Seers (11 page)

In addition to an opportunity for alone time with Eri, studio art has become a time for me to be creative and expressive without the constant scrutiny of someone watching. Eri doesn’t ask to see what I’m working on, maybe because she doesn’t want to have to reciprocate and share her work with me or maybe she respects my privacy, and the teacher doesn’t hover. She says this is a time for creative artistic expression and that we should feel comfortable using our talents in whatever medium best cultivates them. Eri uses paint. I prefer to work with clay. I like the idea of being able to mold something into any likeness. I get to give it shape and design according to my plans. No rules, nothing forced, no missions, no Preceptors. Just me.

But Eri is in the mood to talk today.

“You excited for this afternoon?” she starts.

“Yeah, I am. You?” She’ll know I am asking for an explanation when I redirect the question. She must know I want answers to the many questions lunch left us all with.

“Yes. I am. It’s not my thing, true, but having you here, seeing you join in our activities so easily … it makes me rethink some of the things I never join in on. I live twenty minutes from the city, and yet I never cross the bridge just to be there, to walk around, to see the sights, to eat at a new place. And here Daisy has an interest I never experience with her. When I saw you so into it, I figured, why not? Maybe I should change things up, get out there more.”

“Oh. Well, good. That’s good. Well, what about you? Do you have any interests that the others don’t join in on?” I have to find an interest of hers I can be into. I have to find a way to bond that is just about the two of us.

“Actually I do … I play the cello. My parents make me. It looks good on paper, you know. It’s all about the résumé I’m building for my future successes and all that. At first I hated it, but now I think it’s a chance for me to connect to sound in a way that most people don’t. When the music is right, when the perfect note is struck, it’s like the sound floats heavily in the room, circles me before it winds upward and then parts the skies. It’s like it actually has to float to heaven because where else could a sound so beautiful go?”

She’s angelic when she lets herself be. “That sounds amazing. I’d love to hear you play. I mean, who wouldn’t want to watch sound come alive and part the heavens?”

“You’d be surprised. It doesn’t have the same appeal as a crew meet on Boathouse Row or ten-thousand-dollar horses in a ritzy stable… .”

“Well, I’d love to hear you play. After the stables, maybe?”

She smiles now, “Okay. Sure. If you want to.”

“I do.”

We settle in to work. She is content now. Good. Now I just have to figure out what is eating Luke. I can’t ask Eri. She never talks about Luke. They have some connection that remains top secret, off-limits to me. I can try to bump into him in the hallway or at the water fountain, but that doesn’t seem likely. At the end of the day, though, I get my chance.

I walk out to the parking lot as soon as classes let out. I didn’t see anyone else exit, but Luke is waiting at Daisy’s car.

My heart beats faster; I curse my body for betraying me.
Calm. Collected. C’mon. He’s not in control here.

He’s watching me walk over.
Of course. What else is new?

I decide to play confident girl. Don’t guys eat that up? I walk directly to him, never breaking stride, never slowing down, until I am inches from the car. I meet his stare and hold it. I break it only as I ease to his right, turning directly in front of him to take my place leaning beside him against the car. Our elbows are dangerously close to touching, and he senses it. He pulls his arm down straight to avoid it. I will not talk first. After all, I am taking control. Besides, I’m the one who is supposed to be at Daisy’s car. What’s he doing here?

But then he turns his head. And I feel him looking at me. And suddenly my knees are Jell-o-ey.
Play it off. Play it off.

“Leesie …”

Why does my name sound so good when he says it?

“Leesie.”

This time I turn my head and raise my chin slightly. I let him have a view of my face for a second before I lift my eyes to meet his.
There you go. Make him wait.

I am making him wait, but I am also thinking of how to answer. I can’t say, “What?” That’s standoffish and slightly rude. I don’t want him to change his mind if he wants to talk to me about something. I can’t say, “Yes?” That is too passive and dumb-girlish. In the end I go with the only response that makes sense to me. A play for a play. This is my inning after all.

“Luke,” I say. I see his chest rise slightly as he watches me say his name. He sucks in air and clenches his jaw.

This is now the second time we are deadlocked in a staring contest, only this time we have uttered each other’s name. What is this thing? He’s not doing anything. He’s not saying anything. He isn’t making a face. He isn’t smiling or smirking; he’s just looking at me. Into my eyes.

