by Raye Wagner
A smile pulled at the corners of her soul when Mr. Stanley started the riddle. He had misunderstood her question. Distracted by the puzzle, though, she forgot about everything else.
As she leaned against the meat case, Mr. Stanley went back to work, helping customers, packaging meat, and cleaning his area.
After more than a half an hour, he cleared his throat. “I know what it’s like to try and sort out a riddle, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take this much time.”
He was pleased that he’d stumped her; she could hear it.
“I hate to put you on the spot, but I’m going home a bit early today. Do you want to come by tomorrow and give me the answer?”
“Sure,” she said, feeling a bit uplifted.
“Hang on a second.” He stepped through the double doors, and returned with a large parcel, her name written across the top.
Hope accepted it with a smile. “Thanks, Mr. Stanley.” With a parting wave, she turned to leave. The riddle went to the back of her mind as she thought about dinner. She stopped in the produce section to get vegetables to roast with the meat. She stocked up on apples, bananas, grapes, and when she smelled the strawberries, she grabbed a container of them as well. She needed eggs, milk, and bread.
Halfway through the checkout process, she remembered.
“I’m so sorry.” Her skin flushed as she looked at the clerk. “I… I don’t have my car. Would you mind if I pay now and then run home and get it? I’ll only be about fifteen minutes. I could just leave the cart right up front here?”
The matronly clerk merely nodded. “Sure, honey. We’ll bag it, and you can pick it up when you get back.”
She thanked the woman and gazed out the window, calculating how quickly she could run home. Then she saw Athan approaching. Her heart jumped.
“Hey.” He stood at the end of the lane blocking her exit. “Didn’t you walk to school? I didn’t see your car outside, and”—he stared at the bags being piled back into the cart—“that’s a lot of groceries.”
She delivered a tight smile, “I’m going to run home and grab my car right now.” She swiped her credit card and waited for the transaction to process.
“Um.” he paused for just a second. “Can’t I give you a ride?”
The clerk grinned at them. “That’s perfect timing, huh?”
“Uh, sure,” she stuttered. “That would be very . . . great.”
As she signed the receipt, Athan grabbed the cart. He waited for her to finish, and then they walked out to his truck in silence. He unlocked the doors with a button on his key ring, opened the passenger side for her, and then started to load the groceries in the back.
“Go ahead, climb in.” He nodded at the passenger door.
So she did. Once inside, she was surprised by the luxuriousness of the truck. The cream leather was soft, and the windows tinted. There were several buttons and dials, as well as a large screen on the dashboard. She could smell the newness of it. She took a deep breath, and something rich and sharp tickled her senses.
While Athan stuck the last two bags in the back, Hope tried to place the scent. Something warm but familiar. She took another deep breath, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
He moved smoothly, almost gracefully, like a martial artist, spatially aware of how he fit in the world. He pushed the cart, and it glided through the lot, finding its way into the rack. Excellent aim.
When he climbed up into the vehicle, she realized what the scent in the car was. His scent. With the door closed, she was overwhelmed. Leather, mossy woods, and a hint of citrus. She suppressed a smile.
Athan started the truck, and a strange blend of pipe and drum sounds emanated from the speakers.
She turned, her eyebrows drawn down in question.
“I know. I know.” He turned it down. “My dad loves all types of music, so I got to hear lots of different styles growing up. I usually only listen to this when I’m alone; not many people appreciate it.” He reached for the dial.
“No.” Her hand went out to stop him, but she withdrew before touching him. “Don’t change it. It’s different, but kind of . . . I like it.”
He pulled up to the curb outside her house and turned the engine off. Before she was able to push the door open, he was there, pulling it open for her. He extended his hand, and she took it.
His skin was warm, the tips of his fingers calloused. The contact filled her with fluttering discomfort. She released his hand as soon as her feet touched the ground.
He said nothing, but turned and reached into the bed of the truck, pulling out two bags of groceries.
