One never really knew with Tobi. I hadn’t yet made up my mind whether she was unusually tender or extraordinarily strong—or both at once. Even after spending so much time with her the past couple months, I couldn’t uncover the paradox I’d seen the first time I laid eyes on her—the sense she always gave of both dignified poise and shrinking vulnerability.
Chapter Eight
Summer mellowed into autumn gracefully that year, with leaves and temperature changing so gradually that we hardly noticed. Tobi ordered the books as promised but did not return to choir, and I said nothing to her about the incident. Jax and I both felt an unspoken pact that we were all to pretend that neither myself nor October had ever been a part of any choir at all.
In a way, even Mrs. Tuttle seemed to be in on the pact, because whenever she encountered us at church after that night she treated us just as she always had, with no reference whatsoever to the incident. Not until years later would I come to understand that she was nothing more than a lonely woman seeking to mitigate her loneliness through control, and calling it service to others.
When that time came, I felt sorry for her and was reminded again that being a grown-up was both more and less complicated than I had thought.
But that year, I did not yet understand. That year, I was still only seventeen. Still marveling at the far-distant wonder of adulthood.
When school started, I reluctantly tore myself away from the long days of reading and walking and hanging out with Tobi and Jax and looking up at stars and clouds together, and returned to the real world. I expected to be miserable, but within days it felt as normal as could be to once again roam the school halls.
After all, Jax and October and I would still take Saturday afternoons and have little rambles through the woods or the fields. And weekday evenings when he and I had no homework, we would sit and read or talk or sometimes just be quiet together.
Melissa caught up to me in the halls one day just as Jax was scurrying off to his next class. I always felt a stiffness inside when she came around these days. It felt like dislike, which made me feel guilty, which made me feel stiffer still. Melissa had been my best friend for more than ten years. Why should I dislike her now?
“Jax is looking handsome these days,” she giggled.
I rolled my eyes. “Why? Because it’s getting cooler and he started wearing his ski cap again so you can’t see his so-called hair?”
“Or maybe it’s just that my new contacts help me see better.” She winked.
I sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
“No idea. I’d be more inclined to wonder what you’re going to do with that October you like so much.”
This made me stiffen outwardly. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I have no idea.” I frowned. I truly had no idea what she was getting at, but I did have a feeling it wasn’t going to be something I would like.
“Oh come on, Em. You’re so naive sometimes.”
I just stared. She poked her head forward, but I shook mine. She laughed.
“Her and Jax, of course.”
My eyes widened. “Melissa Harcourt...”
“Oh, don’t pretend you haven’t thought it.”
I pulled myself up as tall as I could. “Tobi and Jax are friends. She’s—basically our adopted big sister. He’s too young for her anyway, Mel. Don’t be ridiculous.”
She shrugged. “Watch and see.” Then she winked again and skipped off with her backpack slung over one shoulder.
I looked up the hall in the direction Jax had disappeared, but he was long since gone.
Jax and October?
The thought floated in my mind all afternoon. Jax and Tobi. It didn’t make sense. Did it? Jax had only just turned eighteen years old!
They were together an awful lot. They were very close. But all three of us were. Right? They weren’t any closer to each other than to me.
I kept trying to chase the thoughts away, but they refused to be banished, hanging on like a dog to a bone. Jax and Tobi loved each other, yes, but it was just as brother and sister. I knew it.
But keeping an eye out, as Melissa had said, couldn’t hurt.
*****
“You know why I can’t drive?”
We were on our way to grab lunch after church one Sunday. I hadn’t asked anything to prompt it—the question had burst from her as if it had won a long and hard battle to get past inhibitions.
“Why?” I asked.
“I’m too afraid.”
I frowned and glanced at her, watching the sunlight on her hair. “But... everyone is scared of driving at first.”
“No. I mean... yes. But this is different.” She kept her face turned away, but I could barely see her reflection in the window, face unreadable.
“How is it different?” I ventured. I felt like everything I said was the verbal equivalent of carefully putting my foot forward onto thin ice to test its stability.
“It just... is. I’m not just nervous, Em. I’m paranoid. I get... I don’t know. Like panic attacks every time I tried. I just know that every car I pass is going to swerve out of its lane and crash into me.”
“But you get over that,” I insisted, hating the feeling of arguing with her, but unable to keep quiet. “You’re always really scared at first, but you keep driving, and you get over it after awhile.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Again the dismissive tone, forbidding anything further on the subject.
I focused on the road, keeping silent nearly all the way to the diner. There was something so deeply sad in seeing my October so crippled, especially by something I did with such ease nearly every day.
Finally, I did what I hadn’t done since I’d first met her—dared to push a little further than she seemed to want. “Do you want to do it, Tobi?”
She looked at me, crystal green eyes catching the sunlight.
