Alice followed her mother’s gaze out the window, to that little patch of clipped grass leading up to the trees. “Did you know I was going to see her, too?”
“Yeah, I knew,” she snapped. “I’m not stupid, Alice. But how was I gonna stop you? Your father kept us here right near her, like he fucking meant for it to happen.”
“I love her, Mom.”
Alice’s mother turned away from the window for the first time since they began to speak. She studied her daughter’s face in silence. “Of course,” she snorted after a moment. “Jesus, that figures.”
There was movement on the path leading out of the woods. Alice caught a glimpse of her father’s red flannel shirt between the trees. He made his way into the yard slowly, almost dazed, stopping to stare at the flower beds as though he had never seen them before.
Alice’s mother stood and watched him through the window. Picking up her drink, she moved around the table. “Alice, go spend the night in the woods. Your father and I need to talk.” As she went to the kitchen door, she stopped to squeeze Alice’s shoulder. Alice covered her mother’s hand with her own for a few seconds; then the older woman swept out of the room and was gone.
•
“Hey, Alice.”
She set down the potted grape vine she had been carrying and brushed the soil off her hands. “Hi, Davey.”
His eyes scanned the nursery. “This is a good job for you. Working with the plants.” He had grown into a tall, broad shouldered young man with only traces of baby fat remaining in his cheeks. Alice remembered sophomore year, when many of the other girls at the school had started paying attention to him. She had thought then that he would forget about her. But, while she knew he had dated some of the other girls, she still caught him staring. He still had that nervous grin when they spoke.
“Ah, well, you know me,” Alice said, keeping her voice light. “Ain’t happy unless my hands are dirty.”
Davey laughed a little too hard. “Yeah, I guess. Um, it’s my mom’s birthday, and my sister thought she’d like something for her garden, so…”
“Gotcha. Right this way.”
After taking Alice’s suggestion of a snapdragon and paying at the register, Davey lingered near the front counter. “So I was thinking,” he began, “you want to go get some pizza later? For old times sake? Cause I’m going off to college soon, and I—”
“Sure, Davey,” she interrupted, seeing that he would continue to ramble if she didn’t stop him. “That’ll be fun.”
He gave her a relieved smile. “Great.”
“I’ll see you after work.”
•
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, why’d you take a year off before college?”
Alice chewed slowly, setting aside the remains of her pizza crust. “I guess I needed more time to figure out how my life is going to go.”
“Isn’t that what college is for?” Davey asked, just a hint of teasing in his voice.
“Maybe.” She cleared her throat. “So, do you know what you’ll major in?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking engineering at first, and then maybe chemistry. My folks want me to go premed, but I don’t know…”
As Davy spoke, Alice saw the choices before her. She saw the way the next few minutes, days, years could go if she wanted it. If she acted.
She could leave the pizza parlor with Davey, walk to his car, catch his eye, give him a kiss. Tell him she had always wanted him. She could go to college, to State with Davey; maybe start a semester behind, they’d graduate practically the same time. They’d stay close, and he’d finally be able to love her. And she might love him, in a way. Everything else would follow from there. Marriage, children, friends she’d yet to meet. She could travel, see the world. At the end of her life, she would look back and know she had seen more good than bad.
But always, she knew, there would be that hunger, that yearning to return to the forest. There would always be the danger that she would walk into the trees and never come back. She would, like her father, have to make that vow never to step into the woods again. She might have to go farther, move away, into the desert, some place like Arizona or New Mexico where she wouldn’t be reminded of it every waking moment. And still, no matter where she went or how much time passed, her dreams would be full of Elm.
Sitting in the pizza parlor, a calm came over Alice. She smiled and nodded at something Davey had said, not knowing what it was. She knew that she had made her decision, but was in no hurry to put it in motion. Instead, she savored the details of her surroundings. The taste of red pepper. The slick linoleum under her fingertips. Davey’s laugh.
