“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
Perched precariously on the branch, he shifts his footing and my heart slams past my chest. He shouldn’t move. If he moves, he’ll fall and then he’ll die and that will be bad. “Don’t move!”
His impish grin widens. “Why?”
“You’ll fall.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Come on, where’s the faith? We’ve climbed higher in weaker trees than this.”
Yes, we did, but … “We were also seven, fifty pounds and more flexible.”
He chuckles. “Speak for yourself. I’m still flexible.”
I don’t know why, but I smile. “You were never flexible. You had the climbing grace of a rock. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be kissing the ground.”
“Then come out here and show me how it’s done.”
My grin falters. I’m not seven. I’m seventeen. I’m longer, heavier and I haven’t climbed a tree since the summer before our freshman year. My last summer being friends with Jesse. “Why are you here?”
Jesse places his hand on a neighboring branch. “As I said earlier, we’re friends.”
“And I told you we aren’t friends.”
“I need a friend right now and something tells me you need one, too.”
“You have friends,” I say slowly.
“Yeah, but they aren’t here, and if they were I’d send them home. You’re the friend I need. Come on. Climb some trees with me.”
I want to, but I don’t know how.
“Just give me tonight, Tink.” The hopeful plea in his voice is nearly my undoing. “If you decide after this we can’t be friends, then I’ll accept your decision. No anger between us, just two people who were once friends.”
The caterpillar crawls in Jesse’s direction. A memory flashes in my mind of sunshine and my chubby fingers holding a caterpillar just like him. An elusive sixth sense consumes me; this is important, somehow, but I don’t know why. “My father will hear if I go down the stairs.”
“Then leave the way you did in the past—go out the window.”
“I’ll fall.”
“No, you won’t.”
Causing the blood to drain to my toes, Jesse edges away from the fleeting safety of the trunk and holds out his hand. The impish grin returns and in his green eyes is the spark I always adored.
The branch curves a foot from my window. It’s a hardy branch, and I’ve shimmied myself out this window hundreds of times in my life. Each time without thought. Each time with confidence. My mouth dries out and a tremor of fear runs through me. “I’ll fall.”
“Not gonna happen. Give me your hand, and I’ll help you reach the ground safely.”
That sounds good, but … “I don’t trust you.”
“I deserve that.” Sadness rolls over his face. “And you have a right to not trust me. But c’mon, Tink, somewhere deep inside you have to know I’d never let you fall.”
My hands go cold and clammy, and I rub them against the dress pants I wore to work. I look down and realize that this is not a tree-climbing outfit. “Give me a sec?”
“And put on some decent shoes, Tink. I’m starting to think you don’t own anything sensible.”
I keep my window open but close the curtains and hurry through my room. I trip over my feet as I yank off my pants, throw off my shirt and trade them for jeans, a sports bra and a tank top. I toss my hair into a messy bun then have to rummage longer in my closet than I should for a pair of tennis shoes. Back on my bed, it’s hard to tie them as my hands are unsteady.
I’m sneaking out. I’m climbing down the tree. I’m going to hang out with Jesse Lachlin. I lift my head and pause. What am I doing? This is stupid and reckless, and if Dad finds out he’ll be furious, but he’s always furious. Am I to be Mom and to spend my life being nothing more than a pawn to calm Dad down when he throws a fit? I rise to my feet.
No. That’s not who I’m going to be. I open the curtains and accept Jesse’s outstretched hand.
The moment my fingers lay in his, Jesse doesn’t wrap his hand around mine like I expect. Instead, he slides his fingers along my skin and then grips my forearm. “Take my arm.”
I do. His skin is hot under my touch, and his pulse beats under my fingertips. Jesse’s grip on me is firm, steady, and I exhale slowly to try to calm my racing heart.
“You’ve done this a million times,” he says. “You can do it again. Place your other hand on the windowsill for support, pull yourself up onto the frame and then put one foot on the branch followed by another. I swear, you did this with your eyes closed all through third grade to freak me out.”
I did, but somehow I was braver when I was younger. I shake out my other hand to try to stop the nervous tingles.
“Don’t overthink this,” he says. “Just do it.”
I shouldn’t do this. I should let go of Jesse, shut my window and go to bed, but I need to do this. Not for Jesse, but for me. I’m in control of my life. Not my father. I can leave whenever I want, and I’m choosing to leave now.
A hand on the windowsill, one foot on the frame and I dig my nails into Jesse’s skin. I let go of the window and make the massive step from my house to the tree, landing in a crouching position in front of him.
My vision narrows at the enormous distance between me and the ground. I’m going to fall. Panic sets in, nausea turns my stomach and my hand flails in a balance check. An arm snakes around my waist, and I’m tugged into solid warmth. My breath rushes out of my body, and when I glance up, serious green eyes stare into mine. “I got you.”
Jesse’s grip rivals steel bands. Settled on a narrow limb, I’ve never felt more secure. A tornado could blow through this tree, through this town, and could destroy everything in its path, but Jesse and I would still be crouched here together. His strength keeping us in place.
