Glass Girl

by Kurk, Laura Anderson

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “You name it. We raise corn and alfalfa and a little barley, and we’ve got several thousand head of cattle and a whole bunch of horses, miles of fence that have to be fixed constantly, barns that need repairing, and equipment that falls apart right when we’re trying to harvest.”

  “So, for you, it’s all work and no play?”

  “Pretty much,” he said as he smiled sheepishly. “I guess I’m a dull boy. But it’s good; I wouldn’t want it any other way. If I’m worth my salt, I’ll be able to help my dad keep this ranch going. Now, it’s your turn, Meg.”

  He turned his eyes back to mine, and I forgot my name for a minute.

  I sat up and hugged my knees for comfort. “Well, it’s just me and my mom and dad. My dad is heading up marketing at the Hotel Wyoming and my mom is an artist. She’s had some shows in Pittsburgh where she sold a few paintings for a lot of money. She’s a photorealist.”

  “Like Noel Mahaffey?”

  “Exactly.” I wondered why he’d heard of Mahaffey. “But instead of city scenes, she likes to paint children. She’s really, really good. She even has a painting hanging at the Carnegie Museum in Pittsburgh, and she’s been commissioned by some pretty well-known people to paint their kids.”

  “How’d they meet…your folks?”

  “At the University of Pennsylvania—their mailboxes were touching in the quad where they lived. He would wait on a bench to get his mail until she was there. He says he wanted her the moment he saw her take a letter out of her box the first day of class. She read who it was from, threw her bag down and sat on the floor right under her mailbox so she could read it right then. He said her hands were shaking, so he paused and looked closer. He could tell a guy had written it by the scrawl, and my mom cried, without shame, mascara running down her cheeks and everything. That was all it took for Dad. But they didn’t marry until much later. He had to chase her through Europe first; and convince her that Pittsburgh would be a nice place to live, nicer even than Paris.”

  “Do you look like her?” Henry’s face was so earnest that I couldn’t breathe.

  “Yeah, I do, I think. I look like pictures of her at my age and my dad tells me I do, all the time.

  “Then I know why he chased her through Europe.”

  I blushed hard but I thought surely he couldn’t tell by firelight. I thought wrong. He smiled and cleared his throat.

  “I’ve never seen anyone turn as many colors as you do. It’s nice. Your mom…who was the letter from…the one that crushed her?”

  “Apparently her boyfriend back home in New York had decided he couldn’t keep his hands off some other girl anymore.”

  He groaned. “Sounds like she dodged a bullet. So tell me, Meg, what is it about To Kill a Mockingbird that gets to you?”

  “Oh, man. I love Scout. I love how much she loves Jem. And he protects her. And they call their dad ‘Atticus.’ And he lets them. And I love that her heart gets broken every time she sees something mean. And how she processes things and goes on with her life because she’s brave. I love when she meets Boo Radley for the first time and she cries and says ‘Hey, Boo.’ I love how Atticus isn’t afraid to respect his kids’ minds. How he’s the best shot in the county but he doesn’t want anyone to know. How he risks everything for truth and gives his kids the gift of a life free of hate.”

  “Do you have a Boo Radley in your world?”

  “I guess we all do, right? Something that calls to us but terrifies us at the same time.”

  “Yeah…I always liked Atticus a lot.”

  “Mmmm. Me, too. What’s yours?”

  “Favorite book? The Catcher in the Rye, hands down.”

  I glanced up quickly to see if he was serious. He was. I smiled. “I loved it, too.” As I said this, though, I was pierced with a thought of Holden from Catcher in the Rye and how his brother, Allie, died—Allie, who wrote poems all over his baseball mitt so he could read them when no one was up to bat. Wyatt would’ve done that. I thought of Allie but saw Wyatt’s lifeless body. I must have gone very pale because Henry sat up in a flash and narrowed his eyes at me, trying to figure out what changed.

  “What is it?” he asked softly. “You think we oughta be reading books written during our lifetime, Meg?”

  I shook my head to gather my thoughts. “What, like Oprah books? Or a vampire love story?” I rolled my eyes and managed a smile.