She grabbed one from him, and their hands brushed. Her breath caught, and her heart somersaulted in her chest. Hope managed a mumbled thanks but couldn’t look at him.
While she unlocked the door, he set two bags on the porch and went back to the truck to get the others. She deposited her school bag and the groceries on the kitchen table, and was on her way back out when Athan passed her. She grabbed the last two bags off the porch and went back inside. When she walked in, she noticed him looking around in awe, two bags sitting on the floor at his feet.
She looked around at her home. “What?”
“Nothing,” he replied, but he continued to study the small interior.
“Nothing?”
“Yeah. There’s nothing here. No pictures, no art, nothing . . . personal.” He stopped talking and examined her. “It’s like no one really lives here.” He stepped closer.
She stepped back, and, for the first time, saw her house through another’s eyes. She’d never thought of her home as a reflection of her. A home was just functional, just temporary.
Her palms itched. “Um, thanks for helping me. I’d better get started on putting things away . . .” She trailed off hoping he would take the hint and leave.
She took two steps toward the kitchen, the two bags still in hand.
“Sure, no problem.” He grabbed the bags off the floor and started to follow her.
“No,” she protested, “I got this.”
“I don’t mind. It’s not like I have someplace I need to be.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “But look, before I let you help me, I get to ask you a few questions.” She planted her feet and crossed her arms.
He set the bags down again. “Shoot.”
“Are you stalking me?” Her eyes narrowed.
“Stalking you?” His eyebrows went up, and he crossed his arms mimicking her pose. “Seriously?”
The words sounded ridiculous, she knew it, but it wasn’t about how rational it sounded. “You’re just always . . . around.”
“Hope.” He laughed. “It’s not exactly a big city. Besides, is it so hard to believe that I’m interested in you?”
She swallowed. “I thought I made it clear that I’m not. Interested, I mean. In friends, or dating.”
“But why not?” He took a step toward her, and his voice softened. “Will you just . . . let me be your friend?”
“I’m not looking for friends.”
“Well, I am.”
Hope snorted. “I’ve seen your parade of friendships over the last week.” She grimaced. “I’m not interested in cuddling in the library, or meeting you at my locker.”
He chuckled. “That is not what I meant. Besides, not one of those girls was looking for friendship.” He tipped his head at her. “For being so uninterested, you sure notice a lot.”
“Noticing and caring are hardly the same thing.”
“Hope,” Athan countered softly, almost pleadingly, “if I promise not to hit on you, or be creepy and weird . . .” He paused for a moment. “Well, I won’t be creepy or weird again.” He grinned. “Please. Can we try to be friends?”
“It’s just . . .” Fissures and cracks in mortar, bricks crumbling. “We can try, I guess.” The doubt was still there in her voice and in her heart.
“That’s all I’m asking for.” His expression brightened. “Now friend, why don’t you let
me help you put away your groceries?”
The question was rhetorical as he was past her and into the kitchen before she had a chance to come up with a response.
They spent the first afternoon of their friendship sitting at her kitchen table doing homework. Shortly before six, Athan stood up, and with an apology announced that it was time for him to go.
“I’ll see you at school Monday. Unless you want some company running tonight?”
“I ran this morning.”
He nodded. “Ok.” He stood at the door looking at her.
“What?”
“Just, try not to be weird next week, okay?”
Her guard went up. “What do you mean? Are you being condescending?”
“I’m just saying, at school. I’ll probably talk to you. So, don’t be hostile, okay?”
She snorted. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be nice. Wouldn’t want to break your heart.” It was at this exact moment that Hope knew the answer to Mr. Stanley’s riddle. “Oh,” she exclaimed.
“What? What is it?” he asked.
“Umm, nothing. A riddle . . . Mr. Stanley, the butcher, gave me earlier. I . . . I just got the answer.” Her face flushed.
