by Tamar Sloan
In my room I head to the wall. I pull down my guitar, slowly brushing the dust off its curved body. I sit on my bed, fingers picking and strumming like I was doing this yesterday. I’ve just finished tuning it when a melody begins to form. I smile, recognizing it—an oldie but a goody—James Blunt’s High.
There, surrounded by the memories of a childhood that had very different plans, I smile a little as I plot a new course.
One that involves a dark-haired, green-eyed enigma.
5
Eden
As I step out my back door, I take a moment to absorb my surroundings. Clear Creek Inn is a luxury resort, providing affluent visitors designer décor and lavish spa facilities. The whole place screams Angelina Jolie perfection, where Mother Nature’s canvas has been polished, manicured, and plucked into a stunning panorama. Lush lawns surround voluptuous flower beds in flawless lines, while duplicate rows of cabins parade through with angular precision. Elegant beauty that is designed to look natural and easy and effortless. Like countless landscape artists haven’t put endless hours into creating the exquisite facade before you.
Tucked at the back of the cabins, I’m glad our timber cottage is situated far enough away to mute the tourist hustle and bustle. With the added advantage of being close enough for my mother to have difficulty clocking off. I turn my back on the resort; it’s the spectacular surroundings beyond Clear Creek that have me wide-eyed and dazzled. I haul in a deep, purifying breath. The afternoon wind nips at my cheeks as I take the barely decipherable trail that heads away from the cultured resort grounds, toward a pure evergreen wonderland.
I leave the warmth of the cabin, my thick jacket retaining just a fraction of what I left behind. I don’t think I’m going to like winter here. Caesar, the bounding German shepherd by my side, reminds me why I’m out here, despite the biting breeze. “You wanna go for a walk, boy?” I ruffle the thick fur of his shoulders. Caesar barks excitedly, pulling on his lead.
Once I’m amongst the towering pines, I lean down and release Caesar, wrapping up the leash and shoving it in the depths of my pocket. Caesar barks again, leaping like a puppy, and sets off. I smile a little; no one would guess this dog is the same broken mess I met over two years ago. I’m transported to that day I walked into Safe Haven Veterinary Center, leaving the world of school and home at the door, enveloped by the smell of domesticated animals and disinfectant.
“Thank goodness, Eden. Dr. Adams needs you in the back.” Shirley, the receptionist who has a wonderful mother-hen persona, greets me in a rush. A few strands of her bright blue hair have begun to escape the elaborate knot perched on her head. What started as a work experience placement has become a voluntary part-time job. Animals are something I know, something I can do. And Jack Adams, the resident vet of this small practice, leapt at the opportunity for me to spend some more hours here. Probably the free cage cleaning.
I head out the back, and when I open the door, wailing and howling hits me like a wave. Jack is studiously ignoring the cacophony as he fills a syringe with clear liquid. His spectacled grey eyes glance at a large crate sitting to one side of the room. Ominous growling emanates from the dim interior. He scratches his disheveled grey hair, hair that would give Einstein a run for his money. Jack’s frazzled expression dissolves into relief when he sees me at the door.
“Ah, Eden. The big guy here was involved in a hit and run. He was brought in unconscious, but now that he’s with the land of the living, he won’t let anyone near him. I can’t get to him to assess the damage, and he’s upsetting the rest of the troops. Could you see what you can do?”
I walk slowly over to the cage, and squat down a few feet away. Inside sits a dirty and emaciated German shepherd. His muzzle wrinkles as he bares his teeth; another round of deep growling rumbles from within. He’s not happy to see me.
“Shhh,” I say soothingly. The menacing growling grows louder in response, exposing more bloodied canine teeth and pale gums. I absently note the telltale sign of anaemia.
“He almost took my fingers off when I tried to give him the piece of meat with the sedative in it,” Jack volunteers from behind me.