Later, as they walked to his car, she said, “I had fun with you tonight, Davey. It was a good sendoff.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too.” He turned to face her, features alight with uncertain happiness.
Stepping forward, Alice took his face in her hands. “You’re a good person, Davey. You’re gonna have a good life. And I’m glad I knew you.”
Standing up on tiptoes, she kissed his forehead. “Bye, Davey.”
His brow furrowed in confusion, but she just turned and walked toward the edge of town.
“Wait, Alice, where are you going?” he called out as she moved away.
“Into the woods.”
•
The moon was full and clearly illuminated the path to Elm’s tree. Alice didn’t need it, of course, could navigate these woods in a thunderstorm at midnight. Still, she thought. It’s nice to have.
She had brought nothing with her. Her only stop after leaving Davey had been to the house. She had thought to leave a note, something brief, but her father had been awake and sitting in the living room. They had stared at each other, not knowing what to say.
“I’m going to the woods. I won’t be back,” Alice had said at last.
“I know.” Her father had gathered her in his arms then, holding her like he had when she was a child. “Be happy, Alice.”
And, with that blessing, she left the house for the last time.
Elm stood and watched her approach from the center of the clearing. When she reached her lover, Alice stopped and undressed. Not brazenly, as she did for sex, but with slow and deliberate care. She folded her clothes, knelt, and dug a hole in the loamy soil. Even as Alice buried her clothes and shoes, Elm watched without a word.
When Alice stood, she saw tears in Elm’s eyes.
Elm took Alice’s hand and led her to a tree on the other side of the clearing, in sight of her own nest. “I’m going to leave you here now,” Elm murmured. “But you won’t be alone. I’ll be here, I’ll be with you.”
Alice kissed her lightly on the lips. “I know. I’m ready.”
She watched Elm make her way back to her own tree, climb, and vanish into the nest. Then Alice turned to face her own.
It was smaller than Elm’s tree, but of the same species. The branches were broad and strong, the leaves lush. It would make a good home. Alice stepped forward and rested her palms against the bark.
For a moment, the tree remained motionless. Alice made herself still, willed her heartbeat to slow. There was a cracking sound, and the tree began to open. The opening wasn’t ugly and splintered, like a wound; it looked like a natural hollow, worn by time. Alice knew it was supposed to be there, and that it was for her. Taking one last human breath, she stepped inside and let it close around her.
•
Winter Scheming
Brit Mandelo
On her way out of the coffee shop, Harvey flashed a last flirtatious grin at the blonde barista behind the counter. The girl lifted her hand in a wave, smiling, before the door shut between them. A surge of warmth rolled down to Harvey’s toes. Being out of her apartment made such a difference; it was as if she’d come back to life. She trotted down the steps into the sunny winter’s day, and as she lifted the cup to her mouth, she noticed a scrap of paper tucked into its cardboard sleeve.
She plucked free the wrinkled bit of r
eceipt tape. The word Lucinda stared up at her in smudged blue ink, followed by a phone number. Harvey glanced up through the window and caught another glance of the barista’s lustrous hair.
“Lucinda,” she murmured. The syllables were sweet and slippery on her tongue.
The warmth returned, and it had nothing to do with the sip of rich coffee she took to soothe her prickling nerves. She hadn’t gone out with the intention of finding a date but she couldn’t ignore such a pretty girl. It had been months since—the summer. She tucked the paper into her back pocket with sweat-damp fingers. The daytime crowd milled by unaware.
They moved around and without her, like a stream around a boulder, rushing and noisy, a sudden immense pressure on every side. A sick chill washed over her; the ground tilted. She’d spent too long cooped up alone to deal with so many people all at once. She pressed her back against the wall of the building and lifted her gaze from the street. The sky was crisp, bright blue with wispy clouds, soothing and simple. The vertigo faded by degrees, but then a flash of color, gold-brown like wet blonde hair, swirled at the corner of her eye. Her breath hurtled to a stop in her chest. She turned sharply, slopping hot coffee over her sleeve.
