The Reformation of Marli Meade

by Tracy Hewitt Meyer

  On reflex, I pulled one between my teeth, uncomfortable with the intensity of his stare. “It can’t work.”

  “It can. If we leave. There is nothing here for me. I can’t see that there is anything here for you, either.”

  There was an explosion of wildflowers just outside the window, a plush growth of pink, purple, blue, and yellow, the soft rain causing them to dance under the weight. What would it feel like to lie in a bed of those flowers, Nate beside me, holding hands…maybe more?

  I put a hand on my head. “I can’t think when you’re around.”

  “I don’t think that’s true. Around me, you finally can think, for the first time in your life. You can just be and that’s what scares you the most.”

  I studied the flowers. He was wrong about that. What scared me the most was having to walk away from him.

  Nate gave my chin a gentle tug, tilting my head back. Then there were no more words. There were lips—his, mine—and utter and complete melting, inside and out.

  THE REST OF the day passed in a haze, my mind one hundred percent occupied by that kiss. How could something so simple change every bad thing about my life? Obliterate everything evil that had happened in the past week?

  I had no answer to that, but I felt like I was floating as I walked down the sidewalk toward the library.

  I heard Nate coming up behind me. “You can’t walk with me,” I reminded him against my deepest desire to have him do just that.

  “You’re right. I’m just a guy and you’re just a girl, and we’re just walking down the street.”

  “Tell that to Edna when she hears I was with a local.” I shuddered but refused to let thoughts of my grandmother replace the aftereffects of that kiss.

  “I won’t walk too close.”

  I sighed but didn’t protest.

  “I left the Stones’.”

  I pulled him to a stop. “You did what?”

  Nate shrugged my hand off his arm. “We’re not talking to each other, remember?” He started forward and I hurried to catch up.

  “Come on. You can’t throw something out like that and then expect me not to react.”

  “Sure I can. There is nothing to react to. I was always leaving. I couldn’t stand to be there a minute more. My PO gave me a ride home last night.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “Yeah. Dad seemed happy enough to have me back. He didn’t smack me around when my PO dropped me off, and we even managed to have a conversation about the Cowboys.”

  “Cowboys? Why would your dad talk about cowboys?”

  “The Dallas Cowboys. They’re a football team and he hates them. He would probably even give up cigarettes to have the Steelers beat them.”

  “Why would he hate a football team?”

  Nate laughed and shook his head. “Want to skip the library today?”

  “And do what?”

  “I have my dad’s truck. We could go somewhere.”

  “Did you steal it?”

  He snorted.

  “I can’t. That’s way too risky.”

  “I’ll have you back by four thirty.” He eased closer. “I’d like some time alone with you.”

  “Nate, I don’t think I can…”

  “You’re afraid you’ll get caught?”

  “Of course I’m afraid I’ll get caught.” I was no fool. “I just can’t.”

  He watched a string of cars meander down Main Street. “I understand.” Just like that, he dropped the subject.

  As we walked, I had an uncontrollable urge to weave my fingers through his. Would I ever know what it was like to be part of a normal couple? People on the mountain did not touch each other in public, not even husbands and wives. How freeing must it feel to walk hand-in-hand with someone? Arms slung over shoulders and around waists?

  How devastating to never know something so normal.

  I did allow stolen glances at him as we walked, and when I was looking ahead, I could tell he was stealing the same looks at me. I giggled but the sound died on my lips. Up ahead, just at the end of the block past the library, stood my uncle.

  Two days in a row we had run into people on our way to the library we did not want to see. First his brother and now Robert. Was this an omen? A warning? In my two years of walking to the library after school I had never once seen someone I knew.

  “What is it?” Nate’s brows folded. “Is your father here? Your grandmother?”

  “No, my uncle.” I blinked and shook my head, blinked and shook my head again. That was Robert and he was talking to Sheriff Wilton.

  In one long stride, Nate put several feet between us, leaving me in the middle of the sidewalk while he leaned against a storefront. I bent to tie my shoe hoping no one noticed my clogs didn’t have shoestrings.

  “Is that him talking to the sheriff?”

  “Yeah. That’s Sheriff Wilton. He comes up to the mountain a few times a year to check things out.” I would recognize the sheriff anywhere because of his boxy physique that yearned to burst free of his clothes. Merged with the flat-brimmed hat he wore, even in street clothes, and he was unmistakable.

  “You go ahead,” Nate said. “I’ll wait and see what they do. If they leave, I’ll come into the library. If you don’t see me again, it’s because they kept talking and I didn’t want to risk it. Maybe I’ll try to get closer to see if I can overhear anything.”

  I nodded and as I approached the library door, Robert saw me, his gaze locking on mine until my steps slowed…sputtered…died.

  All my life I had lived in a bubble, a clear, translucent bubble of existence where I was watched…always watched. It started out with my earliest memory of Charles’s gaze following me. I’d been just a small girl in long dresses and fiery pigtails dancing through the house. Every time I turned, Charles was there, black eyes wide and unyielding. I had nightmares about those eyes and the unblinking way they followed me.