I sit on the floor, not going any nearer. The noise level in the room is already decreasing, but the beast in front of me remains guarded. He doesn’t relax his aggressive stance, nor does the growling abate. I glance at Jack, who remains still in the back corner of the room. He smiles at me encouragingly, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. This part is always embarrassing. I would much prefer to be alone, but Jack wouldn't leave me alone with a potentially dangerous, and rather large, animal.
I fill my lungs with air and begin to hum gently under my breath—a soothing tune, almost a lullaby. I don’t know where I know this song; it has no words. My mother certainly never sang it to me. The dog doesn’t take his eyes off me, but pauses his growling to listen to the melody. Ignoring my audience, the song gains momentum, and I sing a little louder. I gently move forward, testing. The dog simply stares, eyes wide and wary. A couple more shuffles along the ground and I’m at the cage door. He whines softly, unsure whether he wants me in his personal space. I continue the soft tune as I incrementally raise my hand for the door latch. I can almost feel Jack holding his breath behind me.
I cautiously open the latch and the door pops open a crack. I continue the song, not missing a beat, as the hound’s ears dart forward. He leans closer to cautiously sniff my hand. I hold it there, wanting to be as non-threatening as possible. He moves to shuffle forward, but whimpers quietly. He's hurt, and my heart aches for this proud dog.
Jack passes me the syringe he filled earlier. I didn’t hear him take those few steps, and the dog instantly stiffens. Jack gently moves back. What am I supposed to do with this? I wonder incredulously.
“Straight into his shoulder muscles will be fine,” whispers Jack.
Panic flares brightly in my chest. Humming becomes a little difficult as my mouth dries; I’ve never administered an intramuscular injection. But I know the dog needs to be sedated so we can help him. The tune doesn’t miss a beat as I reach into the cage and gently touch the furry paw at the entrance of the cage. I move my hand with gentle pressure up to his shoulder. He watches me cautiously, but his teeth remain concealed. I try to recall the countless procedures I’ve observed in my time here, and mimic Dr. Jack’s movements. I administer the sedative as efficiently as I can, considering my absence of any prior experience with a hypodermic, and the confines of the crate. Despite my fumbling, the dog doesn’t even acknowledge the sting. He must be in a great deal of pain, poor animal. I continue humming as he slowly drops his front legs and rests his broad head on his paws. A few moments later, his eyes close. The melody ends on a shaky breath.
“Great work, Eden. That voice of yours is magic. Who knows how we would have sedated him without you here.” Jack is beaming. I blush under his praise as I reach in and run my hand through the dogs matted, crusted fur. I feel his bones jutting sharply into his skin. This stray has had a tough past, I notice sadly. A veterinary nurse bustles in and they take him away for an x-ray.
Caesar jumps up, placing his muddy paws on my jeans, jolting me back to the present. I smile down at him. “A few broken ribs, a punctured lung, and look at you now.” I squat down, hugging his body to me. His tail wags so hard his whole body jacknifes like a pendulum on speed. He suddenly tenses and his ears prick up, and I release him as he sets off after whatever poor squirrel has grabbed his attention. His enthusiasm is contagious, and I breathe in the fall air through my smiling lips.
It’s almost dark by the time I get home. I let myself in and the warmth of the décor and heating envelops me at the door. My mother curled her lip at the honey-colored wood and earthy-hued furnishings. I love it. It’s the first time I’ve lived somewhere that resembles a home, rather than an institutionalized showcase. My mother was unable to change the décor seeing as it had been part of the multimillion dollar upgrade undertaken not long before we arrived. Caesar takes h
imself to a handmade rug by the gas fire, circles twice, and settles himself with a contented canine sigh.
I have my hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate when my mother comes through the door a short while later. She removes her wool jacket, revealing the black cashmere dress beneath. The chromatic shade contrasts against her claret-red nails and knee-high boots. Her heels rap across the timber floor as she strides across the open-plan lounge to the kitchen. I sip my drink, pretending to be reading the textbook in front of me. I infinitesimally hunch my shoulders, trying to be as conspicuous as a fly on a log. A camouflaged piece of lint on a couch. A sloughed-off dead skin cell on a sleeve.
