The Clearing

by Heather Davis

  "Um..."

  "It would give me great pleasure to send them home with you," Mother said.

  I looked to Henry for guidance. "Um, wel ..."

  Henry's cheeks had flushed bright red. "Mother, you don't have—"

  "I insist, dear." His mom gave him a pointed look.

  "Okay," I said. "It's fine, Henry."

  "Good, it's settled, then," she said, dabbing her lips with her napkin. "Gentlemen, if you wouldn't mind excusing us, Amy and I wil visit upstairs."

  "Uh—"

  "No, please don't protest, Amy dear. I won't hear of it." She got up from her chair and stood there expectantly.

  I took a last bite of biscuit and then pushed out of the chair.

  Mother slipped an arm around me. "Now then, let's see what we can do with you."

  ***

  Hours later, I stood before the oak mirror in Henry's mother's room, barely recognizing my reflection. I was in a burgundy dress that nipped in at the waist and had short, gently puffed sleeves. Henry's mom had made a few alterations to the dress, and it fit perfectly. She'd also pinned my hair back on the sides into some reverse rol s and dabbed just a touch of her scarlet lipstick on my mouth. It'd been a long time since I'd played dress up, and even longer since my own mother had fixed my hair. I couldn't get over what a difference it al made. I felt a little weird, but I couldn't say I didn't feel pretty.

  "You look lovely in that dark red," Henry's mom said, taking a seat on the bed. "I only wish I had some shoes to pass on to you."

  "I know my feet are freakishly big." I looked down, wiggling the Converse Chuck Taylors on my feet. They definitely did not go with the outfit.

  In this room with its dark wood furniture, floral curtains, quilted bed cover, and a pretty hand mirror and matching brush laid out on the dressing table, I felt like I was in a movie. But the clothes felt real enough on me, and my stomach was stil ful to bursting from our breakfast.

  "That used to be my favorite dress. I sewed it from the Vogue pattern book a few years ago, before the war," Mrs. Briggs said.

  I paused from admiring my reflection. "Are you sure you want me to have it?"

  Her smile was slight but stil there. "Yes, dear. It doesn't fit me anymore. It looks stunning on you."

  I studied her, wondering how she must have looked. She was stil beautiful, but thin. Maybe years of worrying about Henry's brother, or the food being rationed, had made her that way.

  Seeming to notice my stare, she got up from her seat on the bed. "Now let me bundle these things for you. Are you sure your auntie doesn't need anything?"

  "No. That's al right. I don't think she needs anything, thanks. In fact, I feel funny about taking these dresses."

  "Oh, please don't fret about that," Mother said. "We al have to help one another. That's the only way we'l make it through these tough times."

  She looked down at the folded pile of jeans, sweatshirt, and tee on the bed—the things I'd worn over. "I'l bundle these work clothes for you, too."

  She gave me a gentle smile. "Real y, Amy, you're a beautiful girl. You should play up your natural assets instead of wearing men's dungarees."

  "Right."

  She opened a drawer and pul ed out a length of string to tie around my stuff to hold it al together.

  "Mother?" There was a knock and Henry pushed open the door. "How are you—oh, holy cow."

  "What? What's wrong?"

  Henry paused in the doorway, steadying himself against the doorjamb. "You ... you look—"

  "Lovely. That is what my tongue-tied son is trying to say," his mother said, handing Henry my bundle of clothes.

  He looked down at his shoes, his cheeks coloring. "Ah, yes. That's it exactly. Thank you kindly, Mother." He backed out of the doorway, letting his mom pass. I fol owed her, but Henry touched my arm as I moved toward the stairs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare," he whispered.

  "It's okay."

  "You look so ... different," he said.

  "I know. Is that a good thing?"

  He nodded. "I'd pictured you, I mean, not that I'd pictured you, real y—but I'd thought about what you might look like if you were from here.

  From now. And then, there you were. Like a dream."

  I felt a hot flush hit my face. "Oh. Um ... we should probably go downstairs," I mumbled.

  "Yes," Henry said, but he didn't move.

  I was suddenly aware of his hand on my arm, the soapy-clean smel of him so close again. "Should we go?"

