Miracle

by Pam Tribble

  ~~***~~

  One day, a few weeks into the school year, Lyra walked into Algebra to find Jonah sitting at her desk. She paused briefly, then continued down the aisle. She stopped in front of him and opened her mouth to ask him if he realized he was in the wrong seat when Ms. Hammons called out to her. “Lyra, dear, I asked Jonah to change seats with you. I noticed you have to lean around him to see the board. He was kind enough to agree.”

  Jonah met her eyes with an innocent look.

  “Fine,” she mumbled, before turning around to take his (her) seat. She didn’t mind leaning around him. She quite enjoyed staring at his back actually, watching him run his fingers through his hair, and surreptitiously inhaling his unique scent. Now she had nothing remotely interesting to look at and was acutely conscious that now he would see her every move and gesture. As if he cared!

  Having the tables turned made her nervous—and clumsy. She dropped her pencil twice and knocked her book off her desk with her elbow in the first five minutes of class. When she bent to pick up her pencil the second time she could have sworn that out of the corner of her eye she saw him smiling.

  What happened when she got to Government that same afternoon, however, unsettled her far more. She arrived before him and was smugly thinking that at least she still had one class in which to indulge her morbid fixation when Mr. Thompson stopped her.

  “Ms. Grant. I hope you don’t mind, but yesterday after class I asked Mr. Forrester to switch seat assignments with you. I couldn’t help but observe that you have trouble seeing around him. He was very happy to do so, of course.”

  Lyra stared at him stunned. Several people came in behind her so she pulled herself together, nodded, and dazedly walked to her (his) desk. When he walked in a minute later, she glared at him suspiciously. He said nothing, but raised an eyebrow and gave her an amused look before taking the seat behind her. She didn’t know how, but she was convinced he had something to do with the change in seating arrangements. It was too much of a coincidence.

  Fuming, she sat ramrod straight in her chair the entire hour. Thankfully, she managed to maintain control of her book and pens during class. As she gathered her things at the end of the period, she could again swear she saw his lips twitching, but mustering all her self-control, she managed to resist looking directly at him.

  Meanwhile, Kyle was becoming a real nuisance. He’d called her several times to ask her out (she’d politely declined), and he’d gotten into the habit of coming to sit beside her at lunch after he ate with his friends. It made it look like they were together. She’d refused to go out with him, but how could she prevent him from coming over to her table?

  “I don’t know why you won’t go out with him,” Aimee exclaimed one day when Lyra complained. “You’re perfect for each other. He’s hot, you’re beautiful. His dad’s a doctor, yours is a lawyer. He’s rich, you’re rich. And you’ve known each other all your lives. Why won’t you go out with him?”

  “Because I’m not remotely interested in him; because all he ever talks about are his moves on the hockey field; and because he stops to look in every mirror he passes,” she hissed, not wanting to be overheard. They were walking through the parking lot after school.

  “You’re too picky,” Aimee called over her shoulder as she veered to the left where Conner was waiting for her.

  Don’t I know it, thought Lyra grimly as she made her way to her own car. My hormones finally kick in, but they only clamor after one person. And he couldn’t care less if I lived on Mars.

  When she got home, Harry met her at the back door, dancing with impatience to go out. “Okay, okay. Just let me put my stuff down and get my boots on,” she told him as she made her way through the kitchen. She noticed a note on the table from her mother and stopped to read it. Her parents were meeting a client for drinks and possibly dinner at the Red Fox Restaurant in Saranac after work. It looked like she was on her own this evening.

  She changed quickly and ran back down the stairs pulling her hair up. Harry followed close on her heels. As soon as she opened the French doors onto the deck, Harry took off like a shot. He disappeared into the woods for a couple of minutes, choosing to take care of his business in privacy. He reappeared, ran back to her barking playfully, and took off again. He wanted her to chase him. She lengthened her strides and followed behind, scolding him playfully to wait up. Lyra breathed in the crisp fragrant air. It felt good to walk off some of the tension that seemed to have been building up all day. Harry led her to a trail that picked up below their property line and wound around, though high above, Mirror Lake.