My mother pours herself a wine and moves over to the lounge. She picks up the remote and the sound of the local news ruptures the silent air. This is my cue to leave. With my eyes focused on the hallway that will frame my escape, I silently call to Caesar. He gets up and follows me to my room.
“We’ll head down to the dining room in twenty minutes,” she calls out after me.
I sigh inwardly. The resort restaurant provides fine dining delivered within understated elegance. And Tony, the chef, can cook a mean asparagus risotto. But that interminable hour with my mother can spoil the finest cuisine.
It’s under the scrutiny of her staff and beloved guests that she will make small talk. Pretending to know what’s happening in my quiet life, and worse, to care. She’ll ask me inane questions, like how my first day at school was. She won’t notice my eyes spending more time regarding my plate than her. She won’t see the way I eat as quickly as possible, barely tasting food that deserves to be treated with more respect and be savored. She’ll be unaware that my monosyllabic answers are less than the average non-verbal teenager shares with their parents.
She won’t notice those questions trigger a waterfall of emotion as I stagger under a deluge of feelings I’ve determinedly buried. Noah. I shift a little on my bed. Just his name is enough to make me uncomfortable. I don’t understand these unbalancing emotions, and I know I don’t like them. His image as he walked away this afternoon, glinting grin, sparking blue eyes, swims before me. But I stopped believing in dreams long ago.
I begin to make a mental note of things I need to avoid. Not sharing the same atmosphere would be ideal, but unfortunately the colonization of Mars is still some years away. I definitely don’t want to be close enough to share the margins of my personal space bubble. It’s more of a balloon actually. Maybe a blimp. Eye contact is certainly out of the question. All this seems possible, feasible even, except for our mutual class and lunch partners. The seating plan in biology has been a fortuitous fluke, and for lunches I have the buffer of the intractable Tara.
As I wait to go to dreaded dinner, I plot and plan the intricacies of avoiding Noah within the confines of the school, deciding my new alter ego is going to be a mole. Mostly solitary, definitely invisible.
6
Noah
For an entire week Eden has shown no interest in spending time with me, or anyone apart from Tara actually. Biology is a study in frustration. Eden sits behind her protective back bench, entering and leaving with eyes glued to her shoes. I feel I could graduate magna cum laude from the school of dissatisfaction, discouragement and disappointment. Where setbacks, obstacles and stumbling blocks are the foundations of the curriculum.
Sometimes, as I sit there pretending to take notes, hyperaware of her distracting presence, my chest warms and I feel like there’s a green laser burning a hole through my back. But when I turn, even slightly, all I see is mahogany hair firmly entrenched in books. My runaway imagination is not helping the storehouse of frustration.
Lunchtimes are the exception. She still looks a little like a fish out of water, but appears to be happy to let the conversation flow around her. From time to time, I get to hear her soft, melodic voice. Occasionally she makes eye contact. The brief times our gazes meet, that electrical charge pulses. I’m starting to seek it like an addict.
But my fixes are few and far between.
Today, Eden is nibbling on the soggy vegetables on offer at the cafeteria. Head down, permanently tied hair falling forward to cover her cheeks. Eyes downcast.
I take a deep breath. Phase two is about to become operational.
“So, how are you going with the ecosystems assignment?” I lean forward, my head facing toward her, resting my elbow on the table. Mitch and Tara are debating whether they’d send their child to Hogwarts if they received a letter of offer.
Eden turns to me slowly. Almost reluctantly. Her eyes creep up, but don’t quite connect with mine. “I haven’t really looked at it. I’ve been focusing on my English essay.”
“Yeah, I’m a bit stuck myself…” I throw out a line.
Eden’s eyes return to her lifeless vegetables. “Maybe you should reread chapter six?”
Hmm, the fish doesn’t take the bait.
“I already have.” I lie. “It just doesn’t seem to stick.”
“Oh.”
I puff my cheeks out on a pent-up breath. I think this fish is either not interested or stubborn.