It was a tawny owl, balanced on a street lamp down the block. The bird shifted, piercing gold eyes catching hers, and with one great flap took to the air.
Harvey found herself gasping, doubled over with a hand to her throat. The puckered ridge of a small, fresh scar under her fingers was a visceral reminder. Those cuts had hurt, had taken a long time to heal. Wet hair like tearing silk, the taste of copper, a skull-thumping pulse, the burn of nails scoring down her cheek and neck as she shrugged away fighting hands.
After another moment spent breathing while the attack ebbed, she forced her spine straight and shook herself. The owl was gone. The other people on the sidewalk were giving her a wider berth, glancing at her from the corners of their eyes. Her face burned. Clearly, she needed to fill her head with someone new, someone beautiful, and stop letting something as simple as a bird raise memories better left buried. She needed—no, she deserved—a fresh start. She would be better.
•
Harvey nuzzled at the pale, soft skin of Lucinda’s lower stomach. Her hands mapped the other woman’s legs from muscled calf to rounded hip, thumbs tracing the edge of lacey underwear. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Thrills hot and sharp bolted through her each time Lucinda allowed herself be maneuvered, pulled into position, tugged and scratched. The blonde met each rough-tender touch with a gasp of something like surprise. Leah had been that way, tractable and sweet, but she had also known how to push the wrong buttons at exactly the wrong time. Harvey stripped the red panties off and bent to her task, delighting in the way Lucinda’s fingers combed through her short hair. It had been too long. She should have gone out before, once the scratches had healed, instead of waiting. She deserved to try again.
“Oh, Harvey,” Lucinda said, which was flattering. Then, she tugged on Harvey’s hair. “Look!”
She glanced up and froze. The tawny owl sat preening itself in the winter-bare tree outside her window, gold eyes watching them.
“Isn’t it majestic?” Lucinda murmured.
“Right, majestic,” Harvey said.
The owl’s stare bored into her. It rustled its wings and made a soft hooting call. The discordant sound scraped up her nerves like cold, serrated claws. Once was a coincidence. Twice, like this, twice—
She took the bottom of the curtain in her fist and jerked it closed so hard that the bar rattled in protest. Lucinda raised a curious eyebrow but made no comment. She reclined on her back, hands out to gather Harvey to her body, and didn’t protest the sting of Harvey’s nails if her hands were rougher.
Afterwards, her pale skin mottled with marks, Lucinda rose and dressed. Her expression was tight around the edges, but when Harvey moved to climb off the bed, she pressed her down again with a soft kiss. Her lips were like silk. Harvey brushed a hand over her clothed hip, smiling. The tension left Lucinda’s face.
“I’ll let myself out. I promise I’ll call,” she said.
Harvey watched her go with held breath. The moment Lucinda’s heel disappeared past the doorframe, she let out a sigh. A moment later, the front door creaked open—its hinges needed to be taken care of—and then closed with a sharp click. Harvey lay alone in her bed. Her skin crawled. She wasn’t satisfied, though by all rights, she should have been. She unclenched fists she’d made without realizing it and slid off the bed, heading for the shower. Standing under the spray and feeling the water on her fingers, it was hard not to remember. Damp hair wrapped hard in her fist, tender flesh under her fingers. The way it had felt.
“I’m not a violent person,” she whispered to herself, bracing palms on the cool damp tile. “I’m not.”
•
“I can’t believe you did this to your beautiful hair,” Harvey said, plucking hard at one of Lucinda’s dreadlocks. The other woman flinched and leaned away from her on the couch. “What was wrong with it before? I liked it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think to ask.”
“It’s fine,” Harvey made herself say.
A couple of weeks wasn’t such a long time, she thought. People didn’t adapt to a partner so quickly, didn’t think to ask a new girlfriend’s opinions. It wasn’t something to get mad about.
Except, she was. The anger settled on her like a heavy blanket, charged and electric. She plucked at one of the thick, waxy dreadlocks again. They were leaving marks on her couch. She bit her tongue.
