Glass Girl (A Young Adult Novel)

by Laura Anderson Kurk

  “If you’re finished, go ahead and take her for a ride,” Miriam said. “I’ll clean up.”

  Henry walked over and put his hands on his mom’s shoulders. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. It was great.”

  “You’d better give Meg one of your jackets,” she said. “That little thing of hers is cute, but useless against a Wyoming night.”

  Henry smiled and grabbed a thick tan jacket out of a closet, holding it open for me. Then he added work gloves and a black wool cap, which did wonders for my hair. He pointed me toward the door, stopping before he opened it to pull on his boots and coat.

  ***

  “See this barn?” he said, gesturing at the larger of the two by the house. “I put the roof on it a few years ago. I thought it would kill me before I finished.” He showed me a large white scar on his forearm. “Metal cut me from head to toe. This one needed twenty-five stitches. The wind blew right as I was pulling a sheet up and it sliced through my arm. My mom about fainted when I walked into her clean kitchen with blood running off my arm.”

  I ran my finger across the bumpy scar and shuddered.

  The inside of the barn was pristine, with perfectly stacked hay in the loft making the whole place smell sweet. A tractor and farming equipment that I couldn’t name took up half the building.

  “Hey, you,” Henry said, wrapping his arms around me. “You’re here.”

  “Weird, huh?”

  “Hush.” He leaned down to kiss me and not like he’d kissed me before. Before he seemed gentle, careful, and almost hesitant, trying to judge how I would feel about it. But this time he held me with one arm wrapped tightly around my back and his hand sliding under my hair to hold my head close.

  I felt each breath that he took and being that close to him made me dizzy. I grabbed his shoulders to stop from falling, but my knees buckled and I tipped to the side. His mouth, which had just been kissing mine, turned up in a smile.

  I opened my eyes to see if he was laughing at the way I kissed. I didn’t think he could actually tell I was about to fall.

  He grabbed my face and looked into my eyes. “Your pupils are equal and reactive. I think you’re okay.”

  “Stop it.” I swatted at his hands.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. I think you were holding your breath. You all right now?”

  “I just got a little dizzy.” I ran my hand through my hair. I’m sure my red cheeks gave me away.

  “Are you saying I make you weak in the knees?” He looked smug as he touched my bottom lip with one thumb.

  “Did you hear me say that?”

  “No, but I felt you say it,” he breathed into my ear.

  “Well, you’re wrong. Try again.”

  He laughed and found my lips quickly. This time I locked my knees and held on tight around his waist. I had to grab handfuls of his shirt to keep from going over.

  “Mmm,” he sighed when he stepped back and looked at me. “How’re you feeling? Should I find a stretcher?”

  I wished with all my heart that I could say something, anything, but I couldn’t talk.

  “What’s wrong, Meg?” He’d stopped smiling and the look on his face made my throat tight. “Did you not want me to kiss you?”

  “I did. So much. It feels…I don’t know…significant.” I rubbed my arms to stop the shivering.

  He nodded. “Don’t be afraid, okay? This is significant for me, too. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Do you still want to ride Ben?”

  “I’m not sure I can hold on now.”

  He bit his bottom lip, considering something. “Yeah, you’re as clumsy as a newborn colt. Come on, I’ll figure it out.”

  I took a slow breath and focused on how good I felt right at that moment. I wasn’t wishing time away. Things might never be normal again…but this was very, very nice, too.

  Henry led Ben out of his stall and swung himself into the saddle. He patted the blanket behind the saddle and said, “Your seat.” He moved his boot and let me borrow his stirrup for a minute. Swinging my leg over was easy this time because Henry pulled me up. He reached for my arms and wrapped them tightly around his waist.

  “Hold on, okay?” He clicked his tongue, and Ben walked out of the barn and into the pasture. “Ben’s careful and knows exactly what I’m asking him to do. I won’t let you fall.”

