by Chelsea Fine
“Yes, sir,” I say, biting back a smile as I jog off to dress for practice.
49
Pixie
The kitchen screen door squeaks as I take out the last trash bag of the day. Mable left early, so I’ve been on my own for the past few hours, which is just as well. I haven’t been much of a conversationalist today.
Partly because it’s Charity’s birthday and I wanted to indulge in a private stroll down memory lane in my head. But mostly because I made my decision about NYU this morning and I’m not sure how I feel about it yet.
I spent the past year struggling with my college plans because planning seemed pointless. Why bother plotting out the future when everything about life can change in an instant?
But life is going to happen to me no matter what. Not planning won’t keep the future from coming. So I may as well try—or better yet, hope—for something my heart wants.
So I have a plan now. And it scares the crap out of me. But it also makes me feel alive.
I hear tires on gravel at the front of the inn and then a door slam. Levi’s truck. I’d know the sound of his truck anywhere.
I throw the trash bag into the Dumpster just as he rounds the corner, looking worn-out and sweaty, but in that good kind of way. The way that feels liberating and strong and helps you sleep soundly at night.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I say back, noticing he’s got a football tucked under his arm. “Where’ve you been?”
“Uh, practice.”
I lift my brows. “Football practice?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Wow. Good. Okay. Good.” I sound dumbfounded. I am.
He laughs. “I was surprised too. Zack kind of roped me into it.”
“Good for him.” I hold my hands out and he tosses me the ball. “Whoa,” I say, catching it and turning it in my palms. “I haven’t held one of these babies in a long time.”
“Do you feel powerful?”
“Like a god. Go long.”
He blinks at me and smiles. “Go long?”
“Yeah. Go. Long.” I wind my arm up to throw and wait for him to back up.
He shrugs and takes like four steps backward.
“Seriously?” I say. “Don’t insult me.”
He lifts his hands in apology and takes a few more steps back. “Far be it from me to insult a god.”
“Keep going.” I wave him farther and farther away until we’re standing a decent distance apart in the lavender field. Then I throw a perfect arc to him.
“Damn, girl.” He catches the ball with a smile. “Who taught you how to throw?”
I shrug. “Some hotshot quarterback I knew in high school.”
He throws the ball back to me. “He sounds wildly talented—and extremely good-looking.”
“Meh.” I catch the ball. “He was okay. He was a decent ballplayer but an awful artist. The boy couldn’t draw a stick figure to save his life.” I grin and throw the ball back.
He catches it with one hand. “Stick figures are overrated.”
“So are quarterbacks.”
He shakes his head with a smile and sends it flying back to me. I catch it.
“Charity’s birthday is today,” he says.
I wasn’t sure if either of us was going to bring that fact up. But now that it’s here, out in the open, it’s… nice. It doesn’t feel sorrowful. Just true.
I throw the ball back to him. “I know. She would be turning twenty.”
He catches it. “Yep. And probably be getting herself arrested.”
He throws it back. I catch. “Or thrown out of a bar.”
I throw. He catches. “Or running away to Vegas to get married.”
Throw. Catch. “Or all of the above.”
He laughs. “Yeah, probably all of the above.”
We stand there, two thousand lavender flowers between us in the setting sun, smiling at the memory of our favorite person, and it doesn’t hurt. Not at all.
“Hey, Pix?” Levi holds the ball still and looks at me. “I’ve missed you.”
I smile. “I’ve missed you too, Leaves.”
50
Levi
Charity’s birthday is almost over.
I settle into bed and stare at the ceiling. Two minutes later, my bedroom door opens to Pixie’s silhouette.
Without a word, and by the moonlight shining into my room, she makes her way to my bed and crawls in next to me. She tucks her body up against my side and places her head in the crook of my shoulder and her hand on my chest.
My heart feels funny and I don’t know what to do, but I know I don’t want to let go. So I wrap my arm around her and pull her close, resting my cheek against her head like we’re kids again and no tragedy has marred us.
Charity’s not here, but Pixie is. And that makes everything okay.
Not perfect, but okay.
I pull a sheet over us and, with my arms around the best piece of the worst thing that ever happened to me, I close my eyes and fall asleep.
51
Pixie
Levi’s steady heart pulses against my ear, and I’m completely surrounded by his body heat. His room is dark and quiet as I draw in a slow, deep breath.
God, I’ve missed him. His strength. His friendship. So much so that I could cry right now. I didn’t realize how much I needed this—needed HIM—until right this moment. I nuzzle my face against the soft cotton of his T-shirt where it’s safe and warm and smells like the boy who makes up all my memories.
52
Levi
Three days and hundreds of plays later, I’m sweaty and exhausted and more alive than I’ve felt in months. God, it feels good to do something I’m good at and have a purpose outside of the inn.
I didn’t mean to keep coming to practice, but Coach kept asking and my stupid mouth kept saying yes. So here I am again, after three hours of grueling workouts and running plays, sweating my ass off as we wrap up the day. And I love it.
