Glass Heart

by Amy Garvey

  “If I gave him a ball of hair. I know,” I mutter.

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Geoff says drily, and waves me out of the kitchen. “I’ll bring out cookies when they’re done.”

  I have a little more than just the three framed photos planned anyway. I want to do something really special, something unique.

  Something magical, in the literal sense.

  For a couple of days there, I got so freaked out about being caught, I almost forgot how good it feels to use my power. And I don’t want to stop—it’s part of me, a big part of me, and that’s not going to change.

  Gabriel, and my mom, and probably anyone I asked would tell me I’m taking risks, using it at school, and here in the café last night, when Geoff was closing up the kitchen. But I was always in reach of the rag I had wiping down the counter on its own, and I was listening for him just to be sure.

  It’s not like I was going to make it rain over the cash register or turn a chair into a dog or something. Even though I’d pay serious money to see Trevor’s face if I did.

  When I walk through the door from the kitchen, Dar and Jess are laughing at the table in the front, heads bent together over something I can’t see. Gabriel is sitting beside them, long legs stretched out in front of him, pale hair falling over his forehead, the beginning of a smile half hidden behind his raised cup of coffee.

  Then he looks up and sees me, and his smile stretches out, warm and slow, the truth of it right there in his strange gray eyes.

  Happiness is a sudden star flare, so perfect it takes my breath away. Even with Geoff banging around in the kitchen and Trevor grumbling at a customer, all I can think is, Yes, this. I want to keep this.

  I push my hair out of my eyes, and let it come. It’s nearly transparent, hovering in midair—a photograph, square and old-fashioned. The rippled edges make it look as if it’s been torn from a sheet of paper. It flutters to the floor, and Gabriel, Jess, and Dar smile out at me from its face, soft and blurred like a wet watercolor.

  It’s a picture torn right out of my head.

  I crouch to snatch it off the floor just as Geoff comes out of the kitchen behind me with a fresh tray of calories.

  “Whoa, kid. Didn’t see you down there.” He skirts around me neatly as I cram the picture into my back pocket. I half expect it to crumble into nothing the moment I touch it, but it holds together.

  I straighten up, the last hum of energy ebbing to a warm glow inside me. Gabriel’s still smiling, not even a flicker of curiosity, so I’m pretty sure he didn’t notice anything. I grab the mocha Trevor made for me off the counter before I join them. Geoff is handing around cookies and apple fritters, and Jess already has a glistening smear of frosting on her top lip.

  “God, this is heaven,” she groans, blushing when Geoff tweaks her ponytail.

  Heaven. I sit down next to Gabriel, the photograph safe in my back pocket, and sigh when he pulls my hand into his lap, curling his fingers around it and holding tight.

  It is heaven, here and now, and I don’t see any reason I can’t keep it that way.

  Chapter Eight

  I’M PULLING A SWEATER ON WHEN ROBIN RAPS on my door Christmas afternoon. Mom and Mari are in the kitchen like a couple of demented elves, singing snatches of holiday songs and making so much food, we should probably invite the whole neighborhood over.

  Robin opens the door before I can say anything, and I catch her reflection in the mirror. She’s in new jeans, a dark purple sweater, and a scowl, but she’s wearing the silver star earrings I gave her. It’s something.

  “They just pulled up.” She leans in the doorjamb, arms crossed over her chest, not looking at me so hard her eyes are probably aching with the effort. I sigh.

  She was better last night, when we all retreated to our rooms to wrap presents after take-out Chinese. Later, we piled onto the couch to watch It’s a Wonderful Life. For the first time in years, Mari was with us, snuggled into one end of the sofa with an old quilt, weeping at “the richest man in town.”

  Gabriel totally owes me money, even if I didn’t actually get a picture of her crying as proof.

  “You look pretty,” I say to Robin. Downstairs, I can hear the door open and the sound of Mom’s voice, welcoming Olivia and Gabriel inside. And Robin does look pretty, all that thick dark hair washed and brushed, the new earrings sparkling when she moves.

  Mostly, though, I’m hoping she knows enough to translate the compliment into what it really means, which is, Make this any worse than it has to be today and you’re dead.