  Then it was Edna, with the same black eyes, who watched. She studied, always with a cluck of disapproval, as if I had committed some grave sin. How grave a sin could a ten-year-old commit?

  And now it seemed it was Robert’s turn to watch, to stare, to unsettle.

  I forced my feet to move to the library door and ducked inside, hurrying to the window. Sheriff Wilton was holding out his hand and Robert gave it a brisk pump.

  When the sheriff walked away, heading in the opposite direction toward the squad car parked two blocks away, Robert turned toward the window.

  His stare was as unrelenting as a frigid winter’s wind. Why would he be upset with me? I’d never even talked to him. But he looked angry, irate even, and I couldn’t help but feel like that fury was directed right at me, and the force of it made me burst into a deep, choking cough. Miss Nelson scurried over with a paper cup of water but spilled half of it on the way. After a quick gulp of the remaining liquid, I fought to gather my senses. When I looked outside again, Robert was gone. The only thing left was a feeling of cavernous unease and a puddle of water on the floor.

  But then Nate passed through the dirty glass door. When he saw Miss Nelson, he gave a brisk nod in her direction and walked toward the back room. Miss Nelson gave no indication she’d seen him and took the cup while I wiped up the water. The librarian’s nose was in a thick paperback by the time I threw the paper towel away.

  “What was going on out there?” Nate pulled out a wooden chair.

  What was going on? “I don’t know.”

  Nate crossed his ankle over his knee.

  “My uncle never goes off the mountain, which is why it was strange to see him here.”

  “That is strange.”

  As I eased into a seat across from him, Nate’s light started to expand, filling my body with each passing second in his presence. He was good for my soul like a dollop of warmed honey on a scratchy sore throat.

  “Maybe it has something to do with Polly’s sister, though I don’t know what that would be.”

  “Who’s Polly?”

 
“My best friend. She lives on the mountain, too.”

  “Got it. And what happened with Mary?”

  As my mind reeled, I gritted my teeth. If I gave voice to why Mary was in trouble, wouldn’t that be accepting that I was doing the same thing? And the same potential for trouble was waiting for me?

  When I didn’t answer, Nate took the hint and changed direction. “The sheriff is a nice guy.”

  “You know him? How?”

  His lips, such a perfect shade of darkish pink, pursed into a thin line.

  “Nate?”

  “He was the one who arrested me that night I got caught trespassing.”

  “What happened?” I leaned onto my elbows.

  “Mom had been living in a house down Route 61.”

  “Your mom didn’t turn you in, did she?”

  “Nah, she wasn’t there. Wrong house.”

  “You went into the wrong house?”

  “Sure did. Smart of me, wasn’t it? Maybe I’m not as intelligent as I thought I was.”

  “What made you think your mom was there?”

  “It was the last address I had for her.”

  “You don’t know where she is now?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “That’s pretty sad.”

  “Eh.” Nate picked at the distressed corner of the table as if he was trying to find another splinter.

  “What happened after you showed up at the wrong house?”

  “They arrested me for trespassing, which I think is nonsense. Of course, there was a young mother home with a baby when I barreled through the front door, so I guess I have some sympathy. Poor judgment on my part.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Yeah, well…sometimes you have to take risks to get what you want.”

  “Then?”

  “I was put on probation. No biggie.”

  Listening to Nate talk about his life was better than the fiction collection in the next room, and more gut-wrenching. I suspected this carefree and mellow attitude was part of a well-rehearsed act. I sensed an undercurrent of loneliness, simmering just below the surface of his nonchalant shell. Could that be why he cared about what happened to me? He saw a kindred lonely and wanting spirit?

  “Don’t look at me like that or I might have to come over there.” He arched an eyebrow.

  Something in that look made my breath catch. “And what would you do if you came over here?” Six months ago I would’ve died before flirting, would have literally run away screaming Bible verses. Things were changing, though, and it seemed like I was too.

  When he started to saunter over, I had to force myself to breathe, my blood popping and sizzling.

  He bent onto his knees in front of me, bringing us face-to-face.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he said.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  And he did, this time taking the kiss deeper than before. He parted his lips and I parted mine, following his example. It was strange and weird but so insanely delicious I think I felt a little piece of Heaven right there in the back of that tiny small-town library.

  The one and only thing I knew with certainty was that I wanted more. Much more.

  IT WAS FOUR forty-five and Nate had spent the past thirty minutes on his knees in front of me, his lips on mine. It was the best thirty minutes of my entire life.

  But Charles would pick me up soon. I hadn’t cracked open a notebook or study guide and would have to do my homework after I went to bed and not let Edna know it wasn’t finished. Part of the agreement in allowing me to come to the library was that I had to get my work done so neither Edna nor Charles had any further reminder that I attended the public school.

  “You should leave before my father gets here.”

  “Walk me to the door and I’ll slide out.”

  He cringed as he tried to stand.

  “You okay?”

  “My legs have gone to sleep.”

  “I’m sorry!”

  For some reason I felt a surge of guilt and shame, but as I helped him up, he laughed.

  “Why would you be sorry? For that nice long kiss? I’m not sorry for it. I’ll take the pins-and-needles knees any day.”

