The Beginning of Always

by Sophia Mae Todd

  And my entire being was quivering with the memory of Alistair.

  I kept my gaze on the floor for the rest of the ride.

  Chapter 8

  Alistair Blair, sixteen years old

  I jumped off my bicycle and wheeled it behind the woodpile outside. I was going to the bus station right after and needed to get there before my 4:00 p.m. ride. I told Bill and Sandra I was spending the night out at Kevin’s place and he promised me he wouldn’t snitch. I gave him some story about a girl and the pervert ate it up.

  All in all, it should buy me enough time to get out of the state. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice I was gone until tomorrow afternoon.

  I really needed to get going, but there was one thing I had to attend to first. It was illogical for me to waste time like this. I could have bought an earlier ticket if I hadn’t spent my night crawling through the forest. But it didn’t feel right to leave without accomplishing this first, and since I was here already, I might as well follow it through.

  I slipped my backpack off and jammed it in between two logs. I rested the bike across the space to block the backpack from anyone’s view, and then I stooped to retrieve the paper bag I’d rested on the grass.

  I trotted quickly over to the front door and deftly knocked twice.

  Florence’s mom opened the door. I shifted uncomfortably. She always creeped me out. She had Florence’s eyes but they were light blue to the point of being this weird shade of off-white. She never smiled and hardly spoke. Bill told me she used to be pretty, and I was sure she was since Florence was gorgeous. But I supposed Mrs. Reynolds hadn’t aged well. Deep lines furrowed the spaces framing her ashen lips, and her cheeks and her eyes were sunken amidst yellow-gray skin. She always appeared halfway to wasting away to nothingness.

  “Um. Good afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds,” I started awkwardly.

  “Hello, Alistair,” she answered in a flat tone.

  “Is Florence home?” I fidgeted in my spot. But this was normal. I came around and saw Florence all the time. Nothing weird or strange or different about today at all … it was just Mrs. Reynolds’s eyes that freaked me out.

  Mrs. Reynolds nodded and gestured for me to come in. I entered their foyer as she closed the door behind me.

  Nicolas was sitting in the living room playing video games on the TV. At the sound of the door closing, his small head swung around and his expression lit up.

  “Alistair!”

  He paused the game and propelled himself over the back of the couch with one arm. I gave an annoyed look, but to be honest, I was kind of happy to see the little idiot. This was to be my goodbye, and hell, he deserved one just as much as anyone. He was Florence’s shadow, her pint-sized entourage of one.

  “Hey, Nic,” I said as he leapt over the threshold and skidded to a stop in front of me.

  “Alistair!” he repeated with a small bounce. “I’m almost at level thirty-two, you have to help me beat this stage!”

  “Maybe later.” I smacked my palm onto the top of his head.

  Nicolas swatted at me with his hands. “Come on!”

  “People got stuff to do, runt,” I said dismissively, ready for Florence to come down so I could get this over with and get a move on.

  The silence hit. Nicolas’s brows had suddenly scrunched together and he was frowning.

  “Everyone always has stuff to do,” he muttered, pushing my hand off him.

  I sighed and cuffed the side of his head.

  “Alright, I’ll play one level with you. But I have stuff to give Florence, so just one.”

  At my words, he perked up again. He went on his toes and his small palms smacked my chest like a drum.

  “Really?”

  I shoved him backwards. “Shut up before I change my mind.”

  Nicolas, grinning widely, was just turning to lead me back to the living room when his mom spoke.

  “Go call your sister,” she said quietly. Her voice was faint, as if she was speaking through a sieve, barely there.

  “But, Mom! The game …,” Nicolas said with a small whine, fingers desperately gesturing between me and the TV. But Mrs. Reynolds gave no indication that she’d heard. In fact, she barely acknowledged our presence, as if she was already pulling away. She said no more and drifted mildly into the direction of the kitchen and disappeared.

  Nicolas and I watched her retreat. I didn’t bother to ask if Mrs. Reynolds was okay. That was just the way she was, for better or worse.

