by Lily Cahill
A few steps behind her was a group of local boys. They were teens, a bit too young for Henry to know them by name, although he recognized their faces.
“Hey, freak!” One of the boys yelled, kicking a rock so that it hit the back of Lucy’s calf. She winced but kept walking. “Come back here, I’m talking to you!”
Lucy stomped onward. She didn’t seem to have noticed Henry yet.
“Aw, don’t be like that, sweetheart. We just wanna see you do your little tricks!” Another one called out. “I bet you know how to do all sorts of things, don’t you?”
That was too far. Henry rushed over and moved between Lucy and the boys, who seemed surprised to see him. They banded closer together, took a collective step back.
“That’s enough,” Henry said. He sounded stiff and cold, even to his own ears. “If I ever catch you boys bothering Lucy again, I’m going to get the police.”
The tallest boy scowled. He had an ugly expression on his face—Henry tried to place him, but the only thing he could think was that this young man was the second coming of Butch Murphy.
“We weren’t doing nothing to her,” he protested. “She’s a freak, anyway.”
“You’re harassing her.” Henry glared at them. “There’s nothing wrong with the young people in this town who have developed powers, but I can’t say as much for you.”
The boys backed away, and as Henry turned, he was positive they were flipping him the bird behind his back. He didn’t care, so long as Lucy was safe.
“Are you okay?” he asked, taking a few steps closer.
Lucy was still standing with her arms wrapped around herself like armor, but she nodded tentatively. “You didn’t have to do that,” she told him, scuffing one of her saddles shoes on the ground. “They wouldn’t have done anything.”
“They were doing something wrong simply by hassling you.” He reached out to touch her elbow and winced when she stepped back. “Would you like me to walk you home?” It was in the opposite direction from the church, but he’d worry less if he knew she got home safe.
There was a long pause, and then Lucy nodded tentatively. “If it isn’t too much trouble. They followed me all the way from the general store, and I—” She shuddered. “I don’t understand. I don’t even use my powers.”
Henry joined her, and they walked down the road toward Aspenwood. “I only just heard you had them.”
Lucy shrugged. “I don’t advertise it much. I don’t see the point, really. It’s not like being able to move stuff with my mind has anything to do with what I have planned for my life.”
“It doesn’t change anything for you?” At her sharp look, Henry held up both his hands. “Not that it should, of course. I’m just curious. For most people, it seems to have done just that.”
Silence reigned between them as they walked down the road. When Henry glanced at Lucy, her brow was furrowed in concentration. Finally, she said, “I feel like I’ve always known what I wanted. These powers—they’re just something I can do. They don’t change who I am. Does that make sense?”
He nodded. “It really does.”
They came up to Lucy’s house, and he watched her step inside. She gave an awkward wave before disappearing, and Henry doubled back to get to the church. He brooded the rest of the way. Bill Goodman was considering joining a gang of tyrants, boys were throwing rocks at perfectly respectable women. The whole town was going mad.
Patrice was at the volunteer checkin table. When she noticed him, she raised her eyebrows and tapped her watch. The smile curling the corner of her mouth, however, was kind. “So my guilt trip worked enough to get you here, but not enough to get you here on time?”
Henry scratched at the back of his head. “Ran into some trouble, actually. Have you heard anything about people harassing the—the—well, you know who I mean. I just saw some boys hurling insults at Lucy Roberts. They kicked a rock at her.” He shook his head, still in disbelief. “People are going crazy.”
“Henry,” Patrice dropped her voice and leaned in, motioning for him to do the same. “You can’t say things like that here. You’re volunteering to help those people’s victims.”
It was all Henry could do not to roll his eyes like a surly teenager. “Please, the person who suffered the most was that crazy preacher from the west side of the river, and I’m sure his insurance will take care of his car.”
“Best watch it,” she warned again. She pointed her finger at him. “The preacher’s daughter is here, and I doubt she feels like that loss was no big deal. I saw her in the square a few weeks ago—”
“Ruth is here?” Henry cut her off. Excitement stirred in his stomach.
He still hadn’t spoken to her since that day in the general store, though she’d been on his mind every day since he’d dropped the fabric on her doorstep. The guilt he felt for any trouble he’d caused still weighed on him. He remembered the way her cheek had gone red, the fingers clasped angrily around her tiny wrist ….
She was small, delicate. He was worried for her.
Maybe a little too worried for her.
He scanned the room, hardly hearing a word of what Patrice was saying to him. In the far right corner, Mary Stewart sat staunchly on a chair, ordering a group of ladies as they sorted through boxes of canned goods. Along the left wall, people went through clothing donations, and in the front it looked like someone had set up a place to donate cash for the repairs to the Mamie Watkins statue.
And then, he saw her. She was in the middle of the room, talking to Briar … hanging on the arm of a man Henry couldn’t place.
It wasn’t any of his business. Ruth was nothing more than a random conversation from a week and a half ago and a good deed that followed it. He’d felt bad for causing her any sort of discomfort, and that was the only source of his preoccupation with her. He certainly hadn’t given any thought to her long, wild hair or her dark brown eyes or the way her mouth stood out, pert and red against her pale cheeks.
