The Tattered Gloves

by J. L. Berg

  “You running away from me today after class. Did I overstep by saying something to Katie? I figured you wouldn’t mind a little help. She can be quite the bitch when she wants to be,” he said, stepping from behind the counter.

  I took a moment to admire the way the light from the window made his brown hair suddenly seem like it held every shade imaginable — from the darkest mahogany to the few scatterings of light brown that hung around his eyes.

  I wondered if anyone else had ever taken the time to look at him this way.

  The girl I always saw him with in the hallway, the one who laughed every time he spoke… did she see the way his eyes darkened when he was angry or how he constantly pushed his hair behind his ear because he was seriously in need of a haircut?

  “It was fine,” I finally answered, looking away.

  I turned my attention to the books on our featured shelf near the register. It was where we often displayed new releases or local Virginia authors. I realized it was in need of some reorganization, and I began fiddling with the various paperbacks.

  I felt his presence behind me almost immediately. The warmth of his body so close to mine made my back go rigid.

  He must have noticed because he retreated almost as instantly as he’d arrived.

  “Why do you always lie when you’re around me?” he said quietly, his voice now further across the room.

  I spun around, spotting him leaning against the front door, one foot over the other.

  “I-I don’t—” I stuttered.

  “You were anything but fine today, Willow,” he stated. “And, just now, I confirmed exactly what I’d suspected for a long time.”

  My arms wrapped around my chest. “What you’d suspected?” I repeated, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What does that even mean?”

  “You’re scared of me.” It was said as a statement rather than a question. “It’s why you always flee when I’m near, why we seem to connect and disconnect at the same time, and why I—”

  “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” I nearly shouted, interrupting him mid sentence. “This whole thing, all my baggage, it revolves around you? God, you’re so delusional. I’m not scared of just you. I’m scared of everyone. The whole goddamn world.”

  “But why me?” he asked, as if my major revelation meant nothing to him.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  He pushed off the doorframe, mindful of where he stepped. He stayed a safe distance from me, careful to walk a short path toward the counter, as if he needed a change of scenery. “You might not know this about me, Willow, but I’m actually a pretty good judge of character. It’s why I told my dad to try and hire you in the first place.”

  My jaw fell open.

  “You arranged this? But how?” I asked.

  “That day in the office when I was charming the front desk ladies into letting me in late without noticing my note had indeed been forged — do you remember?”

  I nodded, not realizing he’d even seen me.

  “It’s not every day Sugar Tree gets a new student, so I noticed you right away, sitting there with the woman who’d been cutting my hair since I was barely able to walk.”

  “Looks like you’re overdue,” I added, pointing to his head.

  He ignored my comment and continued, “I learned a few things about you from random friends, and of course, everyone wanted to know what was up with those crazy red gloves of yours.”

  “And so you thought, who better to hire than the new school freak?” I asked, my hands suddenly feeling warm and scratchy in my gloves.

  “No. Honestly, I didn’t think much of it. Having been on the wrong side of gossip for much of my life, I’m not big on feeding it when it’s going around. But I was curious,” he admitted.

  “So, you hired me? Or rather, you had your father hire me?”

  He shrugged. “I figured, why not? I knew I needed someone to help out here while I worked on managerial stuff, and my dad had mentioned he had a meeting with Addy that week. It just made sense.”

  It didn’t make sense to me at all.

  “What does your dad get out of the deal?” I asked, trying to figure out why one of the richest men in town would bother listening to his teenage son when it came to managing a business.

  “It doesn’t matter. We both got what we wanted.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure that was the truth, but I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

  He let out a sigh as his emerald-green eyes met mine. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry if I scare you, Willow. That wasn’t my intention at all. I just thought this might be a safe place for you, but if it’s not, I understand. You don’t have to stay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  It was the third time today that he’d called me by my actual name.

  Willow.

  It sounded so beautiful on his lips that I was actually beginning to fall in love with my own name.

  “I’m not scared of you,” I finally said.

  His eyes widened slightly with shock. “But you said—”

  “I was angry with you,” I admitted. “And you did scare me today, but that doesn’t mean I’m scared of you,” I explained. “Lots of things scare me. I’m not a very brave person.”

  “Sure you are,” he countered. “I’ve seen you do a lot of brave things since I met you.”

  I gave him a look a doubt, arching an eyebrow in his direction.

  “You stood up to me in the hallway at the beginning of the year; that took balls. And you work with me every day; that can’t be easy.” He grinned.

  I couldn’t resist his charm, and I found myself smiling back at him.

  “It is rather tedious.” I laughed.

  “Funny,” he remarked. “Now, come help me stock the new releases before tomorrow.”

  I followed him to the back room where a couple of boxes were waiting for us.

  For the rest of the day, we worked in synchronized harmony, side by side. I stocked while he unpacked, and as customers came in, I’d stop to help them out while he took time to jot things down in his mysterious notebook.

