by Penny Reid
But I missed them. I missed their chubby hands and faces and unconditional love.
Ben’s easy smile slid into place. “I’m glad you’re coming to Thanksgiving.”
“Me too,” I agreed, and I found I was. It wasn’t often my father gave me free rein to talk and interact with folks like the McClures (or anybody else for that matter). I was determined to grab hold of this opportunity with both hands for as long as it lasted. I’d earned it, didn’t I? Plus, I’d never had a Thanksgiving dinner. I was curious what turkey tasted like. “What can I bring?”
“Just yourself,” he said, all soft like, confusing me.
Is he . . . flirting again?
Before I could think to stop myself, I blurted, “Are you flirting with me again? Is that flirting?” I pointed at his smile, circling my finger in front of it.
Tracing my face with bright, happy eyes, he laughed. “What am I going to do with you, Scarlet?”
“Well, if it’s tomorrow, hopefully you’re going to feed me.” I answered honestly, giving him a sideways look. He’s confusing. Does he like me or not or what is going on? “And I’m going to see if Daisy has another apple pie. No way am I showing up to your momma’s house empty-handed.”
Chapter Eleven
*Scarlet*
“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake.”
Ernest Hemingway
The first thing I did upon arriving home to my campsite Thursday evening was start a fire. The sun was going down quick, which was why I’d had to leave the McClure’s just after dessert. Starting a fire by flashlight was a pain.
Once the fire was in a good way, I sauntered—yes, sauntered—aimlessly while reliving the day. Smiling, frowning, and then smiling again while singing a soft, slow version of “Crazy in Love” by Beyoncé. I wanted to be completely happy, but I was almost happy.
Just forget about it, pretend it never happened, then you’ll be completely happy. Be. Happy.
I should’ve been happy. The McClures were so friendly, great cooks, and loved to laugh. That must be where Ben gets it. They treated me like a real guest too. They made me go first in the buffet line for the food, Mr. McClure asked me if I wanted lemonade or soda with my dinner, and then he got it for me. I was given a cloth napkin to use. It felt like fancy business and I loved it. Every moment.
I may have had a harmless crush on Ben McClure, but I was crazy in love with his family.
Lowering to my knees carefully, I unzipped the front of the tent and cautiously reached inside for my Walkman, making sure not to pull on the bandage affixed to my lower back. I hadn’t changed it since Billy fixed me up on Tuesday, but I’d have to do something about it before going to bed tonight. It didn’t feel any worse, I took that as a good sign.
Opening the carriage of the CD player, I twisted my lips to the side. The disc did not suit my mood. Nor did any of the discs in the short stack within the tent. No matter. I knew all the words to the song I was singing. I’d just experienced a whole day of friendly laughter and I didn’t feel like I had to drown out the thoughts in my head with loud music. For now.
Placing the Walkman inside the tent, I pulled a folded blanket by the entrance into my arms—a special one Mrs. Winston had given me with a waterproof backing—and placed it on the ground near the fire. Then I grabbed my sleeping bag and set it up, but I wasn’t quite ready to lie down yet.
I was full. In fact, I was stuffed like a turkey.
Smiling to myself, I decided I needed to make up a few stuffed turkey jokes for next Thanksgiving, or the one after. One day, I hoped I’d spend another Thanksgiving with kind, friendly folks like the McClures.
But my present fullness meant I needed to walk, stretch my legs and stomach before going to bed. Plus, I needed to see if Roscoe had left anything out for his fairy. Obviously, I wasn’t hungry, but I could transfer the food to a different container for breakfast. Cleaning the plate and returning it before morning wouldn’t be any trouble.
Tucking my little flashlight in my back pocket, I picked my way to the edge of the old Oliver homestead field as there was no real trail to follow, dry leaves crunching under my feet. The sun had just set. Late dusk brownish, yellowish light filtered through the sparse leaves left on the trees and I could still see my breath in front of me, little white puffs with every exhale.
