He's Never Lied to Me Yet

By B. A. Braxton

Carmen Polychronopoulos is a national merit scholar and a highly exceptional high school senior, but she has a terrible secret. Elliot Sharples is the young, disfigured custodian who adores her. Together they suspend the reader into a bittersweet, beauty-and-the-beast tale riddled with tragedy, hope, and inspiration.

Carmen, who has been labeled “the ice queen” by her classmates, is a shy, introverted seventeen-year-old who has been abused by her widowed father for years. Elliot is a burn survivor who, despite many surgeries to his head and neck, is still far from having his old face back. Carmen and Elliot are two bruised and broken people who find one another and take comfort there, mustering the kind of strength together that they would never have as individuals. Elliot devises a plan to take Carmen away from the miserable life she has had to live, and her very survival depends on the plan’s success.

This story is a roller coaster ride of emotions that culminate in a way that’s shocking, and at the same time very believable. No matter what, love is worth fighting for every step of the way. Read on and you’ll see.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B. A. Braxton
• Release date: Nov 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310564048

B. A. Braxton

B. A. was born in Bridgeton, New Jersey and on a Friday the thirteenth for those who spook easily. She graduated from the University of Pennsylvania in 1981 with a bachelor’s degree in Natural Science, and with clusters in sociology, writing, and advanced writing courses. In 1987 she graduated from Fairleigh S. Dickinson Jr. College of Dental Medicine with a doctorate in general dentistry.Regardless of the paths that she has taken academically, B. A. has always continued to write. Her first books were written while she was in the seventh grade. Using classmates as characters seemed to put the books in high demand, and even as adults, those friends still ask to read them. By the ninth grade, she’d completed her first novel and although it was pretty bad, she was—and still is—extremely proud of that accomplishment. B. A. writes general fiction, mysteries, and historical fiction. Regardless of what else she has done in her life or how much the practice has been discouraged, writing has always been and always will be the center of her life.B.A. has been married since 1983 and has two children, a son and a daughter, and an aging cat named Salem. She first moved to Michigan in 1988. Her hobbies include hiking, kayaking, exercising on her beloved elliptical trainer, painting with oils, healthy cooking and baking, researching topics for stories, and being proud of her children’s many and varied accomplishments. She loves listening to any kind of music, especially if the lyrics are terrific, and learning as much as she can about people—their mannerisms, the way they speak, what they do, and why they do it. And she also loves watching western television series, especially those from the fifties and sixties. Her favorites are the early Gunsmoke episodes with Chester Goode in them, and that special father-son bond found in The Rifleman. Another favorite is the series The Virginian. The pilot for Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman is one of the most credible depictions of the nineteenth century American west that she has ever seen on celluloid, and several grimly realistic episodes from the first and second seasons are favorites of hers. And lately, Hell on Wheels is more than enough to satisfy her taste for the wild west.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE: Yes, Always. Forever.

As Elliot Sharples pushed a maid’s cart out of the custodial supply closet, water mixed with a general purpose cleaner sloshed from the mop bucket and ringer, drenching the right side of his trousers. After muttering a slew of inaudible obscenities, Elliot showed no other signs of being bothered by his wet pants as he managed to pause in his scrambling to put down a black and yellow WET FLOOR sign before limping off down the hall. All he could think about was getting to room one-seventeen before the high school students were released for the day. It was already a quarter past two and if he missed Carmen Polychronopoulos for a second straight day, he would never forgive himself.

He barely reached the window of the door he was pretending to spot clean before the last bell rang. But by the time the students started pouring out into the hallway, he had the view he’d hoped for. One-seventeen was where the seniors’ English literature class was held, and Elliot knew that Carmen would be one of the eager scholars in attendance.

Typical adolescent types passed by, an assortment of pimply-faced teenagers with bright, eager eyes and a lot to say. One boy, a broad-shouldered jock wearing a number twelve football jersey dotted with either blood, ketchup, or hot sauce stains, was especially loud. When he spied Elliot beside the door, he hunched his shoulders and curled up his arms, pretending to be a gorilla. He concluded his assessment of Elliot by pushing his tongue behind his upper lip, scratching the top of his head, and then pounding his fists against his chest. His grunting simian sounds drew the attention of those around him until everyone started laughing.

Thank goodness the other boys in the crowd were less boisterous, but even they regarded Elliot as something to be mistrusted and avoided. Some even appeared apologetic, as if they’d somehow been responsible for his miserable luck. Most of the girls preferred to look elsewhere, covering their mouths as they giggled and then trying to catch glimpses of him on the sly.