“You can, you know. I’ll help you. You said you have a permit—why not do it? Why not practice sometimes, when we’re going somewhere together anyway?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know...”
“Do you want to?”
“I... I think I do. I think it... might be good.” Finally her smile returned, and the reward prodded me onward.
“Good. From now on, anytime we’re out, you drive. After all, it’s Pleasanton. How bad can it be? I mean, the little old ladies can be their own kind of hazards, but...”
She laughed, returning the world to joyous equilibrium again.
*****
Mom might not be the biggest fan of my friendship with October, but at least she had warmed up enough that she didn’t mind having her over. One Friday in early September both she and Jax came over for dinner, and afterwards we sat on the porch steps, just watching the sunset.
“I’ve got homework to do soon,” Jax said after awhile, breaking the spell with his usual dedication to the mundane.
“Oh hush, you,” October commanded, and Jax grinned and hushed.
I smiled, and kicked my shoes off, letting my toes rest in the dirt below. “Why don’t you ever write poetry?” I asked her.
“Who says I don’t?” She followed my example and carefully stepped out of her silver flats, then smoothed her blue lace dress around her on the steps.
“You’ve never said anything about it.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“So do you write poetry?”
“No.”
We laughed.
“Well?” I asked. “Why not?”
“Why don’t you paint landscapes? Not everyone can do everything.”
“So do you paint landscapes, then?”
“No, you goose.” She reached over and pinched my arm. “You know me. I read. I walk. I put together nice outfits. That’s about all I’m good for.”
Jax scoffed.
“Well I don’t see you painting landscapes or writing poetry, sir,” Tobi scolded.
“Oh?” October sat up straighter, a gleam in her eyes.
He studied the sky, which was slowly turning a glowing rose color. “Oh.”
“Out with it, sir,” she insisted.
I fell silent, watching them, wiggling my toes in the dust.
“Out with what?” He sat up and stared her in the eyes. She stared back, unflinching.
Finally she smiled. Then he smiled and relaxed. “Well, I might have one thing I could show you.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of notebook paper, uncrumpled it, cleared his throat, and read aloud.
to everything there is a season
seasons ebb and flow
rising like the sun then setting
fading into something new
a time to be young and a time to be old
a time to be a boy and then
to mature into a fuller, deeper time
first spring, when all is green and new
when infant cries begin to weave
the tapestry of life
then summer, full of play and recreation
stumbling through times of pain
to grow and change
and then comes autumn
now mature, we fill the tapestry
with clearer pictures
new direction comes into our hearts
a warmth that pokes our embers
and paints a picture of something deeper
a planted seed
and finally winter
not the end, but just the culmination of this image
one season fading into something new
one thing dies, one picture fades
but then spring starts again
and we look around to see
new threads
guiding us through the tapestry
perhaps not into the picture we thought that we would see
yet maybe something just
as beautiful.
Silence fell over us as his deep voice finished these words. The sunlight was all but faded, but that didn’t stop me from seeing my cousin in a completely new light.
It was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever heard from him.
So why did it fill my heart with apprehension?
October didn’t share my unnamed tension. She clasped her hands under her chin and said, “Oh Jax...”
Even in the twilight, I could see him blush.
Inexplicably set on changing the subject, I said, “Patrick Charles is always asking when you’re going to teach Sunday School again. He still remembers that bear song.”
She looked down, focusing on the hem of her dress. “I’m glad he liked the song.”
I should have left it alone there, but perhaps my recent victory in regards to driving practice had made me overly bold. “Do you think you’ll teach again sometime? Maybe regularly?”
Her eyes remained fixed on her dress, one finger tracing the pattern of the lace in the dimming light. “No.”
“I thought you did a great job...”
“I said no.”
Her tone was ice. I could summon no motivation to push any further, so I picked up a piece of grass and tore it into little pieces, slowly, wishing I had let things end on the note of Jax’s unexpected poetry.
*****
“Let’s go for a walk.”
Jax looked up from his homework. “But I just sat down. And it’s dark.”
October had gone home a few minutes before, and Jax had decided to stay the night and head back to the farm early the next morning.
“Don’t you like taking walks?”
“Yeah, but...”
“Come on, Jax. You study too much, anyhow. A little walk in the open air will do you good.”
I was sure he would see through that one. We had been in the open air only moments ago, and besides, Jax didn’t study too much. He just studied the normal amount that most people at school did—less than the geniuses and more than the dunces. But we needed to talk.
Whether he sensed that or not, I wasn’t sure, but he closed his books, stacked them, pulled on his ski cap, shoved his hands in his pockets, and followed me out. “Just not too far,” he said.
We headed for the woods, like that day months ago that we’d found October there. It was much darker this time, and we didn’t enter the woods but instead began to circle around them, stepping through alternating patches of moonlight and shadow.
