by Stacy M Wray
Reed waits by the driver’s side headlight while I climb out of the truck. “What’s good here?” he asks as I clear the front. We both walk to the line at the window.
“Everything,” I tell him. I wish he would take ahold of my hand, like we were a real couple. “But the turtle sundae is my personal favorite.”
I watch Reed look around, taking in all the faces of people he’s never seen before. I recognize a few from school but no one I’d want to talk to. I notice some girls checking him out, and Reed notices, too, giving them a small smile. Before I realize it, the words are out of my mouth. “Let’s get our orders to go. I know a cool place we can go to.”
He seems a bit surprised but says, “Okay.”
Finally, it’s our turn to order and Reed says, “Two turtle sundaes.”
Just as the girl is ready to slide the window back into place, I blurt out, “With whipped cream.” The girl looks slightly perturbed by my request, like it would be such an exertion to reach for the red and white can of dairy deliciousness. Reed chuckles beside me.
With our sundaes in tow, I give him further instructions to take us to Ryder’s Pond, a spot my mom used to take me to. She said it was the best place because not that many people knew about it. It’s not like Gull’s Pond or Swett’s Pond, where it’s sometimes hard to find a secluded spot due to its beauty. Trees lean into the water, their foliage draping across the steady surface. Ryder’s is still beautiful, just in a different sort of way.
It’s quiet in the cab, except for me telling him when to turn or go straight at a stop sign. The alternative music station he found out of Fort Wayne fills in the gaps. Before long, we arrive, and I immediately open my door, knowing there’s a bench we can sit on close by.
Reed follows me without question and sits down beside me. I hand him his sundae from the white paper sack. “Thanks,” he says, looking around. “This place is great.” I watch him take the lid off his ice cream, melty goodness pooling just underneath the whipped cream.
“Maybe, we should have eaten these first,” I tell him.
He looks at me in a way he hasn’t before. There’s a softness in his expression, like he really appreciates me bringing him here. Or maybe, it’s just me being a girl, again.
“It was pretty crowded. I like your idea better.”
My heart flips.
I remove the lid from my own sundae, slurping up the melted ice cream before it spills over the edge of the cup. The sound causes Reed to laugh. “Stop. I don’t want it spilling all over my legs.”
He stops laughing. His lips part, then he slowly turns away. What? What did I say?
Not liking the silence that hangs between us, I tell him, “My mom used to bring me out here all the time.”
When he turns to me, I see the pity in his eyes, and I know he’s figured out that I no longer have a mom. My defenses are getting ruffled. “Don’t pity me, Reed.” I shove a huge bite of ice cream in my mouth, resulting in a severe case of brain freeze.
He shakes his head. “I don’t pity you, Harper. I just hate that you had to go through that. No one your age should have to.”
His answer placates me enough for me to say, “She’s the one who got me hooked on astrology. It was her secret pleasure. I’m not sure if my dad even knew about it, to be honest. I like to study all of the different signs, so I know how different ones will affect mine.”
Reed frowns at me, not understanding what I’m saying.
“All the different zodiac signs fall into four elements to which life wouldn’t be possible without. Fire represents Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius. Water represents Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces. Earth represents Taurus, Virgo, and Capricorn. And air represents Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius. All the elements work in sync with each other. That’s what astrology’s all about, balancing yourself and others in this game of life.”
He tilts his head, pausing before he speaks. “I’m not sure if I believe in all of that. It sounds kind of out there, like having your fortune told, which I’m not a believer in, either.”
I shrug. “You don’t have to be a believer – your life and all the people around you are still going to interact in the same way whether you believe or not. Your sign influences your personality traits and characteristics. Life’s still going to happen, Reed.”
I bump my shoulder into his. “So…what is your sign?”
He smirks at me and says, “You don’t need to know that.”
A heavy sigh escapes before I can stop it. “Why not?”
Shaking his head, he says, “I don’t want you trying to analyze me the whole rest of the summer. Just let it be.”