  Henry set the bundle of clothes on the banister. "Yes. Let's."

  I turned to go, but his hand clasped mine. "What?" I said with a nervous laugh. "What's up with you?"

  "What's up? " He pul ed me closer to him and reached his free hand toward my chin. "When I'm around you, I can't ... I want to..." He slid his fingers over my cheekbones, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears.

  In the dim light of the upstairs hal way, I could see his eyes focus on my mouth. His hand stil cupped my cheek. My heart raced as we started moving closer together. I closed my eyes. And then his lips touched mine.

  So gentle. So, so gentle. He kissed me. Kissed me like he was afraid his lips would hurt mine. Kissed me so softly that my mouth tingled, anticipating, demanding more. And then he pul ed away.

  I opened my eyes and found him studying me. I cleared my throat. "Um..."

  "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to."

  "It's okay. I wanted you to."

  "Amy..." he said, his voice trailing off.

  I stood there, hoping he would kiss me again. Aching for him to kiss me again. To kiss me hard and fast and long. But he didn't.

  "Come on." He picked up the bundle again and placed his free hand on the smal of my back. "Let's get you home."

  I went down the steps first, ful y feeling Henry's eyes on me. I didn't know if he felt what I did. If he'd felt that wanting. A wanting that I hadn't felt

  ... ever. Al the times I'd kissed Matt Parker, I'd never felt that tingling anticipation. I'd never wanted him like I'd wanted Henry.

  Silently, we walked along the path to the clearing. A few yards from the curtain of mist, Henry stopped. His gaze wandered over my face, pausing on my red lips. "I'm glad you visited today."

  I fought back the blush rising in my cheeks. "Yeah, thanks for breakfast. And, um, thank your mom for me."

  "She's watching us now," Henry said.

  I looked beyond him and saw her in the kitchen window. I waved.

  "Okay, wel , goodbye, then," I said.

  Henry handed me the bundle of clothes. "You don't have to take these dresses."

  "No, it's al right," I said. "It was nice of her."

  "Wel , then." His eyes looked so blue then, against his tanned face and the background of the white house and the greens of summer. "You'l come again?"

  "Yeah." I chewed my lower lip. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me. My brain would not shut up about Henry. I wanted to kiss him. To sink into him.

  To cover myself with him. It scared me to want that.

  "So long," he said, giving me a smile.

  "Oh, okay. Bye, then," I said. I backed away down the path, not wanting to let go of the sight of Henry—until at last he turned and I watched him retreat toward the house. And then I pushed through the painful barrier into the mist, alone.

  ***

  As I broke free at the other side of the clearing, I saw Mae standing at the edge of the woodlot. She leaned against a tree trunk, seeming to be catching her breath. "There you are," Mae said, her voice ragged. Katie, who was lying on the ground next to the tree, got up and ran over, sniffing me.

  "What are you guys doing out here?" I asked.

  Mae stared at me.

  "What? Is something wrong? What's going on?" I asked. I searched Mae's concerned face for clues.

  "Been cal ing you for lunch for half an hour," Mae said. "And would you like to tel me what happened to your clothes?"

  I glanced down at my outfit. Right—I was in the burgundy dress. "Um,
I was over at Lori's," I said, lying because it was so much easier than trying to explain the truth.

  Mae gaped at me in disbelief.

  "We're, um, doing a theme for homecoming," I said, thinking quickly. "It's the movies. I'm thinking of doing, um... Pearl Harbor."

  "Oh. I thought you were going to tel me you were ghost hunting in period costume," she said with a weak laugh.

  "No. There aren't any ghosts," I said slowly. "I just cut through the field."

  "The field? Wel , suit yourself," Mae said, looking a little relieved. "You look very pretty in that dress. Come on now, we've got cheese sandwiches and tomato soup waiting—and that wood's not going to stack itself."

  "Right, the wood," I said. "I keep forgetting the winter's coming." I wiped at the lipstick on my mouth with the back of my hand. Katie walked at my side, sniffing the dress like crazy.

  Mae was moving slowly down the path. She paused at the wood pile, taking a seat on the edge of the chopping stump.

