by Darcy Woods
“Wil! Wait!” Charlotte calls, jogging from the veranda. “Look, I don’t know if this helps, but Grant did say something about stopping at that Italian sandwich shop downtown.”
Perking up, I feel my first glimmer of hope since arriving. “Valentine’s?”
A tiny smile appears. “Yes, I think that’s the one.”
“Oh! Then…I—I have to go.” There’s still a chance! If I drive like a maniac, there’s still a chance I can catch Grant. Sunday is a busy day at Valentine’s and the line is usually epic. I have to catch him.
But before I do, I launch myself into Charlotte’s arms, almost knocking her over. “Thank you,” I gush into her hair. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Charlotte matches the force of my embrace and then stiffens. “Oh, Wil, the paint.” We separate, both inspecting my yellow dress.
“It’s okay. I’m clean.”
Charlotte doesn’t look convinced. “No, it’s in your hair. Shoot! I’m so sorry. I must still have vermilion on my face. Let me get a clean rag from—”
“There’s no time, I gotta go! Thanks, Charlotte!” I holler over my shoulder.
I dive into the Buick, then perform the worst three-point turn in the history of driver’s ed. Nothing will stop me from getting to Valentine’s in time. Nothing. Most of Carlisle’s construction is happening on the south side, so I’ll have a relatively clear shot downtown. This should be a piece of cake. He can’t be that far ahead if he’s just left.
These are exactly the thoughts one should never have.
The sun beats at my back as I size up the enemy. Plural—enemies. I’m paralyzed by fear; perspiration dots my hairline. The low, rhythmic pounding of a drum moves about a quarter of the speed of my thrumming heart.
A grease-painted monster with a rainbow Afro passes by holding a sign that reads:
SQUIRTING FLOWER CLOWN TROUPE—SHOWERING THE WORLD WITH HAPPINESS
No. Seriously. No.
This isn’t funny.
I pace back and forth at the parade’s sideline like a caged animal. How could I have blanked that it’s Carlisle’s annual Summer Sun Parade? With many of the side streets barricaded, finding parking was a freaking miracle.
Still, I’m losing precious time. And these clowns are blocking my path to Valentine’s—as if my hate for them needed more fuel.
Dozens and dozens of painted monsters parade over the hill and down the street with their squawking horns and noisemakers. I decide this must be karmic hell, and the only explanation is that I was Genghis Khan in a previous life.
I force one heel in front of the other, ignoring the constriction of my throat, ignoring the dark spots speckling my vision. I will channel Athena. I will rise to the challenge. And unlike Jessica Bernard’s seventh birthday party, this time…I will not wet my pants!
My pace quickens until I’m in a flat-out run, hurtling toward the carnival procession.
“Move!” I thrust my sprouts and charge the clowns. I don’t look at their faces. I’ll lose my nerve. I look only at their baggy trousers and striped socks. “Outta my way! Outta my way!” I shriek, only to discover the clowns are practically tripping over their floppy shoes to avoid the produce-wielding psychopath.
Emerging on the other side of the street, I barrel into Valentine’s, gasping for breath. Mouths hang agog as I frenetically scan the little corner deli. I feel the stare of customers questioning my bizarre state and the parade bottleneck I created.
That’s all I need, for Gram to witness this on the six o’clock news. Her poor ticker couldn’t take it.
But my hope and the adrenaline start to wane when I don’t find Grant among the queuing patrons. I check the bathrooms. Nothing. I even ask the deli dude if he’s seen a tall, really attractive guy with music-note tattoos, wearing a gray T-shirt and Chucks with duct tape. He looks at me like I’m an extraterrestrial fresh off the mothership. As I glance down at my battered Brussels sprouts and recall the red paint in my hair, I guess I can see his point.
My shoulders droop. He probably never even came, what with all the chaos of the parade.
It’s over. I let out a shuddery breath.
My chance with Grant is done.
