by Kay, Hannah;
She laughed, taking my hand and climbing up herself. In that moment she looked like a giant—the figure of Aphrodite in her true, inhibited form. Blindingly bright sunlight surrounded her form, reflecting off the pure white of her dress and bouncing from the gold in her hair. There I was, kneeling at her feet and spreading a blanket across the bed of the truck, and looking up at this goddess.
“That’s intriguing.” She carefully sat down on the blanket, leaning her back against the cab of the truck and spreading her legs out along the bed, crossed in a ladylike fashion at the ankles, before pulling the basket onto her lap. “May I?”
I nodded, sitting beside her, bending my legs at the knees and sitting Indian-style next to her. “Go right ahead.”
She opened the basket and laughed, pulling one of two canisters I had packed. It was one of those insulated cups, filled to the brim with Randy’s coffee. She slowly unscrewed the top then sniffed the contents. Her eyes swiveled to meet mine. “I think you just broke the cliché.” There was a glittering in her green eyes, an extension of the sunshine residing in her very retinas.
I grinned, casting my eyes downward as I laughed. “I do my best.” My hands reached into the basket and grasped the other cup, balancing it against my leg and pulling out two white to-go boxes. One of them had Julie scribbled across the top in Randy’s signature scrawl and the other Lucas. I extended my other arm, removing the basket from her lap and replacing it with her box.
She looked down at it curiously, head tilting to the side. “What’s in the box?” she asked, sing-songily, turning to peer at me.
I grinned. “Open it and find out,” I challenged, playful half-smile dancing across my lips.
She laughed at me, opening the box. It was an American favorite, a cheeseburger and fries. She smiled. “Mmm. Looks delicious.” She took a bite of the burger and looked at me, still holding it between her hands. “How’d you know how I like my burger?”
I chuckled, leaning back against the truck and extending my legs beside hers. “I have my ways.”
She quirked an eyebrow at me. “Randy?”
I laughed, head lolling back against the truck and food bouncing just a bit on my lap. “Yep.”
She laughed, a tinkling bell toll of a sound, gorgeous. It was light as air, a leaf falling through an autumn sky, a snowflake in winter, new growth of spring, a sprinkler left on in the summer heat. She reached into the box, biting the end off a fry and exhaling, eyes trained on the sky. “It is beautiful.” The sun was making its way across the sky, staining it pink, orange and red, contorting the blue in the distance. This image reflected in the water as we ate, silently admiring the beauty.
“I told ya.” It wasn’t mocking, just a quiet echo across the water. It sounded like an affirmation of sorts, bouncing off the overhead trees and ripples on the creek—stirred by the wind. I finished my burger quickly enough and deposited the trash in the basket. She wasn’t far behind in doing the same.
Our silence stretched comfortably across the creek to the line of trees where a couple of deer were wading along the shore. One of the deer’s necks craned down for a drink, while the other stood close at hand. When the first looked up, the second stepped closer. They were standing rather intimately, heads together. The second one glanced over at us almost protectively, like he would fend the pesky intruders off their forest frolic, before the first led him away.
I refocused, turning my head to look at her. She was sitting beside me, still gazing out across the water. I wondered if she’d seen the deer or if she was merely mesmerized by the sunset or—more than that—what she was thinking about. Her braid was falling, leaving loose, golden red curls to one side of her face. Her eyes, her face looked different than it had before. It didn’t seem as happy, but it didn’t seem sad either.
She sat up a little bit, sensing my gaze and meeting my eyes. She didn’t smile this time, instead readjusting her body so that she could lean her head against my shoulder, looping one of her arms through one of mine. It was an innocent gesture, but it set my whole body aflame. Her touch was that of a venomous snake minus the venom.
My hand slowly curved up to link our fingers together—sparks through my fingertips, warmth in my palm. Then I noticed the first of the stars rising in the newly purple night sky.
Chapter Ten
Julie
“Starlight, star bright. The first star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might… Have the wish I wish tonight.” The rhythmic sound of words from my lips, a remembrance of the innocence of childhood.