  Henry’s thighs moved as he tapped his horse with his heels. Ben immediately responded by trotting. Then, Henry said roughly, “Let’s go, Ben.” He planted his heels into Ben’s sides a little harder. Ben lowered his head and flew—that’s the only way to describe it.

  Henry leaned into Ben’s neck, taking me with him. We raced through the moonlight, my hair tangling behind me. I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of hooves hitting the ground. The force of the wind in my face made it impossible to breathe until I dropped my head and buried my face in Henry’s jacket.

  There was a boy. There was a horse. And there was speed. It was older than time, really. I hated for it to end.

  After several amazing minutes, Henry tugged at the reins and leaned hard into me. I felt him using the strength in his back and shoulders to bring Ben under control. Ben reacted quickly and slowed to a trot. Henry turned him and headed back to the warmth of the barn.

  He tilted his head and spoke softly over his shoulder. “Well?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” I was out of breath and a little dizzy. “That was amazing. Ben must be the fastest horse in Wyoming. That was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever. Hands down.”

  “There was nothing better that might have happened in a barn earlier on this very night?”

  He pressed my arm tightly into his stomach.

  “Of course,” I said. “That was the best thing I’ve ever done, hands down, without a doubt. This was not even a close second.”

  “I was hoping so.” He laughed softly and twisted his gloved fingers through mine. “We’d better get back.”

  When we rejoined our parents, they were still at the table, talking quietly. Clayton reached over and patted my dad on the back. Dad nodded and then rolled his shoulders, something he does when he’s stressed. He looked at me and, for a moment, his sadness rolled off him, making him nearly unrecognizable.

  Miriam stared at the table, her face tense like she’d seen a ghost. I closed my eyes against the sight. It could only mean Dad had told them about Wyatt.

  Henry looked away, out of respect, I think, and took the coat and gloves from me. Dad said goodbye and thanks to the Whitmires. Miriam smiled and hugged me, telling me to come back anytime. Clayton hugged me, too, and said, “I see why Henry’s fond of you.”

  Henry walked us to Dad’s truck. Before I scooted in, he pressed a hand against the back of my head and said, “I’ll see you soon, Meg. Sweet dreams.”

  “Thanks again, Henry. It was…”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, it was.”

  The house got smaller and smaller in the distance. I watched through the back window until even the porch light disappeared. Then I turned to Dad. “Did you tell them?”

  “Yes.”

  Betrayal blazed a quick path from my heart to my head. “Why, Dad? Why would you do that? I haven’t told Henry!”

  “Then tell him, Meg! They won’t, but you should.” He took one hand off the wheel and scrubbed it down his face in frustration. “If he means as much to you as I think he does, he should know this part of you.”

  He looked at me and nodded, trying to get me to agree. “Right?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Anyway,” he said, his voice softer. “I needed to talk about it. They’re parents, too, for God’s sake. They understood. They wanted to help me.” He was disappointed that I hadn’t understood why he needed to talk to the Whitmires. We had always understood one another.

  I stared out the passenger window, unable to look at him. I knew he was hurting. I was being unfair. But they were mine.
The Whitmires were mine.

  “I’ll tell him,” I said.

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  FROM: Meg Kavanagh

  TO: Mom

  Do you remember when Wyatt attacked Jackson Dyer? I was ten and I was walking from the bus stop to our house. Jackson had hidden in a bush and he was pelting me with tiny rocks. I was so humiliated and I couldn’t figure out what I’d done to make him hate me. I didn’t know what to do, so I just pretended I didn’t feel the rocks and I kept walking. And then I heard a THUNK and a GASP and the rocks stopped. I didn’t dare look back, but I did worry that something horrible had eaten Jackson.

  When I got to our house, I peeked back to the bush where he’d been and I saw Wyatt. He was holding Jackson on the ground with one knee on his chest, while he pounded him with his fist. Wyatt had been watching from the porch and he’d seen the whole thing. He ran around Jackson’s house, came up on him from behind, and tackled him in the grass.

  I knew, from the time I could think my own thoughts, that Wyatt was going to look out for me. He was going to make sure I grew up without being messed with.