  She shrugs and watches as I pull my boots on over new striped tights. “You do, too. I like your dress.”

  Then she’s gone, running down the stairs before I can even look up from my laces. Or close my mouth, which has dropped open in shock.

  There’s no way to know if it’s a peace offering or complete bullshit, but I don’t have time to figure it out now. She’s been running hot and cold for days, hugging me this morning when she opened her gift, bursting into tears late last night when Mom was talking about the plans for today. Some of it is probably hormones, and some is still pure tantrum that my boyfriend and his sister are coming for the day instead of our dad, and the combination is a nasty mix. I had to help her clean up the bathroom the other night when she melted the shower curtain in a rage.

  I can hear everyone downstairs, so I stand up and glance in the mirror one last time. Aunt Mari gave me a beautiful charcoal-colored dress, and with my black and gray tights and tiny black sweater, I’m as dressed up as I ever get, even though I know Mom will roll her eyes at the sight of my Docs. I run my fingers through my hair, ruffling it one last time, and take a deep breath.

  “There she is,” Mari says when I walk into the living room. Gabriel is crouched by the fire, poking the logs, and Olivia is perched on the arm of the sofa, a big white mug in one hand. Robin’s lying on the floor by the tree with one of the books she got this morning, and she doesn’t bother to look up.

  “Merry merry,” Olivia says, and gets up to come give me a fierce one-armed hug. “Your aunt here is getting me drunk on eggnog already, just so you know.”

  “I assume they’re hiding that pitcher from us.” I blush when she kisses my cheek, but I don’t really mind.

  Mari pushes Olivia and me apart, all impatience and literally high spirits. “So tell me more about vinyasa,” she says, pulling Olivia onto the sofa with her. I meet Gabriel halfway across the living room, and he kisses the top of my head.

  “Hey there.”

  “Hey.” I’m still blushing, and I don’t even know why. Gabriel has been here dozens of times in the last few months, even if Olivia hasn’t, and it’s not like my family doesn’t know him, or how gooey we can be together. But the day is as dressed up as I am, in its sparkling white lights and homemade cookies and pine perfume, and I feel like I’m waiting for a big glob of gravy to splash all over the front of it.

  “Merry Christmas,” he says, and takes my hand to lead me into the dining room. The table is mostly set in mismatched hand-me-down china, and tall, white tapers are nestled in the candlesticks, but it’s empty otherwise. “What did Santa bring you?”

  I roll my eyes, but he simply says, “Aw, just coal, right? It figures.”

  “Real cute.” I get him this time, but he manages to grab my arm and pull me close. “I got a new iPod and a bracelet and two books and a gift certificate.” I hold out my wrist, where the beaded bracelet Robin gave me gleams. She made it at a string-your-own place downtown, and it’s all the shades she knows I love—filigreed silver and smoky hematite and black glass.

  “Robin?” He glances into the other room, where Robin has abandoned her book to listen to the yoga talk, even though she’s obviously pretending not to. While we watch, she frowns and tries to twist her lower half into a lotus.

  The rush of fondness inside me feels good, like a steady candle on a cold day. “Yeah.”

  “I got her something.” He sounds weirdly awkwar
d, the way he almost never does, and when I glance at him, he’s actually blushing. I’m still trying to process the surprise when he adds, “For your mom and Mari, too. And Olivia brought wine and stuff.”

  It’s so unexpectedly sweet, I don’t know what to say at first. So I say the stupidest thing, as usual. “Wow. One big happy, huh?”

  Sometimes I am the blob of gravy on my own life.

  He rolls his eyes, but he’s not mad. There are some things even I can read without being psychic.

  Mom comes out of the kitchen then, wiping her hands on a towel. “Food’s almost ready, and I hope everyone brought appetites or you’re coming back for leftovers tomorrow.” Her smile is a soft rose flush in her face, and she looks about a dozen years younger somehow, not that she ever looks old. Even if it’s just holiday happiness, I love seeing her like this. She swings the towel up over her shoulder and curls into the big chair near the fireplace, waving Gabriel and me into the room. “I’m so glad everyone’s here.”

