The Clearing

by Heather Davis

  I looked up to see Quinn, and I felt a smal sense of relief. At least there was one person I could talk to. Someone to jar me out of these stupid thoughts about Matt.

  Quinn plunked down next to me, elbowing the snoring guy awake. The guy gave him an annoyed look, but rose from the bench and then stumbled off into the party.

  "So," Quinn said, "where were we? Oh, I know—how are we doing over here? And that's the part you fil in..."

  "I'm fine," I said.

  He set down the cup he was holding and took the beer from my hands. "See, you have to flip back this little tab." He gave me a slow smile as he handed back the open can. "Now you'l be more than fine."

  "Yeah, thanks." I took it from him but didn't take a sip.

  "Lori's folks are going to be so pissed when they get back from Tacoma tomorrow." He shook his head and swirled the drink in his hand.

  "She doesn't normal y party like this?"

  "Not since I've known her." Quinn said. "But she invited Jane, who invited Melanie, and Melanie invited some friends, and so on, and so on."

  He took a long sip from his cup. "So where's Jackson?"

  "How should I know?"

  "Come on, the guy is drooling over you," Quinn said with a laugh. "Don't play that you don't see it."

  "Jackson's here with some brunette from our math class," I said.

  "Shel i Wilson," Quinn said, nodding. "That makes sense. They used to go out."

  I shrugged. "Then I guess it does make sense." I set down the beer can and picked up a pil ow embroidered with HOME, SWEET HOME.

  Jackson with his drunk ex, that was just great.

  Quinn stroked back his long bangs and leaned against the post. "You know, it's pretty loud, even out here. We could go somewhere else to talk, if you want."

  "Um, that's okay; this is fine."

  "Wel , I didn't mean just talk," Quinn said, his eyes twinkling.

  I frowned at him. "Um, what about Melanie?"

  "We're—we're not that serious," he said. "She doesn't know everything I do. I just figured you might like to get to know me better." Quinn scooted closer to me on the bench. "I don't know ... There's something between us. Can't you feel it?"

  I felt myself blush. I couldn't help it. I did think Quinn was cute—I had from the first time I saw him in the grocery store—but come on!

  "Amy," Quinn whispered, his beer-scented breath fanning against my cheek, "you know it would be fun."

  I sat very stil for a moment, total y creeped out. I guess I hadn't thought that Quinn was like the random-hook-up party guy he seemed to be at the moment. I'd given him way more credit than he'd deserved. I stood up and said, "I've got to go."

  "Don't run away." Quinn grinned, reaching out toward my hip.

  I shoved the beer can into his open hand. "Later."

  There was no reason to stay, so I walked back inside to thank Lori for inviting me. But no one I asked seemed to know where she was. That made me nervous. Even though I barely knew the girl, she'd seemed pretty smashed. I didn't like the thought of Lori passed out somewhere.

  I pushed my way up through the crowd on the stairs and opened the first door. The room was empty except for a pile of coats and a white cat peeking out from under the bed.

  The next door I pushed open was a bathroom, where a girl fixed her makeup at the mirror while another girl puked in the toilet.

  "Sorry." I shut the door. "Lori?" I cal ed as I went into the next room.

  But it wasn't Lori. It was a couple sitting on a bed in the dark: Jackson and Shel i. I turned to go.

  "Hey!" Jackson said. "Wait, Amy." He got up and walked to the doorway.

  "No, it's okay. I'm just looking for Lori," I said. "Sorry."

  "Is everything al right?" he asked.

  "Yeah. It's fine. Total y fine. I'm heading out."

  He put a hand on my arm. "You need a ride home or something?"

  "No, I just wanted to find Lori."

  "I saw her out on the front porch a little while ago."

  "She seemed pretty wasted before."

  "I'l keep an eye on her, I promise," he said. "I'l be right down to find her."

  I glanced past his shoulder. Shel i was lying back on the bed now, knees up and hands flopped down at her sides.

  Jackson noticed my stare. "Shel i's fine, too. I'l take her down to get some air."

  "You guys sure know how to party," I said, leaning against the doorway.

