All This Time

by Mikki Daughtry

  “How was it? How did it go?”

  I lean against my car, trying not to appear too excited. “Well, he seemed to like my articles,” I say casually.

  “So?” she urges impatiently.

  “So… you’re looking at the new sports intern at the Times,” I say, my cool demeanor cracking. “I was hired on the spot.”

  Marley squeals and throws her arms around me. “I told you. I knew you would be.”

  I laugh. “You were right about the player profiles. That’s what he liked the most.”

  “Of course I was,” she says, handing me the flower she’s holding, a pretty round puff with dozens of pale-pink petals, getting smaller and smaller as they near the center. “It’s a peony. It means good luck and fortune, but I guess you kind of don’t need that now.”

  “Can never have too much good luck.”

  She smiles and leans back to get a better look at me. “You look cute, by the way.”

  I smooth out my sports coat, smiling back at her. She’s never said anything like that to me before. “Why, thank you. Maybe not exactly the best thing to wear for flying a kite, though.”

  “I haven’t flown a kite in years,” Marley says as she smooths a hand down my lapel.

  “I thought it might be fun,” I say, holding it up. “You mentioned you used to love to do it when you were little. And… it’s super windy today.”

  As if on cue, the wind tugs at her hair, whipping it this way and that. She lightly touches the thin wood of the kite frame, nodding in agreement.

  It takes a lot of work for us to get the kite going. We unwind some of the string and take turns running across the grass, the breeze catching it and then letting it go just as quickly, the kite nose-diving into the ground.

  Finally, on my fifth run, it lifts smoothly into the air.

  I whoop as the string slides through my fingers. The kite tugs right and left, the wind making it dance across the cloudy autumn sky.

  Once it’s steady, I pass the tiny wooden bar to Marley, watching as she stares up at the kite, her face beautifully open.

  “You got any plans for Halloween next Saturday?” I ask.

  “Not really,” she says as the kite dips. She pulls back on the string, steadying it. “Other people… aren’t really my thing.”

  “Well,” I say, unsurprised. “My mom is going out of town, so I could use a little help handing out the candy.”

  She looks over at me skeptically.

  “It’ll be fun,” I say. “We can wear Halloween costumes and everything,” I add, really trying to hype it up. “I mean, what’s not to love about that? You can be anyone or anything you want.”

  I see her mind working, thinking it all over.

  “Okay,” she says finally. She presses into me and I kiss her forehead. “But only because you seem really into the dressing-up thing. I’d hate to crush your fantasies.”

  Her small, teasing smile is too much. I pick her up in a huge hug, the both of us laughing as the rest of the string unfurls from around the tiny wooden bar, the kite drifting, untethered, into the clouds as I kiss her. Her lips are cold, but the rest of her body is warm, and she wraps her arms around my neck.

  “We lost the kite,” she sighs after we come up for air.

  I laugh. “I’d rather hold on to you anyway.”

  A drop of rain lands smack on my forehead, and we pull apart, laughing as we run along the path back to my car, the rain pouring down all around us. We’re almost there when Marley yanks her hand from mine.

  “Wait!”

  She bends to pick up something from the ground. I get closer to see a trail of tiny dots on the path. They’re baby snails, and Marley’s picking them up one by one and moving them off the path.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, squinting at her through the downpour.

  “I don’t want anyone to step on them,” she says as we slowly make our way up to the car, me redirecting runners and walkers around us as Marley moves every single one of the snails out of the way.

  Every life, even the life of a snail, matters to her. My heart is full as I watch her, the both of us getting drenched. When we make it safely into my car, she looks at me, and without saying anything, I lean over and kiss her. I’ve never met anyone quite like her before, and I don’t need peonies to tell me how lucky I am that I did.

  20

  I sit on the front porch holding a basket full of candy. The fog machine next to me lets out another puff of smoke, clouding my vision. I wave my hand to dissipate it as another horde of kids come screaming up to me, their parents lingering on the streetlight-lined sidewalk.