I was so desperate to find out Reed’s sign that I even asked Mr. H earlier, thinking maybe his mom had to fill out some paper work or something. Mr. H thought it was a strange question and told me to ask Reed himself. I shared with him that I already had and that he wouldn’t tell me. Mr. H smiled, telling me that Reed must have his reasons. And that was the end of that.
After studying the compatibility charts, I so don’t want Reed to be a Taurus. Aries paired with Taurus could not be more different, and that’s Different with a capital “D.” Nothing matches. Not the modes, not the elements, not the polarities. So maybe, I don’t really want to know anymore, feeling I’d be forced to end my romantic notions of us. For now, I will turn a blind eye to my beliefs, claiming ignorance is bliss, if just for a while.
“Fair enough,” I tell him.
He contemplates what I’ve just shared with him as the hidden frogs around the pond put their two cents in, loudly telling us what they think of my astrology nonsense. The crickets compete wholeheartedly, losing big time.
Changing the subject completely, I say, “Tell me something about you, about your life in Chicago.”
He releases a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not much to tell, really. My dad walked out on my mom and me when I was ten. I think he’s hated me my whole life, but I have no idea why. My mom seems to blame me for his leaving, and now, she makes a fool out of herself to rope in any sorry piece of shit who will give her the time of day.”
My hand automatically reaches for his forearm. His muscles tense beneath my touch. “That sucks, Reed.” I feel him start to relax. I begin to pull my hand away, but his hand clamps onto mine, holding it in place.
His fingers are hot on my skin, the contact pulsing, causing my heart to beat erratically. When his eyes meet mine, I don’t see anger or hurt from what he’s just shared with me. I see something else. Something so foreign to me that I’m not sure how to decipher it. But it looks a lot like want.
His head tilts forward and my erratically beating heart races wildly. I don’t know what to do. I mean, I’ve been kissed before but not a real kiss. My insides are screaming at me, my brain not keeping up. Do I close my eyes? Do I lean in, too?
You’re an Aries, Harper. Own it.
So, I close my eyes and go for it, but immediately regret it when I hear, “It’s getting late. I’d better get Mr. H’s truck back.” His hand, the one on top of mine, pats it, like I’m being dismissed. He pats it. Not only am I cloaked in humiliation, but now, I’m feeling damn stupid for thinking he wanted to kiss me. Did I miss something?
It’s times like these I miss my mom the most, wishing she were here so we could talk about it when I get home. She would have all the answers. I just know she would.
Reed gets to his feet, holding out his hand to help me up. I wave him off, not caring if he senses my icy response. I hate looking stupid.
I walk ahead of him, refusing to acknowledge that I’m sensing he feels bad.
I just want to go home and forget this moment ever happened.
How could such a seemingly perfect day turn out so embarrassingly rotten?
Our ride home is quiet, the tension in the truck thick. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch his head turn to look at me about a thousand times. I keep my gaze straight ahead, focusing instead on the bugs that fly into the headlights of Mr. H�
�s truck, splattered to their demise.
Boys are so stupid.
I mutter, “good night” before he even has the engine turned off, slipping through the truck door and across the street in record time. I feel his eyes on me the whole way. Thank goodness, tomorrow is Saturday, and I can take the entire weekend to put my humiliation behind me. Space will be good.
The next forty-eight hours are spent in my place of solitude, a little playhouse my dad built for me a long time ago. It sits way back off the edge of our property, hidden from the rest of the world. He built a bench across one wall, with a foam padding my mom covered in a floral material. He even installed a tiny window on each side, so I would be able to read by natural light, surrounded by lush, green leaves. I still read a lot in here, but I also plug my ears with my headphones, listening to music as long as I have a charge on my cell phone.
It’s also where I now think about Reed.
And that almost kiss.