Despite the cold, it was kinda pretty, honestly. The light gave the forest a filtered appearance, like everything glowed, and the intricate abandoned spiders’ webs blocking my path looked almost like decorations.
If I didn’t know any better, I might’ve been tempted to believe in fairies.
As soon as I was, oh, about fifty feet away, I slowed down and crept as soundlessly as possible. If Roscoe was sitting guard by the plate, I didn’t want to spoil the fun.
And, admittedly, if Billy were standing guard like he’d done last weekend, I . . . had no plan. Just the thought of seeing him again made my legs stop moving and my heart thump hard. I paused, suddenly tempted to head back to the camp without checking the crate.
Come on, Scarlet. There’s no need to avoid him. It’s not like you got a crush on him. That last thought made me chuckle. Having a crush on Billy Winston? Ridiculous.
For one thing, in my experience, crushes were nice. I’d had a few and they always left me with warm, light feelings in my stomach and a smile on my face. But not with Billy. Being around Billy felt more like being crushed. He was so heavy, so noble, so stern, so honest, and entirely too good-looking. Truly. He was too good-looking. He’d end up in the movies or something, I was certain of it.
But you made him laugh, and that felt good.
True. True . . .
Never mind that nonsense. I would not avoid Billy. I had no reason to. Plus, I’d made a deal with Bethany Winston and that deal was to keep her kids believing in magic. I was a forest fairy and I had a job to do. So I crept, scanning the field just beyond the edge of the trees.
And I saw him.
Or rather, I saw the outline of him moving around and pacing back and forth. . . ? No. Piling wood in a wheelbarrow. That’s what he was doing. The same shock of embarrassed awareness from yesterday heated my insides. He’s seen your scars.
Even though no one could see me, I shrugged, whispering, “So? So what. He’s got scars. Everybody’s got scars.” That made me feel better.
I tore my stare from his tall form and graceful movements—mostly because I caught myself admiring how tall and graceful he was—and tried to determine whether or not there was a plate left for the forest fairy. I was too far away, unfortunately, and couldn’t see inside the crate.
My attention flicked back to Billy. Just like in Daisy’s Nut House, my eyes felt magnetized to the sight of him. I reckoned he was almost finished. I reckoned he’d be leaving soon. I reckoned I should probably wait until he left to retrieve the plate, assuming there was a plate.
But then he stopped moving, he turned toward the forest, and I heard his voice call, “Why don’t you stop hiding and come out for a second?”
Another shock of embarrassment, the rush of heat, the spark settling in my lungs. I was irritated I’d been caught and how my body was going haywire.
Well. Nothing for it. I wasn’t going to hide if he knew I was here.
Inhaling deeply for courage, I took five steps forward and cleared the trees. I walked to him, my hands in my new jacket—one of the clothing items Bethany Winston had bought—as he walked to me. We met in the middle.
Goodness, he was pretty. Even dressed in jeans and a blue and gray plaid flannel, he looked like one of those Greek or Roman statues our art teacher got in trouble for showing us (’cause they were naked). I could still see him, now we were up close. But soon, in twenty minutes or so, he would disappear into the inky night and I’d be left with just a faint outline of his body and his voice.
I had a strange thought just then, that maybe not being able to see him so clearly while we talked would be a relief. Maybe c
onversations with Billy Winston were best had in the dark, so my brain could work properly without the distraction of his physical appearance. I suspected he’d be easier to know and understand if I didn’t have to look at him.
“Scarlet,” he said evenly, holding my gaze just as evenly.
My jacket felt too tight. It wasn’t too tight, it was big on me. Also, my chest hurt, right in the center. You’re just embarrassed, that’s all.
“Hey, Billy.” I sounded breathless, so I firmed my voice before asking, “How’d you know I was there?”
His small amused/sinister/possibly friendly smile made an appearance. “I didn’t.”
“What? You didn’t?” I flinched back, just a smidge.
He shook his head, his smile growing. “I guessed.”