  “Trick or treat!” a tiny ghost shouts.

  “Uh, treat?” I say as two Elsas greedily dig into the candy before scurrying off and out of sight.

  I put the basket down on my lap and pull off my football helmet, quickly checking in my phone camera that the zombie makeup my mom helped me apply is still in place. My scar is now an oozing gash across my forehead.

  I almost asked Mom to take it off when I saw it, and honestly, I still can’t look at it without cringing. All I can see is my reflection in Dr. Benefield’s glasses the night of the accident, when my head was actually broken open.

  But I’m trying not to run from it anymore.

  I tense as my vision blurs, and for a moment I can hear a voice, whispering to me, telling me not to let—

  “Boo!” a voice says, pulling me safely out of the flash before it can completely overtake me.

  I put my phone down to see…

  What on earth?

  Marley’s voice is coming toward me up the stairs; she’s almost swallowed whole by a lumpy brown snail costume. It’s got it all. Long antennae, a big, swirly shell, everything about it identical to the snails we picked up on the path a few days ago.

  Laughing, I stand up and reach out for her. She wiggles away and swings her shell around to whack me in the side.

  “Hey, I’m not laughing at you.…”

  She glares at me, crossing her arms over her chest, her antennae even staring me down. “All right. Fine. I won’t say anything.” I smirk and turn an invisible lock on my mouth while she rolls her eyes, looking adorable.

  Never thought I’d be attracted to a giant snail, but here we are.

  I unlock my mouth and clear my throat. “Wait, I just have to say… you’re the cutest damn snail I’ve ever seen.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she says, but she softens and does a tiny twirl. I move to hug her, but her giant shell is in the way, blocking my arms from wrapping completely around her.

  “So, uh. Why a snail?”

  “Well, you know,” Marley the Snail says, reaching out absently to touch my tattered zombified football jersey. “We’re quiet, we’re shy, and we hide.”

  I lean closer to her, one of her long antennae almost poking my eye out.

  “You never have to hide with me, Marley,” I whisper to her.

  I watch as a million expressions move across her face, too quick for me to even keep up with. Finally her features settle.

  She reaches up, hesitantly touching the two buckles on her shoulders. “I guess I dressed up as the old me,” she says, looking up to take in my tattered football jersey, the football helmet tucked under my arm, the fake bloody gash on my forehead. She takes a step forward and reaches out, touching it lightly, while I stare at her lips, wanting to kiss her.

  “And you dressed up like the old you,” she says softly, and I close my eyes at her touch, wanting more.

  The magic of the moment is broken by a giggle.

  I look over to see an audience of tiny costumed kids watching us like we’re a plate of broccoli.

  “Ew!” a little Dracula says, and there’s a chorus of giggles.

  I look between them and Marley, giving her a wry smile. I toss the entire candy-filled basket in front of the kids, and a mob scene breaks out on my lawn, the parents’ eyes wide with horror.

  Grabbing Marley’s hand, I pull her inside and f
lick off the porch light behind us.

  It’s dark inside except for the glow of the streetlights outside, the yellow light pouring in through the windows. I take a step closer to her, the air electric as she looks at me, her lips slightly parted. “Looks like we’re out of candy.”

  “How did that happen?” she asks, breathless.

  She slowly reaches up, my heart pounding as she unsnaps the buckles at each shoulder, letting the shell slide to the floor.

  “I’m not this anymore,” she says, moving closer to me.

  I pull the jersey over my head, wiping away the bloody gash on my forehead, the injury that doesn’t define me anymore. “And I’m not this.”

  She pulls off the antennae. I kick off my shoes.

  She stares at me for a long moment; then my heart leaps into my throat as she slowly pulls her leotard down, revealing her smooth skin underneath. Her eyes never leave mine, the electricity between us growing and growing until I can hardly stand the space separating us.