Athan stood, eyes wide, waiting. “Well? Tell me.”
Awkwardness tinged her cheeks. “All right, but don’t laugh.” She took a deep breath, and recited, “If you break me, I do not stop working. If you touch me, I may be snared. If you lose me, nothing will matter. What am I?”
After a minute, he shrugged. “I suck at riddles. What is it?”
Flushing a deep red, she looked away and whispered, “One’s heart.”
“Clever.” With a smile and a wink, he left, closing the door behind him.
Suddenly, her home seemed very empty.
IT WAS NOT that she was depressed, although maybe there was some of that. It was more than that. All her life, she’d listened to her mother and done what she was told. And her mother was probably right. Wasn’t what happened in Bellevue the perfect example of why forming attachments was destructive? And yet, part of her refused to believe it. Part of her wanted, so badly, to believe it could be different. It would be different here.
When her stomach finally protested against spending any more time in bed, Hope meandered to the kitchen in her pajamas. She scrambled eggs with cheese and fried bacon. She rinsed the strawberries, snacking on their juicy sweetness even after her hearty breakfast.
As she walked back to her room to change, her eyes drifted to the spare bedroom. She’d walked past the door countless times, avoiding the memories stored there. The door was ajar, and inside the room were the stacks of boxes that would never unpack themselves. With a deep breath, she affirmed the truth: If she didn’t go through them, no one would. It was time to move forward, even if it was only by inches.
Trepidation fluttered in her chest as she pushed open the door. The darkness smelled stale and faintly of ash. She flipped the light switch, and artificial light flooded the room. Brown moving boxes covered the beige carpet, some stacked two or three high. Except for the one that had contained the knives and book, they were all still sealed with packing tape.
She cleared some space in the center and grabbed the nearest box. She ripped the tape off and opened the flaps to find stacks of clothes, the pungent smell of smoke clinging to the fabric. Her fingers sank into a thick sweater, her mother’s sweater, though it no longer carried her scent. She set the garment to the side and pulled out a pair of jeans. She patted the pockets and folded the pants. Shoving her emotions aside, she grabbed an entire stack of clothes from the box.
After unpacking and then repacking several boxes, she got a marker and tape, resealed them, and wrote For Donation on the side. Someone would appreciate all this stuff. As the number of boxes in the bedroom dwindled, the ones marked For Donation in the hallway grew. When she came across something significant, like the photo album of her mom and dad, she set it aside. That would require more . . . emotional space.
In the end, there was only one box that held things she wasn’t willing to part with; the rest she moved to the living room.
She stood at the doorway, appraising the products of her labor. The second bedroom was almost completely empty, the box in the corner looking forlorn and lonely. With a sigh, she closed the door behind her.
Her stomach gave a rumble of neglect, and she glanced at the clock. Just after ten! Almost eleven hours—whoa! No wonder she was hungry. She crossed into the kitchen and grabbed a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. The rich smell of ground peanuts made her mouth water, and she licked a spoonful of the sticky spread and sucked it from the roof of her mouth. The salty sweetness tasted like nirvana.
After finishing her makeshift meal, she stepped back into the living room. Accomplishment and pride thrummed in her veins.
Baby steps indeed.
Ten days before the change
“WHERE WERE YOU last night?” Haley asked. “I thought you said you would come.”
“I never said that.” Hope lay on her bed, her feet up on the wall. “You said you wanted me to come, but I never agreed.”
It was Sunday afternoon. Hope had spent the day cleaning house, grocery shopping, and washing her car. All the boxes from yesterday were still stacked in the living room. She’d need to take them into Yakima or the Dalles next week, but she was done being responsible.
“Fine. But you missed out. Krista—”
“Want to go see a movie? Or go shopping?” She didn’t really care what happened with Krista. And right now, she just wanted to get out.
“Oh, did you see the new Pirates is out? I love David Arturo.” Haley sighed. “He is so hot.”