Chapter Six
Reed
June 2010
Wondering how many times I thought about it, I fought the urge all weekend to slip across the street to find Harper. I didn’t know what to say to her, but I wanted to put us right again. I like being around her. I don’t know what I was thinking by backing out of that kiss when I wanted nothing more than to feel those lips pressed against mine, move with mine, and part with mine.
Dear god, those lips.
They have been tempting me since day one. If I do nothing else before I leave this place, I’ve got to taste those lips. Instead, I panicked like a wimp for the first time in my life. I’ve kissed a ton of girls. But this is the first girl I’ve wanted to kiss that I care about, someone who could mean something to me. Something stirs in me when I’m around her and it kind of freaks me out, not knowing what “it” is. I just know that, not only am I attracted to her physically, but I’m also attracted to her personality, something that’s never happened to me before.
But now, it’s Monday and I’m up early, heading to Mr. H’s kitchen. I hope to see her, praying she’s not still pissed at me.
Harper’s cleaning out the refrigerator. The counter is cluttered with its contents. Bright pink rubber gloves adorn her hands and forearms. I’m guessing she brought those from home and didn’t find them under Mr. H’s sink. She turns when she hears my footfall, her eyes landing on me. In mere seconds, her cheeks flush pink, the shade now matching her hands. The corners of her mouth turn up slightly.
That small smile tells me we’re okay.
I clear my throat. “Hey, Harper.” I move to the coffee pot, grabbing a mug off the spindle beside it and pour the much-needed caffeine.
“Hey,” she says back, pushing her hair off her face with the top of her forearm.
I turn to face her, slurping a bit of coffee to keep it from burning my tongue. “How was your weekend?”
She shrugs her shoulders and says, “Quiet. How about you? Mr. H work you to death?”
“Nah, he took it easy on me, though I’m not sure why. He mentioned something about harvesting the wheat soon, so maybe that’s when he’s planning on killing me.”
Her soft laughter dances through the air, landing on me, all around me. I could bask in that sound all day. How on earth does she not have guys pounding down her door?
Just then, we hear Mr. H scuffle in. “There you are. You ready, son? Day’s a wastin’.”
I’m just about to throw what’s left in my mug down the drain when Harper reaches for it. I watch her pour its contents into a Styrofoam cup, top it off with more coffee, then snap a to-go lid on top. She hands it to me with another soft smile. I lock eyes with her, hoping she gets how much I regret not kissing her, like I can convey it with just a look.
Mr. H clears his throat, snapping me out of my daze. “Um…thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she says softly.
I turn to leave with the boss man, the screen door slamming in its frame on our way out.
“What was that all about?” he grumbles.
Damn, he doesn’t miss a thing. “What was what all about?” I return, trying to convince him he saw nothing.
His thumb jerks over his shoulder, directed back at the house. “That.”
Realizing he’s not going to drop it, I say, “It was nothing.”
He chuckles and says, “Son, that wasn’t just nothin’. I may be old but I’m not blind. That was definitely somethin’.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. So…what’s on the agenda today?”
Mr. H grabs my arm, forcing me to stop walking and face him. “Look, son, this can’t happen. That girl,” he says, pointing to the house again, “doesn’t deserve any more heartache in her life. I can’t have you startin’ somethin’ with her you can’t finish. She’s fifteen, Reed. Too young to get caught up in your Robert Redford good looks and then watch you go back to where you came from. Now, I appreciate the fact you two get along so well now, but it needs to remain neutral. You hearin’ me, son?”
Harper’s only fifteen?
She looks like she could be seventeen.
Fuck me.
I hang my head and nod, hating he just spoke those words.
“Yeah? ‘Cause I need you to take those hormones you got flyin’ all around you,” his index finger waves all over my body, “and go put them back in your duffle bag where they belong. You can take them back to Chicago at the end of the summer.”
I feel like a sledge hammer has just pounded the crap out of my summer plans. I’m shocked that his words bother me as much as they do. The last thing I want to do is disappoint Mr. H, and I sure as hell don’t want to hurt Harper. I literally feel torn in two, wishing I hadn’t suddenly developed a conscience.
