Hiccuping, Vance opened his eyes and revealed a glassy green gaze. “If I wasn’t burping egg and mint, I’d kiss you.”

I cracked up, even though I was certain he was being completely serious. “Well, I appreciate you restraining yourself.”

“I will for now,” he warned, quietly but firmly.

“Let’s get you in the shade before you get sunburned on top of being sick.” It took some finessing to get him to agree to move, but we settled against a tree trunk, and there we remained until Foxy came looking for us. We trekked to the house, where Foxy made Vance drink another glass of water and offered him a slice of bread. When it stayed down, she concluded that he was fit to drive home. It was tempting to send him home nearly naked, but I gave in and found him something of Pa’s to wear.

The following Saturday, Vance showed up in a totally different getup to crop tobacco —a bright-yellow rainsuit and matching rubber gloves. Pa commented that if nothing else, Vance at least provided entertainment for the rest of us.

By the end of the summer, the sports car had been replaced with a pickup truck and the sneakers for work boots. Calluses formed on his palms, but they still felt pretty nice when caressing my cheeks. Vance had only changed in appearance. Knowing he did that for me had left me dealing with a mix of elation and guilt, because the voice in the back of my mind kept reminding me he could do a lot better than the likes of me.

If only Foxy could mix up an elixir to cure lovesickness as easily as she did for Vance’s tobacco sickness that day, I’d guzzle it by the gallon. But there were no herbs or potions, and the longer I fought against it, the harder I fell in love with that carefree boy. He was sunshine in rain. A cool breeze on a humid day. A constellation of stars wiggling past a cloudy night.

My reality was nothing like that, and so it was inevitable for my stormy life to ruin his. But at only sixteen, I did what most teens would do. I selfishly ignored it until it was too late.

Chapter 7: DUSTING OFF MEMORIES
WHILE MAKING
NEW ONES

January 1984

Fashion in the Foster house was defined by having everyone dressed in the right sizes, with no inappropriate body parts on display. Color, cut, and style meant very little to me. All in all, I kept my siblings decently outfitted, which was no easy task with the growth spurts that were arriving in frequent intervals lately. Trips to the department store seemed to always be on my to-do list.