Chapter 4 (pt 2)

Wiping her face, she cleaned the counters, washed and put away any remaining dishes, and fixed Buck a warm bottle. Retrieving her son, who's voice had now become a croak, Reagan lay on the couch and positioned him in the crook of her arm. Supporting his bottom with her thigh, she wiped her son's tears, though it only seemed to infuriate him more.

"Oh Buck... It's okay. Mommy's here," she murmured, holding him close as she gave him his bottle. Welcoming it in desperation, he breathed heavily between gulps, still allowing room for a few sobs.

He glared at her over his bottle, apparently still upset. Reagan couldn't help but laugh in response. As tiny as he was, he was so much like her already. Little eyebrows knitted, Buck's mouth worked. Smoothing a hand over his mousy brown hair, she traced his innocent face. He had Mot's nose and mouth, but the blue eyes staring back at her were her's. Timothy had Mot's eyes with her blue color. She was okay with that. Her children were the closest thing she had left of husband, and now that he was no longer around, she treasured every resemblance of him.

Steadily, Buck's bottle drained, his breaths lengthening, eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

He was such a beautiful baby boy.

Smiling faintly in admiration, Reagan was suddenly hit with a pang of fear. How could he be sick? Her baby? He hadn't lived long enough to have done anything remotely close to deserving such a fate. Who played this cruel joke on her?

Eyes finally closing in exhaustion, Buck's mouth stopped working at the bottle.

Nuzzling his soft cheek, Reagan laid her head back. She didn't mean to take her frustration out on Timothy; his face had shown genuine concern when he asked what was going on. For that reason, she felt even worse. Reagan couldn't afford to lose both of her sons... Not now. Not when her world was crumbling.

Tears welling up again, Reagan put a fist to her chest as the image of Buck's tiny body in a casket, face pale and lifeless flashed through her mind. Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head, swallowing the fear that tried to overwhelm her. How would she be able to afford treatment? They were 3 months behind in their mortgage payments, and she hadn't the slightest idea how to fix that issue.

"God, help me..." Reagan mouthed, knowing that if she prayed any louder, her cries would surely wake her sleeping baby.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to think about a time where troubles were so far away...

Tall and lanky Timothy Williams smiled at Reagan from the sidewalk, spotting her face amongst the scuffed school bus windows. She quickly turned away. Her bus slowly pulled to a stop as she and two other students stood to get off. Reagan held her head high, pretending indifference to his bold gesture. Carrying her books securely, she walked, steady and straight, high ponytail and side bangs fluttering wildly in the summer breeze. It was the last day of school, her final day as a sophomore.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, Reagan walked on past the eager young man. Catching pace beside her, he nudged her shoulder playfully. God, she couldn't stand him. It was hard enough struggling through the school year, tolerating his taunting only because she knew it was his last semester for good. And oh how she hated his country accent!

"Nice to see ya... Reagan." He grinned, teeth gleaming white.

Gasping, Reagan glared at him. "Who told you my name?" She swore she'd never tell him. All year she'd been faithful to that promise.

Laughing heartily at her response, he skipped a step and walked backwards while facing her. Chucking her lightly under the chin, he tilted his head to the side in open observation . Face spotted with freckles, he grinned mischievously.

Face blushing, she frowned and continued to walk, growing angry. They entered the school and it's unnatural emptiness.

"You have no home training." Reagan glared.

"All I've been doin' is tryna talk to ya... "

"I don't want to talk to you. Besides, its not right for a grown man to speak to a girl my age. You do know I'm 15?"

Timothy sucked his teeth. "Ya say that like I have a beard and a 20 year mortgage. Don't you know that when ya graduate, those numbers won't mean a thing? My parents are nearly 10 years apart, and they've been together for forever. How far apart are your ma and pa?"

She thought about it. Her mother and father were 5 years apart, and they'd been together for a decent amount of time. "It's different for us... It doesn't feel the same."

"How so? I'm 18. That's 3 years a difference."

The fact that she was struggling to come up with a good enough explanation frustrated her. Stopping at her locker, she placed all of the textbooks she'd never use again back in their place. The teachers would come around later to collect them. Slamming it shut, Reagan took a step towards Timothy.

