Heart on a Chain

by Cindy C. Bennett

  I laugh at that, wanting to deny it, but knowing it’s probably the truth.

  As we come within sight of the school, I pull my hand out of Henry’s. He glances at me questioningly.

  “It’s bad enough for you that we’re friends. It could be really bad if people thought….” I can’t say the words, not sure what they really are. His eyes cloud, stormy, as he clenches his jaw. I reach up and smooth my hand along the tensed muscle, reveling in the fact that I can do that and not have him cringe from me with disgust.

  “Please?” I ask, thinking that Jessica isn’t the only one who might want to hurt me if they see him holding my hand or, worse, kissing me. He places his hand over mine, holding it tight against his face, eyes softening.

  “How can I say no to you?” he asks. “Okay, I will keep my distance. For now,” he qualifies.

  “Thank you,” I say, hesitating, then standing up on my tiptoes to kiss him. He growls against my mouth, and I jump a little, wondering if it’s rejection of my boldness, but he’s grinning at me.

  “What was that for?” I ask, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

  “I must be insane for agreeing to this.”

  Wednesday is a crazy day at school. Kids are allowed to wear costumes as long as they’re “tasteful” and don’t involve a mask. It’s drizzling a little as we pull into the parking lot; a group of girls walk by dressed as a nurse, a witch and a corpse bride—but not really looking like what they are supposed to be.

  Henry watches them walk by, then looks at me, eyebrows raised.

  “When exactly did Halloween become an excuse to dress like a hooker?” he asks.

  “You’re telling me you don’t like it?”

  He gives a short snarl then says, “If Claire tries to put anything like that on you, I’ll shoot her.”

  I try to picture myself dressed like that, walking with confidence, and nearly choke at the image. I turn to pull open the door handle, knowing he’ll protest, but instead he grabs my hand.

  “Hey, I need to tell you something.”

  I turn back. “Okay.”

  “Tonight, when we go to the corn maze, I’m going to hold your hand, and probably kiss you too.” His jaw is stubbornly jutted, daring me to argue.

  “Oh…um, okay,” I say with a smile, enjoying the stunned look on his face. “See you at lunch.”

  As he drops me off after school, though, I feel the familiar cramps beginning in my stomach. I’d been pressing my luck the two times before when I had gotten away. However, it’s a week night, which means my father won’t be home to fight with, and there won’t be any miraculous dinner parties.

  Henry lets me out, pulling me close to kiss me thoroughly, and for a few minutes, my dilemma disappears from conscious thought. This kiss is definitely more intense than the others he’s given me.

  “So I’ll pick you up at six?” Henry asks, smiling at the unfocused look in my eyes.

  “What? Oh, yeah, sure.”

  He kisses me again, then begins to walk around to his side of the car. The loss of his warmth brings me back to the world.

  “Wait, Henry…” I intend to tell him I can’t come, but he’s walking back toward me, an oddly intent look on his face, eyes dark. His look stills me, his hand sliding along the side of my neck to tip my face up for his kiss. He pulls back, looking into my eyes.

  “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

  “It…it is?” It’s hard to think clearly with him looking at me like this.

  One corner of his mouth turns up in a smile, and his gaze drops to my mouth, following the path of his thumb that brushes lightly across my bottom lip.

  “I like the way it sounds on your lips.”

  “Oh,” I breathe, as he leans to replace his thumb with his mouth. When he finally steps back, I’m weak in the knees. I didn’t know that was actually possible—I thought it was only something that happens in novels or movies.

  “If I don’t go now…” he doesn’t finish. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going now. I’ll see you soon.”

  I watch him walk away, climbing into his car and turning around to head back home. I watch until he’s out of sight, and it isn’t until he’s gone that I realize I hadn’t finished what I started to tell him. And, of course, I have no way to call him. With dread in my heart, I know how angry he’s going to be when I don’t show up.

  I walk in the door, seeing my mother asleep on the couch. I stand and watch her for a minute, comparing her to Mrs. Jamison. I wonder, if things hadn’t gone bad, if my baby brother had lived, if she would have been more like her.