  One of these days, I’d gather up the courage to ask him about it.

  But not today, I thought to myself as I heard Sam happily humming to himself in the back, remembering the sound of my name as he spoke it.

  No, definitely not today.

  “IT’S ALL OVER the school,” Allison informed me the next day as we sat alone in a hallway, enjoying lunch.

  Every so often, my bubbly social butterfly of a friend would indulge my introverted tendencies and allow us to go off and eat by ourselves.

  Honestly, I thought she enjoyed it. Compared to the deafening noise that always resonated in the cafeteria, sitting here in the quiet, empty hallway was almost peaceful. Minus the random student or teacher who would stroll past every few minutes. But, besides that… totally peaceful.

  “I wish people would just stop talking about it,” I said, nibbling a piece of my crust from the turkey sandwich I’d made early that morning.

  Allison made a sour face. She was an avid crust hater, still insisting all her sandwiches be completely crust-free. Occasionally, I’d notice that her mom had even cut them into little shapes, like hearts and stars.

  It was kind of cute — in a vomit-inducing sort of way.

  Addy had never sent me star-shaped sandwiches, but every now and then, I’d find a handwritten note in my lunch bag. Nothing mushy. Just a random quote she’d heard on the radio or a funny joke.

  It had the same effect as the goofy sandwich though.

  It made me smile.

  I was having a hard time doing that right now with the constant scrutiny I’d been under after returning to school that day.

  “It’s kind of a big deal,” Allison responded. “Sam doesn’t usually butt into other people’s business. He kind of keeps to himself.”

  “He’d stick up for you,” I argued, giving up on my lu
nch altogether. I didn’t have much of an appetite today.

  “Well, yeah, but that’s because we’ve known each other since we were little. Our mothers practically raised us together until… you know…”

  “What?” I asked after her voice drifted off.

  “Until she left,” she finally answered.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  Uncomfortable silence filled the air between us as I tried to imagine how Sam must have felt to lose a mother. Lots of kids lost a parent, I guessed. But to know she’d left willingly?

  “How old was he?” I finally asked.

  “Eleven,” she answered. “It was the summer between sixth and seventh grade. Our birthdays are both in July, and we were planning on having a big pool party at the town pool.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “He woke up the morning of the party, and she was just gone. Her clothes, suitcase… everything, gone.”

  “Did she leave a note or anything to explain why?”

  Allison shook her head. “No, but everyone had their opinions.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Ever since, Sam’s dad has been… well, not much of a dad.”

  We didn’t talk for a long time after that. Allison munched on a bag of chips, and I thought about a small boy growing up without a mother.

  I’d always thought life in the country… in Sugar Tree, was easy. Carefree. Like a long, winding country road. Maybe a few pebbles would get in the way, but nothing you couldn’t steer around with ease.

  But life in the city? That was hard. Life in the city was a gritty mess, filled with potholes and dead ends.

  At least, that was what I had thought.

  I was quickly learning that potholes could spring up just about anywhere.

  Even in the country.

  Even here.

  I COULDN’T SLEEP.

  I couldn’t sleep most nights.

  The grumbling of my stomach was so loud, it almost beat out the sound of the busy street noise below. I’d been lying here awake, thinking of nothing but food.

  Food in my belly.

  My empty, starving belly.

  Deciding I might as well give in, I threw on a jacket and a pair of socks I’d worn for the last few days. Walking to the door, I slowly turned the handle, peeking my head out.

  Coast was clear.

  I made a run for it down the hallway. The sound of thumping bass echoing from underneath the door of my mother’s room was still going strong.

  Pulling the jacket close to my body, I went into the small kitchen and roamed around the cupboards, hoping to find something to take the edge off.

  Bread!

  This hadn’t been here when I went to sleep.

  Grabbing the loaf with eager hands, I pulled out two pieces from the bag, stuffing a third into my mouth. The edges were hard, and it tasted a little stale, but it could have been green, and I probably would have still eaten it.

  Anything to make the hunger pains stop.

  Work had been slow for Mom over the last month.

  She’d said it had something to do with the time of the year.

  “Happens every year,” she’d said on a quiet night as we sat in front of the TV, watching an old movie on stolen cable. “It will pick back up soon.”

  I honestly didn’t mind. The house was quieter.

  Safer.

  I liked it this way.

  And, when she didn’t work, sometimes, she’d talk to me.

  Like other moms.

  But, tonight, her door was closed, and I was starving.

  And alone.

  Again.

  So, into the refrigerator I went, in search of something to eat with my bread.

  Just as I was about to grab a half-eaten jar of jelly, something caught my eye. I turned just in time to see him.

  A boy in the corner of the living room.

  What the—

  Clutching my bread and jelly, I closed the refrigerator door and took a few hesitant steps toward him. He had dark brown hair that brushed the tips of his eyebrows and bright, vivid green eyes that looked up at me with curiosity.