  I broke the silence. “I’ll play one level with you, alright?”

  Nicolas’s expression shifted. “Yeah! Help me beat this.”

  * * *

  Nicolas handed me the controller and sat by me, giving dumb pointers as I worked his character through the level. Once he was satisfied with the progress, he told me to keep playing while he went to go call Florence. Nicolas’s heavy footfalls thumped up the stairs. Banging emitted from the ceiling and soon two pairs of feet crashed down. I put the game on pause and craned my head backwards to the stairway.

  Florence came into view. Her pale legs, just barely tan with early summer, emerged first and the rest of her followed. Torn jean shorts, a plain blue tank top. Her hair was down in messy waves and flowed over her shoulders. She searched the foyer, but as Nicolas bounded down past her, she glanced over to the living room.

  “Alistair!” Florence kicked down the last step excitedly. Her breasts moved up and down with the force and I tried really freaking hard not to stare. Especially with Nicolas present, a dumb grin on his face as he scurried over to climb next to me on the couch.

  “So did you beat it?” Nicolas asked, trying to snatch the controller away. I pulled out of his grip and faced the TV again, ignoring the weird thump of my chest.

  Florence took in the scene—me on the couch and Nicolas draped over the armrest, waving his hands in my lap, attempting to snatch the controller away from me.

  “Nic! Are you bugging Alistair with your stupid game?” Florence’s voice turned strict in the span of a second. She could pull the mom tone on a dime.

  “No!” Nicolas insisted with a pout, but pulled his arms to his side.

  “Yes,” I said at the same time.

  Florence laughed. She rounded the couch and said, “Hey, you.” She sat down next to me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders for a quick hug.

  My game character ran into a ditch.

  “Aw, Alistair! Come on, man!” Nicolas elbowed me and snatched the controller away.

  The next ten minutes were spent in familiar comfort—Nicolas trying and dying, and I saving his little game avatar. Florence laughed and teased whenever our character fell into a hole or got smashed flat.

  The front door opened with a squeaky thud. Dr. Reynolds rushed in, shedding his suit jacket. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his dark brown beard wasn’t as neatly trimmed as usual. I didn’t see Dr. Reynolds that often. He was always in town and rarely home, but every time I did run into him, his entire person, from his hair to the shine of his shoes, was completely together and in order. Today, he was a touch disheveled.

  “Dad!” Nicolas exclaimed excitedly. He flipped off the couch and ran over.

  “Hey, buddy.” Dr. Reynolds ruffled Nicolas’s hair. “Hi, Florence, Alistair.”

  I waved and Florence stood up, her brow furrowed. “Why are you home so early? Your clinic hours are until seven tonight.”

  Dr. Reynolds removed his hat to reveal his bald head. Nicolas jumped up and down to snatch at the hat and Dr. Reynolds dropped it into his waiting hands. “There was a gap between appointments, so I came home to make sure Mom took her medicine.”

  Florence had told me a while ago her mom had recently started on antidepressants. Florence didn’t sense any difference. Neither did I.

  But that wasn’t the point.

  “Oh.” Florence’s shoulders slouched slightly and she began twisting her hair in between her fingers. “Okay.”

  “Dad!” Nicolas had put the hat on his head
, the brim nearly swallowing his features. “Alistair is helping me beat this game. Want to help too?” Grinning white teeth emerged from under the wool fedora.

  Dr. Reynolds removed some loose change from his pockets and dumped it absentmindedly on the foyer table. The clattering and clinking of the coins echoed against the low ceiling. “Let me talk to Mom first, then I’ll come over. I only have half an hour, though.” Dr. Reynolds chuffed Nicolas on the chin, but his attentions were already elsewhere.

  “Camille!” Dr. Reynolds called out and walked into the interior of the house. Three pairs of eyes followed him, and then Florence touched my arm gently.

  “Come on.” Florence pulled at my elbow. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” I was planning on talking to her in her room, giving her the goods, and then leaving.

  “Anywhere.” Florence began yanking at my shirtsleeve. “Nicolas, you stay here. Dad will be back in a bit.”