He stood firm, undaunted.

She sighed long and hard. "It doesn't matter why it's different with us, because any decent guy should respect a girl saying no. Maybe '"ya"' can't deal with rejection. Swallow your pride Timothy Williams." Intentionally adding edge to her tone, she smiled lightly. Reagan relished the undercurrent she sensed rising within him; her words cut and she knew it.

His eyes revealed a flash of anger, gaining her satisfaction.

"You sure got a temper." He said after a lengthy pause.

Gasping at the remark, Reagan stared at him in disbelief. That's all he had to say back? A twinge of guilt suddenly pulled at her. Maybe he wasn't what she supposed...

This senior, who for some reason thought it a good idea to come to school on the last day, stood before her with dirty blonde hair, electric green eyes, and reached almost a foot above head, intently pursuing. And he dared to call her ill- tempered?

Looking at her rolling expressions, his face suddenly softened. Shaking his head, he met her eyes. "I'm not s'pose to be here really. They kicked us seniors out a few weeks ago... But I had to see if you'd show up. I knew you would, being a teacher's pet n' all," he smiled.

"What's that supposed to mean? Because I like to get my work done? Because I don't goof off like you?"

"Calm down, calm down," he gestured with his hands. "All I'm sayin' is that if the world was endin' and we had one more day of school left, Reagan Willis would be the only girl at the front door... Ouch!" He hopped in pain, Reagan having stamped her heel into his sneakers. "I told ya...dang! Gotta watch that temper." He frowned at her.

For some reason, this made Reagan giggle. Before she knew it, she was laughing uncontrollably.

"There she is... Now don't tell me I gotta be in pain to get a nice look from you." He smiled while grimacing, finding himself laughing right along with her.

"You're crazy," she ended, still smiling, turning to walk to the gym. It was one of the two classes she was required to go to that day.

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her towards him. "Reagan, please give me an answer... I'm goin' to college right here in town, and I'm already workin' at the theaters in the plaza. What do you say?" He pleaded with his eyes, face growing serious.

Rolling her eyes, Reagan sighed annoyed. "What do I say to what?"

"Will you be mine, Reagan Willis?"

"It's a bit too late for Valentine's Day, don't you think?" She turned to keep towards the gymnasium. Stepping in her way, Mot grabbed her shoulder.

"You don't have to answer me now... But read this when you get a chance? Please?" He held out an envelope made from notebook paper. Taking it cautiously, Reagan sighed. "I'll think about it. Now if you block my way from going to class this time, I swear I'll scream rape and have you targeted by all security guards." Her eyes widened, equally as serious. Grinning triumphantly, Mot chucked her chin one last time before bounding off, saying nothing else.

The halls were just about cleared as she walked , heels sounding the rest of the way to the gym. Finding an empty section on the bleachers while coach called roll for a mostly- empty class, Reagan pulled her knees up and opened the letter.

It surprised her when she saw handwriting so neat and prim, it appeared to be professionally printed. It read:

Reagan,

You're probably wondering how I found out your name. You dropped a paper once in the hallway, and when I picked it up, the mysterious secret was revealed.

I figured you're not the type of girl to listen to a too-much talking a guy like me , so I wrote this just in case

you cut me off. So... Here goes nothing.

I like how you carry yourself Reagan Willis. You're smart, get good grades (I know, I can tell), and no matter how neat and tidy you do your hair,

I love those strands that get wild out of spite. Your eyes are the prettiest I've ever seen, and I simply can't get you off my mind.

Come see the premiers showing this Friday.... You won't even have to pay,

seeing as how I work there now (wink wink). Please come. It's about time we got to know each other.

Timothy W.

Smiling to herself, Reagan thought about it. That crazy boy! It was so awkwardly placed, the spaces between his words clearly intentional. For some reason, Reagan assumed Timothy wrote how he talked. Seeing, for the most part, accurate punctuation charmed her.

Smiling in a similar manner at the memory, Reagan found herself drifting into a light sleep.