In an instant I can almost see him change his mind about talking to me. He’s lost somewhere in the moment. His eyes dance over my face, and then his serious stare becomes playful.

“Leesie,” he says again. He turns the corners of his mouth up a bit.

“Luke,” I raise my eyebrows slightly and smirk. I leave my lips parted.

“Have fun on the farm today.”

“I will, thanks.”

“Leesie!” Daisy interrupts. “You ready for this? I’m so glad you’re coming!” She bounds over to the car. Eri is a step behind.

Luke and I break our gaze and turn toward the girls. Eri mouths something to Luke that I can’t catch. I look back at Luke in time to see him shake his head no.

No? No, what? Was he supposed to tell me something?

“I’ll see you ladies later.” Luke gives a general wave and turns away. I wait to see if he’ll brush past me. You know, the whole accidentally-on-purpose-touching guys do that they don’t think girls know about. But nothing. Not even an over-the-shoulder look as he walks away. I stare after him for a minute until reality comes back to me. In my reality, I don’t watch boys walk away or hope for a second look or a random brush-against. No. That’s their job. I hate how I have to keep reminding myself of my own rules. This guy is jumbling everything up.

“Well, get in already! We’re missing the prime time! Perfect weather, perfect breeze, nice and sunny—let’s go!”

Daisy’s enthusiasm is infectious, and by the time we pull out of the parking lot, I am ready for this trip. I can’t wait to see the fields, the riding ring, the barn, and the pastures.

Saanan Stables is only a ten-minute drive south. I love how within minutes of driving down the main road out of Preston, we’re on full-blown country roads. No sidewalks, no streetlights. Open fields for miles. The only crop we pass that I can name is corn, but the fields are filled with so much green that I’m sure there isn’t a salad ingredient missing out here. We slow down through a blinking yellow light. There isn’t even enough traffic to warrant an operating traffic light. The only time we have a blinking light in the city is when there’s a power failure or an accident, and the blinking light usually results in another accident or at least a lot of beeping and profanity.

“Here we are!” Daisy announces as we make a right onto a dirt driveway. It winds us past a house and a vegetable garden and down to an unpainted barn with the words
Saanan Stables
etched into the wood above the double doors. One of the doors is open, and inside I see the stalls, some with horses’ heads poking out of them. As I get out of the car, I take a deep breath. Deeper than I have in a long time. And it smells good. The way the manure and alfalfa mix together to make a smell that screams nature is something I could never describe to someone who thinks it stinks. Heck, I can’t describe it to anyone, considering I don’t even have the memories as to why I love this stuff in the first place. All I know is I do. I love it. A peaceful feeling washes over me that I don’t remember feeling before. Maybe I felt this way back in my real life, but since I have been with Tobias and on missions, I have never felt this way. I close my eyes and lift my face to the sky and take another deep breath. I let the sounds of the farm play in my ears—the whinnies, the bleating of sheep and goats in the distance, the sound of hooves crunching gravel.

“Leesie, you okay?” Eri asks.

I open my eyes and turn to her, “I’m fine. Just soaking it all in. I could live out here. Right here, in this barn. Forever.”

“Really? You love it that much? You must miss it at your aunt’s house, then.”

“Right. My aunt’s house. I do.” I’m not even effectively lying right now. I am too caught up in this moment to think about the lies of my constructed past handed to me by Tobias. I am caught up in the fact that something about this atmosphere is directly connected to my real life and to who I really am. As at peace as I am here, I am furious at the fact that I don’t even get to know
why
I am at peace.

Daisy leads us into the barn. We pass a chestnut mare and two Arabian geldings before she stops in front of a stall.

“This is Jackson,” she says like a proud mom. She steps to the side to allow us a full view, and he is magnificent. He’s a palomino quarter horse. His dark-blond body is only slightly more golden than Daisy’s hair, and his mane and tail, white blond, are like Daisy’s highlights. They make a nice pair. I watch her let him nuzzle her. He bows his head and leans into her. She cups the space between his eyes and his ears and holds him like he’s an overblown football. They make noises to each other until Daisy gives in and pushes him up. He has found the stash of baby carrots in her jacket pocket and won’t stop nudging her. She pulls out a carrot and feeds it to him as she plays with his bottom lip.