The morning sun beats on the back of my neck as I stare out into the never-ending rows of corn. Finally, I look into his eyes and give him a terse nod, letting him know I heard every word he said.
“I want your word, son.”
Those five words just gutted me because I know I’ve got to give it, and I don’t want to.
My voice is hoarse as I choke out the words. “You’ve got my word.”
Satisfied with my statement, he turns and continues walking out to the fields, expecting me to follow.
I don’t see Harper at lunch, even though she prepared it. She made ham salad sandwiches and served them on toasted bread. Mr. H fills me in that she made it herself. Damn, it was the best ham salad I had ever eaten. I held my question in, not wanting to let on that I couldn’t quit thinking about where she was. The old man finally puts me out of my misery just before taking a huge bite of his sandwich. “She had a doctor’s appointment.”
And even though I enjoyed the shit out of my lunch, it just wasn’t the same, staring at Harper’s empty chair.
Shit! I’m so screwed.
The next morning, a truck backs out of the driveway when I walk outside, Mr. H waving to the driver. Turning around, he spots me coming up the drive. “Mornin’, Reed.”
He tilts his head past the horse stables, silently telling me to follow him. There’s a stack of lumber, boxes of nails, a tape measure, a level, a hammer, and a saw laying there. “I figure one way to keep your mind off that pretty girl in there is to keep you busy.”
He chuckles before he continues. “So…” he yanks some papers out of his back pocket, “these are your instructions for how to assemble this here chicken coop.” I almost don’t hear him because my eyes don’t leave the visual of that saw laying on the ground, right next to the hammer. “Since you seem comfortable with mild construction, I thought you could try your hand at this.”
I’m sure no one uses saws anymore.
He nudges me in the side. “You up for it?”
I bend over, picking up the saw. He winks at me, a wide grin on display as I stare at him in complete bafflement. “Mr. H., you want me to build a chicken coop using a hand saw?”
Tilting his head to the side, he answers, “Well, you’re gonna have to cu
t the lumber somehow, son.”
I scratch my head and say, “You don’t own a table saw?”
He laughs a full belly laugh, causing a bit of anger to stir inside me. “Now, Reed…that would be too easy.”
Walking away, he says over his shoulder, “I’m gonna grab you the saw horses and clamps from the shed. You know, to make your sawin’ a bit easier.”
I sit on the ground, legs bent and crossed at my ankles, and study the instructions he gave me. They look cut and dry. But, damn, this is going to take forever without power tools. I hear him approaching, lugging a couple of horses, and he sets them down in front of me.
“Now don’t go gettin’ in a hurry, thinkin’ you gotta rush this. Take your time, son. You got nothin’ but time.” And with that, he turns to leave, waving his arm in the air. “See you at lunch.”
After I’ve got about half of the frame finished, I notice Harper walking towards me, carrying a small cooler. She plops it down a few feet from me and studies my work. “What’s this going to be?”
“Believe it or not, a chicken coop.” She bends over to get in the cooler, and I force myself to look away, trying not to make this any harder on myself. After grabbing a water out, she hands it to me. “Thanks,” I tell her.
She sits in a patch of shade, looking up at me with that same look she had when Mr. H figured out something was going on in the kitchen.
A breeze floats by, carrying her scent with it, right past my nose. I don’t know if it’s perfume or soap, but it drives me freaking crazy. Every now and then, I smell it when we’re eating, if she moves to get up from the table or walks swiftly to the sink. It’s like oranges or tangerines with a hint of something sweet, maybe vanilla. It’s just her, wrapped up in this perfect concoction.
“So…you figure out my sign yet?” I’m not sure why I bring it up. It’s not like I want to encourage her, but I like the way her face lights up when she talks about it.
She tilts her head, indicating she’s thinking about my question. “I still think you’re a Taurus, maybe an Aquarius. But it doesn’t matter.”