I bullshit with the guys for a little while before heading home. Another storm is moving in as I drive along. I can tell from the dark purple hue of the clouds and the violent shades of orange in the sunset sky that this one will be big and powerful.
By the time I park, rain is coming down in buckets and the parking lot is a giant puddle of mud. I splash my way to the back door by the kitchen—not the front door since I know Eva hates it when I track in mud—and let myself inside as the purple clouds turn to gray and hide the sunset completely. The outside world is a dark mess of wind and rain as the kitchen lights flicker on and off. I wipe my feet on the mat and head down the back corridor, running smack into Pixie.
Her curves press against my soaking-wet body and mold to me with heat as she looks up through startled eyelashes.
“Sorry,” I quickly say, stepping back from her in the tight space. The front of her white T-shirt is completely wet and sticking to her breasts in a way that’s making my body ache and want to do bad things.
“No problem.” She licks her lips.
More bad things fill my head.
“Practice again?” she asks as she takes in my wet state.
“Yeah.” I look over her paint-stained shirt and the smudges of gray on her cheek. “Are you painting?”
“Yeah, a little. Storms make for great painting weather.”
I nod. “I remember. You used to say that all the time, always dashing home to paint before the rain let up.” I swallow, because maybe that was too revealing of just how much I know and remember about her.
“Oh. Yeah. I did.” She licks her lips again.
I need to get the hell away from her before I start licking her lips as well.
I clear my throat and shift past her. “Sorry, again, for running into you.” When I’m free and clear of her wet boobs and glistening lips, I hurry upstairs to the bathroom. After showering off the day’s workout, I shut myself in my room and stare at the blank page on my computer screen for a long time.
One essay on winning. I can
do this.
I stare at the screen. Nothing.
I absently open my in-box and, sure enough, there is a response from my parents. Actually, there are four responses—all group e-mails.
I start to read.
From: Mark Andrews
To: Levi Andrews; Linda Andrews
Subject: RE: College
Levi,
First of all, please be nice to your mother. She was reaching out to you because she cares about you.
Second, our concern for you—while it may be a little late—is sincere. You’re our son, and we love you more than we could ever express.
But third, and most important, WE DO NOT BLAME YOU AT ALL for Charity’s death. And we never have. Not for a moment. What happened to Charity was a horrible accident, and your mother and I were nothing short of blessed that you weren’t killed as well. If we have made you feel guilty, in any way, for Charity’s death, then we have failed you.
It was wrong and selfish of us to leave you like we did. You were a young man in college, and I guess I assumed that meant you knew how to heal on your own. But considering I myself didn’t know how to heal, that was rather dumb reasoning on my part. And no excuse, whatsoever.
We should have stayed together, as a family. Please forgive me.
Dad
From: Linda Andrews
To: Levi Andrews; Mark Andrews
Subject: RE: College
Levi,
Oh, honey! We don’t blame you at all for what happened to Charity. I feel just awful that you thought that for even a second. And I’m so sorry for leaving you like I did.
I just didn’t know how to be around you and your father without feeling complete sadness at all the reminders of Charity, and that was wrong of me. I am so sorry. And I can’t believe I let this much time go by without seeing or speaking to you. I have failed you in so many ways.
And Sarah! Oh my Lord, I didn’t even think about Sarah. That poor thing was just left in the dust by us too. Oh, Mark—how could we have let this happen?
Clearly, I’ve made some terrible mistakes as a mother, and I don’t know how to undo them. Please forgive me for leaving. I’m so sorry. I love you, sweetie. So much.
Mom
From: Mark Andrews
To: Levi Andrews; Linda Andrews
Subject: RE: College
Linda,
Obviously we have some mistakes we need to work out concerning Levi, and Sarah also. Maybe we should talk on the phone? Do you still have my new number? I only check my e-mail on Tuesdays.
Mark
From: Linda Andrews
To: Levi Andrews; Mark Andrews
Subject: RE: College
Mark,
I agree. A good long phone conversation is overdue. Yes, I have your number still. I’ll give you a call later this week.
Linda
I sit back and gape at the screen. Well. Okay. My parents are talking—maybe even on the phone. This is good. This is a start.
I bite the inside of my cheek. Leaving me was careless of my parents. But they didn’t stop loving me. And who am I to judge them when I abandoned Pixie in the same way?
My life fell apart, a shambles everywhere, and the only thing left standing was Pixie. And then I left her. God, I still can’t believe I did that.
With a deep breath, I reply.
From: Levi Andrews
To: Linda Andrews; Mark Andrews
Subject: RE: College
Mom and Dad,
I think we all might have a lot of guilt and blame we need to let go of. Charity’s death was hard for us all. Even though I don’t understand your leaving, I forgive you guys. We’re just human. And it’s not like I’ve been a model son this past year, but I want to fix that. Maybe we could all talk on the phone one of these days?
