Pieces of Hope (23 page)

Before I
hopped through the curtain, I glanced down long enough to see that I was
wearing a navy sweater, brown cords, a killer pair of hiking boots. It crossed
my mind to ask them where Ethan had taken me, but I decided against it. There
was something to be said for anticipation; it gnawed pleasantly at my insides.

“By the way, Hope, you were so great with my mom. She
loved you.”
                   

“I lied
to her, Charlotte.”

She
brushed aside my comment with a wave of her thin hand, as though this were of
no consequence, given the outcome.

“Totally
necessary,”
Rin
said. “And not a total lie . . .”

“You are
an angel.” Charlotte
gave me a gentle shove. “
Our
angel,
anyway.”

13
Surprises

Ethan
pedaled up the skinny twist of a road on a baby blue bicycle that appeared old,
but freshly painted, and way too small for his tall frame. The seat was all
jacked-up, pushed up so high that I thought it might fall off at any moment,
and
still
his knees nearly bumped the
old-fashioned handlebars.
 

Happiness
smeared all over his face, he quickly closed the distance that separated us.
And it stunned me every time—his unabashed joy at seeing me, his unfailing
beauty. I could feel my insides quivering as he drew closer. Then, leaning the
bike against the wall of stone that lined the road, Ethan pulled me into his
arms. My feet lifted off the ground, and he pressed my body fiercely against
his as if he feared I wasn’t real, as if he thought I might suddenly disappear
. . . as if something or someone might steal me away.

The
feeling was mutual.

Wrapping
my legs around his waist, I gripped his neck and leaned my head back. With my
eyes wide-open, I watched our fragile world twirl around and around as Ethan
spun in circles. Like every moment with him, I wanted to memorize it, lock it
away for safekeeping. Just in case one day he really did go away forever.
 

When he
finally stopped spinning, we both wobbled a bit as he set me on my feet. To
him, this was probably surprising. To me, not so much. Whenever he was near me,
I usually felt wobbly. But I was very good at diversionary tactics.
     

“What’s
with the fancy transportation?” I asked, pointing at the ancient bicycle.

He took
two steps, rolled it closer. “What do you think?”

“I think
baby blue’s your color,” I teased. As I bent down, I saw that there wasn’t a
chip or a scratch on it. The bike had both a front and back fender and the
tires had thick whitewalls. The handlebars were the old-fashioned kind that
pointed straight back, and the seat was enormous. I ran my fingers through the
spokes. “It’s old, but it looks like it’s in perfect condition. Where’d you
find it?”
 

“It was
my Gram’s. Poppy gave it to her when she was only twenty-four. I tore it apart
a few years ago, bought some new parts, had it re-painted. I think Gram and
Poppy would have liked that.” Ethan straddled the seat. His long legs bent at
an awkward angle.

“You’re
a little big for it, don’t you think?” I asked.

“Yes,
and baby blue really isn’t my color.” He met my eyes and smiled. Lowering his
voice, he said, “It’s yours.”

“W-What?”
I stammered, gathering that somewhere in the living realm, this bike actually
existed. “It was your great grandmother’s. It’s practically a family heirloom .
. . I couldn’t possibly—”

“This is
my
dream,” he mocked. “And no is not
a word I can hear today.” I stood before him, shaking my head. He relented a
little. “Just get on and hang on then. One ride and you’ll change your mind. This
baby practically purrs.”

 
I giggled, my new romantic bones clattering.
“I hear she has a powerful engine.”

“That
she does.” He gently patted the handlebars, indicating where I should sit—which
didn’t look the least bit comfortable. Ethan held the bars steady, but they
wiggled regardless as I precariously arranged myself, propping the toes of my
shoes on the front wheel’s bolts, and sitting on top of my hands for a tiny bit
of cushion.

A happy
scream escaped me as we took off, flying faster than I thought he could pedal
across the flat surface. My hair blew in the breeze and a light mist struck me
in the face, but the storm clouds that gathered over the distant hills weren’t
my main concern—holding on was.