“I’m wondering if a study buddy would be helpful. I don’t want my marks dropping.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
Please let it be stubborn.
“You seem to have a good hang of it.” I grin. Isn’t there supposed to be a higher catch rate with sweetener?
Eden’s eyes turn to mine. Finally. I’m hoping this is a good sign. But her next sentence crushes that optimistic interpretation. “Well, we already started ecosystems in Boston.”
I finally concede defeat and haul my line in. I sit up straight. It’s time for a more direct approach.
“How about you?”
“Me?” Eden’s eyes widen a little. For a second, I get a little lost in those bewildered, surprised pools. Okay, maybe three or four seconds.
“Yeah. I could sure use the help. I need to keep my GPA up.” I try for puppy dog eyes, although that’s a little ironic for me.
“I’m not sure. I’m pretty busy.”
“We’ll study when you study. That way it’s not a waste of your time. And explaining concepts can really deepen your understanding.” I’m talking fast, like a salesman that’s about to have the door slammed in his face. She doesn’t look convinced, hunching her shoulders a little.
Eden considers this for long moments; her eyes are back to regarding her petrified vegetable matter. Wow, that reluctance wasn’t my imagination. I try not to take it personally that she prefers to converse with her three-times-tortured greens than me.
“I don’t think that’s a great idea.” What? Why? I’m scrambling for a winning argument, wondering if begging would be too desperate, when Tara pipes up.
“Hey, girlfriend, join me for a trip to the little girls’ room?”
I turn to Mitch and Tara. They’re both watching us: Tara is grinning like a loon; Mitch’s face is quite the opposite. I notice Eden blush. I love watching that rosy glow creep up her porcelain skin.
I glare at Tara. She sticks her tongue out at me. “What? It’s practically a commandment, always in pairs.”
Eden agrees, and I watch them walk away. I deflate faster than a punctured lung. I’d imagined us walking to biology, planning our joint study schedule. Smiling. Chatting. Eden actually acknowledging my presence. But phase two has been a resounding failure. And I haven’t thought as far ahead as a plan C. Frustration is no longer a problem. Defeat has taken its place.
As I collect my tray, Mitch grabs my arm. I turn to my brother. His brows are pulled low over his eyes.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Unfortunately, not much gets past someone you share a birthday with, and a significant part of your genetic makeup to boot.
I decide to act dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mitch’s dark brows sink deeper, almost meeting at the bridge of his nose. He’s not fooled. “She’s not one of us.”
Heat flashes
across my skin, and I jerk my arm from his grasp. “Neither am I.”
7
Eden
“Thanks,” I say to Tara.
“He can be so dense sometimes!” Tara is chattering as we head to the toilets. Confusion is roiling around in my head, giving me a headache. Why would Noah want to study with me? Surely pity wouldn’t extend that far. What’s worse, I was so close to caving. That grin had left me defenseless. Thankfully, Tara’s shining armor is almost blinding, having been buffed to a mirror finish.
Tara seems to share my confusion. “I wonder what that was about. Noah’s never shown any interest in anyone before.” She’s tapping her top lip as she considers this. She mumbles something about Noah certainly not lacking in offers.
Shown an interest? That doesn’t make sense. A betraying sense of hope balloons deep in my belly. I quickly burst it with the tapered point of reality. Good-looking, in-demand, funny, intriguing boys like him don’t become interested in awkward, plain, freaky girls like me.
“You didn’t want to study with him, did you?” Tara is looking at me closely.
“No!” I realize I almost shouted the denial, and I hurry to modulate both my tone and my horrified expression. “No. I’m just focusing on my English essay at the moment.” My voice peters lamely away. I pick at a piece of lint on my jeans. Tara watches me for a few more uncomfortable seconds.
She shrugs delicate shoulders. “Oh well, hopefully he got the message.” We head into our individual stalls, and I breathe a sigh of relief that the conversation is over.
As I wait outside the girls’ toilets for Tara to join me, I study the laces of my Converse. My one concession to individuality, they’re purple with white polka dots.