“So,” Lucinda said. “Have you seen that owl again? I thought I caught a glimpse of it the other day.”
“Yes,” she said.
The sound of her own voice, low and threatening, startled her a bit.
“Oh,” Lucinda said. A brief silence settled.
Harvey had seen the owl more than once. At work, out doing her shopping, at the bar, at home, it appeared everywhere, watching her with glinting eyes and flexing its talons. That wasn’t natural. For one thing, she’d looked them up, and owls were nocturnal. It sure as shit shouldn’t have been following her during the day.
And its color, the weight of its stare, the knowledge it seemed to have—
“Maybe it’s your spirit-guide,” Lucinda said.
“My what?”
Lucinda leaned away from her. “Why are you acting so weird? I went to this woman last summer, Anne. She runs a bird rehab a few hours out of the city. She told me all about them.”
“Your new-age bullshit isn’t going to help me with this goddamn bird,” Harvey said. “It’s bad luck, and it’s not normal.”
“I was just trying to help,” Lucinda said. She rose from the couch. Her muscles were taut, shoulder lifted. She sucked her bottom lip under, looking down at Harvey. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you lately. You’re being so harsh.”
“Harsh?” Harvey echoed. The anger tilted into rage, filled with flecks of something like desire. She stood without intending to, loomed over the other woman. Her heart raced. “You want harsh, I can give you harsh.”
She struck with her open palm, catching Lucinda across the face. The blow knocked her off balance; she stumbled against the coffee table with a cry, going down in a mess of limbs. Harvey tasted blood—she’d bitten her own lip. Her body trembled with pent-up need. Lucinda scrambled to her knees. Harvey grabbed a handful of her waxy, ugly hair and jerked. The dreadlocks slid through her fingers too easily. Lucinda screamed, a frightened bark of sound.
From outside, the shriek of an owl wailed like a siren, carrying under it something like an answering girl’s shout. Harvey stopped in her tracks, chest heaving, and her nerveless fingers lost their grip. The fever of the moment went cold, doused.
Lucinda was crying.
Harvey collapsed onto her ass on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t.”
Lucinda stared at her, red-eyed, blood streaki
ng her chin from a split lip. “I need to go,” she whispered.
Harvey sat catching her breath as the other woman gingerly stood and wobbled out the door. The silence after it closed behind her was sharp and accusatory.
Her knuckles ached. She was shaking, her muscles liquid and weak. She covered her face. Now that the anger had abandoned her, nausea took its place. Lucinda hadn’t been trying to push her buttons; she was no Leah. An apology was due, and she had to make it stick. She sat for a long time without moving, empty-headed, unable to force herself to stand.
After some while, she dragged herself to the bathroom and turned on the taps, eyes on the rippling, steaming water as the tub filled. Stripping was like undressing a doll’s body, not her own. She choked back a sob, her eyes burning. The water stung when she lowered herself into it. Her toes turned bright red. She flipped the taps off and settled in. The hot water loosened her body, soothed her throbbing knuckles. She closed her eyes and floated. No ideas for how to make it right came to her, though she thought desperately. Instead, behind her eyelids, she saw the bright red blood on Lucinda’s chin.
The problem was that she couldn’t wash away how much she had enjoyed it, underneath the guilt, the sharp smack of skin under her hand both gratifying and fulfilling. That, if she was being truthful, frightened her, but she would just have to control herself better. Other people managed it every day.
•
The next morning, after leaving a third profusely apologetic message on Lucinda’s phone, she walked downstairs to find that the hood of her car was covered in deep gouges. Something had scratched away the paint viciously, leaving furrows that wouldn’t be cheap to fix. A shiver worked its way down her spine and she glanced to the trees, but the owl wasn’t there.
•
“I don’t want to see you anymore,” Lucinda said. She stood with her hands on her hips, chin up, in the middle of Harvey’s living room. “You scare me.”
“But I thought you said you forgave me,” Harvey said.
Heiresses of Russ 2013 Page 9