“You good?” he asks.
No, not really, but I keep my doubts quiet. I scan the branches, and it’s like looking at a treasure map I once had memorized. A few years have passed, the tree is older, but the layout is overall the same. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
Nope. “Yeah.”
“Are you sure?” he asks again.
“Don’t make me put you in a choke hold and force you to tap out.”
Jesse gives me a crooked grin, releases me and shifts back toward the trunk, then onto a parallel branch. Using my fingers to feel along the thinner branches above me for support, I inch toward the trunk. A quick survey of the tree finds the finger and footholds I used as a child.
I’m rusty, I’m slow, but I make it down the two stories without breaking my neck. I have to jump the last part, and the solid ground is a gift. Seconds later, Jesse lands beside me. The moment his feet hit the ground, an electrical shock runs through me. Resonating from the ground and shooting up through me from my toes.
Jesse jerks and his green eyes widen as if he felt the same thing. “You okay?”
My entire body tingles with the aftermath of the energy spike. “Yes. Are you?”
“Yeah.” Jesse slips off his cap then rakes a hand through his hair as if waking himself from a dream. “Let’s do this.”
“Where exactly are we going?”
“Same place as always.”
I’m dumbfounded as he walks toward his land. “And where is that?”
“Second star on the right then straight on till morning.”
Second star on the right. I haven’t been Tink to his Peter Pan for a long time. But watching Jesse head off to the land the two of us conquered in battles that belonged in our heads creates a sense of nostalgia I can’t ignore. I start for the land that calls to Jesse, the land that used to call to me. It’s definitely time for an adventure.
JESSE
Scarlett walks beside me. It’s dark. It’s silent. We have a half-moon’s worth of light. Enough to cast a shadow, but we can’t see too far ahead. The night’s warm and the breeze th
at’s blowing in from the west is light and welcome. The long blades of grass swat at our legs, and the farther we travel onto my land, the more the weight of the world lifts from my shoulders.
Some of the words she said to me earlier today circle in my head: I’m empty.
That’s how I’ll feel if I lose this land. I don’t have much going for me, but I have the soil beneath my feet. It’s my only reason to wake in the morning, and to continue to take a breath throughout a minute. I hurt for Scarlett because I’ve felt lost, but never empty.
“What’s going on between you and your dad?” I ask. “He sounds controlling.”
“I never said he was controlling.”
“I didn’t say the grass is green or that the sky is blue, but that doesn’t make it any less green or blue.”
Scarlett’s glare is sharp, but then she runs her fingers along the high grass as if my words didn’t penetrate her wall of ice. “I don’t discuss home.”
I’m aware. We were inseparable until freshman year, and other than her dad didn’t like me, she never said much about her father. I can’t give her too much crap because I never told her about my mom and her tour bus full of problems. I also didn’t tell her about my psychotic, absentee father either, so I guess that makes us even.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I say, even though that won’t convince her to share her secrets, and I don’t blame her. Just because I call us friends doesn’t wipe away the damage that’s been done. “I spread Gran’s ashes in the same spot where I spread Mom’s. I meant to plant flowers there for years, but…” Never did. Not because I didn’t care, but because thinking of Mom hurts.
I watch the ground and as we walk I’m swamped by the memory of the fear in Mom’s eyes, the tears streaming down her face—
“I guess things have always been complicated at home,” Scarlett says. “Growing up, I didn’t think much of it until one day I did.”
“What made you think?”
“I just did,” she says quietly. “Please don’t tell anyone what I’ve said. Dad is obsessed with his reputation, and we live in a small town. If you talk, someone else will talk and he’d know everything I said by lunch.”
“You can trust me.”
She purses her lips like she doesn’t believe me, and I deserve her reaction. I have a lot to do to back up the words. “What’s the game plan?”
Her eyebrows raise. “This is your adventure so you tell me.”
“Nah, tonight’s already booked. I’m talking about your plan to go to UK.”
I don’t like her heavy, pensive expression, and I have myself to blame. That question is a part of her home life, and she’s admitted she doesn’t trust me. It’s time for me to back off. “Don’t answer, Tink. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
That grants me a surprised glance, and some of her heaviness disappears. “I was always baffled why you called me Tink. I look nothing like her.”
No, she doesn’t. Disney can keep their tiny, blond, green-dress-wearing fairy. I’ll take the black-haired, strong-bodied beauty next to me. “Gran used to read the novel to me. The real deal—not the movie. The book was called Peter and Wendy. She told me once that Peter and Tink made her think of you and me.”
“Really?” I like the hint of happy in her tone.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I’m obvious.”
Scarlett laughs. A good laugh. The type that makes you want to laugh along. “Are you admitting you’ll never grow up?”
Sometimes I think I grew up too fast, but instead of saying that, I wink at her. “What’s the point of life if you don’t have an adventure?”
“Why me for Tink?”