  “Thank God you’re not a vampire freak,” he groaned. “If another girl crashes into me in the hall trying to walk and read those books I’ll have to start confiscating them. There’s something wrong when a girl wants a dead guy. But that’s just me.”

  “No, you’re right, Henry,” I laughed. “Cold lips, total turn-off.”

  He shifted and flashed a conspiratorial smile. “When’s your birthday, Meg?”

  “Hah! I’m one of those poor souls born on Christmas Day. Usually people forget my birthday. My parents always tried to remember to wrap one or two Christmas presents in birthday paper so that I wouldn’t be sad. When’s yours?”

  He grinned. “Last week. September 10th.”

  “Happy Birthday, Henry. I wish I’d known.”

  “What would you have done? Surprised me at my house?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, now that, Meg Kavanagh,” he said, with a sly smile, “would’ve been my best present by far.”

  We sat quietly for a few minutes and then Henry sat up and rubbed Butch’s ears.

  “Hey, I’m sorry people forget your birthday. But honestly, that’s cool, to be born on Christmas Day. You’re in good company, right? I promise I’ll remember you this year. In fact, I promise I will see you on your birthday this year.”

  “That’s quite a promise, Henry,” I said while yawning.

  The fire and the nighttime noises were making me sleepy. I wanted to hang on so I didn’t miss anything, but I realized I was losing the battle; after all, it was after one o’clock in the morning. I’ve never been one who could fight sleep. I tried to get up without waking Butch, but he hopped up when I moved.

  “I’m falling asleep,” I whispered incoherently to Henry.

  “I see that,” he said quietly, chuckling under his breath. He helped me stand up and gathered my sleeping bag and blanket for me.

  “I’ll just make sure you don’t have any unwelcome guests in your tent.”

  He unzipped the tent, knelt down and looked around. Then he shoved my sleeping bag in and laid the blanket on top of it.

  “Thanks, Henry. Thanks for letting us stay tonight.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Meg, really. Sweet dreams.”

  “Good night.”

  I climbed into my sleeping bag and Henry reached in, turned off the lantern, and looked at me in the moonlight like he wanted to say something but changed his mind. Then he shook his head and said, “Hey Meg, I just wanted to say…sometimes the girls here are kind of unoriginal, but you’re not, so I’m really glad you’re here.” He looked at me for a loaded second and I smiled at him, unable to respond to his directness.

  He zipped up the tent, and I heard him walk back over to the fire and ease down to the ground. I pictured him lying back on his elbows with his impossibly long legs stretched out. I heard Butch turning around and around right outside my tent and then he laid down, mostly on the tent fabric. I could feel him through the thin material, so I patted his back, and every once in a while he sighed deeply. The talking around the campfire turned into quiet murmuring and occasional giggling from the girls. I didn’t hear Henry’s voice at all and I wondered what he was thinking. I fell asleep happy for the first time in a long time.

  I woke to the sound of cows mooing in a nearby pasture the next morning. I’d have to say that was a first. Tennyson, Taylor and Sara were all asleep, but Butch had left his station next to the tent. I climbed out, stretched, and noticed that my hips hurt like I’d slept on a boulder all night. I saw that Henry’s horse was gone and I was mulli
ng over my disappointment when Dylan climbed out of his tent.

  “Mornin’, Meg. How’d you sleep?”

  “Okay. I prefer a mattress, but it wasn’t too bad. Where’s Henry?”

  “His parents were expecting him for church this morning. He said to tell you that he didn’t leave until the sun was up, and he made Butch stay next to you so you wouldn’t wake up.”

  “Oh. That was thoughtful.” It surprised me how good it felt to know he’d thought of me.

  “So, I’ve got to ride over to the stables to feed and water the horses. I’m sort of on call this weekend. I’ll take Butch with me. Just leave the tents up and I’ll get them later. Will you tell Tennyson that I’ll call her tonight?”

  “Yeah, sure, I’ll tell her.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Meg. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

  “Thanks for taking care of us, Dylan. We really had a good time.”

  “Anytime. Really. Except, you might call ahead so we don’t mistake you for cattle rustlers.”

  He flashed a beautiful smile at me, and then climbed on his horse and whistled for Butch, who followed obediently.