  He shrugged. "Some people get a little out of control. Don't tel me you guys didn't party in Seattle."

  "No. We partied." I let out a breath I'd been holding.

  "I promise nothing bad's gonna happen. I'l make sure of it."

  I left Jackson in the doorway and headed back down the stairs. Forcing my way through the crowd, I felt more alone than ever, even though I was surrounded by more people than I had been in weeks. Outside, I final y found Lori on the steps, blowing a lopsided smoke ring into the bluish-tinged glow of the porch light. Her eyes were half closed, but she was sitting upright. I didn't know if I could trust Jackson when he'd said he'd look out for her. I stood there thinking I should stay, but it was al too much.

  Al too familiar.

  I sucked in clean, clear air as I jogged off down the driveway, grateful for the cover of the dark night.

  ***

  The weekend passed slowly, and the rain came, dripping from the trailer's downspout into puddles outside my window. I lay in my bed, thinking of the night before and of the things I'd left behind. Getting used to Rockvil e was harder than I thought it would be. It didn't real y seem like anyone was even halfway cool. Wel , no one but Henry. I could have gone to see him, but after his weirdness about coming to the party, maybe he wasn't into hanging with me.

  Several times, stupid as it felt, I punched the familiar numbers into my new cel phone—first Chelsea, then Matt—but I didn't hit Send. It was weird how even though they'd been such jerks to me, a part of me missed them, missed the easiness of being with them. I guess I just felt homesick. Or, maybe the same old stuff was easier to do than making something new.

  Around four on Sunday, Mae knocked on my door, and then came in since I was zoning out to music and finishing up reading the Hemingway book for my report.

  "Amy?" she mouthed.

  I pul ed out my earbuds.

  "We have company," she said.

  "Oh, okay." I fol owed her out into the living room, my heart pitter-pattering because I thought it was going to be Henry. Instead, I found Mom and Pete. I glanced from them to Aunt Mae, who was smiling, though it was strained. Instantly, I suspected she'd cal ed them because of the other night.

  "Hi, Ames," Mom said. She was wearing one of her typical weekend outfits—black yoga pants with a bright green track jacket. Her hair had new blond highlights and made her look even younger than she already did. She'd had me when she was barely out of high school and was way younger than the other mothers on our old block.

  She came over and gave me a hug, while Pete just waved from his seat on the couch. "How was your first week at school?" she asked, releasing me.

  "Fine."

  "You folks chat, and I'l go put on some coffee," said Mae as if she hadn't expected Mom and Pete, which was hilarious since she'd probably known they were coming.

  "Did Mae ask you to stop by?"

  Mom looked confused. "We'd planned to take a drive up here once you settled in."

  "And I've never seen the place," added Pete with a dry chuckle. "It's pretty, uh, rustic." He studied the living room, his gaze passing over the wood stove, the sloppy pile of kindling next to it, the bark bits on the floor, the marked-up linoleum, and peeling wal paper in the dining room.

  I felt a twinge of defensiveness. "It's comfortable. Mae keeps this place pretty nice."

  "Of course," Pete said, coloring slightly. "I didn't mean anything by that."

  Mom gave me a sharp look and then sat down next to Pete on the couch. She patted his leg. "Mae's made this her home for years,
honey."

  "I guess I pictured it more like a cabin," Pete said, clearing his throat.

  "It's fine." I plopped down on the other end of the couch. "Lots of people live in trailers up here."

  "Yeah," Pete said. He ran a hand through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair and then slipped an arm around Mom. "You're right."

  "So, school?" Mom asked. "It's going okay? You're making friends?"

  "Same old, same old."

  "You like your teachers?"

  "They're fine."

  Humming, Mae shuffled in with a tray of steaming mugs and cream and sugar. I cleared some of the gardening magazines and newspapers from the coffee table, and she set it al down.

  "Thank you, sweetie," said Mae. She distributed the mugs to everyone and then sat in her recliner.

  "We didn't mean to spring a visit on you," Pete said. "We just wanted to make sure everything was going wel for you two."

  I sipped the hot coffee. Since I was already five foot eight at eleven years old, Mom had long ago realized coffee wasn't going to stunt my growth.