For awhile I chattered, about school, the book I was reading, everything that I could think of. Jax nodded, and gave brief replies when it was fitting.
It was like normal, except for the butterflies in my stomach.
I fell silent after awhile, and we kept on walking along the edge of the trees.
Jax dug into his pocket and pulled out a packet of Swedish Fish. “Want some?” he offered.
“No thanks.”
He shrugged, opened them, and popped one into his mouth.
“Jax?” I asked as he chewed.
“Hmm?”
“What do you think of Tobi?”
The question stopped him in his tracks. I stopped too, and faced him, waiting for a reaction.
He swallowed the candy, then answered, “She’s my friend. Like a big sister. You know that.”
I looked up at him without a word. His dark eyes, shadowed in the night, looked evenly back at me. Then he sighed and leaned against a tree. “She’s my friend, Em. Don’t get any ideas.”
Jax almost never sighed, and when he did, he sighed with purpose.
“I don’t want to get any ideas,” I insisted. “Are you sure... you don’t have any ideas though, Jax?”
For a long while he was silent. He pulled another candy out of the packet, chewed, and swallowed it.
“Do you?” I persisted.
He looked away. “A guy gets thoughts, you know? And sometimes... well, he can have pretty crazy thoughts. And... I don’t know. Being close can be... intoxicating. And with Tobi...” I saw his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed, hard. “Plurgh. This is not coming out well.”
I took a few steps towards him and touched the back of his hand with the tips of my fingers. “Jax, what do you mean? What isn’t coming out well?”
He looked down at me again. “Is it that obvious?”
“Is what obvious?” I asked, feeling the wings in my stomach flutter until they made me queasy.
“My... well, I guess my... feelings.”
Crickets chirped.
“Feelings?” I questioned, intent on pretending I did not know what he meant.
“I’m not even through high school, Em. I’m only eighteen. And... it’s... I just... oh Em, is it really obvious?” He pulled his hand away from mine, slid against the tree to sit on the ground, and covered his face with his hands.
I just stared down at him, unable to speak or move. So it was true. How could he? How could Jax think about Tobi that way and ruin everything? How could he throw something like this into our magical time together, a time bomb just waiting to explode?
But then—how could he not think about Tobi that way?
I swallowed. “Jax,” I whispered.
He didn’t move or make a sound.
I knelt in front of him, reached up, and gently pulled his hands away from his face. There were no tears, for which I was grateful. I couldn’t stand to see a man cry.
“It’s not obvious, Jax. Not to me, anyhow.”
“Then why did you ask?” he smiled wryly.
“I just... I only wondered.”
He knew that wasn’t the right answer, because he kept watching me.
“Someone said something. I mean... hinted,” I sighed. “And then your poem...”
Jax furrowed his brows deeply. He reached out past me with the toe of his tennis shoe and roughly kicked a rock that lay there. I heard the grass rustle, then heard the rock thump as it tumb
led away.
“How many people?”
“Just one.”
He looked away.
“Jax... are you going to tell her?”
He looked me square in the eyes, and I was struck by how dark brown they were. “How can I?”
I wanted to say that he had to, that he owed to her, to himself, that she needed to know, that something might work out, but I kept quiet, because I knew that he was right. Jax wasn’t the sort to play with a girl’s heart. He wasn’t ready for marriage, and he wouldn’t court a girl until he was. And he had been with me when October had lamented the fickle nature of clouds—and of people. Without something lasting to offer, it wasn’t fair. To either of them.
It wasn’t the right season. At least, not now.
I didn’t know of anything else to say, so I just rested on my knees, reached forward, and put my arms around him, pulling his head onto my shoulder. He didn’t move at first, then I felt his arms slip around me and we just sat, still and silent, in the autumn night.
Oh Jax. Poor Jax. I prayed, silently, a sort of wordless prayer for help of some kind for him. After awhile I reached up and pulled off his ski cap and put a hand on top of his head, feeling the bristles of his hair as I stroked.
We sat there for awhile longer, then Jax let go and sat up straight. “Time to get home, Em. It’s late.” He stood up against the tree, then reached a hand down for me. I gripped it, and he pulled me to my feet.
We stood looking at each other for a moment more, then he pulled me into a hug, this time pulling my head onto his shoulder. “Love you, cuz,” he said.
I didn’t speak. I hugged him back, wordlessly, then we let go and walked back towards the house.
Chapter Nine
Jax was already gone to take care of the cows the next morning when I woke up, and I was glad. I wasn’t sure what to say to him after the night before—if I should say anything at all. Probably, like the choir, it would become something else that we silently agreed to never talk about.
October and I had agreed to spend the day practicing her driving, so after breakfast I took her to the mall so she could drive around the parking lot.
“It’s not as hard as I remember,” she contemplated after backing into a parking spot successfully. “I used to get terribly confused about which way to turn the wheel when backing up.”
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