  Nicolas pushed the brim off his forehead and nodded mildly. The hat fell to the floor with a soft clunk.

  * * *

  After I grabbed the paper bag I brought, Florence and I slammed out of her house and trudged through the backyard. There was a very small grassy hill at the far left-hand corner, and Florence was walking in that direction. I followed, not saying anything.

  Florence wasn’t ever happy with her mom, and all three of them, Nicolas, Dr. Reynolds and herself, spent a lot of time tending to Mrs. Reynolds. I couldn’t say what was wrong with their mom, but the distance she placed between herself and the family hurt Florence. Hurt everyone.

  “Florence.” I jogged up to fall into step with her. Her lips were tight with emotion, the corners of her eyes shimmering slightly in the midday sun. “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head without looking at me. “Just let me just walk this off.”

  I walked silently along with her, the paper bag heavy in my hands, and my brain exploding with thoughts.

  I didn’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t sure if I was coming back, or if I even could. Mom would probably turn me away and I only had five hundred dollars saved up from my summer job. That was only enough for a one-way bus ticket to Louisiana and a couple days of food. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping for, but I needed to get out.

  That suffocating need, the lack of air, I had to get rid of it before I died here in Michigan.

  We reached the grassy hill. It wasn’t really a hill, more like a bump with grass growing on it. But it was Florence’s favorite spot, and we climbed up to the top and stood together in silence. The endless green fields stretched before us before colliding with the blue horizon. Birds chirped. The sun was warm and comfortable.

  Michigan isn’t all that bad, my rationale reminded me. You don’t even remember New Orleans, you hardly remember your mom. Just stay here.

  No. I couldn’t. Something in me demanded the answer to a question that had nothing to do with Michigan or St. Haven.

  Quiet panic gripped me.

  “Hey.” A light touch grazed down my forearm. I jerked back. Florence was looking at me questioningly, her fingertips softly stroking my skin.

  “Hey.” I shook my head. “You feeling better?”

  She sighed. “Yeah, sorry.” She pulled her gentle fingers away and wrapped her lean arms around her chest. She sniffed slightly. “I’m trying to be better about it. Not blame her so much, you know. She can’t help that she’s like that, and I can’t keep on getting mad at her for being who she is. Dad keeps telling me to be more patient. It’s not good for anyone for me to be like this.”

  I nodded, not knowing what to say. Florence’s relationship with her mother was a point of contention amongst her family. The males in the house tried hard to keep the peace, but Florence refused to coddle her mother. It should be the other way around, she had argued to me before. “I’ve been taking care of my mother since I was a kid. That’s wrong.”

  Florence wanted someone to take care of her. To mend her, that part of her that was deeply and irrevocably bruised. But she never let anyone see it and few even knew of its existence.

  Guilt flared and I quickly tamped it down.

  She’ll be fine, it’s not a big deal if I leave, I told myself.

  We’re not liars.

  “Florence. Um … I just wanted to say …” I licked my lips nervously and shifted my weight, my fingers tightening to crunch the sweat-dampened paper bag I still held in one hand.

  “Hm?” She tilted her head. For some crazy reason, Florence always seemed to be happy to see me. She looked at me like no one had ever looked at me before—with joy. Wonderment. Excitement. That weight that had fallen over her even minutes before was strangely lifted.

  My eyes combed over her, drinking her in. I had just seen her yesterday, but today I wanted to know her with fresh eyes. Florence had grown so beautiful. She was always pretty, but in the past couple months she had hit puberty hard and it was doing her body favors. She’d grown a few inches, height that mostly went to her long legs, and her boobs had appeared overnight. While thin, her hips had rounded ever so slightly. Not enough to be noticeable, but I had noticed anyway.

  As did other kids in town.

  Boys were starting to lurk about, like that bastard Kevin. Once she started ninth grade next month, it’d be a shit fest down at the high school.

  Kevin deserved a foot in his face when he made that comment about Florence. My fist curled at his voice in my head.