Gram’s fine—I’ve called twice, which wasn’t easy since pay phones are more elusive than wormholes in space. Of course I’ve forgotten to charge my cell…again. A lady from Gram’s garden club has brought over a casserole—the Midwest equivalent of flowers—and is keeping her company. And since Gram sounded so chipper, I’m not inclined to go home and taint the mood.
So I drive across town to Inkporium.
“Hey, Bo Peep, how’s the—” Crater breaks off, grin faltering. “What’s wrong?”
“Huh?” Worried my eyes have taken to spontaneously leaking, I wipe underneath them. But no, I’m not crying. I’m done crying. Life will go on. That’s the way it works, I’m told. And I’ve survived worse.
He flicks the hair from his eyes as he examines me. “Man, you look so sad, like someone stole your sunshine.”
“Oh, rough week,” I reply vaguely. “Lots of clouds.”
Crate nods, “Yeah, they kinda come with the whole package, don’t they? Heard your gram’s doing better, though. Helluva silver lining.”
“It is.” I grin, mirroring his hopeful expression. “Um, Iri still here?”
“Yep, and crabby-assed as ever. Tell her if she wants to cut early she’s got my blessing. I’ll make sure she gets the full hour of pay.”
“Thanks, Crate. Really.”
He blanches. “Jesus, you kidding? You’re doing me the favor.” He jerks his chin toward the back studios. “Now go release the Harpy.”
Irina stares at her phone, her lip curled in a sneer. She glances up, startled. “Oh, hey! I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I, um…” I notice the cactus beside the sink, sitting shriveled and dying. “Did you forget to water it?”
She crams the phone in her purse and picks up the withered cactus, tossing it in the aluminum trash can. “Jordan Lockwood turned out to be a complete douche bag. Turns out the Suit came with an engagement ring.”
“Say again?”
“Meaning he was engaged. Can you believe it? I was going to be the last wild fling before wedlock. I’m just glad I waited and…” A string of Russian profanities follows.
“So…you didn’t have sex with him?”
She shakes her head. Her eyes turn glassy, pooling with tears. “I really liked him. I wanted it to be spe—”
“Irina Dmitriyev.” I place my hands on her shoulders. “Douche bags don’t deserve tears. Especially not yours.”
She swallows hard and nods. “I know. Chert poberi! It’s just…allergies—damn cottonwood.”
I hug her, murmuring just how unworthy Jordan the Jackhole truly is. Then I spot an exotic-looking plant on the other counter. “But who gave you the Venus flytrap?”
She sniffs into my shoulder before pulling away. “Manny. We’ve been hanging out.” It’s impossible to hide my shock. “Not that way. When he came in the other day, he saw the cactus and said it was totally lame. He bought me this instead.” Iri produces a grin. “A carnivorous plant.”
“He’s something, isn’t he?”
She offers a noncommittal shrug and then does a double take. “Are you aware of the red paint in your hair?”
“Long story. Listen, would you do me a favor if you’re up to it?”
“Sure. You know I will.”
“Pierce me?”
Her mouth unhinges. “But…but you hate needles. Why?”
“Because. Then I can remember today as the day I faced all my fears. I battled clowns, tried to profess my love, and now”—I turn my back toward her—“I’m going to get my belly button pierced. Undo that hook, will you?”
Her hand hesitates before she undoes the hook. “Dorogaya, you don’t have to do this.”
I unzip the dress to my waist, pulling out my arms and positioning myself on the leather recliner.
“Yes, I do. I want to. And then we’re going to get a huge order of fries at Curio’s and eat them until our fingers are so greasy we can’t hold on to any more. Let’s go, comrade, my fries are waiting.” I grip the armrests. “Go.”
She swabs my navel with antiseptic, looking down with concern. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Do it,” I say firmly. I close my eyes at the sound of the drawer with the medieval tools opening. I feel the pinch of a metal clamp on my skin and suck in a breath.
“Easy, dorogaya, don’t move. And don’t worry—I’ll be quick. I think Grant is gonna love this.” She quickly adds, “Not that you’re doing it for him.”