His eyes cast downward to capture mine in the moonlight. “What’re you wishing for?” It was hardly over a whisper, his dark gaze watching my face ever carefully.
“A lot of things.” It was the simplest answer. My emotions were going viral. I liked this guy. I really did. Lucas was nice and nerdy and awkward and adorable and great. He made me feel alive and happy and noticed in a way that wasn’t creepy, like the Goodman twins, but there was that feeling again in the pit of my stomach. I could feel the tightening monster of doubt swirling. It was tearing me apart. Over all of it, though, I wished I had my mom. If Mom was here, maybe she’d tell me it was okay to feel the way I was feeling. Maybe she’d say they aren’t all bad and the bad stuff could be worth it.
Things is, Mom and I never really talked about what happened with Dad. I pieced together what I thought happened. In fact, we’d never talked about love. I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never met a boy that made me feel this way. The extent of our ‘boy talk’ entailed us on the beach, discussing how hot the guy in the red swim trunks was and how great his abs were. Yes, my mom and I talked about that once—or twice. Or a lot, okay? Mom had a thing for abs.
So now, here in Hendleson’s bed, snuggled into Lucas’ arms, I felt a tandem of emotions, completely unsure of my feelings.
He didn’t respond right away. “Any of them have to do with me?” It wasn’t flirty. Instead, it was just like his question, a whisper. His eyes were endless but they weren’t looking at me. His head was against the cold glass of his truck and he was looking toward the heavens. His fingers brushed lightly against my thigh, right above my knee, before sliding back into my hand. His eyes met mine again.
“Maybe,” I uttered, but it was under my breath, a choked sound in the back of my throat.
He nodded as if he’d heard it, so maybe it had been aloud. It was hard to tell sometimes when it was your volume you were gauging. He smiled, eyes brightening a bit. “Care to dance?”
I almost laughed at his change of pace, but it melted into a smile. “Sure.”
We climbed from the bed of the truck and dialed in the radio once more. He extended a hand to me and I sighed, stepping into his embrace keenly. It was a slow song, full of mellow chords and smooth lines. Our bodies melded together easily—my head on his shoulder and his arms around my waist. He was quiet and when I pulled my head back to see his expression, his eyes were closed. “What are you thinking?” I inquired, returning my face to rest on his shoulder as we swayed to the slow sound wafting from Hendleson’s open door.
His arms tightened around my waist, pulling me an inch closer to him. “I’m thinking that this is fun. That I really like you.”
I exhaled against his shoulder, fighting every instinct in my body that was screaming the wrongness of this moment. I refused to let it ruin tonight. I looked at him again, smiling. “I like you too.”
We stood there, swaying against the current of the music for a long time before the tune morphed into a new one entirely. This song was lively and Lucas grinned, releasing my waist but taking both of my hands in his and pulling playfully. It was a push and pull kind of sway, our arms swinging awkwardly, but I laughed as he spun me, brown eyes alight with his own smile.
Everything was amazing for a beat of my heart, hands held in his, grinning like kids, dancing playfully and wonderfully until we tumbled to the ground. We were but a pile of limbs intertwined together. I looked at him, and he stared back. I h
eld my breath. He held his.
It was like slow motion. Our lips collided suddenly and my head tilted, fingers slowly sliding into his hair. It wasn’t my first kiss, but it felt like it. The soft, questioning movements of his mouth made it feel like a first kiss. I guess it was. It was ours. Ours.
We ended up back in the truck. The dashboard read nine-fifty-four, but we were stretched across the seats, sharing soft kisses… Each as innocent as the first. His fingers knotted in my hair—long departed from its fishtail—and mine at the nape of his neck. Part of me wished I could be closer to him, wind my arms around his neck so our bodies pressed together, but the other half was glad for the distance.
Eventually, he pulled away to look at me, brushing the hair from my green eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled before leaning forward and brushing his lips against mine lightly.
I smiled against his lip. “Thank you.”
He exhaled. “No thanks needed,” he answered, kissing the hollow of my cheek lightly. “Not for the truth.” He smiled a bit, pulling back to start Hendleson. “I’d better get you home.”
