“I’m not playing anymore.” I realized I’d let the truth slide out like Henry already knew. It felt like he did know. “I really think I’m going to like it in Chapin.”
“You said ‘get better.’”
“No.”
We stared at each other. “No?” he said.
“That’s not what I meant. I meant I think I’ll like it better here.”
He watched me. “You’ve got a pattern going—living in towns where two rivers meet.”
“Yeah, I guess I hadn’t put that together.”
“You know the Indians believed healing could happen where the rivers meet and in the hot springs that we have all over the place here.”
“Did they prove it?”
He must have noticed the shiver that passed through me because he pulled me against him. “Want me to tell you a story about it?”
I nodded, the back of my head bumping against his shoulder.
“So,” he said. “There’s an old Shoshone story that’s famous in Chapin because it’s about one of the local hot springs. They say that this young warrior had fallen in love with a beautiful girl from his tribe. He asked the chief for permission to marry her, but before the ceremony could happen, another tribe attacked their village and slaughtered just about everyone.”
“That’s it? Everyone just died?”
“Patience, Pittsburgh.” His cheek brushed against my hair. “The warrior had been able to run to the teepee of the girl he loved just in time to see her attacked by a man from the other tribe and left for dead. He was devastated. He decided to avenge her death, then take his own life. But, first, he had to bury her properly because that was very important to this tribe. When he picked up her body, he found that her heart was still beating weakly.”
Already, the lump in my throat forced me to take smaller breaths and my shivering worsened. Henry must’ve felt it. He draped one arm around me and quietly waited until I breathed easier.
“He carried her over the Owl Creek mountain range without stopping—until he reached one of the hot springs around what became Chapin. Then he walked into the water with her and held her there for three days. He had about given up when she opened her eyes and whispered his name.”
“That’s beautiful,” I murmured.
His fingers rubbed a circle on my arm. “You’re crying.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for that.” He pressed me closer to him.
“I wish it could be true,” I said. “I wish it was possible to bring someone back like that.”
“In a lot of symbolic ways, it’s possible, right?”
“Symbolic ways don’t count,” I whispered. If they did count, I would have never walked out of my high school without Wyatt. My mother knew this…she lived in the space created by symbolism.
After lunch, we packed up and retraced our steps. Our ride back to the stable was subdued. Henry talked about being the youngest in his family and he laughed loudly about things his sisters did. His sisters had all left home. Kate and her husband John were in Nicaragua and they had Whit, Henry’s nephew. Amelia was at CU Boulder and Leah was at the University of Wyoming. He said they never gave him a break. He said they meant everything to him.
“I always wanted a sister,” I said. “I think maybe I’d be less serious all the time. We’d crack each other up.”
“I don’t think you’re too serious.” He shook his head slowly, watching me. “No, you’re pensive. There’s something sad behind those green eyes, but I’m not sure what it is yet. Whatever you’re hiding from the rest of us makes you pretty special.”
The horses knew where they were and sped up naturally. I’m sure they were as cold, hungry, and tired as we were. The sky was already getting dark and the temperature was dropping. As cold as I was, I didn’t want to go home.
“Are you sore, Pittsburgh?” He grinned back at me.
“Not yet, but I think it’s because I’ve lost all feeling below the waist.”
He laughed. “You’ve got to build up your riding muscles.”
We rode through the gate and the horses headed straight to the promise of warmth and hay in their stalls. In the barn, Henry jumped off Ben and clicked his tongue to Trouble to stop him before he dragged me off on the side of his stall. He lifted me down, then let Trouble walk toward his food and water.
Henry made quick work of hanging up saddles and taking care of the horses, making sure they had fresh hay and water. He was a guy who was aware of his body because he worked hard. Every move was in perfect sync. I couldn’t tear my gaze from him as he finished up.
He took my hand and walked me out of the barn. “I’m going to follow you home.”
“No, you’re not,” I argued. “There’s no reason for you to go all the way to town. I’m fine.”
He frowned. “You’re not fine. You’re half asleep. And even if you were bright-eyed, I’d follow you home. I was raised better than to let a girl head down the highway alone after dark.”
I could see there was no point in arguing. “Thank you.”
At my Jeep, he hugged me and leaned against the door. “I want you to know something. I like you. A lot.” He tucked some loose hairs behind my ear. He seemed completely confident in this familiarity. Or maybe it was that he couldn’t help himself—intense emotion caused the reflex. “And watching you see this place for the first time was amazing. I hope you had a good time.”
“I had a perfect day. Tell Trouble I love him.”
I could say that because I couldn’t say, “Tell Henry I love him.” That would be ridiculous.
“He already knows. Horses pick up on things like that.”
He stared at my lips, probably wondering why they’d been rosy and wet this morning, when they were thin and dry and cracked from the wind now. My lip gloss had broken its promise again. But his lips still looked perfect.
“Meg,” he whispered. “I want to kiss you, if that’s okay.”
I nodded and my heart turned flips in my chest.
My first kiss was perfect. It was warm and sweet, with Henry touching my elbow and holding the back of my head. I had the greatest story to tell.