  I miss him, too, Mom.

  I know you’re doing the best you can and I want you to know that I can be patient and I will be here waiting no matter how long it takes. I just want you to come back to us. We should be together.

  I know that I can do okay if no one talks to me about it. That’s why I haven’t told anyone here about Wyatt. That’s not wrong. It’s called survival. You’re back where everyone knows. You can’t think straight there.

  Aunt Catherine calls to let us know how you’re doing. But I really just want to hear from you. I don’t suppose you feel the same.

  Meg

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I stood at the door of my closet with dripping wet hair surveying my clothes for a long time. Dad and I had made plans to eat lunch at the hotel and I needed to look presentable for his co-workers. I finally chose a short black skirt, a gray tunic that tied around my waist, and black boots. I dried my hair and joined Dad in the living room, trying to quell my nerves.

  Thanksgiving was hard without Wyatt. It was even harder without Mom.

  My cell phone rang with Aunt Catherine’s ring tone—a cheesy version of Harvard’s fight song—and Dad and I glanced at each other as I answered.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Meggie.” Usually Aunt Catherine could be counted on for happy, joy, cheerful stuff. She sounded sad, though.

  “Everything okay?” I said.

  “No…yes…,” she said. “We’re waiting for your mom to join us for dinner. I haven’t laid eyes on her in a few days. We’ve just talked by phone a couple of times.”

  “And you’re worried.”

  “I guess that’s my new normal.” In the background, I heard Audrey and Ana Kate asking her questions. She mumbled something to them and then closed a door. Her voice lowered to a whisper and she talked fast, probably to fit in dark details before the girls returned. “As far as I know, she’s okay. But she’s been sleeping a lot. I go check on her and it doesn’t look like she’s moved around much. Or eaten much. These are the signs, you know, of something.”

  “I know,” I said. “Are you sure she’s coming today? We’ve been trying to call, too, but she doesn’t answer.”

  “Well, she promised the girls and she doesn’t like to disappoint them.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s made me a few promises, too.” I shouldn’t have said it out loud.

  “I know.”

  I felt so guilty that Catherine had been forced into the role of caretaker. That’s not what we meant to happen. She had two small children of her own, a job, and a husband with the brutal work schedule of a neurosurgeon. I guess we assumed Mom would get into a routine, meet with her therapist, paint, and attend board meetings at the museum. We were wrong.

  “Aunt Catherine, we can come. We’ll fly out today so you don’t have to deal with this.” I glanced at Dad, who’d hung his head as he listened. His shallow breathing barely moved his shoulders up and down.

  “No, Meg,” Catherine said. “She’s made it clear in no uncertain terms that she can’t be in the same room as your dad right now, although, for the life of me, I cannot understand that. He’s always put her first in everything. Even in grief.” Catherine mumbled something, then said, “Like your dad wasn’t grieving, too. I mean, come on.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “She’s not in any shape to see you either. Let’s give it a couple more weeks. Maybe things will improve by Christmas and you can stay here while you’re out of school. The girls would love to see you.”

  I didn’t want to think about Christmas. I was angry, but I missed my mom. I loved being here with Henry, but I felt sick. Dad looked a little green, too.

  “We’ll come for Christmas, Aunt Catherine,” I said. “Tell the girls to get ready to be tickled.”

  “Okay, Meg. Listen, I know you have to be tougher than you want to be. This is an untenable situation and I want you to be prepared for what you might be facing.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, willing her not to say things are going to get worse or that things may never be better than they are right now. I covered the microphone on my phone and whispered to Dad, “Maybe you should handle this.” He shook his head and said, “Catherine called me earlier to tell me the same things.”

  Catherine said something calmly to her girls and then spoke urgently to me. “Meg, I worry sometimes that your mom is behaving more and more like Leslie. If she continues to refuse help, we’re going to have to do something drastic. You understand that, don’t you? Some people would say we should’ve done drastic months ago. But your dad feels, and I agree, that Adele is capable of improvement if she’ll just comply.”