I exhaled a short laugh, shaking my head, examining him from a few different angles. That uncomfortable spark in my lungs flared as his gaze moved over me too, but I was happy to see no pity in his eyes. I’d been worried, after what he’d seen, he’d throw pity at me again.
But he didn’t. Or if he did pity me, I couldn’t tell. Billy didn’t give much of his thoughts away. He could’ve been tallying up the cost of my clothes or estimating my height, I had no idea.
We continued staring at each other. The moment grew thick. You know where the air feels heavy? But strangely, it didn’t feel uncomfortable and equally as strange, I didn’t feel moved to break it.
Eventually, his eyebrows pulled together and he took a shuffling half step closer. “How’re you feeling?”
Continuing to meet his stare, I deliberated how to answer his question. I knew what he meant. I knew what he was asking. His voice held both concern and sympathy. But again, no pity. A crazy thought occurred to me: I wanted to complain about not being able to dance.
I could still sing just fine, but I couldn’t dance. I knew it had only been two days, and of all the things to complain about, dancing seemed like the least of my worries. And yet, I was frustrated by the limitation. I wanted to get back to my life; I wanted freedom from the reminder of where I’d come from; I didn’t just want to forget about Tuesday morning, I wanted to pretend it never happened.
Not precisely uncomfortable beneath Billy’s inspection, but not exactly comfortable either, I turned to look over my shoulder. “Oh, I’m great. Just super full. I ate too much turkey and pie, I think. How about you?”
I sensed him watching me and his attention felt so heavy, so noble, so stern, so honest. There he goes again, crushing me. I also sensed him shift on his feet. So I glanced at him just as he lowered his eyes to the ground.
He stared at his shoes and stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “I wasn’t asking about Thanksgiving, Scarlet.”
When his eyes lifted, they ensnared mine. I felt like I needed to swallow but my mouth was mysteriously dry. Another shock of heat, another simmering spark. Billy Winston had somehow tapped into the thermostat of my body and set it to Arizona in the summer. I’d never been to Arizona, but I was pretty sure they had those days where it got so hot the thermometers broke.
Good thing night was descending, he wouldn’t be able to see how embarrassed I was, how red my cheeks were. But then his gaze moved to the left, landed on my cheekbone, trailed down to my neck. I held perfectly still, I didn’t even breathe.
“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” he said, like he could see the color of my flushed face in the inferior light. “I just want to make sure you don’t need any more help.”
“Help?” My question came out soft and low.
I didn’t like how he was looking at me, his gaze felt like a live wire, dangerous. On the other hand, I liked how he was looking at me, his gaze felt like something electric, dangerous. A part of me wondered if he understood what his eyes did to people, to girls and women in particular. Did he know how to turn down the intensity? Was this look on purpose? Or was he just like this all the time? Was it something he thought about or could control?
“I still need to teach you guitar, right?” Billy’s concentration zeroed in on my neck, and then drifted to my chin, my lips. “Have you changed the bandage?”
“No.”
“Do you need me to?”
I hesitated. His gaze cut back to mine.
His little smile returned, but he quickly erased it. “You know it should be changed.”
I frowned. He was right. And having him change the bandage would make my life a lot easier. It’d probably hurt less too.
“Okay. Fine.” I crossed my arms.
“Good.” He grinned, a real one, and the suddenness of it discombobulated me. So much so that the next thing I knew, I was walking behind Billy as he pushed the wheelbarrow full of chopped wood back to the house.
We didn’t sneak in this time.
Billy took me right through the back door, both of us carrying an armful of wood. Granted, his armful was bigger than mine—he had big arms, and he’d only let me carry one little log—, saying he didn’t want my wound to smart—but I helped.
We passed the twins in the kitchen and Billy surprised me by saying, “Beau, Duane, show some manners. Say hi to Scarlet.”
“Hey, Scarlet.”
“Hi.”
Neither of them looked up from what they were doing, which appeared to be taking apart something metal covered in grease.
I looked to Billy, his handsome face grinning ruefully. “That’s them being nice.”