At the
rate he was pedaling, we reached the outskirts of the small town in no time.
That’s when we slowed to an easy coast, making it easier to look around without
the fear of falling. The setting was both beautiful and surreal, and difficult
to imagine that it truly existed anywhere—except in Ethan’s dreams. Houses in
Easter-egg colors sprang up on both sides of the street. Brilliant blue, hunter
green, yellow, brick red, purple, pink, and melon. Flowerboxes perched cheerily
on the windowsills. Absent of front yards, their main entrances encroached onto
the narrow street.

“Is this
a real place?” I asked, incredulous.

“Village of
Allihies
,” he
whispered, his breath tickling my ear.

A happy
shiver shot down to my feet. My toes slipped from the tiny bolts, nearly
entangling in the spokes and causing the bars to wobble erratically several
times until I’d situated myself again.

“You
okay?” Ethan whispered a taunt in my ear again. This time I didn’t give him the
satisfaction of looking back, but I could hear him laughing quietly behind
me.
  

“This is
amazing!” I said, ignoring a second shiver. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
We coasted past a white
steepled
church. “How big is
the town?”

“I think
it has about six hundred people. It used to be a big copper mining town in the
eighteen hundreds.” He pointed directly in front of us toward several sloping
mounds, covered in grass and strewn with big boulders. “That’s
Knockgour
Mountain. Compared to the
Cascades, it looks more like a big hill, doesn’t it? And over there”—his arm
shifted to the south—“is
Ballydonegan
Bay.”

I moved
my head slowly in that direction, fearful that I might fly headfirst off the
handlebars and land splat on the asphalt. In the living realm, I was
super-coordinated. Not the slightest bit klutzy. And had we actually been there
rather than Somewhere, I’m sure I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But
here—?

I
suppose it all boiled down to the fact that I didn’t trust what
Creesie
had told me. Was I truly immune to pain because I’d
separated from my body? How was I supposed to make my brain believe that when
I’d lived for seventeen years experiencing the effects of gravity? And one of
the key reasons I didn’t believe her at this precise moment had to do with the
fact that certain delicate parts of me had begun to go numb. I scooted that
part a little on the handlebars, and groaned in silent relief.

“Hey! Is
that an ocean?” Beyond the gray rocks that dotted the loping hillside, I could
see a massive body of water. “Why are we here?”

“It’s
part two of your surprise,” he said as the mist got heavier.

“What
was part one?” I asked, confused. Ethan jiggled the handlebars, reminding me of
my gift. “Easy . . .” I said roughly over my shoulder. “Can’t you give me a
hint?”

“Take a
guess.” He flashed the effortless smile I’d imagined him wearing seconds
before. Looking sideways at him, I rested my chin on my shoulder.
 

“I’m a
lousy guesser,” I begged off, unable to look away.

His
expression turned to disbelief. “You guessed it right the last time,
blindfolded, and in the middle of nowhere. I think you’re better at this than
you know.”
 

I
shrugged. The outdoor concert was a fluke. The blindfold, rather than
hindering, actually helped. Looking at Ethan was not the same as listening to
him. Gazing into those golden-green orbs greatly upped the level of difficulty.
But his tone was so encouraging, I resigned myself to attempt it, no matter how
lame the outcome.

“Okay,”
I relented. “But you’ll have to give me a hint. Even Einstein couldn’t get this
one.” He stifled a laugh, which I pretended not to hear. We’d rolled beyond the
main drag now, the houses were farther apart, and expansive meadows began to
stretch before us. “What are those?” I asked. “Sheep? Who in the world keeps
sheep?”

“That’s
good,” he encouraged. “You’re getting warmer now . . .”

“Back in
town, we passed O’Neill’s Bar. Was that another hint?”

“Definitely
a hint. You’re getting hotter.” He laughed a little, and it took me a second to
make the connection. “And I didn’t even think that was possible.”

I
refrained from looking in his direction, but I couldn’t have wiped the smile
from my face if I’d tried. There was a lot to love about this game. We
continued to roll beyond the town, the houses spreading thinner and thinner
and, after a while, we stopped in front of a small, stone house. Wildflowers
dotted the little yard and roses scented the air. A low fence and a cobblestone
path led to the front door. I felt like I was coming home.