Elliot couldn’t explain why he felt as if he were better than these kids, since he wasn’t that far removed from his teenage years, being a couple of steps above that at the ripe old age of twenty-one. And he had done more than his fair share of judging people before getting to know them. After all, he was doing that right now. But he did feel much older than these kids and much wiser, as if he’d already lived a lifetime.

Two girls in plaid skirts and green, cotton tops came from the room, walking side by side while clutching binder notebooks in front of them. The girl with the ponytail and cream-colored knee socks glanced at Elliot as she passed, stopped dead still, and then studied his face in horrid disbelief. After a nudge from her friend, both girls hastened their pace, most likely chattering away about the freak peering at them through the glass.

Always the last to leave the classroom, Carmen Polychronopoulos finally emerged and then stood by the door, looking down one end of the hallway and then the other. Her face seemed sad. Carmen didn’t have many friends, but her apparent loneliness was exceeded only by her desire to educate herself. She was a dedicated student and from what Elliot could tell, she was at the top of her class. It had been mentioned that she was competing with a boy named Danny for valedictorian this year.

Carmen spied Elliot quite by accident even though he was rubbing a white paper towel over the glass to draw her attention. The sight of him made her somber face relax into an easy contentment. Shifting two books from the crook of one arm to the other, she raised her hand to greet him while waiting for a raft of students to pass by. When the way was clear, she did what no one else had been brave enough to do, and that was to walk over to the classroom door he was standing behind and push it open. Leaning against the frame, a wondrous, rose-scented fragrance following her every move, she said, I’m sorry I missed you yesterday, in a soft-spoken voice, which had a way of bringing the multitude of butterflies resting dormant in the pit of his stomach to life.

I was sorry I missed you, too, he said, angling his head so that he was better able to see her with his left eye; the right one was long gone and only a glass eye was now in the space where it used to be. How’ve you been?

Shaking her head, she said, Me? I’m too boring to talk about.

You, boring? Never.

Yes, always. Forever, she said, glancing up from picking at a splinter in the door. She smiled, launching those butterflies into another flitting frenzy. Most people would have found an acrobatic stomach uncomfortable, but Elliot could never get enough of the feeling. I see you’re washing the windows today.

Yeah, Elliot told her, lifting his chin and enunciating to compensate for the facial scarring limiting the movement of his mouth muscles. And he always wanted Carmen to be able to hear every word he had to say to her. No squeegee and pail today, though. I’m just spot cleaning. He shrugged his shoulders. Mostly I’ll be doing some minor plumbing repairs after the building clears.

"Wow, you do plumbing and electrical work? she said, gazing up at him while playing with the chain around her neck. Holding the necklace taut, Carmen’s fingers moved the crucifix back and forth, back and forth, while the links on the chain made distinctive clicking sounds. That’s impressive. There’s no end to what you can do."

Sure there is, he said, that’s why I used the word ‘minor’, which is all I’m really capable of doing.

Don’t sell yourself short, she said, leaning in and sounding as if she really meant to insist on that. They depend on you to do a lot around here. Whenever Carmen had his full attention, time seemed to stand still. All he saw or ever wanted to see was her. Her baby fine hair was pulled back, but bangs dangled just above her pearl-gray eyes. A dark, crescent-shaped mark on her left cheek intensified the bright pink lipstick she loved to wear. The tops of her ears pointed away from her head ever so slightly, making her appear sprite-like. Elliot’s assessment of her hadn’t changed overnight; Carmen was a fine-looking girl.

Okay, I guess they do need me around here, he said, and then glanced at the streak marks he was making on the window with the paper towel. If I quit tomorrow, everything would fall apart.

She smiled and then nodded her head as she put the crucifix against her lips before letting it fall from her hand. That’s better, she said.

How’s the college selection going? Have you decided just where you’ll be going to college this fall?

The University of Pittsburgh is still my first choice, she said. I had the opportunity to visit the campus a couple of years ago, and I just loved it. I hear that there is a pair of Peregrine Falcons nesting on the fortieth floor balcony of the Cathedral of Leaning building. Isn’t that something?

Sure is, Elliot said. I wouldn’t mind seeing that. The old blue and gold is a good school affiliated with an excellent medical center. I spent some time there, so I should know. I lived close to Pittsburgh with my grandmother for several years.