  "I'm sorry, Mae, but I can't believe you cal ed them to check up on me," I said.

  "I didn't cal them," she said.

  "Okay..." I shrugged and took another sip of coffee.

  "We wanted to check on you," Mom said, setting down her mug. "I didn't, wel , I didn't feel right about the way we just shipped you off."

  "I chose to come here; it's not like you abandoned me."

  "I wanted to make sure you're real y okay." Mom's green eyes looked watery.

  "I'm okay. Why are you getting al weird?"

  Mom shifted on the couch. "Wel , here's the real reason we're visiting. With you and Pete's kids gone, we've decided to move. Pete's been offered a job in Phoenix, and I'd real y love to live down there in the sunshine. I could use a change."

  "What?" I nearly choked on my coffee. "You're leaving?" I didn't add me. You're leaving me.

  "Nothing's finalized yet," Pete said. "A position's come up at another branch of my company. It's a nice promotion."

  "I think he should take it," Mom said. "After al , you seem to be getting along wel here with Mae."

  I nodded robotical y. Yes, things were going fine, but if Mom left, then that meant this was it. Mae's was going to be my only home.

  "Now, is this something you have to decide on right away?" asked Mae. She glanced from Pete to me, concern in her eyes.

  "Yes, unfortunately, it'd mean packing up in the next month or so. We'd be gone before December."

  "Before Christmas," I murmured.

  "Wel , you and Mae could fly down for the holidays, of course."

  Mae waved a hand. "I don't fly, and neither does Katie-dog."

  I stirred more sugar into my coffee. "Whatever. The Holidays are no big deal, anyway." The pit in my stomach said otherwise. No Holidays.

  No family. No home. Nowhere to go back to in Seattle. Only here.

  Mae reached out from the recliner and patted my hand. "This is quite a shock for the both of us, sweetie," she said.

  "You can say that again," I muttered.

  "Now wait a second, Amy. This is what you wanted, right?" Mom asked me.

  "Wel , yeah, but—"

  "You wanted a change. You wanted to move up here."

  "Yeah, I guess."

  "Let me think of the exact words you used—'a life away from the old one.'"

  "Yes." But I didn't want a life away from her.

  "Wel , isn't it turning out how you wanted?"

  "It's fine."

  Mom took a sip of coffee, and then moved on to other topics. They stayed awhile longer, chatting with Mae and me, though after that bombshel , there was nothing more I wanted to say. I stared out at the rain, realizing that I was here for good.

  It made me want to run. And there was only one place to run to.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Henry?"

  He looked up from pea picking to see Amy standing there, her face pale, her arms wrapped around herself. Abandoning his bucket in the dirt, he ran to her.

  "What are you doing over here?"

  She shakily reached out to him, touching his sleeve as if she were trying to bring him closer to her. "Sorry, I didn't know where to go. I didn't know who else to talk to."

  Henry wiped his hands on his trousers and then put a hand under Amy's elbow, walking her into the shade of one of the apple trees, out of view of the front of the house. She was weak from crossing the clearing, and she leaned into him, letting him guide her. He drew her under the broad branches, the sweet smel of the tiny apples swirling in the breeze.

  He wasn't sure what had happened to make Amy so sad, but he was distracted by her nearness. Her lovely brown hair gleamed in the dappled sunlight, her lips were light pink like the apple blossoms that had fal en away in late spring. She was a picture he wanted to remember always. Henry was nervous, though, knowing that at any moment his grandfather could come around the corner, or his mother would leave her chair on the front porch and shatter the perfect moment.

  "Amy," he said, sobering himself, "look, you shouldn't have come. It's not—" He saw her eyes fil with confusion, hurt, something. "No, please don't—I didn't mean ... oh, gosh..."

  Her lower lip quivered. "What? Do you want me to go?"

  "Forgive me. Listen, nothing makes me happier than to see you." Henry fished a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her. "Tel me what's the matter."

  Amy took the handkerchief from him, turned it over in her hands, and traced the letter H embroidered in white on white. "Thanks," she said, then dabbed at her wet eyes.

  "You're welcome. Now wil you please tel me what's happened?"