“I’m not.” My vision goes wavy. “Anyway”—the blood flushes beneath my skin, creating a hot-and-cold prickly sensation—“I lost him. Oh God.” I stare, delirious, at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. “Is it too late to change my mind?”
“Wil! Wil!” Irina’s echoing voice bounces around my brain. “Don’t you pass out on me!”
I lift my woozy head from the table. “Am I done? Am I pierced?”
“Er…” Irina peels off her gloves and elevates the headrest. “No. Why don’t we save piercing for another day, hmm? Now, what’s this about losing Grant?”
The room gradually comes back into focus. I tug on my dress. “He left early for college. He’s gone.”
“Funny”—she lifts a brow—“he called half an hour ago looking for you.”
“He…he did? But how’s that possible?”
“You really think he’d skip town permanently without a word?” Iri rolls her eyes. “You forgot to charge your phone again, didn’t you?”
I hop from the chair. “Oh my stars! I—I have to find him! I have to tell him!” But now I’m torn because my friend is in need and I won’t leave her high and dry. Not when she dropped everything to be there when my world collapsed when Gram was hospitalized.
“I’m good, Wil,” she says, reading my mind. Her phone chimes. She holds it up, facing it toward me. “It’s Grant. What should I tell him?”
“Tell him…don’t leave. I really want to talk, but first I have a friend who needs me.”
Iri’s lips curl into a devilish grin as she taps out the message.
“What? Why is your face doing that? Iri!” I wrestle the phone from her grip and read the message that’s just come in. “What? What does he mean by ‘I’ll be there’?”
“Grant needs you. More than I do right now. I’ll come over tomorrow for breakfast and we can have girl time then. You can bake me muffins of gratitude.”
“But…”
“Oscar!” Irina calls.
Footsteps sound in the hallway, and the door cracks open. Oscar’s wary face pops in.
“Do you like French fries?” Iri asks, like it’s the most natural question in the world.
“Sure.” Oscar lifts a shoulder. “Who doesn’t?”
“Want to grab some? Wil doubled-booked herself and I hate eating trans fats alone.”
He lifts his heavy brows.
“Strictly platonic,” Iri clarifies.
“You know”—Oscar folds his arms—“I am capable of friendship. But you wouldn’t know that because you’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”
Iri puts her bangle bracelets back on her wrist and smiles. And it’s dazzling. “So, that’s a yes?”
A quiet laugh rumbles in Oscar’s chest. “Yes, my Lady of Strange. The answer is yes. Let me go clean up my studio, okay?”
“Take your time,” Irina replies.
When Oscar turns around, we spot yet another dog-eared copy of Shakespeare sticking out of his back pocket.
“Sweet boy”—she turns her gray eyes on me—“but I want to go it alone for a while. Figure out what I want.”
“I think you are wise, dorogaya.”
“You know, Wil, June’s not over yet. Technically, there’s still a few hours left.”
“So?”
“So the planets are still aligned and blah-blah-blah, and I told Grant you would meet him at the tower.”
“You did?” I squeeze her hand. “Irina Dmitriyev, you really do believe in love, don’t you?”
She holds her index finger to her lips. “Shh, don’t tell.”
The stars beckon me to gaze upon them. I can feel them winking. Tugging at my hand like billions of impatient children vying for my attention.
But I don’t. I won’t look up.
Because I can’t tear my eyes off the image of Grant sitting on the bumper of his pickle-green station wagon. His lean body is hunched, his eyes staring at the ground. When I slam my door, he looks up.
And that lift of his chin fills me with all the courage I need.
I take off in a sprint, my dress rustling and puffing out with the rapid strikes of my knees. But these shoes don’t let me move with the speed I desire. I kick them off and surge ahead.
He stands motionless. And he feels as hopelessly far as the celestial bodies shining above.
But finally, finally, I reach him and skitter to a halt. Totally out of breath. “I…love…you,” I wheeze.
Grant tilts his head up to the sky. I see the overlap of his teeth when he brings his handsome face down again. He’s smiling, beaming. It’s the warmest, happiest, loveliest smile I have ever seen in all of my life.
