Libra Rising

by Stacy M Wray

  Not only will I do it for me, but for my mom. She always filled my head with truths that I could do anything I set my mind to – be anyone I strived to be. Always fight for the underdog, she’d say, they need just a little extra help. Just like Atticus, I want to help the innocent who may not get a fair shake, solely based on their lack of finances, the color of their skin, or the fact they just don’t have any fight left in them. I want to be their voice. I want to be their hope.

  I compare my life to Scout’s all the time. Yes, I know she’s just a character from a book, but she’s so real to me. Everyone in that story is, even down to the character of Miss Maudie Atkinson, Scout’s open-minded neighbor. Scout and I share a bond, both having our mothers ripped from us, leaving behind a huge gaping hole in our lives. At least I have memories of my mom. Scout lost hers when she was only two, not really remembering her at all. I often wonder which is worse: memories to cherish or no memories, no anguish. But every time, I choose memories. Sometimes, they’re the only thing that keeps me going.

  I’ve been missing my mom more than usual these past few weeks. I wish I could talk to her regarding my frustration with Reed and his scarcity of attention. Relishing that it’s Sunday, I stalk to my room and grab my tattered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. Though the binding is creased and some of the pages are wrinkled or stained, it’s obvious that it’s been loved. First, by my mom and now, by me.

  I quickly stuff my phone and earbuds into my pocket, just in case I get sleepy. I plan to spend the whole day in my sweet haven.

  As I pass through the living room, I hear my dad watching a baseball game on TV. As soon as the name Ramirez is mentioned as the next batter, I know he’s watching his beloved Cubbies. I hold up my book and tell him, “I’ll be in my fort.”

  He smiles sweetly at me. “Okay, hon. Enjoy yourself.”

  I couldn’t help but notice there were several beer cans littering the coffee table. He probably won’t make it to see who ends up the victor.

  Just one more reason for a little escape.

  As I step outside, I notice it’s not as hot as it was earlier, and the atmosphere has taken on a yellowish hue, usually indicative of a storm. My head tilts up, but I’m unable to see any signs of rain. Only thick, fluffy clouds fill the afternoon sky. My shoulders lift to my ears, not caring about the weather. I hope it does rain. I love the sound of the drops bouncing off the roof of my hideout.

  My attention drifts across the street, and I notice that Reed’s car is missing from its usual spot. Funny how last year, he was more like a prisoner there for a while, and now, he comes and goes as he pleases. What a difference a year makes.

  But I don’t want to think about Reed, right now. He’s on my mind most of the time, but he doesn’t get today. Today it’s just my mom and me.

  Who am I trying to kid here?

  Stepping through the overgrown blades of grass, I trace the familiar path to just beyond the edge of our property. I shrug off the faint scent of must as I open the door. I know from experience that my nose will adjust in just a bit. The air hangs heavy in the small space, as if it’s been closed for years. It’s almost hard to breathe.

  I open the door wider and reach up to turn on the battery-operated fan that hangs from the ceiling, something my dad purchased in the camping section from Walmart. I smile because it’s perfect, creating a nice breeze to chase out the stale air.

  Propping the pillows up along my reading bench, I sink down into the padding and open my book to chapter one: When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Reed

  July 2011

  The hot July sun beats through the window of my beat-up car. It heats up my left arm, hanging out the window, almost to the point of making it itch. I’ve just picked up an order from the supply store for Mr. H and am on my way back, the path finally familiar. Smiling to myself, I recall the day when I got turned around and Mr. H called me out. That man can’t let anything rest. I think he loves to watch me squirm. Shaking my head, I realize it’s just who he is.

  Before I pull into the drive, I glance over at Harper’s quiet house. No sign of life. Being that it’s Sunday, there isn’t much sign of life on the farm, either.

  It’s been a double-edged summer. I love being here and as far away from home as I am. The only people I miss are Brent and Kylie. But we chat often, and I don’t feel like I’m missing out on much.

  Pretending I don’t constantly fantasize about Harper proves to be the edge I can’t escape – not wanting to. I realize it’s not just her physical beauty that gets to me. It’s also how much I love being around her. She makes me feel alive.

