Beastly: Lindy's Diary (8 page)

and gloves. (The limo had this screen between us and a driver, so he couldn’t see us.) I could feel him

stroking my hair.

I snuck a peek out. The sky was starting to get light, and soon, I stopped seeing gray buildings and instead saw tall, snow-covered trees like on a Christmas card. Adrian had fall en asleep, finally, and I was tired, so tired, and so comfortable that I did too.

I woke, maybe hours later, and everything had changed.

Now, there were not only trees but hills covered in snow. I shook Adrian awake.

“Where are we?” I asked. “Are we still in the United States?”

He laughed. “still in New York.” Then he told me he was taking me to see real snow, not just gray, city

slush.

“Where we’re going, we can go outside and roll in it.” No more sleep. I’d never been outside New York

City before, but now I saw farmhouses, decorated with bows for the holidays, even silos and cows and

horses. People really lived here—on farms like in the Little House books!

I saw that the hills were mountains now, looming high above everything. I wanted to go out and run in all that glorious snow.

Finally, we pulled off the main road and onto a side street, then in front of a huge, beautiful house

surrounded by snow-whitened pines. Adrian told me that this was where we were staying, that it was his

father’s house, where he used to come when he was a kid.

The trees here all looked like Christmas trees.

I couldn’t believe it. I jumped from the car, even though I was still in my nightgown and the coat, and ran around and spun and danced and threatened to make snow angels before Adrian and Magda urged me to

put on warmer clothes.

And they had brought warmer clothes—a whole big suitcase full. Adrian said we can stay all winter! No

one else is here, and we’ll be able to make snowmen and skate on the lake and curl up by the fireplace

and read!

I have never been so happy!

December 26, Even Later

We’ve been outside, making a snowman(!) and having a snowbal fight. We made snow angels and fed

bread crusts to the birds. I saw a cardinal and lots of crows.

This place is a wonderland.

But one thing is bothering me.

When we first got here, Adrian told me he used to come here with his father, when he was a kid.

“That was before he started acting like if he missed a single day of work, he’d be replaced,” he said.

And then, he said IT:

“After that, I started going skiing with my friends during spring break.”

Friends? Spring break? Adrian had had friends? He’d gone to school? How?

That must have meant he’d been normal once, that he hadn’t always looked this way. Yet I know he said

he’d been this way as a child. He said his father couldn’t take him to a baseball game.

What had happened to him? And why didn’t he want me to know the truth?

He changed the subject, and we’ve had a wonderful day together. Still, I wonder what it is he doesn’t

want me to know.

December 30

Four amazing days! I feel like I’ve crammed my entire lost childhood into four amazing days! We’ve

snow-shoed! We made a fort! We rode a snowmobile and made s’mores in front of the fire. And today,

when we came back from all of it, the UPS guy had left a package on our doorstep.

Adrian lit up when he saw it. “I was waiting for this.” He let me open the box. Skates! Two pairs—one

for each of us. Mine were pure white leather with shiny silver blades. They are maybe the most beautiful

things I’ve ever owned!

“I tried to talk the others into it,” Adrian said, “but they were wusses about it.”

“It’s, like, three degrees out there!” Will said.

“It’s nine degrees,” Adrian corrected.

“Yeah. Big difference,” Will said.

So it was just the two of us, alone at the frozen lake at the bottom of the hill. When we walked down,

Adrian had already cleared the snow from one big section. It shone in the late afternoon sun, and I felt like Jo March in Little Women.

“Is it safe?” I asked, remembering that Amy March had fall en through the ice.

“I’d never take you anyplace that wasn’t safe.” I looked at him—at his beautiful blue eyes—and I knew he

meant every word. My heart stuttered a little, but then I turned away.

I confessed I hadn’t skated in years, and then only at ice-skating rinks with railings and smooth surfaces (and horrible, rented blue plastic skates). The pond had bumps and ruts where snow had frozen to the ice.

There was, for sure, no Zamboni here.