By now, it was ten-twenty-one. I nodded and simply watched him drive. His brown hair was sticking up from my fingers and I laughed, reaching over through the darkness. I carefully tousled his hair, making it as it was before.
He chuckled. “Your hair’s a mess,” he joked, letting his eyes turn from the road to grin at me.
I laughed in response, raking my fingers through it. “Thanks.”
He grinned. “Any time.”
* * * *
I sank into bed, having tossed my dress to the side and collapsed in my underwear—something I hardly ever did just on principle, but I was tired. I tossed my hair into a loose bun atop my head, not really caring what became of it or about the fact that in the morning it would be a tangled, matted mess.
My eyes squeezed shut tightly, my breath uneven. I pulled my blankets over my body, covering my exposed flesh, but it was already on fire. I shoved it away, rolling over on my side. I felt his hand there on my waist, holding me as his lips caressed mine in a slow waltz that took my breath away. So vivid, his ghost held me there, fingers slowly inching up to fist in my hair.
I rolled over again, eyes flickering open and suddenly I felt small, as if my body’d shrunk down into that of a six-year-old, ginger hair in two low-lying pigtails and wearing a pair of pink pajamas again. But I was still me, long hair knotted at the crown of my head wearing nothing but my underwear and scorching. I could tell that much. But the screaming, yelling pierced through my head, a retching sound that bounced and echoed against the walls of my mind, setting it ablaze too.
I couldn’t make out the words as I plastered my eyes closed, praying to lose consciousness, fighting to drown out their arguments for good this time. Why couldn’t it dissolve into dreams? Anything, clowns on motorcycles pounding the pavement toward me, Aragog’s liar full of mutant spiders overtaking my bedroom… Anything else. I hated these nights.
He was there again. His arms wrapped around my shaking frame, smothering me in kisses, but that was what it was. He was smothering me. I found myself pulling away, jerking from his arms into dull darkness of screaming. I was alone—no kind hand, gentle movement, beat of his heart against my ribcage.
I rolled, pressing my face into my pillow, hands on the soft surface, heart thumping rapidly. The yells intensified somewhere in the house and a sob hitched somewhere deep in my chest. I craved nothing more than to run away, to get the hell out of this house and this fighting match, because it never stopped. It seemed infinite in its rage, propelled by something I couldn’t see or identify. A new topic sparked it every day but I knew there must be a deeper issue.
A kiss, slow and steady, pressed to my shoulder blade and I exhaled, turning my head against the pillow to look into his dark eyes. His hand encased mine. The voices outside my room dulled at his touch. I exhaled, pulling the blanket over our heads and letting him hold me.
Our breath was slow and steady, mixing together in the limited space. I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck and he rubbed my back, strong hands unceasing on my bare flesh to the time of the angry echoes outside my door. I exhaled, tilting my lips up to graze against his. The kiss was slow at first, barely touching the surface of my uncontrolled feelings, then slowly grew. Suddenly my fingers were in his hair and I had him pinned underneath me. I pushed against him, wanting to be closer. If I kissed him harder, just maybe we could drown out the chaos.
But it didn’t work like that. The crashing of our kisses didn’t drown the troubling waters of my mother and father’s problems. Instead I felt them mounting on top of us, becoming our own in the heat and the passion of the moment. Just when I thought I couldn’t take the pressure anymore, when I was sure my entire body was on fire, ready to ignite, my body jerked forward.
I was sitting bolt upright in my bed, drenched in sweat, despite the fact that I’d barely been covered, and with a raging headache. I swiped my fingers through my hair, looking at the clock on the wall. Ten-twenty-four. I exhaled.
It was going to be a long Saturday.
I’d pulled myself together enough to get dressed, pulling on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before throwing my hair into a loose ponytail. My stomach was grumbling loudly as I padded to the front of the house, but that wasn’t what struck me. I could smell the sweet scent of coffee from halfway down the hall.