  I put my books away, doing my chores without much enthusiasm, and without trying to be silent as I usually am when she’s sleeping. There isn’t anything that will change my fate today, so why try?

  “John?” I hear her call, and wonder briefly why she’d be calling for my father with concern in her voice.

  “No, mom, it’s me.”

  Silence, then she calls for me to come to her. She’s slurring her words, so I know she’s been taking too many of her pills again. I walk in and stand next to her, waiting.

  “How was school?” she asks. I stare, mouth hanging open. I haven’t heard those words from her for years…if ever.

  She clucks her tongue at me with disgust. “Close your mouth, you look like an imbecile.”

  I almost smile; that’s more like her.

  “It was fine,” I answer, then suddenly an idea comes to me. “But I need to go to the library to study tonight.” I hate lying, even to her, but I’m willing to lie to get to see Henry.

  “Why can’t you study here?” Her words are garbled as she reaches with hooded eyes for her glass of water and a bottle of pills. “I need you.”

  “I need to use the internet. I won’t be gone long. I’ll make you dinner first.” I try to keep the desperation out of my voice.

  She waves me away as she tips her glass up to swallow her pill. I make my escape to the kitchen, pulling out the items I need to make her dinner. For once, I’m not even jealous of her food, don’t try to sneak any of it.

  When I finish, she’s lying back on the couch, eyes hooded. I bring her a plate of food and set it on the table next to her.

  “I’m going now.” She looks up at me, eyes drifting lazily. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I tell her, rushing out the door before she can stop me. It’s far too early for Henry to be waiting for me, and I have no desire to stand on the street where anyone might see me. I decide that walking to his house is a better plan.

  There’s an overgrown field that forms a shortcut between our houses. It has not been developed yet because it’s filled with large quaking aspens and pine trees, surrounding a little pond of water where the geese flock each summer. That makes the area protected, but also neglected. I’ve been in the grove many times before, because it’s a good hiding place.

  I walk through, making my way to Henry’s street in less than fifteen minutes. I walk up toward his house; when I get to his driveway, I see that his car isn’t here. I stop, stymied in my intention. I’m unsure what to do. I suppose I could just go wait in the trees until I see his car turn up the street.

  Claire makes the decision for me when she walks out the front door and sees me standing there.

  “Kate, hey!” she calls, jogging down the driveway and pulling me into a hug. I feel that same intimidation and wonder how I can be so unsettled by a thirteen year old.

  “Henry told me you’d be coming over. He said you needed a costume? I have all kinds. Plus, I can do your hair for you if you want. You guys are going to the corn maze, right? It might get cold. Did you bring a jacket? Never mind, we’ll just do a costume that will keep you warm.” This non-stop speech is going on as she links arms with me and practically drags me up to the house.

  “Henry’s not home yet?” I ask.

  “No, he went to find a costume. Didn’t he call you?”

  “We don’t have a phone,” I admit.


  “Bummer,” she says, as if it isn’t embarrassing at all. “Well, I’ll call him and tell him you’re here already. I’m not going to tell him what costume we’re putting you in. That’s going to be a surprise.”

  When she calls him from her cell phone on the front steps, she’s silent while he talks, rolling her eyes at me. “Okay, fine,” she sighs, frustrated.

  “He says they’re doing this medieval theme thing at the corn maze, and he happens to know I have a costume that will work for that. Can’t wait to see what he’s wearing, probably some tights or something hideous like that, when I could have made him something cool,” she grumbles. Immediately, she brightens, “You will look so cool, though. And I can put beads in your hair.”

  I try to picture myself with beads in my hair, imagining long rows of braids ending in brightly colored plastic orbs, and can picture how ridiculous that would be. There are girls who could probably pull that look off—I’m not one of them.

  She leads me into the museum part of the house, passing through into the homey part that I prefer. Mrs. Jamison is sitting on the couch with Christine cuddled on her lap, watching Elmo talk about colors. I feel a pang of longing as I watch her absently smoothing Christine’s hair. She glances up when we enter and stands, picking Christine up with her.