My
hands, and other parts, had gone numb from sitting on them, but my feet still
worked. It wasn’t exactly a graceful landing, but I did manage to get off the
bike without breaking anything. I looked expectantly at Ethan, ready to tell
him where we were and, more importantly,
why
we were here, but he seemed determined to speak first.

“Here
goes nothing.” He sounded almost apologetic.
“
Ní
breac
é go
mbíonn
sé
ar
an
bport
.”

“That’s
it?” I laughed, staring up into his face. “That was my hint? ‘It isn’t a trout
until it’s on the bank?’ Let me guess who taught you that!”
  

“Supposedly
it’s their version of ‘don’t count your chickens till they’re hatched.’” He
eyed me with suspicion. “Hey, how do you know what I just said?”
 

“Oh,
that,” I muttered. “I have a few talents in my new form. I’ll explain later.”

We stood
on the worn stone step outside the small arched door. Ethan didn’t take his
eyes from mine and I stared back into his, lost in their depths. Several
seconds ticked by before I realized he was awaiting my guess. His pale glow was
playing tricks on me.

I
adopted my best Einstein-
ian
expression, resting my
thumb beneath my chin and my pointer finger below my lips. “Hmmm . . . based on
the size of the house, the shape of the door, the perfect setting absent of all
people—I’d have to say we landed somewhere in the middle of the Shire.”

“The
what?” Ethan shook his head. I suppressed a grin.

“You
know . . . the Shire. Where’d you put all the little hobbits? Is Bilbo Baggins
around here somewhere?” As I lifted up the straw doormat, Ethan laughed freely.

“You
really are a terrible guesser,” he finally said.

I wanted
to kiss him then, but I was afraid I might not stop
ever
. It was partly the way he was looking at me, and partly the
way he looked. His dark hair was moving in the slight breeze, his eyes were
glistening golden-green, and even in a plain black T-shirt, he was stunning. I
sighed. He definitely didn’t have to try too hard.
 

“Are you
okay?” Ethan stroked my cheek with the back of his hand.

“No.”
Irritated now, I turned my cheek away. “It’s not fair, you know . . .”

Looking
slightly confused, he hesitated for a moment before opening the door and
ushering me inside. Soft white walls and a dark slate floor made the tiny space
seem larger than it actually was, which wasn’t saying much. From where we
stood, I could see a cozy kitchen with painted cabinets and a two-person table
not more than a dozen steps away. To our left, a steep, narrow staircase led to
an overhead loft. A bedroom, maybe? To our right, arranged in a rectangular
shape, four armchairs squatted before a massive stone fireplace. Overall, the
home looked quite lovely, quite little, and oh-so-cheery. Hobbits most
definitely could have lived here.
 

“By the
way, what’s not fair?” Ethan eventually asked after I’d plopped into one of the
white chairs beside the fireplace and he’d dropped down onto the arm beside me.

“It’s
difficult to explain. Even I don’t understand it.” I was wondering how to best
describe my tsunami-sized emotions without sounding like a complete idiot.

“Please
try. I understand more than you might realize . . .” As he stroked my cheek,
his fingers lingering at the hollow of my throat, I lost all resolve to keep it
to myself.

I closed
my eyes, drawing on limited reserves of dignity. Besides, it was easier to
speak when I wasn’t looking at him.

“I don’t
normally act like such an idiot,” I admitted grudgingly, and it stung me to
acknowledge such things. “I mean, half the time I say too much and the other
half I say too little. And it’s likely I’ve developed a heart condition
recently—one that seems to act up only around you. There are moments when it
feels like it’s beating fast enough for three people, fast enough to run a
local power plant, maybe . . . possibly even a third-world country!”

I
hesitantly opened one eye, then the other. Ethan was wearing a little smile.

“Anyway,
every time that happens, it feels like the very air is being sucked from my
lungs, and I’ve somehow forgotten how to breathe. And then sometimes I can’t
breathe at all!” I groaned again, annoyed with myself. “See, I’m doing it
again, aren’t I?”