  “Not everyone,” Robin says out of nowhere, her face tight as she untangles herself from her cross-legged place on the floor and stands up.

  I expected gravy. But I didn’t expect my little sister to practically launch a rotten turkey into the room.

  “At least she didn’t set anything on fire,” I say to Mom after the brief storm passes. With the shouting and stomping out of the way, Robin is up in her room, simultaneously sulking and mortified.

  “Yes, shattering half of the Christmas ornaments was so much better.” Mom’s voice is like sandpaper, and I push the vacuum back into the butler’s pantry without another word.

  In the living room, Mari is entertaining Gabriel and Olivia, or trying to, even though Olivia keeps saying it’s not necessary. “Hey, I was that age once. We all were,” she’d said.

  Despite the months she’s known me, though, I could tell she was surprised by the sudden crack of exploding glass. At least she wasn’t sitting close to the tree—Mom’s hair is still sparkling with broken shards.

  When I walk in again, Mari and Olivia are on the floor in front of the fire, talking so low I can’t hear them, and Gabriel is rearranging decorations on the tree so the bald spots don’t show. He looks up with a felt stocking in his hand.

  “Hey. Do you think we should go?”

  “No way.” I take the stocking from him and hang it near the back of the tree—I made it when I was five, and it has nasty knots of dried glue all up one side. Not my finest artistic moment. “Mom is determined to have a nice meal even if it kills us all.”

  Gabriel mimes a weak fist-pump, and it’s just enough to reset the moment to okay.

  Mom sticks her head into the room. “How about some music and some food, people?”

  “Sounds perfect,” Olivia says, and gets up from the floor. Her face is flushed from the fire and probably the eggnog. “Can I help with anything?”

  For once, Mom doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. We need an army to carry everything.”

  We all pitch in, turning on music and bringing platters and bowls to the table, lighting the candles and running back to the kitchen for the salt and pepper. We’re all seated before Mari says quietly, “Do you want me to get Robin?”

  Mom unfolds her napkin and puts it in her lap, and it’s hard to tell if it’s only the soft glow of the candles making it look like she’s blushing. “I told her to come down when she was ready to be polite, so if she’s not here . . .”

  There’s nothing to say to that, so Aunt Mari pastes on a smile and says, “Merry Christmas, everybody. Let’s enjoy.”

  There’s ham and sautéed green beans and cheddar muffins and mashed potatoes and carrots with orange glaze, and for a few minutes everyone passes bowls and plates silently. Gabriel opens a warm muffin and pretends to faint.

  “I love my sister, Mrs. Darby, but I have to say, she doesn’t cook like this.”

  “It’s Rose, Gabriel, and thank you.” She laughs, and settles back in her chair. “Wren will tell you I don’t cook like this most of the time, either.”

  “I’m learning,” Olivia says with a stubborn twist to her mouth, but she’s trying not to smile, I think.

  “It has to be a lot to handle, working two jobs and being responsible for your brother.” Mom’s tone is casual, but I know where this is going. Another blob of gravy is going to drop any second. “Especially at your age.”

  Beside me, Gabriel’s hand stops halfway to his mouth with a forkful of mashed potatoes, and I lay my hand on his thigh under the table as he says, “Olivia’s really awesome like that.”

  “I’m just doing what needs to be done.” Olivia lays down her fork and faces my mother across the table. “Same as anyone would.”

  “Well, not anyone,” Mom argues, but at least her tone is kind. “A lot of people wouldn’t.”

  “Our mom died when Gabriel was pretty young,” Olivia explains. For all her wispy blond prettiness, her words are laced tight with steel thread. “And our dad is . . . not very reliable. And not very . . . caring. So yeah, I guess you could include him in the people who wouldn’t, but I don’t feel like I’m making a sacrifice. Gabriel and I do fine.”

  “No one’s saying you’re not,” Mari says quickly, looking between Mom and Olivia. “Right, Rose?”

  “Of course,” Mom agrees, and shakes her head. “I probably sound like I’m interrogating you, and I don’t mean to. But it’s a little unusual for a twenty-three-year-old to have guardianship of her teenage brother. And I guess what I’m saying is, if you ever do need help, we’re here.”