  “Well, hi, Kate.” Her tone is warm and welcoming; she follows that with a hug that encompasses me and Christine, who is still in her arms. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that; how they all hug one another and me—a virtual stranger—as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  “Hi, Mrs. Jamison. Hi, Christine.”

  Christine waves shyly, tucking her head into her mom’s neck but keeping her eyes and smile on me. She’s such a cute little thing, with dark eyes that are the same as Henry’s.

  “Can I ask a favor, Kate? I’d like you to call me Emma. Mrs. Jamison is my mother-in-law.”

  “Sure, okay.”

  “Guess what, mom?” Claire’s excitement is palpable. “Kate’s going to borrow one of my costumes. And I get to do her hair.”

  “Oh yeah? And did Kate agree to let you do her hair, or did you just push that on her?” Emma looks at me with a smiling question.

  “Well….” Claire trails off.

  “It’s okay,” I jump to her defense, not wanting to get her into trouble. “I don’t mind.” That’s only another half-lie.

  “Alright, well you girls have fun. If she gets too pushy, Kate, you just tell her to back off,” She says gruffly, accompanying the words with an affectionate ruffle of Claire’s hair. “She means well; she just gets a little…enthusiastic.”

  Claire rolls her eyes at me, then grabs my hand and hauls me up a second set of stairs in the family room. She’s talking animatedly the whole time we’re walking, which is good because I’m speechless. The second floor is more homey than formal, but it’s big. There are several rooms off a hallway that forms an L, but most of the doors are closed, so I don’t know what kind of rooms they are.

  Claire’s bedroom is amazing. The floor has thick pink carpeting, the bed covered by a white and pink patch quilt, which is neatly made and covered with a variety of pillows in pink, white and green. A netted canopy sewn with pearl beads hang from the ceiling to surround part of the bed. It’s definitely a girly-girl room, but the most amazing thing is the walls.

  Instead of posters of the latest bands or movie stars, it’s covered with fashion photos cut out of magazines, and hand drawn pictures that look like they could also have been pictures cut out of magazines—they are that well drawn. I look at a grouping of them, when the name in the bottom right corner catches my eye.

  I turn to look at Claire, who is currently in her walk-in closet that’s almost as large as my whole room.

  “Did you draw these?” I ask.

  She leans around the door jamb, looking at the drawings.

  “Yeah. Those are my originals. Someday they will be real clothes—I mean clothes that other people can wear.”

  “You made these up? They aren’t copies?”

  She steps all the way into the room, carrying a pile of dark red material.

  “No. I’m going to be a fashion designer some day. I just play around right now. I draw them and my mom buys me the material and helps me make a pattern and sew some of them. Sometimes she wears them herself.”

  I look at them. As unaware as I am of fashion I can tell they are good.

  “These are really great. I think you’re a fashion designer now.”

  Claire beams at the compliment.

  “Thanks, but I still have a lot to learn. I’m going to go to college to learn more about fashion, but also to learn how to be a business woman because I want to run my own place.”

  I wonder what it would be like to be so young and so sure of your future, with not only a plan in place, but also the talent to back it up. I’m about to graduate and have no idea what I’m going to do. How depressing.

  “Anyway, I’m glad you like them, because this is one I made,” she says, holding up the pile of material by the hanger, which reveals it to be an elaborate dress. “This is the costume I was telling you about. It will work good, I think, because it kind of looks medieval and it’s heavy so it will keep you warm. And, oh!” She throws the dress across her bed and runs back into the closet. She comes back out carrying a pile of black material. “This cape will look really cool with it, in case it’s too cold without a jacket.”

  “This is really nice of you,” I tell her. I walk over to the bed, running my hand across the rich ruby velvet. “I don’t think I should wear this to the corn maze though. It will probably get dirty and might get torn or something.”