I could say it happened outside a stable, in the foothills of the Owl Creek Mountains, with a true-life cowboy who was nothing short of gorgeous and kind and generous. Thank goodness it hadn’t happened in the fourth grade under a boy’s jacket on the playground. Or behind the football stadium in middle school.
He rested his forehead against mine. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” I said automatically, and we laughed.
“Five words for that—you taste sweeter than honey.”
I smiled. “Not bad for my first—five, right?” I used my hand to count because my brain wouldn’t.
“Ah…see? I knew it.” He kissed me again, then jogged to his truck parked by the barn. His headlights came on, and I backed out and headed out to the highway, telling myself to keep the Jeep between the lines. Henry followed closely all the way to my house, and I fiddled with the radio to create a distraction.
When we got to my house, I remembered. This was the life I really lived—the screwed up one that I couldn’t share with Henry, whose perfect family had stuck together on a piece of land they’d had for generations. They were generationally healthy and happy.
Dad’s truck sat alone under the carport so I parked next to it, in Mom’s empty space. Henry was there immediately, holding the Jeep door open and smiling. He walked me to the door and it took everything I had to wipe the dread off my face. When my hand hit the knob, I turned and kissed him with courage I didn’t know I had. He touched my cheek with the backs of his fingers and whispered, “Sweet dreams.”
When he drove away, I hugged myself in his coat and whispered, “Sweet dreams.”
SEVENTEEN
Dear Wyatt—
You know what I’m missing about you tonight? Three things—first, the way you and your track friends would finish a run and collapse across the sofa and floor
in the basement. You’d have just run ten miles and you’d stroll in, all pink-cheeked and sweaty, happy and hungry. I’d sit on the stairs and listen to you talk about girls and cars and whatever guy movie was out.
Second, the way you drove—I try to be as cool in your Jeep, but I just look stupid. You’d push your seat back to accommodate your long legs and stick an elbow out the window. Your right hand would be on the steering wheel some of the time and in the air, punctuating some point you were excited about, some of the time.
And, third, I loved when you and your friends had no money but you wanted to eat out. You’d always say, “Side salads for everyone! Side salads all around!” You were a real dork.
You were more alive than me when you were alive.
I spent the day with Henry. I wish I could tell you about it. I wish I could tell someone.
I miss you every minute, Wyatt.
Meg
EIGHTEEN
Here was what I wanted to happen when I walked through the door after my first real date and my first ever kiss. I wanted my mom to say, “Dear God, Meg, you’re glowing. Sit and tell me about this boy. He let you borrow his jacket? That’s so adorable.”
Instead, I came off the high of that day by writing a letter to my dead brother and doing yoga between my twin beds, trying to forget my absent mother.
Week followed dreary week and I hid from reality in a fog of exercise and work. Was it possible that I was experiencing something unprecedented—falling in love for the first time while simultaneously watching my world cave in? Shouldn’t fate give me a moment to enjoy the endorphins?
To stay ahead of the collapse, I rushed to the bookstore after school every day and stayed until closing. Once we’d locked the front door, Thanet and I ate sandwiches for dinner and did homework together. Henry dropped by as often as he could, although it was a big deal for him to come all the way back to town in the evenings. Ranch work was constant and hard, but he did his best to keep me from feeling like he’d deserted me.
On the best nights, he’d appear outside the bookstore window and wait for me to unlock the door. He usually hadn’t had time to shower between doing things with cattle and horses and coming to find me, and he looked older than us and stronger than us. Thanet had grown used to watching Henry hold my hand or touch my face. He’d finally stopped accusing Henry of being in a love coma.
I’d never get used to it, though. Every single time Henry walked in a room, I smiled like I’d won something. And every place he touched me burned for hours afterwards. I’d always been a cynic about these things—high school couples who swore to the moon that they’d be together forever. Eye roll. I was beginning to understand.
Henry had asked about introducing himself to my parents and, so far, I’d put him off by telling him Dad was busy getting ready for the holidays at the hotel and Mom was painting. “Some day soon,” I said. “We’ll have you over for dinner.” It was remarkably easy to keep up appearances outside of the house.
When I wasn’t with Henry or Thanet, I made plans with Tennyson or Sara and Taylor. They took me shopping and to football games and to drive-ins for greasy food. This was good. Free time was my enemy. Free time meant my thoughts were quiet enough for me to analyze the way my mom had left us in bits and pieces, starting the very minute Wyatt died.
I was turning in circles in a very tight radius, keeping the ugly parts of my life tucked in close so they wouldn’t show. If I spun too fast or too loose, the force would scatter my broken pieces and my friends would know my family wasn’t right. But the pressure was wearing on me; more and more people were asking me what was wrong.
Sometimes, in the stillness of my room, my mom’s voice came to me, repeating things she’d said for months. Like, “My skin is melting off my face, isn’t it?” And, “My whole body feels dead from the crap they’re pouring into me. Do I look green to you?” And, “When I’m naked, I can see my heart beating.”
For a while, she and I talked nearly every night at ten. She’d call my cell phone and we’d have the same conversation.
“Hi, Mom,” I’d say.