He certainly didn’t feel a little jealous watching her cling to another man’s arm.
Briar was saying something, her posture confrontational as she looked at the mystery man, but Henry didn’t have time to investigate before Patrice was tugging at his arm, frowning. “Henry, are you listening to me?”
“Yes,” he answered automatically. At her skeptical look, he shrugged, sheepish. “Not really.”
She sighed. “Just like at work. I just said, you should go find Briar. She just went ahead to help some other people find assignments, and I think she’ll know where to place you, also.”
He nodded. That was perfect. He could catch Ruth when he went to Briar, make sure she was okay, maybe size up the guy she was with.
He glanced up. The man—tow-headed and with a ruddy complexion—stalked past him out the front doors. When Henry glanced back, he saw Briar and Ruth disappear out the door at the opposite end of the room. He jogged around a few volunteers, trying to close the gap between them, but when he reached the door and flung it open, they were gone.
Without Briar to give him an assignment, Henry joined the closest group. He settled in next to Mary Stewart, who glared at him suspiciously as she knocked her cane against the side of one of the boxes.
“You go through that, boy, and take out the dented ones.”
The imperious tone, the disdainful glances—it was like the old bat was doing a fabulous impression of his mother. He winced at his own uncharitable thoughts. Defending himself against the likes of Ms. Stewart seemed more pathetic than taking what she said in stride and working with the group to do good, so he let it pass as best he could.
His mind wasn’t on the work as it should have been, anyway. Henry felt himself glance up again and again, searching the room and coming up disappointed each time. It’s nothing, he told himself. It’s not a big deal if I don’t see her.
The lies didn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.
He was just curious. That was all. He had been so sure her father ha
d been upset by their conversation—was this man a reaction to this? Was Ruth engaged now? Had Ruth been with this man already? Who was he? Did he treat her well? Was she happy?
Then the source of all his questions walked in the room, and Henry rocketed to his feet. He nearly kicked over the stack of cans he’d just sorted into the “acceptable” pile.
“Dr. Porter, I never!” Mary said, pressing a hand to her chest. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
“I’ll be right back!” He tripped over the words as he took a few halting steps forward.
Ruth was in the same plain blue dress he’d seen her in before, still wearing a heavy cardigan despite the heat of the room. Thirty bodies working and talking in tandem tended to do that, and the church wasn’t well-ventilated. She was talking in low tones to Briar, but that was not what struck him most.
Her hair was shorn just below her shoulders, falling in waves and curling around her neck. It shone in the fluorescent lighting. He had spent so much time thinking about her long hair as it cascaded down her back, but this—this—
How was everyone in the room continuing on in their chores without staring?
He felt like he was being pulled toward her, like he had no choice. His feet kept taking halting steps closer and closer. He knocked over an entire bin of clothing and barely even noticed. It was like there was nothing in the world except for her and how beautiful she looked in that moment.
By the grace of some higher power, he managed to make it to Ruth and Briar without falling on his face.
“Henry, excellent!” Briar beamed at him, and he nodded without taking his eyes away from Ruth. “I was just thinking that you and Ruth should—”
“Okay,” he agreed.
Ruth refused to meet his eyes, and he watched as her cheeks flushed a bright pink. He looked down at his feet, suddenly aware that gawking wasn’t polite, even if he was gawking at the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Briar cleared her throat, and Henry looked over at her. She quirked a brow at him, clearly seeing everything. “There are some clothes donations in the back corner,” she said, pointing behind her. The corner in question was shadowy, the light above it burned out. “Why don’t you two sort through those? We are especially looking for children’s clothes. One of the families had their winter clothes in boxes in their garage, and they lost everything in there.” Her expression turned thoughtful, and she tapped a finger against her lips. “Also, if you need anything, Ruth, this fundraiser is partially for you and your father, too. He lost his car, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Ruth said, slowly. Her brow was creased in confusion. “He didn’t think we’d be getting anything, though.”
“That’s how I convinced him to let you come. It’s for all the people who were affected by the fight.”
“Maybe it slipped his mind.”
“Yeah,” Briar answered, wincing. “Maybe it did.”
The conversation brought everything back into focus. This was why he was here, Henry reminded himself. To help the people of Independence Falls, not to stare at Ruth Baker—no matter how attractive the latter option was.
“Right,” he said. “Ruth, why don’t we get started?”
They walked side-by-side to the back corner, where a few boxes were scattered around. There was nothing too substantial there—after all, most of the damage had been to the town square. The only neighborhood that had seen any of the fighting was Riverview, and even there, it wasn’t terrible.
Henry opened the top to the first box, peering inside. There were a bunch of infant onesies thrown haphazardly inside. He began to sift through everything, separating the girls’ clothes from the boys’.
He chanced a glance at Ruth. She was going through her own box, eyes cast down, but there was something in the flush on her cheek and the stiff set of her shoulders—had she been looking at him?
There was only one way to find out.
“I think that—” he began, but was quickly cut off.