  No one was more relieved than I was when she finally came around, her coolness finally subsiding as we comfortably fell into our familiar friendship. It’s been tough. My will constantly wrestles my want. I’ve never felt so at odds with myself. Part of me wonders if, maybe, we could work after I’m no longer employed by Mr. H. But how? She’s here and my life is in Chicago. Besides, I’m getting ahead of myself. Why would she even want someone like me? I don’t have much to offer, that’s for damned sure. I’ve got too much baggage. Too much shit following me around, like decayed road kill that’s been stewing for months.

  As soon as I’m out of my car, I notice the drop in the temperature immediately. The sun is no longer in sight. I’m surrounded by an eerie stillness, prickling the hairs on the back of my neck. A yellow backdrop blankets the earth and sky as I grab the box of items from my trunk. I’m thankful this wasn’t a full-blown purchase that would require the truck.

  I drop the box in the shed and head up to the house to grab a bite to eat. As soon as I pass through the mud room, haunting sirens fill the air. Dread fills the cavity of my chest, not quite understanding what’s happening.

  “Reed!” Mr. H comes flying into the kitchen. As soon as he sees me, he cries, “Thank God you’re back. Quick! There’s been a tornado sightin’. We need to get down in the cellar. I’ll be on the lookout for Harper and her dad – they know the drill.”

  The sirens continue to roar, panic ensuing as I follow him outside. The panic only deepens when I don’t see Harper or her dad running to join us. Mr. H and I lock eyes, wondering the same thing. “I’m goin’ to see what’s holdin’ them up,” he hollers over the sirens.

  I can’t let him do that. “Let me go,” I yell. “I’m faster.” He silently agrees with me and points to the doors laying along the ground. Before he can say another word, small pellets of hail drop from the sky, bouncing off our heads. Shit!

  “Hurry, Reed. I’ll get the doors open.” The expression on his face conveys how serious the situation is. I sprint across the street.

  Not caring that I’m barging in, I push their front door open so fast, it bangs against the adjacent wall. “Harper!” Running through the house, I quickly notice her dad asleep on the couch. How in the hell can he sleep through those fucking sirens? Then, I see all the beer cans and curse loudly. Roughly shaking his body, I yell, “Mr. James. Wake the fuck up!” He finally opens his eyes, dazed as all get out. I don’t think he remembers me from when we were together during harvest season last year. “Tornado’s coming. Where’s Harper?”

  Practically dragging him off the couch, I stumble back as he attempts to regain his footing. Dammit! Of all times for him to be passed out drunk. Throwing an arm around his middle, I roughly usher him toward the open door. “Where’s Harper?” I yell again, losing all patience.

  We’re in his driveway when he yells, “She’s in her fort. Reading.” His gaze looks to the back of the property.

  The hail has been replaced by rain, pouring down in sheets. The sirens still pierce my chest, and I’m scared out of my wits. “Where is it?”

  He points. “Just at the edge. You can’t miss it.” My eyes slice across the street. Mr. H stands beside the white double doors, his clothes sticking to him like saran wrap.

  I point to him and
I ask Mr. James, “Can you make it?”

  His eyes follow my index finger, the gravity of the situation finally taking hold as his eyes widen. He gives a stiff nod, stumbling his way quickly across the street. I run like hell back towards the end of his property, blinking like crazy, attempting to keep the rain out of my eyes.

  “Harper!” I yell her name over and over, praying she’ll appear before me. No dice. Finally, I look to my left and see the fort her dad mentioned. How can she not hear me? Pushing through the entrance, I see her curled up on a bench, her earbuds pressed to her ears, a book on the floor. In one giant step, I’m bending over her, yanking the cord attached to her head. “Harper! Let’s go.”

  Jumping up, she’s completely disoriented. The chaos surrounding her is taking hold. “What…”

  Grabbing her hand, I yell, “Let’s go.”

  We run like hell, the sky ominous, the wind deafening, the rain pounding its warning into us. Harper falls in her attempts to keep up with me. My chest fills with fear, adrenaline fueling me to keep going. But she’s back up in no time, clutching my hand as we close the distance between us and the cellar. Mr. H still stands beside it, waving us on like a madman. I figure Mr. James must already be inside.