  "You al right?" I asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  Mae nodded, but her mouth was tight, and she was breathing heavily. "Just resting. I'l be fine. It's not easy getting old, sweetie."

  "No, I guess not."

  "When you're old, everything seems more difficult," Mae said. "Kind of like when you're a teenager."

  "Yeah, right."

  "I'm serious, Amy." Mae let out a sigh. "The physical things get more difficult when you're old like me, and the emotional things are hard when you're young like you. I remember when I was about your age; everything seemed like a crisis—everything was so big. Things happened that I thought I'd never get over."

  "Yeah?"

  Mae nodded. "Had my heart broken. Lost loves. Said good-bye to people I was sure would be in my life forever." The wrinkles around Mae's eyes deepened. "At my age, it's al distant. But at yours, hurt is fresh and deep as anything."

  I tilted my head thoughtful y. "Mae, I always wanted to ask you—why did you choose to live out here alone? I mean, you did choose this, right?"

  Mae glanced up at me, her blue eyes watery. "Yes and no," she said in a soft voice. "When I was just a baby we lived in a smal house downriver—near the town of Sedro. Daddy always wanted a piece of real land, but this was during the Great Depression and we couldn't afford much. My sisters and I grew up downriver, watched so many of our friends get married right out of school, or go off to col ege to find a husband if their families could afford the tuition. I had my eye on a young man back then. Then the war came, and most of the boys in town, and some of the fathers, went off to fight. And the boy I loved—his name was Joseph Hansen. My Joe was drafted into the Marines."

  "And," I said, my throat feeling tight, "what happened?"

  "He didn't come back."

  "Oh."

  "I never married, didn't plan on it, anyway. Joe had been the only one I'd ever loved. I didn't think I would find anyone else who would make me feel the way he did. And I was right."

  "Mae, that's so sad."

  She laughed and wiped at her wet eyes with her sleeve. "It's ancient history now, Amy. That's what I mean about being old—it gives you distance. When you're going through something, especial y at your age, it seems as though you'l never survive. But you wil ."

  I didn't know what to say that would make Mae feel better. For al her talk about the years giving you distance from the pain, it sure didn't seem to be true for her. She'd lost a love back when she was my age, and it stil haunted her.

  Without the summer sun on my skin, I shivered in the short-sleeved dress. I set the bundle of clothes on the woodpile and dug out my sweatshirt. I pul ed it on over the dress, not caring how odd it must have looked. Without the happy glow I'd felt over at Henry's, I was cold.

  "You have fun at Lori's?" Mae asked, trying to sound cheerful, though her eyes stil held pain.

  I nodded, feeling guilty for my lie. "Yeah, sorry, I guess I should have told you I was going out."

  "I'm not angry, Amy. It's good that you have made some friends."

  "Yeah," I murmured. Impossible friends.

  "You look far away, sweetie," Mae said.

  I felt far away. Henry kissing me was stil fresh in my mind, but so was Mae's sad story. "I guess I feel worn-out, just like you," I said.

  "Wel , it's good to hear you're having fun with your friends instead of poking around after nonexistent ghosts."

  "Yeah, I won't be poking around after them anymore," I said. I total y meant it, since there weren't any ghosts. There were only Henry and his family, and they were as real and as caring as anyone I'd ever met.

  "There you go again," Mae said, rising from the stump. "Faraway girl. You sure there wasn't a boy over at Lori's? You have that look in your eyes."

  I laughed, in spite of myself. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You can't kid a romantic like me." She moved toward the back steps. "But for now, soup is cal ing us."

  I climbed the stairs behind her, watching her choose each step careful y and grasp the railing like a liferope. Most of the time, it was easy to forget that Mae was old since she had such a vibrant personality. Observing her in this moment, though, there was no hiding her age.

  I took my precious cargo of dresses into my room, unpinned my hair, changed back into my jeans, and then hung up the three dresses in the closet one by one. Burgundy, blue with white trim, floral pink. I stared into the simple mirror on the back of my door. In the wan, gray light flooding my room, I was just another girl with boring brown hair, a skinny build, and plain clothes.