  I slid my hand into his and squeezed, feeling a swell of gratitude for God putting this guy in my life. For the short walk through the back room, Nate kept hold of my hand, leaving us, for a few all-too-brief steps, clinging to each other like a normal couple would do. By the time we stopped by the glass door, though, several feet separated us. Miss Nelson was nowhere to be seen.

  “You go first.” I gave him a gentle nudge.

  “Bye, beautiful.” He looked at me and mouthed, Can I kiss you?

  Under his spell, I couldn’t resist and my own eyes acquiesced. Just this once. He closed the space between us.

  Did every boy kiss like this or was it Nate-specific?

  He pulled away and squeezed my hand then walked out the door. I stepped forward to watch him move down the sidewalk, eager to give my eyes a little parting treat, but what I saw instead was Charles parked in front of the library, his unblinking gaze locked on my face.

  My heart plummeted like I’d just fallen off the edge of a steep cliff. It took all the inner fortitude I had to make my steps pass through the door and move across the sidewalk.

  Did he see that kiss? Nate’s back had been turned to the road, and since he was taller and thicker than me, it was possible Charles had just seen the back of a teenage boy.

  I shoved my hands in the pockets of my skirt—in part to wipe off the sweat, in part to hide the shaking.

  Please let him not have seen anything. Please.

  I opened the truck door.

  “Marli.” No blinking. “Get in the car.”

  CHARLES WAS SILENT as the truck meandered along the bumpy, winding road up the mountain. I pressed against the door, trying to take up as little space as possible. Sitting between us was an aged black box I’d never seen before. A heavy, rusted lock swung back and forth with the motion of the truck, releasing a high-pitched squeak. I wanted to ask what was in it but something kept me mute.

  If only he would say something, give an indication of what, if anything, he had seen. But he said nothing. He never said anything unless it was morphed into fire and brimstone and shouted within the church’s walls or by the holy water of the river.

  I suppressed a sigh.

  It took forty minutes to lumber upward, the road full of cavernous potholes and soaring grade. Shadows had long ago escaped from deep within the forest, weaving in and out of the trees, long arms wispy and yearning.

  Halfway up the mountain, Charles pulled to a stop in front of Polly’s house. Her grandmother was rocking in a wooden chair on the front porch, the floorboards squeaking in protest underneath. There was not another soul to be seen—not Polly’s younger siblings, not even one of the stray dogs that roamed the mountainside.

  Charles wrapped his long arm around the black box and slid out the door. His gait was jerky and awkward as he walked to the porch. I stayed in the truck, rolling down my window to ease the burden of stifling air that hovered in the cab.

  “She’s inside,” said Grandmother Lowe.

  Charles tipped his head and disappeared into the house. Did this have something to do with Mary? The ball of tension in my stomach told me it did.

  I chewed my lip until I tasted blood. The world lay ashen around me as if the angels had lit a fire in Heaven and shaken the dying embers over the earth.

  I was gazing at the sky when movement caught my eye and I leaned out the window. It was Mary, pushing open a white lace curtain of a second story window just enough to peek through. I waved but my hand stopped mid-air. Her skin was pale beyond anything I’d ever seen, sickly and phantom-like. Maybe it was the dim lighting in the house. Maybe it was the grayness outside.

  Maybe it was my father’s visit.

  I blinked and Mary was gone. Within a heartbeat loud, hysterical sobs came crashing into the air, and I covered my
ears as sorrow and terror burst alive inside me.

  Grandmother Lowe didn’t flinch. The motion of the rocker did not stop.

  I jumped out of the truck still clutching my ears as distressed wails rolled over the land in waves. I darted toward the house, desperate to stop whatever was causing Mary to make that sound. Just as I made it to the porch, Charles walked outside. I skidded to a halt, my chest heaving like I’d run a marathon.

  His lips were drawn and pinched, and he looked like a viper ready to strike. The box was held tight under his arm.

  His long fingers wrapped around my arm, and he dragged me toward the truck. “Get in.”

  I did, shaking over every inch of my body.

  Within minutes we were home. Charles walked toward the front door without a word, leaving me glued to the seat of the truck, trying to still my pounding heart. The black box was still there beside me. Curling, elegant engraving covered the top, worn-out, though, to the point I couldn’t read it. There was something unsettling and eerie about the box, like it held a medieval plague within its aged body, and if I opened the lid, I would be releasing Black Death upon the world.

  Against my better judgment, I reached toward the lock. But just before I pulled on the rusty metal, something inside the box moved.

  I slammed into the door, desperate to pull the handle and get out. Whatever was alive in that box could stay in that box. I toppled out of the truck, fought to stay upright then found my feet wouldn’t move, suddenly paralyzed.

  Run, Marli. Run.

  I looked at the house. My skin itched with the urge to flee, to run far away—from the church, from Edna and Charles, from home. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t quit running. Ever.

  I looked down the road at the snaking dirt path that led toward town, then up toward the top of the mountain that was covered with thick, ancient trees, their tops encased in heavy fog. I scanned the entire area, so thick with forest it was impossible to see any real distance, all while searching for the best escape route.