  As we get closer, the wind picks up, nearly knocking Mr. H back. It proves hard to run in, but I won’t let it deter me, forcing Harper to keep going. “Get inside,” I yell to him. He shakes his head, waiting on us. That stubborn old man! We finally make it and Harper clambers down while Mr. H and I fight the wind to bring the doors shut. Finally, with as much fight as I’ve got, my door slams with a loud bang, Mr. H’s following suit.

  It’s dark as hell, the outside discord now muffled. Only heaving breaths capture my attention. Mr. H lights the darkness with a lantern that must have already been down here. I look around at the three people surrounding me, rivulets of water running down their faces. I start to crash from my adrenaline rush. I’m shaking. My eyes find Harper’s in the dim glow of the light. Her bulging eyes don’t leave mine as she gasps for air, her hand splayed across her chest. Even drenched in fear and wetness, she’s so beautiful. Her dad quickly puts his arms around her, clearly upset.

  I look over at Mr. H, a wide smile lighting up his face. “Good work, son.” Directing his gaze to the cellar doors, now protecting us from the elements, he mutters, “Damn Indiana weather.”

  Unsure as to how much time has passed, we remain quiet. The shock of what just happened slowly releases its clutch on us. It happened so fast. I’ve never been through a tornado before. And I’m damned sure I never want to be again.

  It finally dawns on me that it’s quiet outside the cellar doors. Mr. H raises a brow, climbing up the short wooden steps. He throws one door open and light pours down into our small cave. It’s barely sprinkling. He turns and says, “All clear.” He throws the other door open and I help Mr. James up the steps. I think he got sober damn quick.

  My emotions are all over the place. The amount of fear that I had searching for Harper rises to the surface, clearly trying to tell me something. My eyes dart to her as we communicate silently. Those lips softly part, her breathing still heavy. Mr. H looks down at us, and I quickly say, “Give us a minute.” I expect for him to shoot me a disapproving look, but he doesn’t, understanding we’ve been through a horrific ordeal.

  Harper’s trembling fingers push some wet strands of hair from her face, her breaths shallow. I watch the steady rise and fall from her chest, her tank top clinging to her, hiding nothing. I’m unable to pull my gaze from her protruding nipples, lust consuming me. Electricity bounces between us as I close the distance in two steps, wrapping her in my arms, crushing those lips against my own. A small umph escapes her at the contact. Her hands immediately dive into my soaked hair, pulling softly. Every pent-up emotion I’ve held inside all summer surfaces, my tongue plunging inside her mouth, unable to push in deep enough, get close enough.

  I promised. I gave him my word. What the fuck are you doing, Reed? But I can’t stop. She feels too good. Her lips on mine drive me wild. The contact is euphoric. My hands slide down her back, tightening my hold, meshing our two bodies closer together.

  To think I could have lost her. I can’t imagine a world with no Harper.

  “Harper?” Her dad’s gentle voice carries down to us from above, stopping me dead in my tracks, dousing us with reality. I pull away as Harper catches her breath, frustration etched in her face.

  “I’m coming, Dad.” She slowly walks to the wooden steps, her smile soft as she looks up into his concerned eyes, not once looking back at me.

  Fuck!

  Once again, I’m torn in two

  Chapter Seventeen

  Harper

  August 6-12, 2011

  Aries Horoscope: Problems are likely to become overwhelming around the 9th, almost to the point of hair pulling. Hang in there and things will look up after the solstice on the 11th. Romance does VERY well this week, especially with Leo, Gemini, Libra, and Virgo. Your stars say, “back off” and let them take the lead, however. Wear your happy face no matter what around the 11th.

  Reed leaves on the tenth. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to pretend it’s not killing me, let alone wear a damned happy face. It’s déjà vu all over again as the days close in on me, suffocating me as the pendulum swings against my will.

  My mind often drifts back to the day of that damned tornado. I’ve never felt so scared in all my life, except for the day I found out I’d be living in a world that my mom was no longer a part of – that was terrifying. But the way Reed saved me, the way he ran with me, the urgency in his eyes – it was too much. I had already fallen for him, but I fell harder in that moment, if that was even possible.

