On Little Wings (21 page)

My stomach dropped unexpectedly, “Oh, she’s … she’s really smart. Gifted.”

“I’ve met a few people like that,” he smirked, the gloom lifting from his blue eyes.

“And she’s very blunt. She’s tough. She doesn’t like boys.”

Nathan’s face turned a surprising white. “You mean she’s … are you . . .?”

“Oh no! Not that! No, of course not. I meant she doesn’t like boys
yet
.” My face burned red and mortified. “She thinks teenage boys are idiots. She doesn’t talk to them.”

Nathan’s shoulders relaxed. “Really? Sounds entertaining.” He looked too interested for my comfort.

“Do you have a picture of her?” He asked. I hid my face by looking toward the black forest. It was the last question I wanted him to ask. I couldn’t compare with Cleo.

“I’ll show you later. You should probably get home in case Claude gets back.”

He looked reluctant to leave but his eyes twitched to the road. “Probably.”

I cast around my brain for something to say before he left. “Do you want some help staining the fence tomorrow?” I asked him.

“Talk about dirty. You’d be orange for days. It stains your skin.”

“I don’t mind.”

I watched as his eyes roamed the front yard, only occasionally crossing my face. “Whatever you want,” he said. “You can keep me company. From a distance. But no staining.” He let out a breath that trembled. When I looked up he averted his face and mumbled, “I like the color you are.”

By the time his words registered and the surprised, happy flush colored my upturned face, he was long gone.

Nathan’s tiny compliment rushed through my consciousness like a river crushes through a broken levy. I felt a flood of giddy energy, but when I went inside I forced my smile into a demure grin, holding the memory away from my thoughts and saving it for bedtime, when I could analyze it thoroughly. Those brief words, the embarrassed turn of his head, made the pending conversation with my father seem almost trivial. Of course I could convince him that the plan was necessary. Of course I could get my mother to come home and reconcile with Sarah. I could possibly talk China out of communism or calm the warring tribes of Africa. Nothing felt impossible for a girl who just earned a grudging compliment from Nathan Moore. I rumpled Charlie’s ears, said good night to Sarah and ran my hand down Chester’s back before jogging upstairs to call my father. As soon as he answered I said, “Dad, I hope you trust me.”

“There’s some famous last words,” he grumbled. “What’s going on?”

“I know you won’t like this idea at first, but please try to keep an open mind.”

“Jennifer …” The edge in his voice sharpened.

“I know. Just give me a minute. I’m willing to come home.” I inhaled, but the air didn’t seem to make it all the way to my lungs. “If Mom comes to get me.”

“What?”

“I want Mom to come get me.”

“You mean there? You want Mom to fly out there?”

“Yes.”

“I want to win the lottery,” he jeered.

“Dad, I’m being serious. I’ve thought about it a lot and I think she needs to come home and fix things with Sarah. Sarah loves her. Lots of people here care about her. I care about her,” I reminded him. “This might be her chance to put it behind her.”

“Jennifer, I appreciate your thinking. I do. It’s just not realistic.”

“But you agree with me? You think she should come?”

“I wish she
wanted
to come,” he clarified. “She doesn’t. Trust me.”

“But Dad, if I asked her …”

“Do you think I never tried that? Jennifer, it’s not that simple. I tried to get them back together years ago. It didn’t work.”

“You did? What did you do?”

“I called Sarah when you were born.”

I sat down heavily on the bed. “When I was born?”

“Your mom wouldn’t. I thought Sarah should know that she had a niece.” His voice smiled. I remembered the way Sarah said my name the first time I called her.

“I bet she loved that,” I said.

“Sarah did. Your mother – not so much. I wanted to put your aunt down as your guardian in the will, just in case, since I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“What did Mom do?”

“Just about killed me. Which makes the will more useful, I guess.”

I pulled my feet under my bottom, and laughed. But when the sound died my father and I both sighed, groping for the next word, the next step. “I think she needs to come, Dad. I think it’s been long enough.”

“So what do you propose?” His wary voice bled with distrust.