I weigh how she’d take the truth. If she’d be able to see Gran’s heart in her thoughts. Not willing to risk alienating her, I go for part of the answer. “You’re loyal.”
She kicks at a stone in the grass as we near the woods. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do. If I hadn’t stopped talking to you our freshman year you would have stuck with me until the day you died.” And that was the problem.
“Why did you stop being friends with me?” It’s the second time she’s asked.
The first time I didn’t have the balls to answer, and I was disappointed in myself. She deserves better, and now is as good a time as any to start. “I’m cursed.”
Her head whips in my direction, her eyes wide, and I force a smile on my face and pray that it looks carefree. She nervously laughs and pushes her hand against my shoulder. I exaggerate my steps as if that pat could physically move me, which makes her giggle more natural.
“I thought you were being serious,” she says. “You’d think people would get tired of the stupid Lachlin curse.”
“I don’t believe because some great-great-great-granddaddy killed someone in cold blood that I’ll gain everything I want then watch it be destroyed.”
“Good.”
But Mom did teach me better than to tempt fate. I have a plan: stay on my land, keep that as my focus, and all will be good in my world.
“Remember when we found that stray cat that had been hurt on your land?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“And remember how we were sure that cat had kittens?”
She nods, and I can tell the memory makes her sad. Back then, even though I told her I was going to try to nurse the cat back to life, she saw the truth. She knew that cat was going to die, and I remember the way her eyes welled up with tears at the thought of those babies being alone.
“I found the kittens.” It took me twenty-four hours with no sleep, but I found them.
Scarlett stops walking and stares at me. “Were they alive?”
“Yeah. Barely.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “There were three of them. One died, but the other two made it. They’re barn cats now in the west field.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried. I saw that your window was open.” Her sign to find her there. “I climbed the tree, but I didn’t knock.”
“Why?”
The muscles in the back of my neck tense. “You were crying, and your mom was on your bed with you. You guys were talking about Camila’s birthday party.”
Realization drains the color from her face. “Jesse—”
I cut her off so we can get this over with. “I overheard what you said and what your mom said. Don’t worry, it’s okay.”
“It’s not.” Scarlett places a hand on her stomach. That was the night she realized that as long as she was friends with me, she wouldn’t have any other friends.
“Because you’re loyal you would have stuck by me even when it would have cost you your happiness. I couldn’t let you destroy your future to be friends with me.”
We live in a small town. Lines are drawn between groups of people before most figure out if they like peanut butter with or without jelly. I was her friend. She was mine. While her dad kept us from seeing each other except for stolen moments during the day and then at night, he couldn’t keep us away from each other at school.
The whole world knew we were friends, and Scarlett didn’t care until she did. Until she learned she was the only girl not invited to Camila Sanchez’s birthday party. Until she learned the reason why was because she was best friends with me. She was fourteen and an outcast.
Middle school had been hard on her, and she had hoped high school would be better. That birthday party snub had informed her she was going to experience four more years of social hell.
The good folks in town decided something had to be wrong with her for willingly hanging with a Lachlin, especially a Lachlin like me with questionable parents, a questionable upbringing and a grandmother who three-quarters of the county thought was certifiably insane.
“I heard your mom telling you that your life would be easier without me. She said you would never fit in at school and that you would be an outcast as long as we were friends. So, I gave you up.”
Her mouth gap
es. “She meant life would be easier for her. She was tired of listening to people tell her she was a bad parent because they thought she approved of my relationship with you. I didn’t care what anyone else thought. I wanted to be friends with you.”
“Your mom wasn’t wrong. Being friends with me is a death sentence.”
“I didn’t care!” she shouts.
“I did!”
“So you threw me away to make new friends? They’re worthy, but I wasn’t?”
Her anger feeds mine because walking away from her slayed me. “It hurt you to be excluded, and you were going to continue to be excluded because of me. I gave you up so you could have a better life!”
“So Veronica is strong enough to be your friend, to take the crap the world throws at her for hanging with you, but I wasn’t?”
“No, that’s not how it is.”
“Then how is it, Jesse? Explain to me how exactly it is,” she pushes. “Because this all sounds like a lot of bull! It sounds like you think you’re the big, strong male stepping in to make my choices all in the name of protecting me, without any regard for what I want. Either that or you can’t own up to the fact you thought I wasn’t good enough to be your friend.”
“You were more than good enough. If anything, you were too good for me.”
“Then why did you call me an ice princess? If you did all of that to be my friend, then why did you make me the joke of the entire school?”
“Because I was fourteen and an asshole! It’s a piss-poor excuse, but it’s all I got. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
“You walking away hurt me! That name hurt me! You were supposed to be my best friend and friends don’t do what you did to me!”
“We can rehash this as much as you want, but it won’t change what I did or why. I made a mistake. You either forgive me or you don’t, but I’m telling you I’m sorry, and if I could take it back, I would.”
She draws in several deep breaths, and after the longest silence of my life, she meets my eyes again. “Do you regret it?”
“Every. Damn. Day.”
Only a Breath Apart Page 14