  “Are you waiting for someone?” I asked, unsure of why else he would be here.

  “I can’t find my mom,” he said, still huddled in a ball. His arms clutched his bare knees, and one foot was on top of the other, in an obvious attempt to keep warm.

  Someone let this kid out of the house like that? It was the dead of winter, and he was dressed like he was headed out to the beach. He must be freezing.

  “Do you want my jacket?” I asked, pulling my arms out of the sleeves and holding it out to him.

  He stood finally, and I got a decent look at him. Not nearly as young as I’d originally suspected but still several years below me.

  “What does she look like — your mom?” I asked as he took my jacket and wrapped it around his body. It engulfed him, even more than it did me. The chill in the air hit me instantly as my eyes scanned the small room for a blanket.

  “Um, I don’t know. I can’t remember. But she was pretty. She was pretty like you.”

  My search for a blanket ended as my head whipped around toward the boy in the corner.

  His eyes.

  His emerald-green eyes.

  “What is your name?”

  “Don’t you know, Mittens? Don’t you know?”

  The door to my mother’s room opened suddenly, and the familiar sound of heavy boots moved down the hallway.

  The same boots that—

  “You’ve got to go!” I cried, as I turned to face the horror to come.

  And then everything went black.

  I awoke to the sound of Addy’s voice as she sat next to me on the bed.

  My heart was pounding so hard, I thought it might beat right out of my chest. The light I’d left on in the room was still on, and the first thing I noticed was the concern written all over her face.

  “I thought we’d beaten these nightmares,” she said.

  “Me, too,” I admitted.

  It had been weeks since I had one, and usually, they were all the same.

  Just a dramatic retelling of that night.

  The night before my mom had announced to me that I was too old to live in the house rather than comfort me.

  The night before the gloves had become my life.

  But this dream had been different.

  Because of Sam.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, careful to make sure there was a sizable distance between where she was sitting on the bed and where my body lay.

  If there was one thing Addy was good at, it was respecting my need for space. She never asked what had happened between my mother and me to have me end up here. Maybe my mom had told her. Maybe she’d guessed.

  Maybe it didn’t matter.

  But, no matter the reason, she maintained her distance.

  Even though I could see that, sometimes, all she wanted to do was scoop me up in her arms and tell me everything would be all right.

  And I thought, sometimes, I wanted that, too.

  “No,” I finally answered. “I’m okay.”

  She nodded, rising from the spot on the bed. I watched the mattress return back to normal, and I resisted the temptation to move my hand to that spot, knowing it still held her warmth.

  The door creaked as she exited, and the only sound I was left with was the slow inhale of my breath as it returned to a natural pace.

  My mind drifted back to the boy in the corner from my dream.

  “Don’t you know, Mittens?”

  Don’t I know what?

  The only thing I knew for sure was that I never wanted to think of that night.

  And I never wanted to go back to that apartment again.

  “WINTER BREAK IS in exactly four days, one hour, and”—Allison looked at her phone—“two minutes,” she said as we met up in the hallway between classes.

  “That’s precise,” I said, smiling at h
er sideways, as I adjusted my backpack.

  “Hey, you can’t blame me. Two and a half weeks off school? That’s worth a countdown.”

  “Agreed.”

  And I actually did.

  It was the first school year that I didn’t have to hear the words, “Go try and find something to do during the day, so you don’t wake me up,” from my mom. I’d scheduled extra hours at Page Turners during the break, which meant extra spending cash, and Allison had threatened to personally check in on me if I didn’t call her every other day.

  She’d caught on quick.

  “I can’t believe you’re working the entire break,” she whined, throwing her hands across her chest in a grand gesture, like a forlorn child.

  “I’m not working the whole time.”

  “Every single day is the whole time, Willow!”

  I laughed. “I’m not working Christmas or New Year’s. And it’s just a few hours every day. You’re making it sound like I’m being thrown in there with no breaks, doing backbreaking work.”

  She shrugged. “How am I supposed to know?”

  “You could get a job yourself,” I suggested.

  Her face turned unpleasant. “Ew. No, thanks. I’d rather help out at home by clipping coupons and finding bargains online. That’s my true calling.”

  “At least you’re good at it,” I shrugged.

  “I really am! Are you good at… whatever it is you do at the bookstore? Shelving?”

  I laughed once more as we stopped in front of my last class. Hers was directly across from mine. The bell hadn’t rung yet, so we had time.

  “The best,” I joked.

  “Sam doesn’t give you a run for your money? He’s been working at that store since I can remember.”

  That surprised me. “But he’s only sixteen.”

  “Well, I’m not sure he was a real employee until recently, but he’s always been in there, helping out his sister when she started and his dad and his—”

  “Oh,” I said, guessing what she was going to say.

  “Yeah.”

  The bell chose that moment to ring, and we both quickly waved our good-byes, but I couldn’t shake this feeling that Sam’s loyalty to the bookstore was more than just another family business.