President. He said all leaders should have a good head but needed to lead with their hearts first."

My hand trembled just slightly as I squeezed Beth's shoulder. "And I've been on vegetable strike since the fourth grade."

"A rebel."

"Oh yes. Every time my mom put carrots in my lunchbox, I swapped them with the girl sitting next to me. Cheetos and carrots? Same color. It helped that she was legally blind in one eye, plus she had a crush on me. I'd send her to get milk. She'd come back, and the Cheetos would be gone, leaving her with carrots. I lied for two years, Beth, I'm not proud of what I did. But sometimes a man has to do things, ugly things, to get what he wants."

"You stole cheetos from a blind girl. How does that not make the news and me walking with you into a hotel does?"

"Easy." I grinned. "You're prettier."

Beth's face reddened. "So how about that cookie?"

"How about it?" I reached for her hand and didn't let go. We fell into easy talk of She-Ra and He-Man escapades and decided that Grandma had broken laws of national security to get the information that she had. The woman had done her homework.

"Closed?" Beth pointed at the sign to one of the snack shops lining the beach. "Why is it closed?"

Why was her voice rising? And then I remembered her reaction to cookies a few days ago. The yelling, the stomping, the throwing.

"Beth, calm down. We'll find you cookies." I patted her hand.

She turned, her angry cat-eyes flashing with irritation. Holy shit. Where was Donkey when I needed a quick escape?

"Beth! Jace! Over here!" Someone or something was waving at us.

I couldn't make out faces because of the way the sun was setting. But I didn't need to make out faces. It was too late anyway. A fist came flying into my face and everything went very, very black.