  I reached into the closet and took out the deep red dress again, holding it up against me. I longed for the Amy Henry saw, had made me see. I wanted to be colorful, to be alive. I wanted to be with the boy I was starting to ache for. The boy who made a single kiss feel like my first. I wanted to be in an endless summer with Henry Briggs.

  ***

  "Hey! Wait up!" Jackson hailed me outside of the town library after school on Monday. "Didn't you get my texts? I was gonna see if you wanted a ride over here."

  "Oh, sorry." I paused to let him catch up and fumbled in my bag for my cel . "Oh, yeah," I said. "I never turned my phone on after this morning.

  I keep forgetting."

  "There is technology up here in the so-cal ed sticks, Amy," Jackson said, giving me a look of doubt.

  "Yeah," I said, shoving my phone back in my bag. "So, Lori's coming, too, right? I mean, if we're doing this movie theme, then we real y should check out al the options."

  "Yeah, this is way better than the school library..."

  "Okay, what? You're staring. Do I have something on my face?"

  Jackson was looking at me, not in a disapproving way, but stil . "You doing something different with your hair?" he asked.

  I reached up and touched the barrette that was holding a section of my hair back in a wide wave. "Um, I just got sick of my bangs being in my face al the time."

  "It looks pretty," he said in a thoughtful tone. "Kinda retro, and I can see your eyes better."

  I smiled.

  "And now you look even prettier. Wait—you might even look happy if I squint my eyes a little," he said with a laugh. Jackson slid his backpack off his shoulder and leaned against the wal of the entryway. "So this place isn't sucking as bad as you thought at first?"

  "It's not without its charm," I said. Out in the parking lot, the rain started pounding into the already-ful puddles. October was here in a big, wet way.

  Jackson popped a stick of cinnamon gum into his mouth and held one out to me. "So, you think this dance is actual y gonna be fun."

  "Yeah, I guess." I unwrapped the gum.

  "I'm not going with Shel i, you know, my ex." Jackson bal ed the foil paper in his hands.

  "Yeah, the one from the party, right?"

  Just then, Quinn and Melanie came out of the drive-in across the street, carrying to-go bags. Quinn saw us outside of the library and gave me a wave before ducking into the passenger side of Mel
anie's car.

  "Ugh," I muttered.

  "Hmm, so it's not Quinn," Jackson said.

  "It's not Quinn, what?"

  "Wel , I just thought maybe you're, um, hanging with someone. You seem distracted and maybe even kinda happyish."

  "I'm just plain old me. Quinn-free as always," I said, shaking my head.

  "Wel , cool, 'cause I was thinking that maybe..." His blue eyes sparkled a little and his mouth quirked at the corners. "Amy, I suck at this. I'm just trying to ask you to the dance."

  "Oh," I said.

  "She hesitates," he said. "Not good."

  I swal owed back the sudden lump in my throat while Jackson stood there anticipating my answer. I liked him, so why shouldn't I just go? I mean, it wasn't like Henry was coming over to my side to be my date. Seriously.

  "We can go, you know, as friends, if you want to," Jackson said. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets.

  "Um, who else is going? I mean, are we going as a group of friends?"

  His smile flattened. "Um, yeah, we could do that. I mean, I don't think Lori's got a date, and probably her friend Mindy would want to go with us..."

  "Okay. Yeah, that'd be good," I said.

  "Cool." Jackson picked up his backpack. "I'l be happy to be there, even as your friend."

  My heart cracked a little. "Jackson, you're sweet. Stop it, 'kay?"

  He chewed his lower lip, looking at me like he was trying to figure out what I meant. At last he said, "Oh, hey, I meant to ask if you have a problem with James Bond. You know, I know he's kind of a womanizer, but he's also—"

  "What?"

  "Agent 007. I was thinking you could be a Bond girl, and wel , Lori and Mindy, too."

  "I real y wanted to do Pearl Harbor" I said, touching the wave of my hair. "You know, retro?"

  His smile reappeared. "Yeah! And I could be a GI and you al would be some USO girls or something."

  "Or something," I said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

  "That's good," he said. "I like it. With your hair like that, I can just picture it. You'l look great, Amy."