  I hated to wake the others since it was after two in the morning when they finally fell asleep. I pulled Henry’s blue blanket out of the tent and wrapped it around my shoulders and got comfortable next to a tree to wait for them. Finally they stirred and started piling out of the tent. They were not in good moods. We quietly picked things up, and drove back to town.

  “I need a shower so bad,” Tennyson complained.

  “Hey, Tennyson,” Sara said. “I totally forgot to tell you that Matt and his friends are coming in from UW this afternoon. They’re going to stay out at Taylor’s dad’s hunting cabin so they can fish. They want us to come out. They’re going to grill hamburgers for us. Since we don’t have school tomorrow, it won’t matter if we’re out late.”

  “Matt didn’t tell me he was coming in,” said Tennyson. “What time?”

  “Probably around seven, I guess,” Sara mumbled through a sleepy haze.

  “Who’s Matt?” I asked, suddenly feeling like an intruder.

  “My brother,” Sara said with a proud smile. “He’s a sophomore at UW. They start fall break this week, so he’s bringing a bunch of guys up to fish and hang out. You’ll like him. He’s good friends with Taylor’s brother, Luke, who’s still a senior here. So, there’ll probably be a few seniors there, too. Can you come with us, Meg?”

  “Sure, why not? I don’t think I’ve had this many things to do on a weekend in years. Maybe never.”

  “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty, Meg,” said Tennyson. “It takes half an hour to get up to their cabin. It’s totally in the boonies.”

  She pulled into her driveway and when I saw my Jeep I realized how much I looked forward to a shower and a nap. “Okay, see you then. Thanks for the whole camping experience, guys.”

  “Yeah, it was fun,” said Sara. “And Henry seemed glad you were there, huh? He was drooling all over you. After you went to sleep, he wouldn’t stop watching the tent to see if you were okay.”

  I blushed and stepped out of the car. Tennyson popped the trunk and I grabbed my stuff and headed to the Jeep. I flew home in a daze and went right to the shower. I got in bed and didn’t wake up until two in the afternoon.

  When I finally came out of my room, I found my mom in the living room, wrapped in a blanket on the couch. She was holding Wyatt’s copy of Lone Survivor—a book by a Navy Seal. He loved that book. When he was little, he used to always say he was going to be a Navy Seal some day. He read everything he could about them and obsessed endlessly over all the things they go through during training. When we’d swim at our club in the summer, he’d do weird things like get in the water completely dressed and try to devise flotation devices out of his pants. He got kicked out of the pool for that one.

  “Hey, Mom. Thanks for letting me sleep. I didn’t get much rest last night—the whole sleeping on the ground thing was a little strange.”

  “Did you have fun?” she asked without looking up.

  “Yeah, I did. A lot of fun. And tonight I’m going to have dinner with the same girls and watch a movie or something. Where’s Dad?”

  “Work.”

  “Oh. Guess it’s a busy weekend at the hotel?”

  “I have no idea. He doesn’t tell me anything about the hotel.”

  “I’m going to make a sandwich. You want anything?” I asked, but she was already lost in her reading again and didn’t acknowledge me.

  Conversations with her frustrated me to no end. It was like trying to punch through a wall every time I talked to her.

  By the time Tennyson pulled down the drive, I’d had time to shower again. I left my hair damp and wavy down my back. I pulled on jeans and a sweater and boots. Tennyson seemed preoccupied and I was instantly amazed at how she looked. She actually had on a little makeup, and jewelry, and a miniskirt and boots. I didn’t know her that well, but I’d be pretty dull if I didn’t realize she was interested in a guy who’d be at this little gathering.

  “So, who is he, Tennyson?” I asked, looking at her sideways.

  “What?” She said with a fake smile.

  “Oh, it’s nothing…just that your ‘desperate’ is showing a little,” I said.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Oh, and keep your hands off Matt.”

  “You’re so obvious. I’ve never seen you with makeup.”

  “Yeah, well, some of us have to try a little harder to be beautiful. You, with the whole long, perfect hair and peaches and cream skin, have it way too easy. Do you even have pores?”

  “I could ask you the same question, Miss Who-Needs-Airbrushing,” I said, laughing.