“Okay. Do you want me to come get you?”
“No, I’ll come get you. Give me a few minutes to tell my dad, then I’ll head over.”
Hope changed into a hoodie and jeans and grabbed her debit card. The phone rang.
“Hey, what’s up?” Hope answered.
“Who is this?” A male voice asked.
“Ex . . . excuse me?” Her grip tightened on the phone. “Who is this?”
“I found this phone, and was wondering if you could help me locate the owner. What’s your name?” The voice rushed through the words.
Alarms went off. Hope looked at the screen. It was Priska’s number. Her pulse thrummed.
“Hello? Hello?” He sounded impatient.
Panic coursed through her. “You… must have the wrong number.” She hit End. Someone had Priska’s phone! And her phone number! Oh…oh gods!
“Hope?” Haley pounded on the door.
Hope pulled the door open and tried to force a smile. “Hey . . .”
Haley face furrowed. “What took you so long?”
“Uhh, I was . . . on the phone.” Her voice went up as if asking a question.
“Oh.” Haley frowned. “You okay? You look . . . stressed.” She stepped in and looked around the room. “What’s up with the boxes?”
Hope took a deep breath. “Just cleaning out some stuff.” She shook her head. “I’m fine. Let’s go.” Because what could she say?
“SO, YOU CUT me off, earlier…” Haley said with raised brows. “But I’m going to make you hear this.”
Hope braced herself. What more could go wrong?
“Yesterday at the river . . . Athan was talking about you.”
Hope sat up. “What?”
“I knew it.” Haley smiled. “You’re all, ‘whatever, I hate him’ but really . . .” She nodded. “Yeah. I knew it.”
“No. Friday he gave me a ride home from the grocery store. He asked if we could be friends, I said yes. That’s it.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, maybe that’s it on your side. But I don’t think that’s all he wants.”
Hope shook her head. “No, he just asked about being friends. Besides, I saw him with Krista Friday. They were practically kissing.”
“Oh, Krista wants him all right. She was all over him, but I think he’s into you.”
/> Great. That was all she needed. More wrath from the she-demon. “Maybe I should just tell him I changed my mind. Maybe I don’t want to be friends.”
They pulled into the parking lot of the theater.
“No. Don’t do that. Tristan was saying that we could go do something together. The four of us. It would be so cool. Please?” Haley batted her lashes.
Hope laughed. “Fine. But if Athan hits on me, you totally owe me.”
Haley snorted. “You mean if he doesn’t hit on you . . .”
They bought their tickets and went in.
“I DON’T THINK I’ll ever look at pirates the same after those movies. Gods, I would love to be kidnapped by David Arturo. Wouldn’t you?”
Hope frowned. “That’s sick.”
“What?” Haley turned to look at her. “Really?”
“There is nothing sexy about being kidnapped. There’s like a whole syndrome about people that fall in love with their captors.” She thought of Priska being tortured somewhere by demigods. “Seriously, that’s messed up.”
Haley rolled her eyes. “I’m not serious. Well, I am about the David Arturo part, but not pirates. I mean . . . No one really wants to get kidnapped.”
Hope fiddled with her phone, turning it over and over in her hands. Five missed calls. All from Priska’s number. Five.
“Can I ask you something?” Hope didn’t know what to do. And she didn’t have anyone else to turn to . . .
“Sure. As long as you aren’t going to bash on David Arturo.”
Hope smiled. “No. It’s just . . . My aunt . . . disappeared a month ago.”
“What?” Haley gasped. “Was she kidnapped!?”
Hope’s eyes welled, and she wiped away the tears before they could fall. “I think so. Can . . . can you keep a secret?”
“I’m such an idiot.” Haley face-palmed. “Of course. You can tell me anything.”
Hope gave an edited history of her mother dying in a fire, her aunt’s recent disappearance, and the strange phone call. “I don’t know that they’re all related, but . . . What if they are?”