Levi
P.S. Sarah is doing okay. She misses you guys.
I click Send and feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. Hope.
53
Pixie
I stare at the tube of red paint as the storm outside rages on. There’s something inside me, something untamed and fearless, that wants nothing more than to run out into the night and feel the storm on my skin, the rain in my hair, the thunder in my bones.
Which is exactly why this is perfect painting weather.
I haven’t painted with colors since last summer. For no reason other than I just wasn’t feeling… colorful. But these past few days, something has been growing inside me. Coming to life. Waking up with demands. And I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
So I dusted off the many unopened boxes in my room and tore through them until I found my colored paints. Then I threw on some Florence + the Machine at full volume, and now here I am, standing before this blank canvas with no idea what I want to paint.
I look down at the tube again.
Red. It’s such a statement. Passionate. Unavoidable.
I turn the bottle over and squeeze a drop onto my palette. There it is. Red.
Now I just need to dip my brush in it and—oh, what the hell.
I turn my hand over and squirt a handful of paint into my palm and smear it against the canvas. It looks harsh and unwelcome against the smooth white. Like a blemish. The corner of my mouth turns up as I squirt more red into my hands and start to spread the crimson every which direction until the canvas is no longer a blank square, but a collection of red movement.
Once the red is emptied, I grab a blue bottle and fill my hands with the color of peace and calm, wiping it alongside the red.
Then green. Life. Beginning. Healing.
Then yellow. Happiness.
Purple. Hope.
Colors fill my eyes until I can’t imagine anything without them. My heart is on fire, like it’s been frozen for so long and has just now started melting into this blaze of… God, life.
I pull colors through my hands as lightning flashes and thunder booms. It’s madness outside, madness inside. And it’s beautiful.
And then I hear Levi’s TV turn on.
54
Levi
I watch TV and try not to think about what the girl next door is wearing as she paints away—which I know she’s doing because Florence + the Machine is blasting through the wall, and that is most definitely her painting music.
Three pounds sound on my wall.
“Turn it down!” she yells.
I turn the volume up two notches.
More pounding. “Turn it down!”
“Shh! I can’t hear my show over all your pounding!” I shout.
“Aaaagh!”
Victory is mine.
As I go back to my show, the wind howls outside and I frown at my window. I just know my day is going to be full of yard cleanup tomorrow.
The power suddenly goes out and I clench my jaw.
Pixie.
In a storm? Really?
Stomping out of my room, I go down the hall and throw open her door, more amused than angry, but still.
Two things surprise me.
One—the innocent look on Pixie’s face in the gray light from the mostly hidden moon outside.
Two—she’s wearing nothing.
Well, not nothing exactly. She has on a see-through tank top and a pair of panties that leave little to the imagination. But she may as well be wearing nothing because all I see standing before me is a naked Pixie, covered in paint.
“What the HELL are you doing?” She’s pissed, and manages to look a little embarrassed by her outfit, which confuses me. “What makes you think you can just keep barging in here?”
I scoff. “Maybe the same thing that makes you think you can just blow the fuse whenever the hell you please.”
“I didn’t blow the fuse!”
“Next time, just threaten the fuse thing and I’ll turn the goddamn TV down to save myself a trip outside.”
She takes a step forward so now she’s standing right in front of me. “I didn’t. Blow. The fuse.”
Lightning fla
shes into the room, and a loud clap of thunder shakes the window. That’s when I realize the storm knocked out the power. Not Pixie.
Well, shit. Now I feel like an idiot.
She stares at me in the foggy light, and her expression slips into one of… well, want.
I should leave. Right now. I really should.
But Pixie’s eyes are on mine, and she’s so damn close to my body that I can’t seem to do anything other than stare at her with want and need and desire and every other hell-born pleasure known to man.
But I’m not going to kiss her.
I’m not.
If I kiss her, there’s no going back. If I kiss her, I’ll touch her. And if I touch her, then I’ll forever kill any other guy who tries to touch her and then I’ll be royally screwed.
But my head and my heart and my body all want the same thing—and when the hell has that ever happened before?
This is Pixie.
I shouldn’t want her. I don’t deserve her. I shouldn’t… I don’t…
55
Pixie
Levi is looking at me with nothing but hunger, and I’ve never wanted to feed anything so desperately.
My chest is in front of his, breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Life in. Life out.
My hands run with all the colors of the rainbow, dripping onto the floorboards and my bare feet and legs as I stand before him.
Lightning strikes, brightening the room for an instant, flashing against our faces with urgency. I see the hesitation in his eyes, the fight between need and guilt, the fight both he and I have been losing for a year.
I hesitantly move closer.
Closer.
Then I give in to the untamed thing inside my soul and kiss him.
I’m against him with my body, pressed to his mouth with my lips and molded to his skin with my hands. I want him. No, I need him, and he needs me. Not just in desire, but in life and healing. And here we are, under the sound of rain against the window, the fields. Alive.