  We drove into the foothills north of town for at least half an hour. Tennyson turned onto a dirt road that skirted the banks of a river. There were cabins every so often along the road and she pulled in beside one of them. It was old, very small, and desperately in need of paint. The brown paint covering it was cracked and peeling, and one of the windows was taped up with cardboard. I spent a minute wondering what shattered the glass.

  Obviously Taylor’s family didn’t spend a lot of quality time here. They must use it strictly for fishing trips. It was surrounded by tall pines and, at the moment, by cars. I had assumed, wrongly again, that I knew the whole story—that this would be Sara’s brother and Taylor’s brother and a few friends and us. But there were at least twelve cars parked at odd angles around the cabin, and through the front window I could see people milling around. We stepped out of Tennyson’s car and walked toward the cabin, right through the middle of a group that I recognized from school. They were all pretty far gone already from what I could tell. They greeted Tennyson as she passed, but mostly ignored me. Thank God for small miracles.

  Tennyson didn’t hesitate to open the door and walk into the cabin. Sara and Taylor were already there. Tennyson hugged a tall blonde who looked enough like Sara that I assumed this was Matt, her brother. He bent down to kiss Tennyson, with feeling. He introduced her to his friends, and I could tell I probably wouldn’t see Tennyson again. I thought for a fleeting moment that it would be a good idea for me to grab her car keys. But as soon as I thought it, I saw her tuck them halfway into the waist band of her lace panties, which were an inch above the top of her miniskirt. Then she grabbed a beer.

  Sara and Taylor introduced me to the guys standing around. I recognized a guy named Blake from English class. He reached into a cooler at his feet and handed me a bottle.

  “No thanks,” I mumbled.

  Wyatt had warned me a hundred times about parties like this. He made me swear I would never go to one, and if somebody ever took me to one, I was supposed to call him immediately. He never drank, although his friends were all lushes. He said he tried it once, but hated the feeling. I think he became the de facto designated driver for his friends and he was fine with that. He worried about them. He would’ve killed me if he knew I was
here right now. I totally missed out on the whole party scene—not just because it didn’t interest me a bit, but also because after Wyatt died, people were so careful with me. No one would have wanted to see me at a party. They would’ve been climbing over themselves to drive me home because I was Wyatt’s little sister—ready to shatter at any moment.

  I looked around the room to see if I recognized anyone else. A television played loudly in the front room and several guys were lounging around watching a game. I saw an open chair and figured I could make myself invisible there. So I sat, hoping that Tennyson or someone else would sober up and be ready to leave by eleven o’clock or so. The sports enthusiasts looked up and grunted at me—pleased that there was a girl interested enough in football to sit and watch the game with them. One of them I recognized from school, where he was kind of a loner.

  He turned and grinned at me. “Hey, Meg Kavanagh,” he slurred. “I find myself fantasizing about you all the time.”

  “Really?” I was completely unsure how to follow that. “Awesome.”

  One of the guys next to him laughed. “That was messed up, Seth,” he said, with a well-placed elbow to Seth’s ribs.

  Seth kind of snorted and then turned back to the game. I wondered if he would remember talking to me when we passed in the hall next week. Every now and then someone came by and offered me a drink. The game ended and since I was the only one watching TV, I flipped channels until I found The Last of the Mohicans. An hour passed, and I could tell things were going downhill. Tennyson, Sara and Taylor played “I never” in the kitchen for a while until the “I nevers” were no longer interesting. They were spiking Red Bull with vodka. I laughed a little at the irony.

  There were so many kids packed into the cabin now that it was getting hot. I stood up, marveling at how shaky my own legs felt, to open a window. I took a tentative step and trampled a couple wrapped in a blanket next to the couch. A hand appeared from under the blanket, grabbed hold of my ankle and squeezed, hard. I whispered an apology, pulled my foot back, and wiped away the tears that stung my eyes. I tried not to stare as I leaned gingerly over them to crank open the window. The room cooled down immediately and I parked myself back in my chair, and pretended I didn’t know what this anonymous couple was doing a couple of feet away. If I knew where the stereo was, I’d turn down the obnoxious music. If it wasn’t so cold outside, I’d go for a walk. If I knew how to hotwire cars, I’d take Tennyson’s and go home.