Nathan’s face appeared in my thoughts, his eyes glowing over the burning brush pile, his lips parted just where the ragged line of his scar touched them. I looked to the dark window and remembered Hester’s wounded words,
I think people belong at home
. “I’ll tell her I’m coming home, no arguments, no sulking, when she comes to get me. All she has to do is show up. She doesn’t even have to come inside.”

“And when she says no?”

“She’ll want me to come home sometime,” I said, my nervous voice too high. It sounded much better coming from Little.

“And when she sends me to ground you for the rest of your natural life?”

“You tell her no.”

He huffed in exasperation. “So you’re taking us both down?”

“No. I’m bringing her home.” I bit down on my thumb, rubbing my bottom teeth against the smooth nail, while I waited. I sensed that everything depended on what he said next.

“If she doesn’t come are you just going to live in Maine?” He challenged.

I felt a weakening behind his questions. “No. If summer comes to an end and she hasn’t come to get me, then I’ll give up and come home. If she really can’t do it, if she really can’t face it, then all she loses is a few weeks with me.” The tortuous silence filled the air around me, amplified my thumping heart.

“I’m not telling her.”

I had to replay the sentence twice before I understood him. “Are you saying …?”

“I’m not telling her. I’m not going to be home when you tell her. You call her when I’m at work. If you break this to her when I am within sight, so help me …”

“I promise. I swear on my life,” my voice rose in excitement and then lowered with gratitude. “Dad, I love you. I really think this is the right thing.”

“Oh, I hope you’re right,” he mumbled. “If I end up crippled and alone you better take care of me.”

“I don’t think it will be that bad. I just have a feeling.”

“I don’t like feelings,” He complained.

“I love you, Dad.” But I said it more like
Thank you, Dad.

After I cleaned up for the night I rushed back to bed. I’d never been in such a hurry to crawl under the covers. Not to sleep. To remember. I could barely stand to touch my skin because even my own fingers sent jolts of hot electricity through my nerves. I lingered on every image of the night: Nathan’s stare over the jumping, crimson flames, the black water spilling onto the sand as we passed the beach, the nervous movements of his hands when I stepped too close. Sometimes the memories seemed too much and I couldn’t understand how I’d stayed so calm when those things actually happened, but lost my breath in the shadowy remembrances. I grabbed my extra pillow and squeezed it tight against my stomach as I tried to fall asleep. If I held it there long enough maybe it would smother the butterflies bursting out of their cocoons and taking their first frantic flights in the middle of my body.

Even waking in the cool morning had an added charm. Before I finished opening my eyes and stirring from my stiff, curled position I felt feathers of happiness unfolding under my skin. It seemed that through the unconsciousness of sleep my body remembered what my mind did not – I would see him today. That was enough to rouse me from my soft blankets and send me hustling through my morning routine. I took special care with my hair, brushing and drying it until it fell in a glossy, amber fountain over my shoulders. I couldn’t bring myself to put on any make-up other than lip gloss and a tiny bit of mascara. Anything else would look absurd for staining a fence. I glanced over my nails. Hopeless. Thin, chipped, neglected. All I could do is clip them short and ignore them. I tried on every t-shirt, but then settled on my oldest one because I didn’t want to ruin my best ones. Sadly, when I was done, I looked exactly like I looked on any other day. But even that couldn’t weigh me down for long. It was hard to fret over myself when using the bulk of my concentration to review every conversation we’d had, each comment he’d made at lines and expression that crossed his face.

Apparently the hectic activity going on inside me did not reveal itself in my face because Sarah didn’t notice anything. We ate bagels and I told her that I spoke to my father and he decided I didn’t have to pick a flight yet. I made a conscious choice the moment I adopted Little’s scheme not to tell Sarah. If my mother threw a tantrum I wanted Sarah’s hands to be clean. She didn’t need any more strikes against her.

When Nathan rapped on the door at eight thirty I restrained my feet, making them take easy, measured steps. “Hi, Nathan,” I said, proud of how friendly and nonchalant it sounded. “You want a bagel before we go?”

His expression, though polite, was stiff. “Sure. Morning, Sarah.”

“Hey, Ace,” she said, throwing a bagel through the air. He caught it on his finger.

“Ace?” I asked him. He just shrugged and waved good-bye to Sarah.