“I’m just going to look around, Daisy. I want to see what else is in here.”

“Okay. I’ll get him saddled. Eri, do you want to watch?” I hear Eri’s hesitant “yes” as I make my way down the stalls. I pass a couple of ponies. One is a beautiful dapple gray. Super old. His name is Norman Fellerman. Funny. A first and last name for a horse. A head down at the end catches my eye, and I turn from Norman. Two pricked ears are turned toward me, and a neigh catches me off guard.

She’s a lovely Morgan mare. Dark brown, glistening. Her mane and tail are the same color as her body. She’s sleek and beautiful. She looks expensive. I check out her nameplate. Mountain Swiss Starflower’s Cleo. That’s a heck of a name.

“Hello, Cleo. Do you go by Cleo?”

She shakes her tail, knocking off a few flies. She jerks her head up and stamps a foot twice. She wants me closer. She wants more attention, more talking to. I take another step towards her. Her head is inches from mine. She lowers it to my pockets, investigating. I reach up instinctively and put my hand out flat under her nose. She feels around for treats, and as she does, I blow a short breath over her.
Let her have your scent. Let her know you
, I hear in my ears. I know I have never been here before, but something is all too familiar. Someone gave me advice, taught me how to behave around horses. Taught me to love it here. To love them. Who? My parents? Did I grow up on a farm?

I back away from Cleo to look at her. I need a second to process this. I start at her eyes and move to her ears, which are changing direction from facing forward to pointing out to the side. Not back—that’s good. She’s interested in me, wants me here. And how do I know that you can read a horse by its ears? I guess ears back is common knowledge. I mean, dogs do it, too. I move my eyes down her neck to her withers. Am I supposed to know that the bones at the base of her neck are called withers? Is that common knowledge? I watch her shift her weight from left hind foot to right. She’s shoed. Should I notice that? She’s been clipped; all the stray hairs around her hocks and muzzle are neatly trimmed. I shouldn’t know that, right? What does it matter? My gut tells me I have been here before. Not in this barn, but in a barn, in every nook and cranny of a barn. I have mucked stalls, I bet. I have fed and watered the horses, groomed them, handled their tack, saddled them. I can feel it. I
know
I have.

I leave Cleo with one last stroke down her neck and walk out of the barn to find Daisy, Eri, and Jackson.

Eri is standing to the left of Jackson’s head. Daisy is tightening the girth on his saddle. She has changed into English-style riding pants and boots. She looks the part. But, with her white T-shirt tucked in instead of a straight-collared blouse, she makes what could appear pretentious look natural and casual. I can’t get over how well she wears her money. There really is something so easy about her. She’s not snobby or high-maintenance. I like her more and more each time I am around her.

“There you are! Did you meet anyone you liked inside?” Daisy greets happily.

“I saw Mr. Fellerman. And Cleo.”

“Norman is a hoot! He’s old, but he’s still got his personality. And Cleo, well, she’s spectacular. She’s the owner’s daughter’s horse.”

“Yes, she’s lovely. I think she liked me.”

“Did she? Well, she’s picky. You must have good horse sense then, from all that time at your aunt’s stables.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well, girls, I am going to walk him over. Do you want to meet at the riding ring? I’ll warm him up, and then if either of you would like to hop on, well, you just say so!”

Eri and I watch her walk Jackson away from the barn. She looks so graceful. He looks so content. We turn left and walk to the ring. There are seats in front of the ring, and as we sit, we see her enter from the other side. She mounts him once one of the barn hands closes the gate. Daisy leans forward, wraps her arms, reins in hand, around his neck, and whispers in his ear. He flicks his ears toward her in response. She straightens up and adjusts her feet in the stirrups. They start out at a walk.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Horse and rider?” I ask her.

“Yes. You must miss it.”

“I do. I miss a lot of things.”

Neither Eri nor I ride this afternoon. We watch Daisy. Cheer her on. Like she cheered Patrick. We just sit and are with her. With each other. And when Jackson has been lovingly put back in his stall after many more treats and strokes and kind words, we head to Eri’s, where I look forward to giving her the same thing: a cheering section. And maybe, maybe if I learn to be someone’s audience, someone will want to be mine someday. Not because of a forced connection, not because of a mission, but because I have real people who want to be my friends, my family.