Awakening

by Jacqueline Brown

  The trees next to this trail were old and large. I placed my hand on one the trail wound around, its bark smooth from human touch. Loose rocks and roots caused me to stumble. So different from the beach trail, this felt more like hiking than walking. In the distance, the little pond was scarcely visible. When it rained, this spring-fed pond swelled, but the weather had been dry and the pond was low.

  A thin trail wandered off this main trail, down to the wide, flat boulder jutting over the closest edge of the pond. It acted as a natural bench, allowing you to dangle your toes into the water. I hadn’t been down there since before Luca arrived. During the summer, that pond was teeming with mosquitos. If it weren’t for Luca, now would be the time of year to visit it and watch the frogs jump and swim—but not with Luca so near.

  After a few more minutes, Sam and Jason’s house became visible. A tiny house, compared to ours. Most houses were, I supposed. I had been inside once since Luca came to my land. It was the first day he arrived, and though he’d been there only a few hours, everything about the place had already seemed different. Not necessarily a bad different, simply different.

  The house sat in a small clearing. Soft grasses and clovers flourished around the structure, as if excited to have a place of bright sun in the middle of a forest. Past the house was the dirt road that served as their driveway. Even here, a strip of grass sprouted between the tire tracks.

  Jackson and I stepped onto the porch. It was badly in need of paint. Despite this, the wood beneath was solid.

  I knocked on the door, stood back, and waited for Sam. Nothing happened. I knocked again, this time louder.

  I poked my head around to the side of the house. The rusty Jeep she and Jason shared was missing. I knocked a third time, waited for a moment, and set the basket on the peeling wood of the porch. My foot reached the first step when the door opened behind me. I turned.

  Luca was there, soaking wet, in a pair of gym shorts and nothing else. His eyes grew wide when he saw me. He immediately held up a towel in a futile attempt to cover his chest. Water dripped from his curly black hair, which looked almost the same wet as it did dry.

  I didn’t want to see him or talk to him. I had brought Sam the eggs she asked for; my job was done. I turned to go.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I thought my aunt or uncle forgot their key or something. … They keep telling me I don’t need to lock the door, … b-but I can’t leave a door unlocked,” he said.

  He was as uncomfortable being around me as I was being around him.

  “Sam texted Gigi and asked for eggs, so I brought them over,” I said, gesturing to the basket near his feet.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, understanding registering on his face. “Then she realized she was out of flour and sugar too, so they went to the store, and I got in the shower.”

  “Okay. You may as well keep the eggs. We have plenty. Come on, Jackson,” I said as I left the porch and started onto the nearby trail.

  “Wait,” he called.

  His raised voice startled me. Even Jackson turned to face him.

  “I mean, thank you for the eggs.” His voice sounded calmer as he moved out of the doorway and asked, “Are you going home?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “By yourself?” he asked with concern.

  “It’s not far.” I said the words slowly, not hiding how ridiculous his question was.

  “Yeah, no.” He shook his head. “I just … can you wait a second … for me to grab a shirt?” He stumbled over his words and then disappeared into his house before I could answer.

  I looked down at Jackson. His head was turned quizzically up to me as if to say “That man is strange, right?”

  I knelt and rubbed his ears. “Yes,” I whispered, “he is strange.”

  A few moments later Luca practically ran out of the door, sliding on flip-flops as he tripped forward. When he realized I hadn’t moved, he slowed and shut the door.

  “Ready?” he asked, as if I had been the one making him wait.

  I moved forward along the path. He was beside me and Jackson in front of us.

  “It’s nice of you to offer to walk me back, but I’m very capable of walking through my backyard by myself,” I said, wishing Luca was not beside me.

  He laughed an uncomfortable laugh. “Of course you are,” he said, downplaying the strangeness of his behavior.

  Walking me home would be one thing if we were friends or had any sort of relationship, but we weren’t and we didn’t.

  “So why are you walking me through my backyard?” I asked, deciding not to let it go.

  “You have a really big backyard,” he said.

  “Yes,” I replied, “and I have yet to get lost in it.”

  “I wasn’t worried about you getting lost,” he said.

  “Then what were you worried about?”

  “Nothing. What makes you think I was worried?” he asked, keeping his voice light as his eyes searched the trees around us.

  What was he trying to see?

  We reached the spot where the trail split.

  “Thanks,” I said, ready for him to leave. “I can make it from here.”

  He continued forward. “It’s a nice walk.”

  “Is that why you stare at my house every night? You enjoy the walk?” I hadn’t meant to say that. I hadn’t meant to tell him I saw him there at night by the chicken coop. Nevertheless, it was the truth and the truth should be spoken.

  He stopped. I continued forward a few more steps and then turned to face him, feeling bad, though I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t the one who stared at his windows every night.

  “I didn’t realize anyone saw me,” he said, his voice embarrassed as he gazed at the ground.

  “You aren’t invisible,” I said harshly.

  His face became childlike. He looked like he might cry.

  “I don’t think anyone else has noticed,” I added. Why couldn’t I be mean to this guy—this man who gawked at my windows?