“Thank you for the fabric you bought me. I really did appreciate it. I should have thanked you earlier—I would have, if I’d known it was you. I thought it was Briar, and …,” she trailed off, going redder and redder. She dropped the article of clothing in her hands and backed away, taking a deep breath. Her coloring went back to normal. “I think it’s very sweet, that you thought of me.”
He dropped his head so that she wouldn’t see how wide he was grinning. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to do something nice for you.” He chanced a glance at her, and was surprised to see Ruth watching him thoughtfully. “Did you make yourself anything with it? I didn’t know what kind to buy, but Briar helped, and—”
“I can’t accept it.” She sounded as if this were the most obvious thing in the world, and it made sense, he was sure. Her father wasn’t about to let her accept gifts from strange men who disagreed with his version of religion, for one, but there were probably a hundred reasons why he’d gone a bit overboard. That didn’t mean her words didn’t sting, however. He wanted to be nice to her. He wanted to do things for her.
He liked her. He wanted her to like him back.
You’re acting so juvenile, he told himself. He hadn’t acted like such a fool around a girl since he was fifteen.
“All right,” he said. He made sure to smile so she would see that he wasn’t upset. “If you can’t accept it, I understand, but do you think you could tell me why?”
She took a step closer.
“It’s not that I don’t like what you picked out.” Ruth’s face turned soft and dreamy. “Everything is so lovely, but I—it’s so extravagant, Dr. Porter. I can’t possibly ….”
He waited for her to finish her thought, but when she never did, Henry prompted, “Is that the only reason? You feel like it’s too much?” He paused. “And call me Henry. Please.”
Ruth shook her head. “Not the only reason. A big one, though. How would I explain it to my father? Everything you bought me is so different from what I’ve always worn, I just ….”
She considered her words, biting on her lip. Henry watched her nibble it, her tongue peeking out to sooth the sting. It hit him straight in the gut. It took him a minute to force his eyes away from her red, red mouth.
“I don’t feel comfortable accepting them,” she said, her tone a bit more confident. She looked so resolute and calm, so at peace with what she had, no matter how little there was—it only made him want to do more for her, shower her with gifts. But she wouldn’t appreciate that, he could tell.
“It’s not a burden on me to give you fabric, Ruth.” He liked the way her name felt on his tongue. From the way her dark eyes dipped down to his mouth as he said it, she seemed to like it too. “But it’s your gift, and you can do whatever you want with it. Just—think on it for a few days? Don’t be so quick to get rid of it?”
She hummed and then nodded. Her eyes were warm on his, and he felt himself grin at her, unable to help himself.
“All right. That’s fair enough.” She picked up the next piece of clothing in her pile—a pair of overalls that looked to be stained with dirt down the front. Wrinkling her nose, Ruth tossed them into a different pile.
Henry turned back to his work, too. The silence between them felt companionable and nice—two people working in tandem, rather than two strangers working in the same area. He picked up a yellow onesie and moved to place it with all the other boys’ clothes.
Suddenly, her small, cool hand was around his wrist. The onesie fell to the floor.
“Did Briar pick out all the colors for the fabric you bought me?” she asked, sounding faintly amused.
Henry could barely find his tongue. He was completely startled—Ruth was there, right there, so close they could touch, only a foot of space between them. She could be closer. He could move in and—
A sudden image of the man she’d arrived with flashed through his mind, and jealousy stewed inside him.
“She did,” he admitted. He didn’t move
his wrist, and she didn’t dislodge her hand. He liked the feel of her touch on his skin and wasn’t quite ready to let it go. “I’m kind of hopeless with things like that.”
“I can tell. You’re putting yellow with the other boys’ clothes.”
Henry felt his jaw drop. “Ruth Baker, are you teasing me?”
“Everyone knows yellow is gender neutral, Hen—Dr. Porter. You need a third pile.”
He took a step closer, the gap between them down to nothing but mere inches. It made him feel bold and electric, like he could do anything. It was intoxicating, and Henry was drunk on it—on her.
Ruth’s eyes went wide, but they stayed fixed on his. She did not move back.
Whoever she was with be damned, he had to kiss her.
Henry leaned forward and claimed her mouth with his.
Kissing Ruth was like a dream. His eyes slipped closed, and the entire world around them disappeared. There was nothing but her, and him, and this moment.
Ruth gasped, her mouth parting slightly, and Henry traced the curve of her upper lip with his tongue. He didn’t want to push her, or make her uncomfortable, and if she didn’t ….
Tentatively, Ruth touched his tongue with her own. His hands flew up to cup the sides of her face, angling their heads into a better position. He could feel her small body move naturally into the curve of his own, and his arms wrapped around her, bringing her close. He wanted her, every inch of her.
Ruth pulled back, panting. “Stop, please. Just—”
Henry stepped away. The space felt huge and ridiculous. Why should there be spaces between them, when all he wanted was to move in closer and mold her to him?
Her eyes were wide with fright, not lust, and guilt swept over him. Had he gone too far?
“I’m sorry,” he said, stammering over the words. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to—”
“We’re in public!” Her voice came out like a squeak, and she went red all over. She seemed to be practically vibrating with unsaid words. “Anyone could see us—there are thirty people in here, at least, and—”