  "My mom is moving away. She's leaving me and this place sucks and now there's nowhere to go. Nowhere to go." Her voice was quiet, trailing off as if she were embarrassed.

  "So you came here."

  "Yeah." She looked up at him, her eyes watery again. He couldn't help it; he circled his arms around her smal body. She was stiff against him for a moment, but then with a large exhale, she relaxed against this chest.

  "There now," he whispered. "Everything wil be al right."

  Unconsciously, Henry dipped his chin toward her hair and caught the fruitlike scent of her shampoo. Then, noticing what he was doing, he lifted his head again. He needed to be a gentleman, to remember that Amy had come to him for reassurance. But he couldn't let go, couldn't force his arms to release her, couldn't relinquish the feel of her so close.

  After a moment, she pul ed back, tears stil dotting her eyelashes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to cry al over your shirt."

  "It'l wash," he said. He reluctantly let go of Amy, but she barely moved, and that pleased him.

  "Sorry." She dabbed at her eyes again and then bal ed the handkerchief in her fist. "I'm a mess. I just didn't know where to go."

  "Amy, I—look, you can't come here again. Not here by the farm."

  Her cheeks flushed red. "I don't understand."

  "We need to go to the clearing now."

  "Why? It's so much nicer over here at your place. It's raining at my house, but it's always sunny over here. I mean, it's like freaking summer..."

  She took a step back from Henry and crossed her arms. "Uh, why are there stil baby apples on the tree here when our apples are al ripe or rotting?"

  Henry didn't answer, but he took Amy by the hand. Hesitantly it seemed, she let him lead her, until at last they stepped into the clearing's cool blanket of white. Henry al owed himself a deep breath. "There, that's better." He made a place for her on the stump.

  Amy stil looked confused. "Henry, this is weird. I mean, the sun and the apple tree ... and now you don't want me over there. I just wanted to go sit on the porch and talk."

  Henry shook his head. "I'm sorry; that's impossible."

  Amy frowned. "Why?"

  "It's for a good reason. You have to trust me."

  "You're kidding, right?" she said, standing up. "I live in a freaking trailer
with my old aunt. How bad could your place be? It looks pretty sweet from what I've seen."

  "It's difficult to explain," Henry said quickly.

  Amy let out a laugh. "Come on, Henry. Seriously? You're hilarious," she said, taking a few steps back. A smile played on Amy's lips. The confusion and fear from before were gone. "I don't know what you think you're hiding."

  "Now, hold on just a second," Henry said. He got up from the stump and fol owed her slow steps. She took one and then another toward the farmhouse side of the clearing. He sensed she would break into a run at any moment. "Stay put."

  "Yeah, right." Amy winked at him.

  "Now, don't do anything rash," he warned.

  "Just try and stop me!" she said, laughing.

  And then she did it—she ran toward the farmhouse, bursting through the heavy air and tumbling out into Henry's homestead ahead of him.

  She yelped as she jumped onto the grass. Henry's heartbeat stuttered in his chest. Terrified that someone would hear, he looked toward the backyard, but he didn't see his grandfather.

  And then, Amy was on her feet again, far out in front of him, turning to see how far behind he was and laughing as she ran down the path to the house. Boy, she was fast. Henry caught up with her as she reached the front steps. But he didn't need to stop her.

  She was stuck in her tracks, staring at the porch where Mother sat, eyes closed, in her rocking chair.

  In her blue housedress with the red and white flowered apron, Mother looked pale as always. The news report was ending and orchestra music drifted from the wireless in the living room. Mother rocked in time to the music, a wistful smile on her lips. Amy was frozen in place, watching her.

  And Henry was frozen—watching Amy's strange expression and praying that his mother was not going to open her eyes while they stood there. After a moment of stil ness, Henry reached for Amy's hand, breaking the trance.

  "Please ... fol ow me," he whispered.

  When they got to the path and were out of sight of the porch, she said, "Your mom, she looks old-fashioned, too." Amy's face was colorless.

  "And the man on the radio sounded al crackly. Before the music, he was talking about the war. About the USO dance in Seattle. About the bombing in Germany."

  Henry nodded.