I love Pittsburgh, she said as if she really meant that.

I’m sure the Panthers would love to have a student like you, too, being at the top of your class and all. I’ll bet you’ll be valedictorian for sure.

She brushed her brown bangs back and then laughed; the laugh wasn’t condescending, but it wasn’t excited by the prospect, either. There was a deep scratch on her forearm and although it was red and infected in places, it didn’t look serious. Danny has just as much of a chance as I do of being first in our class. And anyway, I really don’t care if I’m first or not.

You don’t? Why not?

When she shrugged, the silver crucifix she wore glinted ceiling light across Elliot’s face. Everyone’s got a place, she said, and whatever I accomplish and whatever I do, I’ll be proud of myself just the same.

That’s a good attitude. And I’m sure your parents are proud of you, too.

The color drained from her face and she stepped back so that the crucifix she was wearing no longer picked up the light. My mother’s dead, she said, her voice low.

I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. Elliot put down the paper towel and the trigger sprayer bottle and gave up the pretense of actually trying to work. I thought your folks were divorced.

Carmen held her books tighter. The one on top was a paperback copy of Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Beneath that was a textbook with a brown, paper bag cover and on which was a sketch of an elegant lady wearing a long dress, high heels, and loop earrings; Carmen always loved to sketch, even during classes. My mother died when I was seven. She’s been gone almost eleven years now.

I’m sorry, he said again. My parents are gone, too.

She studied his face intently, almost as if to see if he were lying about it to make her feel better. Both of them?

Yes, and at the same time, too.

She shook her head. I’m so sorry to hear that, she said.

Thanks. I was young like you when it happened, only a year older than you were when your mother died. He shook his head. I was a tough kid. I wouldn’t let anything or anybody bother me. Some may have called me a bully, I don’t know. But the day I woke up in the hospital and realized that my family was gone and that I was horribly disfigured, I wept like a little girl.

It’s good to cry, Carmen said, and he looked at her with the only eye he had left. It means you haven’t lost your humanity.

Crying just made me feel like a sissy, he said.

What’s wrong with feeling like a sissy? she asked, and he had no answer. So, I guess your parents died in a fire?

That’s right. Even now it was difficult for him not to cry whenever he thought about it. The accident had occurred thirteen years ago, but the wounds were still fresh. When a tear got lost in one of the jagged scars on his cheek, he didn’t even try to wipe it away. Carmen said it was all right to cry, and it felt good not to hide it.

Is that what happened? she asked. To your face, I mean.

Answering her by nodding, he added, My baby sister was killed that night, too.

Carmen reached out and caressed his arm. Even through his blue work shirt, her hand felt comforting and warm. He soon realized that she was very moved by his story. Her empathy for his situation touched him deeply.

Well, she said, taking her hand away from his arm and bracing it against the doorframe as a second bell rang, I guess I’d better get going before the middle schoolers start crowding into the hallway. Will you be working late tonight?

Much later than I’d like. I’ll be here until nine at least.

Thank God it’s Friday, huh?

You bet.

Don’t miss your bus home, she said. Nobody should walk through North Philly at night if they can help it. Sometimes I can hear gunshots from Strawberry Mansion and Olney from my bed at night. Her quick movement generated a breeze strong enough to lift the brown bangs from her forehead and then drop them gently down again. See you later.

Later, he said as Carmen stepped away from the door and let it fall back again. He watched from the window as she walked slowly down the hall, as if she were in no hurry at all to go home.

CHAPTER TWO: It Never Blinked

Elliot spent the rest of the day and well into the night working and thinking about Carmen. She was on his mind a lot lately, and the more he came to know her, the more preoccupied with her he became. Usually thoughts of her were all he needed to get through work, but tonight other matters pressed him. It was one of those times when his legs ached so much, amputation seemed to be the only viable antidote.

By ten o’clock Elliot could hardly walk, but at least his shift was over. After repairing the plumbing in a couple of the second floor bathrooms, he spent most of the next several hours sweeping, mopping and then burnishing the floors. Now this work took a heavy toll on him, and pushing the maid’s cart all around left his arms aching. After cleaning mops, dumping dirty water and floor cleaner out of buckets, and then putting various supplies away in the closet, he took off for the nearest bus stop to catch a ride home. That three-minute walk might just as well have been three hours long, as the orthopedic shoes he was wearing were absolutely no help at all in easing his discomfort. The pressure his swollen ankles and feet put against the padded lining and soles of the shoes made the pain almost unbearable.