“I’ll show you how,” Adrian said. “The railings are just a crutch anyway.”

“Some people need crutches,” I said.

“Not you, Lindy. Come on. Take my hand.” He had no gloves on. I’d never held his hand without gloves. I

was a little scared, more of the skating than that, but I smelled the pine trees and felt the cold stinging my face. I wanted to go and use my pretty skates. Finally, I took Adrian’s hand. Together, we stepped out onto the ice.

“Just walk,” he said. “Hold out your arms, and if you feel like you’re going to fall, it helps to bend your knees a little.”

I did as he said, and to my amazement, it all came back to me, and I was a six-year-old girl, skating at

Prospect Park. When Adrian realized I didn’t need him to hold my hand anymore, he skated backward in

front of me, watching.

“Isn’t this better than some fake ice at a rink?” he said.

There it was again. Had he skated at a rink before?

Something else to indicate he’d been normal once.

But I said, “Much better.” A flock of Canada geese flew over in a V. “You don’t see that at a rink.”

“Race you!” he yelled, and he turned and started skating faster, so fast I couldn’t keep up. When he came around behind me, I said, “Let’s hold hands again.” Obediently, he took mine. “I like holding hands.”

“Me too. But can I ask you something, something personal?”

“Maybe.”

I took a deep breath, uncertain. I didn’t want to insult him.

But I wanted to know him, the real him. “You haven’t . . .

always looked like this, have you?”

He didn’t answer, and so I started to list the things. He’d mentioned skiing, having friends, going to

school, skating rinks.

Finally, he said, “No, I haven’t always been this way.

Does it matter?”

“I just wondered . . .” I wanted to ask him how it happened, what it was like for him. “It must have been hard.”

“It was hard. That’s why I don’t like to talk about it. It was like everything I thought was true suddenly wasn’t. My father, people I thought were . . . they weren’t there anymore. They couldn’t deal.”

I nodded. “Like when my mother died. Everything changed.”

“Exactly.” He looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to talk about it because it . . .”

“Hurts?”

He nodded. “I should have known you’d understand.” And then, he dropped my hand and skated, lightning

fast, around the ice. This time, he didn’t call to me to join him.

Had I offended him, insulted him with my question? I couldn’t tell. He went around, faster and faster, and I remembered what he’d said about the tiger in the cage.

Maybe sometimes he just needed to run. I watched him, his power and grace, and even though he might be

freakish in some ways, in others, he was so, so beautiful, so full of life and energy.

He went around three times, not looking back, just flying, but after the third time, he fell back in step. He didn’t even seem out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what?”

“For . . . asking you about something you didn’t want to talk about, for making you feel all weird.” He

shook his head. “I am all weird, but it’s not because of you. I just like to go fast. I don’t get that many opportunities.”

I told him I liked to watch him, and then, I begged him to do it again. And again. He happily obliged, and I yelled and clapped each time he passed. He really was like a wild cat, graceful even in his heavy clothes, and finally free. I could tell he knew it, knew it and liked impressing me. After a while, he even shed his jacket, knowing he was safe, knowing no one was watching but me.

“It’s so great to get out and just go.”

“It is. We should do it every day while we’re here.”

“We will.”

After another hour, we went upstairs and had soup by the fire, even though we’d exercised way too much

to be cold, and for the first time, I wondered if it wouldn’t be bad to be like this forever, me and Adrian, holed up in our private house in the middle of nowhere, like characters in a Brontë novel—like Jane and

her blinded Rochester at the end of Jane Eyre. Would it be that bad?

What have I seen of the rest of the world that would make me think I’d miss it so much?

And his looks? His appearance has become irrelevant to me. It would be even less relevant here, where

we can walk outside freely, away from the harsh gaze of the world. After all, aren’t we both equally

strange, equally damaged?

The only difference is, my damage is inside.

Perhaps I love him, not merely despite but because of his appearance.

Maybe that’s what makes him perfect for me.

But do I love him enough to give up everything else?

December 31

The answer is yes.