  “Alistair?” Florence’s voice shook me out of my violent plans for Kevin. She took a step towards me and gently grasped the sleeve of my t-shirt. “What’s up?”

  Florence’s essence wafted, that subtle floral scent of apple blossoms. It enveloped me, invaded my senses, until she flowed over every part of me, at every depth.

  She did that to me, always. Confused me. Clawed at me.

  I needed to get out of here before she sucked me back into St. Haven.

  Let’s get this over with. “I wanted to give you something.” I pushed the paper bag at her, placing some sanity-inducing distance between us.

  Florence’s eyebrows rose, and she took a step back while accepting the bag. The paper crinkled in her fingers as she tugged the opening down. Then, her back straightened immediately and her fingers shot out. The fingertips twitched just beyond the edge of the glass.

  “Fairies!” she cried with way too much enthusiasm.

  Last night, I had spent hours squatting in the forest, searching for these stupid fireflies. For some reason, the bugs weren’t as common this summer, and I had been too busy with Bill in the past couple weeks to meet up with Florence to go hunting. She had told me she’d only found a couple, and they’d all died before she got them home.

  “I put a leaf and some sugar water on the bottom of the jar …” I trailed off lamely.

  But Florence, that naive idiot, she regarded me as if I had just given her a Fabergé egg or a million dollars or something.

  “Oh, Alistair. Thank you. Thank you.” Her voice grew throaty and breathy, and for a second, I forgot where I was. I was so entranced with her. Just her. Everything about her. Her fluid motions as she brought the jar to her eye level. The way she smiled, giving me a slight peek at her pink tongue in between her perfect lips.

  “He’s cute,” Florence said, tracing the glass jar with an index finger.

  “It’s a beetle. Beetles aren’t cute,” I answered gruffly. But for her it was more than an insect.

  Fireflies meant more to her; they were the only piece of magic in this town. They were literally the only bright spot in the dead of night, deep in the wild forests.

  Fireflies meant more to her.

  “Well, Alistair, fairies are adorable and so he’s adorable,” Florence said. She spun the glass jar slowly on her fingertips and carefully scrutinized the firefly resting on the leaf.

  What I saw was a black bug, one of many.

  What Florence saw was fantasy and innocence, something in short supply.

  I rubbed the b
ack of my neck. “Whatever,” I muttered.

  Florence lowered the jar. She was so happy, so free and so light. All thoughts of what waited behind in the house evaporated from her face. She was the girl at the blue mailbox, the porcelain doll with an apple blossom stem clutched in her grasp.

  I would remember this. I would remember this, always.

  “Can I come by and see you tomorrow?” Florence pushed her hair out of her face. “I won’t bother you,” she continued in a rush, shaking her head. “I’ll bring a book and just read while you work.”

  I jutted my thumb awkwardly in a general direction over my shoulder. “Um. I think I actually have to help Bill with something, so I’ll be further east. We’re driving and leaving early, so it’ll be hard for you to walk it.” My throat burned at my lie. I had always hated lying, but doing it to Florence just seemed especially harsh on my body.

  Florence nodded understandingly and hugged the jar against her chest. “Will I see you tomorrow night?” she asked.

  She always wanted to hang out. I didn’t understand it then, and I still don’t. Everyone loved Florence. She could spend her days with better people, cooler friends, nicer folk. I was none of the above.

  “Whatever, you can come over for dinner.” I wouldn’t be there. Premature remorse wrenched in my gut.

  Florence smiled and rocked herself back and forth on her heels. “You guys getting along okay?”

  I shrugged. Bill and Sandra were … they were alright. I’d stopped trying to be a dick to them, but along the way, that empty feeling remained the same. They were these really nice strangers that had taken me in. They were exactly that, strangers. I knew my mom wasn’t better than them—she was far far worse. But that question, that ache, it’d never go away unless I did something.

  Florence tilted her head and she nodded slowly. “I’m glad.” She crouched down and gingerly placed the jar on the grass. I had a straight visual shot down her shirt into her cleavage. I immediately stamped down the jolt of pleasure that hit my groin.