He didn’t look at me as he got into the truck. I pulled open the squeaky door and climbed inside, carefully pushing a few tools aside. He riveted his eyes on the dashboard, avoiding my face as he threw the truck into reverse and backed onto the road. Curiosity made me wonder how long he would go without speaking. Though the quiet oppressed me I clenched my hands in my lap and waited. And waited. We had one short mile to drive but the road stretched out interminably, seemed to expand with the silence. I bobbed my head as I took turns looking out the windshield, my window, at the floor, the ceiling. Still nothing. His mouth twitched once, but his lips pressed back into a thin line and he tapped the steering wheel softly.

“Did you talk to your mom last night?” He finally asked

“No. My dad. He’s going to back me up. I think I’ll call her sometime soon.”

“Are you nervous?”

“A little.” Not as nervous as I felt waiting for his next word, his next expression.

“Would you rather stay home so you can talk to her? Spraying a fence really isn’t fun.” He squirmed, the wiggle working up from his legs to his shoulders. He clearly didn’t want me sitting in his truck. My face trembled as I tried to ignore the flat, burning disappointment running down the back of my lungs.

“You know, you sort of have a Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde thing going on.”

“I what? How?” He swung his face toward me just as Main Street came into view.

“You get mad at me. Then nice. Then mad. It makes no sense, really.”

“I’m not mad at you. Why would I ever be mad at you?”

I was surprised by how defensive he sounded. “Naturally grumpy?”

“Naturally nosy?” He retorted, with a smirk.

“I’m really not usually. You are just … harder to figure out, I think.”

“Why try?” He uttered, a dark current rippling through his voice. He parked the car beside the small, yellow house with the stripped fence and stared through the chipped windshield. He didn’t take his hands off the wheel. He didn’t unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Why not?” I asked softly.

“Where do I begin?” he replied as he finally freed himself from the seatbelt and hopped out the truck.

I found myself abandoned in the dirty truck cab that smelled faintly of cologne. I was toying with the idea of sitting there like an idiot a little longer when a wild-eyed woman with unruly dark hair and a voluminous purple gown pushed aside my confused thoughts and strode squarely to the center of my mind’s stage. She squeezed one hand madly, looked at me with flaming eyes and hissed, “Screw your courage to the sticking place!” I don’t usually channel Lady Macbeth - never before and never since – but she said what I needed to hear in that moment. I opened the door and stepped down to the driveway, shaking my head to clear the demented picture. “How about you begin at the first reason?” I said to Nathan’s back as he knelt over the paint sprayer, adjusting nozzles and knobs.

He didn’t look up. I didn’t know if he would even acknowledge me until he muttered, “It’s a lot of trouble for someone who’s just visiting. This is your vacation. Maybe you should dig for clams and stop prying into psyches.”

“I don’t like clams. Second reason.”

At last his head came up, his nose and brow wrinkled, but his mouth just shy of a grin. He looked like I puzzled him. And pleased him. My heart lifted in my chest.

“Even if you came back, I probably wouldn’t be here. So it’s a waste of time.”

“Where would you be?”

“School. Work. I’ll be eighteen next month. Sarah says I have to leave sometime.” He pried open a can of stain with a screwdriver and signaled me to back up. “It spatters,” he said under his breath.

I walked to a soft patch of grass and lowered myself beneath a large tree. Taking advantage of his concentration on the messy work I asked, “Where do you want to go to school? What do you want to do?”

“Dunno,” he said. One hand caught a large spill running down the can. He pushed as much as he could back onto the rim and wiped the wet remainder on his t-shirt, leaving a brown streak across his stomach that resembled dried blood.

“You have no idea?” I challenged.

“No,” he quipped. “It’s noisy when I turn it on.” He closed the subject by hitting a switch that released a cloud of wood stain out of the spray wand. The vibrations and noise made conversation almost impossible, and I didn’t feel like shouting back and forth. I could take a hint. I leaned against the tree and watched the slow progress of the stain as it advanced across the fence, one plank at a time. Nathan’s nose flared occasionally and I realized he wore the same, intense mask of concentration that I had seen on the fisherman’s faces as they worked at the docks. After a while he relaxed and seemed to give his entire self to the task at hand. I think he forgot that I was there because when I finally stood he startled and turned the sprayer off.