  Lyra followed the trail for a mile or so, until she arrived at one of her favorite look-out spots. She brushed the leaves off the flat, narrow rock she used as a bench and sat down. She could hear Harry in the underbrush nearby—probably rooting out rabbits and squirrels. She watched the play of light on the surface of the lake. The sun sank lower and lower until it was touching the peak of Whiteface Mountain. Harry had finally tired himself out and was resting at her feet.

  Suddenly, he raised himself into a crouch and started growling deep in his throat. The hair on his nape stood up and he bared his teeth. Lyra heard leaves crunching and twigs snapping behind her. Someone was coming. She turned around and saw Jonah Forrester on the path about 20 yards away. He kept walking toward her, but his eyes were locked on Harry. When he was just a few feet away he stopped. He and Harry looked at each other a long moment. Finally, Harry whined and his ears laid back. He sank to his stomach and crawled forward. Lyra was shocked at Harry’s immediate and uncharacteristic submission. Jonah closed the gap and kneeled down to scratch Harry behind his ears.

  “Magnificent animal,” he said glancing up at Lyra. Lyra closed her mouth with a soft popping sound.

  “Thank you,” she managed.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Harry. Harry P. Grant.”

  “’P’ for Potter?”

  Sheepish, Lyra nodded.

  Jonah’s smile was swift. He chuckled, “I love Harry Potter. Rowling is a genius.”

  He looked like an angel when he smiled, Lyra thought, and grinned back.

  Jonah straightened up and stared down at her with an unreadable expression. “Is this a favorite spot of yours?” he inquired.

  “Yes, it’s a good place. Not many tourists come up this way. It’s quiet and peaceful.”

  He nodded, looking out over the lake. After a minute he asked, “Mind if I sit down?”

  Lyra started at the question. She’d been staring up at him lost in the wonder of his unexpected appearance and uncharacteristic sociability. “No, no, not at all.” She scooted over to make room for him.

  He sat down and gazed back out over the lake. Harry came and put his head on Jonah’s knee and Jonah buried his hand in Harry’s fur, stroking him.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, their shoulders almost touching. Lyra could feel his body heat radiating from him. The small space between them seemed charged with unseen electricity.

  “So, how do you like Lake Placid?” she asked, when she was finally able to manage a coherent thought.

  “It’s a beautiful area.”

  She waited for him to elaborate, but he offered nothing else.

  “You lived in New York, right?” she prodded.

  “Manhattan. My uncle works for the Times. It was convenient, but he was tired of the city. With e-mail and a fax machine, he’s able to work from home—wherever he chooses to call home.”

  That was the most she’d heard him say at one time. She loved his deep, rich voice. It was velvety smooth with a subtle Southern lilt to it.

  He glanced down at her. Her eyes had been fixed on his face while he spoke. She blushed and looked down. “Sorry.”

  He looked amused. He watched her for a second and then turned back toward the lake.

  “Do you miss your old school and friends
?” asked Lyra, thinking that must be the reason for his self-imposed isolation here.

  His voice turned hard and she felt him tense beside her. “No. As far as that goes, it doesn’t matter at all. Some things are the same regardless of location.”

  Lyra tried unsuccessfully to unravel that mysterious statement. Having no idea how to reply, she gave up on conversation and just enjoyed being so near him, and alone with him.

  They sat in companionable silence a while longer watching the sun sink behind the distant mountain. Jonah sighed and slowly got to his feet. “Thank you for the company” he said as he turned and gave her a wry smile. “You are a restful person to be around.”

  Not sure what to say to that, Lyra kept her silence, but gave him a faltering smile.

  “Are you heading back soon? It’s getting dark,” he inquired.

  “Yeah. I’ll start home in a minute. I know the trail well and I don’t mind a night-time walk when Harry’s with me.”

  He hesitated a second as if unsure whether to leave her. He opened his mouth to say something else but then shut it again. He gave her another brief smile. “Okay then. I’ll see you in Algebra tomorrow.”

  That reminded her of the strange circumstance of their reversed seating arrangements. She looked back up at him sharply. He seemed to be waiting for her to comment or ask him about it, but she couldn’t figure out how to frame her suspicion of his involvement into a tactful question.