  “You didn’t tell your dad?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Why not?” he asked, his hands in his pockets, his eyes soft and timid.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  He exhaled in relief. “Thank you for not telling him. He’d think I’m some sort of creep who stares at your windows.”

  “Aren’t you?” I said, arms crossed, voice angry.

  “I’m not watching your windows,” he said softly.

  “Then what are you doing?” I said, holding my position.

  His gaze met mine. His eyes were beautiful, the color of amber, but they were more than beautiful. They were thoughtful and honest, filled with sorrow and pain and a longing for something. I stepped toward him … it was like a reflex, my body wanting to be closer to the goodness I felt in him.

  “There’s a part of me that wants to tell you,” he said, stretching his chin up toward the bright sun, his neck long and smooth.

  When he lowered his eyes back to mine, some of the sorrow was gone. The goodness remained.

  “I’m listening,” I said, forcing my voice to sound tough, far tougher than I felt.

  “I can’t,” he said, apologizing with his tone.

  “Why not?” My frustration returned. If he wasn’t watching my sisters and me, then why couldn’t he tell me the truth?

  “It’s complicated,” he said cryptically.

  “It would help me not think you’re a creep,” I said in honesty.

  He cleared his throat. “It’s probably better if you believe I’m a creep.”

  The leaves blew around my feet as the wind picked up, gliding down from my house to the trail we stood on. He shivered. Even in the sun, he was cold. Winter would not be easy for him.

  He turned. I didn’t want him to leave. I shifted toward him.

  “Wait,” I said.

  He looked at me expectantly, like I had something to say. I didn’t. My mind was blank. All I could think was I didn’t want him to leave.

&nbs
p; “Siena,” he said softly, “don’t go out after dusk.”

  He didn’t wait for me to answer or even understand his words. He turned and began a slow pace toward his house.

  Six

  I stood, unmoving, until he disappeared into the depths of the trail.

  When I reached my yard, I stopped where Luca stood every night. I’d never realized it, but there were only a few windows on this side of the house, at least for rooms we used. On the second floor there were the windows in my room and those in two guest rooms that never held guests. On the first floor the stone wall jutted out a bit, creating a little corner where there was a window on both sides; both were in my father’s office and one was permanently covered by a bookcase. The other had drapes he sometimes opened during the day and always closed at night. The only other window on this side of the house was for a closet. There were no drapes or shutters to cover it. Still, there was nothing in the closet worth watching and the closet door was always closed. If Luca moved farther up the hill, he could see part of our kitchen windows … but that was never where I saw him standing. And we pretty much always closed those blinds at night. Unless Luca was watching our vacuum cleaner, there was literally nothing other than a stone wall and partially dead grass to look at.

  I climbed the hill to my house. The grass, or, really, weeds around me were kept short, thanks to my grandmother. Small wild strawberries grew throughout the lawn. Most were eaten by the chickens or occasionally by Jackson. One remained. I knelt. This strawberry had survived and was large enough for me to eat and actually taste its sweetness. I lifted it to my lips. My skirt became wet at the knees from the dew-soaked grass as I stared at my house. There was still nothing to see except stone. Did that change in the dark? Why did Luca say not to go out after dusk?

  The kitchen door opened.

  “What are you doing?” Gigi said while wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

  I stood. “Eating a strawberry,” I said, and threw the stem into the yard.

  “I tried to catch you, but you were already down the trail,” Gigi said, holding the door open for me to enter. “Sam texted and said she was going to the store.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It was good to take a walk. I told Luca to keep the eggs. We have plenty.”

  “Yes, we do,” Gigi said, entering the kitchen behind me.

  “He walked me back,” I said.

  “That was nice of him,” Gigi said.

  “It was strange.” I sat at the kitchen table. No one else was around. “It was like he was trying to protect me from something.”

  “Protect you?” Gigi’s face took on a quizzical expression.

  I nodded. “And he said not to go out after dusk.”

  Now she appeared confused, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Sam said he was having a hard time with his mom dying so suddenly,” she said, sitting across from me. “Maybe he’s afraid something bad will happen to him or those around him.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “It was still really strange.”

  “Yes,” Gigi said, “that is very odd. He’s not a bad child, though.”

  “He isn’t a child at all,” I said. “He’s a year older than me, which makes him a man.”

  “When you’re almost eighty, eighteen is very much a child. Though I understand what you mean. He doesn’t strike me as the deeply troubled young man your dad believes him to be, but he’s struggling, that much is clear.”

  An image of the inn flashed through my mind. “It must be connected,” I said aloud, to myself.

  “What must be?” Gigi said.

  I took a paper napkin from the stack and folded it absently. “The inn,” I finally answered. “The inn has something to do with Luca’s fear.”

  Gigi’s expression changed, becoming unreadable. “What makes you think that?”

  “Nothing,” I said, convinced I was correct. “Just a hunch.”

  “Did he say anything more about the inn?” she asked cautiously.

  “No,” I answered, now certain I was right.

  The oven timer beeped, and my sisters and father all appeared, changed out of the clothes they’d worn to church.

  Gigi stood, going to the oven. The smell of roasted chicken and potatoes wafted through the air.