I grinned at him in return, liking this expression on his face—apologetic, much less intense, his handsomeness not nearly as intimidating as it had been outside—dare I say, he almost looked approachable.
“I heard that,” one of the twins said without looking up, his tone salty.
“We can be nicer,” the other said, jumping down from his chair and running over to me. He was about my height and his smile was big and white, though he had grease smudges all over his face.
“Greetings, m’lady,” he said, bowing in front of me. “And how do you do this fine evening?”
The other twin snorted and rolled his eyes. “Get back over here, Beau. I think I got the spring back in and I need your hand.”
“Go on,” Billy said, shaking his head, but he was still grinning. Beau winked at me before taking off.
What a cool kid! I’d barely spoken to either of the twins. But I liked the friendly one immediately.
Billy was off again. I followed. We walked through a doorway and into a huge old-style parlor. I took a moment to appreciate the size of the fireplace, it was gigantic, and I was mildly surprised I hadn’t noticed it when Billy had snuck me in two nights ago or when I’d snuck out early the following morning. Of course, my mind had been otherwise occupied.
Billy walked to the fireplace, releasing his load to a nearly empty cast iron tray. He then placed two logs on the dying fire, using the tongs to arrange them and the bellow to fan the flames.
“Took you long enough,” a voice I recognized said, and I searched for my friend.
Cletus sat in a big, stately chair, covered in a ridiculously large pile of blankets pulled up to his chin. On his head he wore what looked like several hats. A top hat, beneath which was a baseball hat—I could see the rim—and beneath a beanie was just visible. He must’ve been roasting.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t want me to go with you,” the younger brother continued, sounding grumpy. “It would’ve been faster with two people and now I’m near frozen.”
“You are not frozen, Cletus,” he drawled, clearly fighting a grin. His back was to his brother, so Cletus couldn’t see.
“I am. I thought about making my last will and testament—you would be left off, of course. Having you as a brother, I’m sure we’re all gunna die of exposure. But my fingers were so cold I couldn’t hold a pen.”
A laugh escaped Billy, but then he snapped his mouth shut and pressed his lips together, giving me the impression he hadn’t meant to laugh.
Cletus stood, bending his pile of blankets in ha
lf and twisting to lay them on the chair. Straightening his top hat, he marched over to the fire, stuck his hands out, and turned his face to Billy. The back of his head was to me, so I couldn’t see his expression. But something about it must’ve been hilarious because a moment later, Billy lost the ability to keep his face straight and he laughed again.
It was a friendly laugh, and it stirred something in my stomach, a flutter of happiness, especially when Cletus also laughed, turning his face back to the fire. Looking at Billy now, standing there trying not to smile, he almost looked his age. The sight warmed my heart.
Standing in profile, the younger of the two asked, “How do you like my hats?”
“They’re fantastic.” Billy’s smile was immense, his eyes moving over Cletus. And then they moved over Cletus, coming to rest on me. “You should wear them every day.”
The grin on Billy’s face seemed to deepen as we looked at each other. His affection for his younger brother was a tangible thing, shining through and softening his eyes without dulling the brilliance of them. I realized I was grinning too. I love how he loves his family.
“I’m thinking about getting a smoking jacket,” Cletus said, pushing the hair poking out of his beanie to the side and out of his vision. “Red velvet, if I can find it.”
Now I laughed, drawing Cletus’s attention to me. “Then you’ll look like Santa Claus.”
Billy barked another laugh at my joke while Cletus seemed startled for a minute by my sudden appearance. And then he smiled, big and wide. But just as quickly, his smile fell.
His gaze turned searching and he crossed to me, taking the log from my arms. “You haven’t been at school, Scarlet,” he said, frowning. “Why haven’t you been at school?”
“Mental health day,” Billy answered, saving me from having to lie, and coming to stand at my shoulder. “We’re headed upstairs. Can you keep an eye on the twins? Make sure they don’t bring anything else dirty inside?”