  “Right” was all she said, her forehead puckering into a frown. She thought she heard him sigh, and she was sure she misread the look of disappointment in his eyes before he turned and headed back up the trail.

  Harry whined again and thumped his tail on the ground as he watched Jonah stride away. “My thoughts exactly,” Lyra murmured, patting Harry’s head, as Jonah rounded a turn on the trail and disappeared.

  She waited until the sun set behind Whiteface’s summit before heading home. Under the canopy of trees, the day abruptly turned into twilight. The birds had quieted, but the crickets grew louder, warming up for their nightly concert.

  Lyra walked home slowly, knowing her parents wouldn’t be back yet. She wondered about her encounter with Jonah. He’d obviously come upon Harry and her unexpectedly, but she was mystified why he hadn’t just kept walking. Why, all of a sudden, had he decided to talk to her? Why did he stay and sit with her? Maybe he just likes my dog, she thought with a grimace.

  Once home, she filled Harry’s bowl with kibble and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich. She would save whatever her mother brought her home tonight for tomorrow’s dinner. She thought about Jonah’s smile and how, though brief as it was, it had melted her insides…and her brain. His face was even more mesmerizing when he smiled. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t smile often, she thought. If every other girl turned into a gawking imbecile like she did, she imagined that would get annoying after a while.

  He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t think of who it was. He was enigmatic. Everything about him was a mystery. Why would someone choose to isolate themselves completely from everyone else like he did? And his complete indifference to where he lived was downright odd. Hadn’t he had any friends in Manhattan either? If not, she was sure it had been by his choice there too.

  She finished her sandwich and went upstairs. In her bedroom, she opened her window wide to the star-strewn night. It was unusually still. She pulled her cello out of its case and flipped through her sheet music looking for something melancholy to suit her mood. Her fingers halted over the familiar black cover with the white mask and red rose. Phantom of the Opera. She knew at once who Jonah reminded her of—the Phantom. Abandoned even by his mother and forced to live beneath the opera house because of his loathsome deformity, the Phantom led a loveless life, spurned by the world. It was her favorite Broadway musical, seen on a special birthday trip to New York City with her parents. She probably knew every tortured note by heart.

  She was probably being an overly dramatic, romantic fool, but her hands still shook slightly as she opened the book to the dog-eared page of Music of the Night and slipped the soundtrack into her CD player. She checked the volume, making sure she would be able to hear Michael Crawford’s mesmerizing voice above her cello as she played along.

  The Phantom, having brought Christine, his protégé and heart’s desire, to his ghostly underground home, seduces her with his song.

  The haunting opening notes filled the room. She bent her head and surrendered to the unbearably tender, latently sensual, emotions evoked by the music.

  Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation

  Darkness wakes and stirs imagination

  Silently the senses abandon their defenses

  Helpless to resist the notes I write

  For I compose the music of the night

  Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor

  Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender

  Hearing is believing, music is deceiving

  Hard as lighting soft as candle light

  Dare you trust the music of the night?

  Close your eyes for your eyes will only tell the truth

  And the truth isn’t what you want to see

  In the dark it is easy to pretend

  That the truth is what it ought to be

  Softly, deftly, music shall caress you.

  Hear it, feel it secretly possess you

  Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind

  In this darkness which you know you cannot fight

  The darkness of the music of the night

  Close your eyes start a journey through a strange world

  Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before

  Close your eyes and let music set you free

  Only then can you belong to me

  Floating, falling, sweet intoxication

  Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation

  Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in

  To the power of the music that I write

  The power of the music of the night

  You alone can make my song flight

  Help me make the music of the night

  As the final note faded, her bow suspended above the strings, an involuntary sob escaped Lyra’s lips. She raised her head and realized her face was wet with tears. She hadn’t been aware that she was crying. Never had she felt the words so powerfully. Never had Andrew Lloyd Weber’s music awed her more. Her heart broke for Jonah, imagining him as alone and alienated from the world as the Phantom.

  Harry padded over and licked her face, breaking the spell. Outside in the dark a twig snapped but all else was still.