  It was time for lunch, a time not to discuss Luca and at least pretend I wasn’t thinking about him. However, that’s all I was doing, pretending.

  As I ate, the lunch conversation drifted around me. I wasn’t paying attention. I was thinking of Luca, of the loneliness I sensed in him and how much I understood that feeling. He’d been through so much. Losing his mom. Leaving everything and everyone behind and moving to Maine.

  My mom’s murder almost destroyed each of us. It’s why I pulled away from everyone and why Lisieux never left her books. We were both scared of life. I coped by shutting down and she coped by shutting off.

  Avi was across the table, laughing, her mouth open, chewed food about to fall to her plate. I remembered myself at her age, before our mom died. I was full of life and adventure, but not as unruly as Avi. Mom never would’ve tolerated that. Her death affected each of her daughters. Two of us feared life and the third had no fear. My dad and Gigi tried to subdue Avi; though, at times I thought they liked her being as extreme as she was. Without her vibrant spirit, life would be so dark, so very dreary. I believed my father saw in her the spirit of all his children, the spirit taken from his older two and now overflowing in the youngest.

  On the kitchen counter, my phone buzzed, something it never did. I stood and went to it, aware the others were watching me.

  The screen lit up. Hi Siena, This is Thomas. Can I come over tomorrow afternoon? We could go on a picnic. lmk

  “What is it?” Avi said, her mouth still full of food.

  “Thomas,” I answered. “He wants to come over tomorrow. He suggested a picnic.”

  “Siena and Thomas, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Avi trilled.

  “Avila, that’s enough,” Dad said. “Don’t tease your sister.”

  “If I don’t tease her, I can’t tease anyone,” Avi whined. “Lisieux never does anything interesting.”

  “Who’s Thomas?” Lisieux said with a blank expression.

  “From church,” Dad said.

  Still, she stared blankly. She was probably smarter than all of us combined, but she was also completely oblivious.

  “The guy I was talking to after Mass today. You’ve known him since you were born,” I said.

  “Oh, that Thomas,” she said, taking a drink of water. “He’s so ….” She raised her hand, spread out her fingers and rocked her hand back and forth.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “Ish,” she said. “He’s ish.”

  “Ish?” Dad repeated in a questioning tone.

  “You know, like decentish, not really decent, not really indecent. Just sort of ish.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” Dad said.

  Clearly he thought more of Thomas than Lisieux did.

  “The other girls at church think he’s decent—more than decent,” I mumbled, looking down at my phone.

  After she casually swallowed a bite of food, Lisieux said, “I’m sure they do.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, frustrated with Lisieux and this entire conversation. What business was it of anyone if Thomas wanted to come over?

  “It means the vast majority of people are content with mediocrity, and Thomas is mediocre, at best,” she said with no emotion.

  This conversation meant as little to her as Thomas did.

  “Lisieux, that’s harsh,” Dad said.

  “It may be harsh, but it’s true,” Lisieux said.

  “I agree it is true most people are content with where they are in life,” Dad said, pensively.

  “That’s called mediocrity,” Lisieux said, her back straight as she stared at him.

  “That doesn’t mean Thomas is mediocre,” I said.

  “No, cert
ainly not,” Dad said. “Besides, being content is a good thing, not a bad thing.”

  “Being content while striving to better yourself is a good thing,” Lisieux said. “Being content with the version of yourself you are now and having no desire to improve is mediocrity, or ish, as I like to call it.”

  Her baggy lounge clothes and mismatched fluffy slippers combined with the messy hair made it seem impossible such words of wisdom came from her. That’s how she was: wise, but completely uninterested in how others perceived her. The combination made the wisdom all the more startling.

  Gigi took a sip of water. She was noticeably silent on the topic of Thomas, something I decided I was grateful for.

  My father took a sip of his coffee, obviously deciding as I had, that there was no use in arguing with Lisieux and no reason to try.

  “Why don’t your slippers match?” I asked her, already sure of the answer.

  She shrugged. “These are the two I found.” She returned to the food in front of her.

  Dad’s phone dinged; he’d received a text. He ignored it and leaned back in his chair. “Thomas is better than decent and he goes to our church, which is nice. If you want him to visit, it’s fine with me, but if you don’t want him to visit, that’s fine too.”

  “Ugh,” Avi said, flopping her head back. “It’s so boring around here. Let him come over. What else are you going to do?”

  Gigi spoke up. “Avila, boredom is not a good reason for spending time with a young man,” she said sternly.

  “It is for me,” Avi responded, taking a bite of potato. A part of it fell from the side of her mouth, onto her plate.

  Gigi looked at my father with a condemning I-told-you-so expression.

  Dad moved his focus from his mom.

  I slid my thumb across the glass of my phone, Luca’s message still on the screen. I opened it and responded. What time?

  He answered immediately: I get out of school at 1 so 1:30?

  I typed: Perfect. Do you remember how to get to my house?

  LOL, of course. See you then. I’ll bring the food.

  “He’s coming around one thirty tomorrow,” I said, and set the phone back on the counter, where it lived most of the time.