Yes. I love him enough. I love him so much that nothing else matters, not what everyone thinks, not

normalcy, not conforming to some picture of what people should look like or be, not even the fact that,

yes, I’ll be trapped here, maybe forever. It doesn’t matter. After all, unlike with my father, it’s not

Adrian’s fault he’s like this. He’s not weak like my father. Rather, being like this has made him stronger.

When I first moved into his house, I made a big deal, every night, of locking my door so he wouldn’t be

able to come in, wouldn’t attack me. Now, I know he would never do something like that. I don’t lock my

door anymore. I feel safe. I never thought he’d come in.

But last night, it was colder than usual when I went to bed.

Bitter, really. And, later, when I woke up, the night air nipped at my skin.

Then I felt an extra blanket settling onto me.

I saw his shape. I knew it was him, but I pretended to be asleep. The scene was too intimate. Still, I felt warmed by more than wool.

I snuggled into that blanket and knew I could stay here forever. Someday, I’ll not only let him into my

room. I’ll invite him.

Someday soon . . .

December 31 (Later)

We’ve had the most wonderful day! This morning, I was up early, rummaging through the closets (what?

me, snoop?), and I found a sled! A SLED! I’ve never been on one before.

But now I have. It was the most incredible experience, flying down a snowy hill, the wind in my face. I

was a little scared, but Adrian and I went together. He held me. It felt so warm and safe in his arms. I

wanted to stay there forever.

I will stay forever. I plan to tell him tonight. I love him.

The only thing is, I want to check on my father. Just one last time. It’s stupid, I know. Maybe it seems like a step backward after so many months without this crazy, codependent relationship. Still, I worry.

But tonight, I’ll tell Adrian, and we’ll start the new year together!

January 1

Last night, New Year’s Eve, was the night I was going to tell Adrian I loved him. I think Adrian suspected it too. At least, he made the scene very romantic. There was a fire in the fireplace, and I noticed Will and Magda were nowhere to be seen. When I asked Adrian, he said they were watching Times Square on

television. Outside was bitter cold, but the fire was warm, and Adrian sat beside me on the sofa—not too

close, but we’d be closer soon enough.

It was quiet, so quiet. The only sounds that penetrated the silence were the crackling wood and the wind

from outside. I turned to gaze out the window. It is so dark here, which makes the stars more prominent.

There were a multitude of them, and just when you think you’ve seen all of them, there are more. What

looks like a cloud is really the Milky Way. I pictured it as a white hill for sledding angels.

Adrian was watching, then he said, “Lindy, you don’t still hate me, do you?”

I smiled. He was so sweet. I said, “What do you think?”

“I think no. But would you be happy to stay with me forever?”

It was like he’d read my mind. I looked at him, remembering how I’d once tried to avoid doing so. Now

his face wasn’t disturbing. It was just his face, the face of my beloved. His eyes were so beautiful and

hopeful. He drew in his breath, and I could tell he was holding it, awaiting my answer. I thought about

leaning toward him, thought about kissing him. Maybe I should have. If I’d kissed him, everything might

have been different.

Instead, I spoke. I told him that in some ways, I was happier than I’d ever been. I liked being with him.

The fire was hot, hotter than before. He said, “So you’re happy, then?”

Yes, I told him. “Except . . .”

“Except what?” I saw the concern on his face.

So I said it. “My father. I worry about him, what might happen if I’m not around to run interference. He’s sick, Adrian, and I was the one who took care of him. And I miss him. I know you must think it’s stupid to miss someone who left me without a look back.”

“No. I understand. Your parents are your parents, no matter what. Even if they don’t love you back,

they’re all you have.”

I knew he did understand. He loved his own father too.

I turned to look at the fire and said, “Adrian, I am happy here. It’s just . . . if I could only know he’s okay.

If I could only see him for a moment.”

He looked sad, then panicked. But then he said, “Wait here.”

And then, he left. I heard him running up the stairs to his room. He returned several minutes later with an object.