“Are you doing okay, Meg?”
“I’ve been better,” I’d say. “I wish you’d come home.”
“I am home. I can’t be in Wyoming. Is your dad okay?”
“He misses you. He works too much. He’s losing weight.” I had several other responses to this question, too. The way I answered depended on my mood. If I felt angry with her, I’d tell her about how I’d caught Dad crying, or how he talked to himself at night.
“Tell him I’m sorry,” she’d say. “Tell him I’m thinking about going back to my therapist. I really am.”
“That would be the best thing for you to do,” I’d say.
“Yes, I’m considering it,” she’d say.
And then we’d say goodbye. Those calls had stopped a few nights ago. I’d been unable to reach her.
I’d just settled into bed when Dad got home. I listened for him to open and close the front door, locking it and sliding the security chain into place. His footsteps were heavy. He usually attempted to make it to his room without waking me, but he’d given up, letting his boot heels crash against the wood floor all the way to my door. He knocked once and waited for me to say, “Come in.”
His eyes were red and swollen and his shoulders hunched over as he tried to find a comfortable place to sit that wouldn’t crush me. He’d been changing before my eyes, but tonight was the saddest I’d ever seen him.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry about how difficult things are right now with your mom. You don’t deserve this life.”
I sat up and gathered my quilt around me. I didn’t know what to say to help him feel any better. What does that mean, anyway? To deserve this life? Did Wyatt deserve his life? Life is life.
I wanted to put my arms around him, but I thought if I touched him, I’d feel his sorrow and I would vibrate with it and panic.
“I’m okay, Dad. What can I do to help Mom?”
He laughed a little under his breath—a grim clue that he didn’t believe there was anything either of us could do.
“I’ve been trying to get her to see her therapist. Catherine said she’s not taking her medicine. She says it makes her feel too numb.”
“Numb would be better than this, I would think.”
He continued like he hadn’t heard me. “I came to a conclusion a minute ago. This is why I woke you up.”
“What conclusion?”
He touched my knee through the quilt. “I believe that you and I have been able to move forward. We’ve been healing as we go. Not that it’s been easy for us. Adele, though, is regressing…like she’s in denial again. She won’t listen to reason and she gets angry if I bring it up. Nothing I say is right. Nothing. She’s avoiding my calls now and I’m having to get information through Catherine.”
I took a deep breath, thinking about how hard it is for anyone to know what to say to anyone else in this world. Especially the people you love.
“Dad, have you two made a decision about something?”
He shuddered and a look of exquisite pain crossed his face. A sob rose from deep in my chest. I pushed hard with my hands over my heart to hold it in.
“We haven’t made a decision, Meg. That’s what I’m trying to say. We’re still treading water and that’s not fair to you. We’re missing the opportunity to be with you, to enjoy the fact that you’re alive and with us.”
“It’s okay, Dad. You’re not missing anything.”
“No.” He shook his head. He looked…crestfallen. “That’s not true. But please know that I love your mother more than myself. I want her to feel better. I want her to be interested in life again. I’ve asked her about hospitals and treatment programs and she ignores me. She says she’d never forgive me if I forced something on her. This butting heads thing that we’ve been doing for the last year isn’t right. It’s a vicious circle that isn’t doin
g either of us any good. Maybe…”
His voice faded out. He stared out my window like he was trying to divine the future. I’ve tried that, as well. The future wasn’t out there.
“Dad, don’t let her divorce you. Is that what she wants? Or are you thinking of moving us back? I don’t want to move back to Pittsburgh. People like me here and it’s not because of Wyatt.”
He turned to look at me like he just realized I had an opinion on the matter.
“Meg, no. I just don’t want you to watch how I handle this and think that I should have done it differently. I don’t want you to hate me, too. Please understand that my reasoning for letting her go and not following is that I believe she has to make her way through this before she can be ours again.”
“Like tough love,” I said.
He sighed. “Kind of like tough love. But from the outside looking in, I probably look more cruel than tough. The fact is I’m letting her have some space, but it doesn’t mean I won’t storm the city of Pittsburgh to save her if I have to. I don’t want to lose her, Meg. And I don’t want to lose you because you grow to resent me.”
“I won’t resent you, Dad. I trust you.”
He nodded, watching me. “You and I,” he said, “are trying hard, aren’t we?” Rolling his shoulders, he reached up and rubbed his neck. “Don’t measure me by this, Meg. Measure me by how much I love you and your mom and how much I loved Wyatt. Everything else is an unknown right now.”
“Dad,” I said, holding back a flood of emotion. “That’s how I’ve always measured you. You love me and you’re trying your best. That’s all that matters.”
“Do you have anyone to talk to at school about this?” His voice was hopeful. I wasn’t sure if he hoped I had someone to talk to or if he hoped I’d keep this under wraps.
“No. Do you have anyone at work?”
He shook his head and then patted my leg. “Well, goodnight.”
He stood, then paused and turned back toward me. “You know, your grandfather used to say that we were never promised an easy time on this earth. Life’s about how we react to the hard stuff.”
Glass Girl (A Young Adult Novel) Page 11