  We were so lucky that day. Neither of our houses sustained any damage. Even the crops were unbelievably fine. The folks a couple of miles down the road? Yeah, not so lucky.

  He never kissed me again, pretending it never happened in the first place. It was adrenaline. It was lack of judgment. It was a mistake, apparently, because I may as well have dreamt the whole scenario. Only it was too real to have been a dream. There was no mistaking the force of his lips against mine, the feel of my nipples brushing against the wet fabric of his T-shirt, his hands seared into my back. No, there was no mistaking that. There was also no mistaking the way Mr. H watched us like the hawk that he is, eyes jumping between us like a super sleuth, just waiting for one tiny clue.

  Reed remained loyal after that small indiscretion - to Mr. H, that is. And it’s a loyalty that I almost admire. But now, I know. That small slip-up was like a narrative told on secretive paper. Only, the middle of the story shows up in print, leaving me to decipher the rest on my own. Now, I know that he still wants me, thinks about me. Where I was doubting his thoughts earlier, that day sealed his affections. I saw it in his eyes. I’ve even seen it since then when he clearly tries to hide it. But it’s there, nonetheless, and I cling to that tiny morsel with everything I have.

  So, just like that, he replaced Justin’s kiss from earlier in the summer. My lips now stamped by Reed. And what a stamp it was. Truth be told, I’d rather have it that way. Once I experienced a kiss by Reed Faulkner, I absolutely want it to be the very last pair of lips to connect with my own.

  But now what? He’s leaving again, and I’m not sure if my aching heart can handle the separation. Again. The not knowing. The uncertainty. Will he be back?

  He starts his senior year this fall. He’ll graduate in the spring. He’ll move on. Without me. Won’t he?

  Scraping my chair against the wooden floor, I push up from the table, angrily tossing the paper into the trash. I still have no idea what sign Reed is. Why the big mystery? I think he just likes to push my buttons, maintaining the upper hand. Whatever.

  Mr. H is taking us out to dinner the night before Reed returns to Chicago. He’s never done that before, and I think it’s sweet. It’s no surprise how he feels towards us. I don’t know about Reed, but I can feel ho
w much that man loves us, almost like we were his own. It saddens me that he never had children, that his life was cut too short by the sudden death of his wife. He’s got so much love to share, and I’m so grateful he’s shared some of it with me.

  *****

  We pile into the cab of Mr. H’s truck, with me sitting in the middle. I’ve been so emotional this week, but I refuse to wear my emotions on my sleeve. Instead, I keep them close to my heart, like I’ve learned to do since my mom died. I don’t want Reed to think of me as a clingy moron, unable to cope. He’s only seen my fun side this week - that damned happy face plastered on me like gum on the bottom of a shoe. It stuck all week.

  Take that, Reed Faulkner.

  But when Mr. H reaches down and pats me on the leg, I almost lose it. I know it’s his way of telling me to hang in there. Damn, that man misses nothing.

  Pulling into the Gold Rush steak house, we’re seated at a table for four in no time. I sit beside Mr. H while Reed sits across from him, stealing glances at me every chance he gets. I made sure to present myself tonight in a way he would not soon be forgetting.

  I ask for the grilled shrimp dinner with rice pilaf while the guys order steak, loaded baked potatoes, green beans, and rolls. Reed’s appetite has always been ferocious, but I’ve never seen Mr. H eat that much.

  Mr. H looks at the both of us, back and forth. “So…” Reed and I lock eyes, mine becoming misty. Damn. “Just wanted to thank you two for all your hard work,” he says, his eyes creasing with wrinkles as his smile gets bigger. “Gotta say, I like my summers these past couple o’ years.”

  I can’t speak beyond the lump in my throat, only managing to smile. Reed saves me. “I think it’s me who should be thanking you, Mr. H.” Scratching the side of his face, he continues, “Don’t think I would have survived a summer at home.”

  Mr. H’s crinkles subside beside his eyes. “Yet, you gotta survive when you get home.” His words are laced with concern.