Cautiously I crept into the kitchen, peering around to find my dad sitting at the table. He was bent over the paper—not his own. He read the New York Times, which he had specially shipped to our front door every morning—and sipping a cup of coffee. I stepped slowly over to pour myself a mug, hands shaking slightly with the memory of the dream still fresh.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted, having noticed me.
I took a long drag from my coffee, wrapping my arms around my middle and leaning against the counter. “Morning.”
He flipped the page of the paper. “When did you get in last night?” he inquired without looking up. I wondered if he really cared. He seemed unconcerned that anything bad could happen here.
“About ten-forty-five,” I answered, looking down at the coffee in my hands. It was straight black, no frills. I was that kind of girl. Kind of like my dad. About the only thing we shared, though.
He nodded, glancing up. “You have fun?” It was almost comical, but I didn’t laugh.
“Yeah, it was good,” I answered, turning to pull the box of cereal from beside the fridge and pour some into a bowl.
“Where’d you go?” he asked dryly. It felt like he was going through a mandatory list of dad after date questions.
I exhaled, pouring milk into my cereal and watching the flakes float to the surface. “Picnic at the creek.”
He chuckled, breaking character a bit. “Classic.” He fell silent and I sat across from him at the table, spooning the cereal into my mouth slowly. Nothing was said for a few strokes of my spoon then he coughed, awkwardly clearing his throat. “You going to see him again?” The question stung like knives.
I exhaled. “Maybe.”
Or maybe not.
Chapter Eleven
Lucas
Papyrus walls surrounded me but I didn’t feel surrounded. The mind-numbing hours of sitting at my corner desk from nine to five, Monday through Friday, blurred sessions of writing about her. Her smile, her eyes, her laugh, the way I didn’t understand her at all. She was a beautiful mystery, always holding something back, but somehow giving something in return at the same time.
A noisy fly buzzed in front of my face as my pencil struck the page. I smudged the lines and groaned, fighting the black speck Jedi as if my pencil were a lightsaber. The pencil slammed against my desk, loud from the impact, and I heard a few chairs shifting around me. I chuckled awkwardly. “There’s a fly,” I answered the chubby lady with thick red glasses, but she wasn’t looking up.
“A bit distracted today, Mr. Grant?” Mr. Swift’s voice surp
rised me from over my shoulder.
I exhaled calmly, shuffling the papers on my desk and instinctively pulling at my shirt. “There was a fly, sir.”
“What’d I say about that ‘sir’ business, Mr. Grant?” He shuffled the pile of papers in his arms, fishing out a stack. “I need eleven copies of this for the staff meeting.”
“Eleven?” I questioned, because there were ten people on staff.
He chuckled. “One for you.”
I was silent, processing. The staff meeting was for assigning articles. “Thank you, sir.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “What did I say, Mr. Grant?”
“No sir,” I repeated, chuckling quietly, rising from my chair.
He nodded, patting me on the back. “That’s my boy.”
I drifted to the copy machine, located at the front of the big room of cubicles. Setting to work on copying the papers, I refilled my coffee cup—the coffee maker was conveniently located beside the copier—and watched as the papers streamed from the copy machine. It was slow and methodical, an utter bore to most, but my blood ran with excitement.
As corny as it sounds, she was always there—her image, her eyes, her voice. It all drifted to me, wafted from thin air. I knew it’d only been one date, but it’d been real and it’d gone so well. So much better than the other train wrecks I’d experienced. Now it looked like I was being given a chance to actually write for the paper. ’Course I’d be over the moon.
I fished the papers from the copier and shuffled my way back to my desk. Once seated, I began re-sorting and stapling the papers, grinning despite myself as I worked. My mind was on hyper drive and, at the same time, slow motion, and I didn’t really know how that could be but I felt it. Some thoughts racing while others slowly lingered, pulsing like a memory against my trembling fingers.
The sound was distinctive, jolting my attention immediately from the papers against my palm. There she was, a hurricane on our shore, wearing the blue coat now etched into my brain. This time, though, her eyes met mine from across the room as she crossed the floor to her father’s door. Everything else was the same from the perception—or lack thereof—from my coworkers to the room’s vitality while in her presence to the draining of color when the door shut behind her.