Even though he was moving slowly, he still managed to reach the bus stop ahead of time. He felt relieved that he’d made it, and he couldn’t sit himself down on the aluminum bench fast enough. Nothing could make him get up again except seeing the bus pull up to the curb and stop right in front of him.

Despite the effort, however, Elliot was soon to discover that the bus was not only late, but it was later than it had ever been before. Forty minutes came and went, and it was still nowhere in sight. Staring at a pay phone fifty feet away, Elliot would have called a friend and asked for a ride if he didn’t have to stand up to do it. A cell phone or a battery-operated scooter would have been godsends right now.

The air felt chilly against his neck and ears, so he pulled up the collar of his jacket. It was nippy out for an April evening. A dull, aching pain radiated from the base of each of his kneecaps down to what was left of his toes, and all the Vicodin in the world wouldn’t make them hurt any less. All he could do was to stay off his feet as much as possible and pray that they would feel better in the morning.

Traffic still zoomed down West Roosevelt Boulevard and Roberts, and also over along the Schuylkill Expressway. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, but Philly was always like that. Headlights were especially bright, making Elliot’s temples throb in time with the dripping outdoor spigot attached to the shoe repair shop behind him. The water had stained the gray sidewalk a coppery color, and there was a steady flow of it under his shoes. Realizing that his feet were wet only aggravated his headache.

Soon the horns and screeching tires of passing cars became as quiet as a purr. Elliot was blocking out the noise again, and he was good at that. What he couldn’t do very well was stifle the smell of cheesesteaks and fries sizzling on the open grills at Rob’s Diner across the street. On his tight budget, eating in diners was out of the question.

Where the hell was that bus, anyway?

Elliot rubbed his hands together and blew on them. He paused, staring down at his fingers. The digits of his right hand were mere stubs to the second joint, and the hand itself had greatly diminished function. His left hand was in good shape by comparison; only half of the pinky and ring fingers were missing, and the hand itself was fully functional. Still, both hands served him best if they were covered because they drew less attention that way. He stuffed them deep inside his pockets where no one else could see them.

Lots of people were walking by, but one fellow insisted on taking the art of gawking to new heights. Elliot pulled up his collar some more and turned away from the gorgeous young man in the studded blue jeans and black leather jacket. It was none of his or anybody else’s business why Elliot’s face looked as bad as it did.

The bus turned the corner and then squealed and hissed to a stop in front of him. Elliot gave a sigh of relief as he stood up and used the handrail to pull himself aboard. His wet shoes squished against the steps as he ascended. Man, you’re late, Elliot said, flipping open his pass and then settling into the empty seat behind Larry Sturges, the driver. I didn’t think you were coming.

Traffic was tied up bad on Broad Street, Larry said. One car rear-ended another. Larry shrugged, allowing his thick, red arms to exaggerate the gesture. His short sleeve shirt exposed comparably flabby biceps peppered with lots of coarse, dark hair. They must’ve hit hard, ’cause they both got smashed up pretty good. Both drivers were still walkin’ around after the fact, so I guess it wasn’t too bad.

Thank God.

Still, it wouldn’t take much of an accident to tie up this traffic. Where the hell is everybody going?

While I was waiting for you, I had half the night to think about that, Elliot said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice. Wasn’t that Springsteen concert tonight?

Damn, that’s it! Larry said, smacking the large steering wheel with an open palm and surprising Elliot when the horn didn’t sound. Jeez, I’m surprised more people aren’t on the bus.

They probably didn’t think you were coming, bub, Elliot said, and that made Larry chuckle.

Maybe so, he said. Maybe so. Occasionally Larry glanced into the rearview mirror at Elliot as he spoke. Elliot didn’t mind when Larry looked at him. Larry didn’t consider Elliot an oddity, but rather was able to see the man hidden behind the deformities and the scars. And Elliot was well aware of the difference.

What’re you doin’ tomorrow? Larry asked. Larry was always good at inviting himself along on his friends’ weekend plans. Larry and his wife Louise had reached the twenty-year mark in their marriage, and these days they both thought of creative ways of avoiding one another. Elliot didn’t mind having Larry along; he welcomed his company, although he would never come right out and tell him so. Like so many other things in his life, Elliot liked to think that words weren’t necessary. His feelings were just understood.

"Besides vegetating in front of the T.V. with snacks all around