  Soon we’re standing in just our underwear, all of the old parts of us stripped away. Her soft buttery-yellow underwear clings to her hips, her breasts. I’m dying to touch her, but I don’t dare. We’ve never been alone like this, never even talked about it. Anything that happens next is up to her.

  So I wait. But I can’t stop my eyes from drinking her in. She’s beautiful.

  “I’ve… I’ve never done this before,” she says softly.

  I pull my eyes up to meet hers. “We don’t have to. Marley—”

  “I want to,” she says. Her cheeks flush bright red the second the words are out. Her gaze, though, is steady. Certain.

  “With you,” she continues, stepping closer, her eyes moving shyly over my body as she explores my arms, my neck, my chest. I’m sure she can feel my heart pounding under her fingers, practically exploding beneath her touch.

  “I’m dying here,” I say as her hands travel down, over by abdomen.

  “I—I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispers, looking up at me, unsure for the first time.

  “You’re killing me, that’s what you’re doing,” I say as I inhale sharply.

  We start laughing, some of the nervous tension melting away. I pull her close, her arms wrapping around my neck, her fingers lacing into my hair.

  “You sure this is okay?” I ask. I want to be sure. I want her to be sure.

  “Yes, I…” Her grip tightens in my hair, her pupils large in the pale-yellow glow of the light. “I love…,” she starts to say, but her voice trails off. She kisses me softly, barely a whisper on my lips. “I love… it,” she says, finally resting her head against mine.

  I stare at her lips, our breath mingling between us. The entire world fades away except for her. I hold her face in my hands, my thumbs gently moving along her cheeks, understanding.

  “I love it, too,” I whisper back, knowing what it means. Knowing I feel the same.

  She pulls my face down for a kiss, and I pick her up, her legs twining around my waist. I carry her down the hall and open the basement door, and soon the last things that keep us apart fall away.

  * * *

  Hours later, the darkness gives way to the sound of shrieking metal, rain hammering noisily on the roof of a car. My eyes fly open and I see a huge hole in my windshield, rain pouring through it onto me, soaking my clothes, soaking the seat under me.

  I see the disco ball wrapped around the mirror, red lights bouncing off it, making the falling rain look red.

  Like blood.

  I try to move, try to get out, but I’m stuck, pinned in.

  “Help!” I try to scream, but nothing comes out.

  I claw at my seat belt, the sound of a ringing phone pulling my attention to the center console, where a cell vibrates, inching its way toward me. My heart stops when I see the name on the screen.

  KIM CALLING

  My eyes fly open. I frantically look around. I’m in my room, in my bed.

  But knowing it was only a nightmare doesn’t stop my breath from coming out in ragged gasps. As I calm down, I hear the wind whipping on the other side of the window. It whistles across the glass, low and creepy, the perfect soundtrack for a nightmare. It was just my fucked-up head again. This time, though, I know it’s just a dream.

  Marley’s pressed against my back, warm and comforting. I let the final touch of fear and panic fade in a long sigh of relief.

  Behind me, Marley burrows closer, her warmth soothing me even more. I roll over to pull her closer and feel an icy grip tighten on my lungs.

  It’s Kimberly. We’re nose to nose. Her breath tickles my face. Warm. I reel back, but her hands clench around my arms, keeping me close to her.

  “Don’t do this. Don’t let go,” she says to me urgently.

  “No!” I scream, and sit bolt upright. I struggle to catch my breath, my chest heaving. I feel her move behind me. I shove her away.

  “Kyle. Hey, what’s going on?” I hear her. I smell her.

  It’s not Kimberly.

  “It’s okay,” she whispers. It’s not Kim.

  Orange blossoms and jasmine. Marley. I open my eyes and take in her face, the familiar freckles, the soft curve of her jaw, and her delicate lips.

  “It was just a dream,” she says, resting her hand over my beating heart. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

  I pull her close as the nightmare fades, the images of the car accident and the bloodred rain finally dissipating, drifting away, replaced with what’s real.