I spring into his arms and he laughs while I cry.
“About time you figured that out, Songbird.” He’s still chuckling when he puts me down. “Aw, and you brought me really sad-looking Brussels sprouts.” The poor sprouts have been to hell and back, but that’s a story for another day. “I keep wondering if there’s ever gonna be a time you don’t surprise me. Seriously, you’re the most unusual girl I’ve ever known.” He works his fingers through the dried bit of paint in my hair.
“But you like unusual, right?”
“No”—Grant shakes his head—“I love it. What’s that?” He nods at the white rectangle sticking out of my dress pocket.
I let go of his hand. “It’s…it’s for you.” I pass it over.
He unfolds the envelope, peering at me, then back at the paper in his hands. “You didn’t open it. But…I thought this was important. I thought you needed to know.”
“It was, but then”—I drop my shoulders—“I went and fell in love with you anyway. So I guess it’s pointle—”
Grant kisses me. His mouth is fierce. And even though his letter expressed how terribly he’s missed me, his kiss tells me more. He lifts me up, setting me on the hood of the station wagon, never once allowing his lips to leave mine.
I’m breathing like I’ve run another sprint when he does break away. He rests his forehead against mine, letting out a breathless laugh. “You know, you’re going to find out my sign soon enough. My birthday’s—”
“No!” This time I cut him off with my own kiss, and he gives up talking for a while.
A long while.
Grant lies on his back on the wool blanket covering the crabgrass and dandelions at the base of the tower. I am nestled on my side in the crook of his arm. The warm summer night surrounds us.
“Are you going to keep staring at me all night like that?”
“No.” I smile. “I have to be home in an hour. Anyway, I have to get my staring in because you’ll be leaving for school in August.”
He rolls his head back and forth. “Yeah, and where did you get the idea I’d leave for school two months early?”
I lift a shoulder. “I was in a panic. Your mom said you headed north; I just assumed it was to Michigan.” I assumed wrong, of course—a skill I’ve been mastering at an alarming rate.
While Seth might’ve preferred to disappear into the bright lights and big city of Chicago, it turns out Grant sought peace and solitude. So he packed up his guitar with every intention of leaving town for the family’s lake house—five hours north. Fortunately for me, Grant didn’t make it beyond the city limits, because his mom called. And I would buy a star and name it Charlotte, because w
hatever she said had him careering across traffic and straight back to the heart of Carlisle.
Back to me.
Of course, things were still rocky between the brothers when Seth left town. Especially when Grant found out how Seth had manipulated me. I can only hope, with a little time and distance, the fractured relationship will heal. I believe it will—one day.
Grant turns his head so he can look at me, and pushes a wavy lock back from my cheek with his free hand. “You know I’ll come home every weekend I can, and all the holidays. And you can come see me whenever you can get away.”
“You might get sick of me with an open invitation like that.”
“Get sick of my muse? Are you kidding?” He smiles. “I’m going to create beautiful music because of you.”
That is another huge change. Grant is going to major in music. Not business.
Once Grant leveled with his parents that he was pursuing business out of a sense of duty, and not any real desire, bye-bye business degree. Because no way would they continue to allow their son to feel beholden to them for simply doing what any good parent would. They had preserved his future by saving him from his past. As to the shape that future would take, well, that would be entirely up to him.
Grant continues stroking my cheek. I love that he can’t keep his hands off me. “So, you really aren’t the least bit curious about my sign?”
I roll my eyes. “Course I am. Just because I see the error of my ways doesn’t mean I’ve forsaken astrology completely. But”—I frown—“there is something that still confuses me. Your key chain has the date February twenty-third. I assumed that was your birthday because—”
Grant laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“That’s my car’s birthday. Anna made me that key chain to commemorate the day I bought the green beast.”
My mouth forms an O of understanding.
“Well? Any educated guesses? I think we can safely eliminate Pisces.” His fingers tease like his words, gliding down my throat and across my chest, where they follow the swell of my breasts.