  Gabriel takes a deep breath, and I can feel the tension in him coiling tighter. “But you’d still like to know what the deal is, right?”

  Oh, no fair, I think, and shudder at the idea of Mom realizing he’s poking into her head. I haven’t told her much about that at all, and I don’t intend to—especially now.

  Mom tilts her head, examining him carefully. “If I’m being completely honest, yes.”

  Time seems to stop, suspended like a flimsy piece of silk between moments. Gabriel hasn’t even told me where his dad is, or what “unreliable” means when it comes to him, just that he and Olivia are better off without him. I can’t believe this is suddenly the topic of conversation at Christmas dinner.

  “We don’t know where he is right now,” Olivia says, and time crashes back into place. In her deep red dress with her hair piled on top of her head, she looks almost regal.

  And not like someone who’s going to cave easily.

  “We haven’t seen him in two years, and a few months after he didn’t come back, I decided we weren’t going to keep waiting,” she goes on. Beside her, Mari opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something, but I glare at her.

  “I made some decisions about what would be best for me and Gabriel, and as soon as I could I moved us here. The schools are good, and there’s plenty of work.” Olivia pauses, and then looks up at my mom again, and inside I’m cheering at the “don’t mess with me and mine, lady” look in her eyes. “Wren’s not in danger from him or from us. And that’s really all I want to say on the subject.”

  It’s so quiet, I can hear the fire sputtering and crackling in the other room, the soft shush of material as someone moves.

  Gabriel looks stunned, when I glance sideways, but he’s not looking at Olivia. He’s looking at my mother. Who’s smiling and is probably about to applaud, knowing her. She’s all for girl power, no matter what.

  But the silence is broken instead with, “Wow. What’d I miss?”

  We all turn to find Robin slouched in the entryway to the dining room, nibbling at her thumbnail. She flicks her hair over her shoulder and adds, “Can I have dinner now?”

  Chapter Nine

  “WELL, NO ONE DIED,” GABRIEL SAYS FOUR hours later when we walk outside to sit on the porch. It’s dark now, and the cold is knife-edged, slicing through our coats and scarves. “That’s a win.”

  “Oh yeah. Taste the victory.” I slide closer to him on th
e creaky swing and tuck myself under his arm. Inside, Mom and Mari and Olivia are sitting around the dining room table with coffee, and Robin is up in her room again, excused from further festivity after poking the fire and accidentally lighting up the curtains. The living room still smells like smoke.

  “It could have been worse,” he says, and kisses the top of my head. His arm is firm and steady around me, and I bite back a sigh of pleasure when his fingers skate gently across my cheek.

  Despite Robin’s outbursts and Mom’s awkward interrogation of Olivia, he’s right. It could have been a lot worse, and in the end, the afternoon was actually sort of enjoyable. Comfortable in a way I hadn’t imagined it would be, especially when Aunt Mari broke out the Pictionary and we all sat in front of the fire to play.

  In fact, the only person who seemed a little off was Gabriel. He smiled and he made conversation and he played the game, but he was preoccupied, far away in his head whenever I looked at him, and I hated the fact that it was probably Mom’s fault. Every once in a while I caught him looking at her, and the idea that he might not like her anymore tore at me.

  But now he’s wrapped around me, a blanket of boy in the frigid night, and it’s good to let the moment stretch out. To gather it close just like his arm and soak up all of its warmth. To let myself think about what could come after tonight, where we could be next week, next year. All the things I had to stop dreaming about for Danny and me long before I wanted to.

  My thoughts have carried me so far away, I’m startled when Gabriel speaks. “Did you want your dad here today instead?”

  It takes me a minute to figure out what he’s talking about. “No.” I wriggle up straight so I can face him. “Not today. Today was about family, and my dad isn’t part of that anymore. Not right now anyway.”

  As soon as the words are out, I realize it sounds like I mean Gabriel and Olivia are family, and I know I’m blushing.

  It’s a relief when all Gabriel says is, “I don’t think Robin’s going to wait forever.”