  21

  The days fly by. Between working at the newspaper and spending time with Marley, December sneaks up on me. Soon, Main Street is completely transformed into a winter wonderland.

  And every day Marley comes a little more out of her shell.

  I look up to see the snow lightly falling, drifting down onto the street lined with people, the annual Winter Festival in full swing. Wreaths wrapped in red ribbon hang from every streetlight, a choir sings carols on a street corner, and the smell of pine and cinnamon is so strong it permeates the entire place with enough force to rival Sam’s discovery of Axe body spray in ninth grade.

  A group of kids crowd around the window outside the toy store, their breath fogging the glass as they gaze at the train set in the window, chugging along its miniature track.

  “Do kids even play with trains anymore?” I ask Marley. Her cheeks and nose are a soft red, and a thick yellow scarf is bunched around her neck. “Is that a thing?”

  “I guess so.” She tucks her arm into mine, taking in a deep breath of that cinnamon and pine, a smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t expect to love this. Every year, Mom tries to get me to come with her, but since Laura…”

  I kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  This one took a bit of convincing, but she finally relented yesterday, our trips to the movie theater and to the coffee shop by the Times making this step just a little bit easier.

  She gazes at a group of preteens buying roasted chestnuts from a vendor, her hand reaching up to touch the pink sapphire necklace hidden under her scarf, her eyes distant.

  Laura.

  Every now and then a dark, inescapable cloud rolls over Marley, the heaviness of her guilt still keeping its grip on her.

  I squeeze her tightly, my eyes landing on a teal-and-white booth, my high school football team’s annual fundraiser at the Winter Festival. I watch as a guy with brown hair wearing a letterman jacket picks up one of the footballs and throws a perfect spiral through a dangling hoop, giving his blond-haired girlfriend the stuffed-animal prize.

  Kim, my brain thinks instantly. She loved this festival, even though she made fun of it.

  Marley and I are both still healing, I guess. But I think we’ve come a long way over the last month, the weight of the grief lifting with every passing day.

  I mean, Marley is actually here, at the crowded Winter Festival. That’s… pretty freaking huge.

  “Hey,” I say as I grab Marley’s hand and pu
ll her to the booth, breaking free of the dark cloud threatening us. “You see anything you like?”

  We scan the prizes. A bear holding a candy cane. A red-nosed reindeer. Marley grabs my arm and points to a yellow duck wearing a red coat and a Santa hat. I mean, how could we not go for it? I pull a dollar out of my wallet in trade for a football.

  I take a deep breath, staring at the hoop. Sam and I ran this booth our freshman year during a total snowstorm. We were so bored and cold during the first hour, we spent most of our shift playing the game ourselves, lobbing the ball through the hoop hundreds of times.

  I’ve got this.

  I launch the ball at the hoop, the spiral wobbling as the throw swings wide.

  I pull out another dollar and try again, this throw worse than the first one, the ball soaring over the hoop and out of sight.

  Maybe… I don’t have this.

  I shrug and turn to grin sheepishly at Marley. “I’m sorry. Maybe I can buy you one.…”

  She’s focused, though. Her eyes are locked on that Santa duck as she digs into the pocket of her jacket and pulls out a dollar. She drops it down on the counter, then grabs the football, and… holy shit.

  A perfect spiral sails right through the hoop.

  I whoop as the freshman behind the booth hands her the duck. Then I scoop her up and spin her around, her yellow scarf coming undone.

  “Marley,” I say when I put her down. I’m more than a little impressed. “That was awesome. Can you do it again?”

  I pull another dollar from my pocket, and she grabs the football, the same laser-focused look on her face. Without a second thought, she launches it perfectly through the hoop again, this time with even more zip on it. Who is this girl?

  She gives me a mischievous look I haven’t seen before, the green in her eyes bright against the white snow falling all around us.

  Five minutes later, a Santa duck and a red-nosed reindeer in hand, we stroll proudly away from the booth, my arm slung over her shoulder. To think, last year I’d sulked over not being able to hit that hoop with my left arm.