  She waves her hand, “No biggie. I can fix it. Here, come sit,” she indicates a chair in front of a beautiful vanity with a tri-fold mirror. The back edge of the vanity is neatly organized and holds a dizzying array of makeup and hair products. I sit obediently and she begins brushing my hair.

  “What I wouldn’t give to have your hair. You’re so lucky.”

  I look in the mirror, trying to see what she sees that I don’t. My hair grows so straight that I only wash and comb it and let it air dry. I don’t even own a hair dryer or curling iron. Maybe all those years of having done nothing harsh to my hair helps it to seem healthy. To me it only looks plain, blonde and straight, hanging halfway down my back.

  “I have an idea. If you don’t like it we can take it out and do something different, okay?”

  It actually feels good to have someone brushing my hair. Even the gentle tugging as she starts pulling pieces up feels good. I close my eyes and pretend that I’m a normal girl, sitting at her vanity, her mother or sister doing her hair.

  I try to remember if my mother has ever done my hair. She must have when I was a little girl, but I can’t call up a single remembrance of it. Instead of feeling sad like I usually do, I felt a little spark of anger.

  “There, how’s that?” Claire asks. I open my eyes and can only stare. She’s wrapped the front of my hair into a sort of natural head band, interlaced with strings of red beads that look striking against my light hair. The back falls in soft ringlets. Fear sinks through me—I can’t go out like this. I feel exposed with my shield pulled away. I can’t disappoint Claire, though. She looks pretty pleased with herself.

  “It looks good,” I tell her, my voice wavering. But in her youth she doesn’t notice.

  “Cool. You want some makeup on?” Before I can gather my horrified thoughts to tell her no, she answers herself. “No, I think you’re really pretty without it. You don’t need it.”

  Pretty? I don’t think so.

  “Okay, let’s get the dress on and see how it all looks.” She glances at the clock on her bed stand. “Right about on time, too.”

  She steps out while I undress and pull the dress on, but it has a long row of hooks on the back that I can’t reach, so she has to help me do those. I’m self-conscious about having her do that since no one has ever s
een me in any state of undress. She’s so matter-of-fact about it that I can’t feel too embarrassed. Once those are hooked, she adjusts the ties on the lace-up front, pulling the velvet around the white silk beneath, leaving just a hint showing, to make it fit just right.

  “Perfect!” she announces. “Look.” She turns me toward a full length cheval mirror that stands in the corner. I have to admit, I look different, like someone who has stepped out of a time past. The dress also has lace-up sleeves, which expose the white silk panel she has sewn beneath. The bodice is tight and the skirt is full, the silk panel theme repeated down the front of the skirt. It’s an amazing dress—it would transform anyone who wore it.

  “This is great,” I tell her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. It’s only half-a-hug, but it’s more than I might have thought I was capable of a few weeks ago. She smiles at me.

  “You look great. Now, wait here. I want to see if Henry is home yet so you can make an entrance.”

  She doesn’t wait for an answer, hurrying out of the room and closing the door behind her. I sit nervously waiting, until I hear her footsteps coming back down the hallway.

  “Okay, he’s here, but we just have to wait a minute while Mom gets her camera.”

  “Camera?” I squeak.

  “Oh, yeah, get used to it. If you’re gonna be Henry’s girlfriend, plan on having your picture taken for, like, every event imaginable. My mom’s the queen of picture taking.”

  I barely hear the last part because my mind is stuck on the other word she said—the same one Jessica used.

  “You think I’m Henry’s girlfriend?” I ask.

  “Well, duh! I saw you guys kissing, remember?”

  The shock on my face slowly gives way to a smile. Girlfriend. I’m someone’s girlfriend! Not just someone—Henry’s girlfriend. At least, that’s what his sister thinks. She probably knows more about these things than I do.

  I don’t know what Henry thinks, maybe that we’re just friends, but maybe not. Maybe he thinks of me as his girlfriend as well. The thought sends a shaft of light through me.

  Claire leads me out of her room, this time in the opposite direction, toward the stairs at the front of the house.