  The mention of their sister’s name made my heart pound. Could my mom ever feel so hopeless as to sit down and stop breathing?

  Aunt Catherine probably sensed that she’d gone too far. It happened with us a lot. She’s only twelve years older than me. She backtracked.

  “Meg…she’s not like Leslie. Not really. She’s just grieving the loss of a child and that’s nothing to belittle or pigeonhole or compare. David has talked to his colleagues and they all agree that this isn’t unprecedented.”

  “It’s not fair, is it, for any of us?” I whispered. “You have a life, too.”

  “There’s nothing fair about loss and grief. We all loved Wyatt.”

  “Yes,” I said. “When she gets there today, please tell her that I love her and that Dad, well, he’s just really lonely for her.” Dad raised his head and watched me. I wanted to say things that would affect my mom if she knew. And he’d spilled my secrets so I’d spill his. “Tell her that he’s reading her books that were by the bed and he’s sleeping with a picture of her on her pillow.”

  Dad rubbed his chin and stared at the table. He didn’t seem surprised that I knew, or angry that I’d told. Just thoughtful.

  “That Jack,” Catherine said. “He’s always been so crazy about her.”

  “We’ll be there for Christmas,” I said. “We’ll take it from there. She’s had long enough.”

  She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Okay, Meg. Email me your itinerary and we’ll be there to get you. It’ll be good to see your sweet face.”

  We hung up and I felt the crushing pain that still threatened my very existence sometimes. I walked back to my room and lay down on the floor, breathing deeply until my heart stopped pounding and my body stopped aching for what I couldn’t have.

  I lay perfectly still and pretended I was on an escalator, moving slowly downward, taking me somewhere I really loved to be. It never reached the place, which for me was on a horse with Henry sometimes, and sometimes it was on the beach with Wyatt, but the anticipation was supposed to clear your head and leave you with an expectation of happiness.

  When I felt calm enough, I found Dad and we drove to the hotel, where people paid a
fortune to eat Thanksgiving lunch with strangers. A steady stream of employees came by to talk to Dad while we ate. I think it kept his mind off his broken heart for a little while. At some point, a screen dropped down along the back wall showing a college football game.

  Men dragged their chairs over to form theater seating around the television. It appeared we were here for the duration, because Dad busied himself helping arrange things, then dropped into a seat to watch the game. I kind of thought this might happen, so I’d brought a book.

  I headed out to the lobby and found a soft chair with an ottoman right next to the huge fireplace. Henry called from Boulder just as I got comfortable. I steadied my voice and answered. “Henry Whitmire.”

  “Meg Kavanagh. Happy Thanksgiving, beautiful.”

  “You, too.”

  “I know you’re missing your mom.” His voice was like medicine.

  “I am,” I said. “Where are you?”

  “We’re at Amelia’s apartment. She and Mom and Leah are squeezed into an eight-by-four-foot kitchen trying to cook the whole Thanksgiving meal without killing each other.”

  I laughed quietly. “What’d you do last night?”

  “Amelia took me to the bonfire on campus last night and that was pretty cool. We’ll go to the game tonight.”

  “Did you meet pretty college girls last night?”

  He chuckled. “Meg, you are seriously cute when you’re jealous. There’s nobody prettier than you.”

  “You checked, though, didn’t you, just to make sure?”

  “Nope. Didn’t need to. I miss you, Pittsburgh.”

  “Be safe, okay, Henry?”

  “I will. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  In the hotel lobby, families stopped by the fire to talk and hug goodbye. Little kids ran around, playing chase, and tormenting their parents. The whole scene looked and sounded like a Hallmark movie.

  I closed my eyes and listened to them talk, pretending it was our family. The woman who snuggled under her husband’s shoulder with her feet up on the coffee table was my mom. The husband who stared at her like he didn’t see anyone else was my dad. We’d gone back in time. For a while, we could believe that this was the way it would always be.