Lost Years

by MK Schiller

  “Scarlett, I don’t think—”

  “Show me what you got, Rose.” She cut me off because she didn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. Good, because I didn’t want to finish.

  I took out the sentimental card, which Anna would appreciate, the flowering cactus, and the snow globe Anna had ordered from the Ben Franklin.

  Scarlett shook the glass orb, watching as all the tiny flakes fell on the kissing boy and girl inside. “This is pretty. She’ll love it.”

  I shoved it back in the canvas bag. “I should go.”

  “Jason, I’m sorry I can’t hang with you. I know it’s a hard day for you.”

  I smiled, shaking my head. “It’s just another day. No big deal.”

  She wiped her hands on her apron, coming toward me. “Maybe we can do something later?”

  The scent of burned sugar floated in the air. I tilted my head, sniffing. “Uh, Scarlett…”

  “Shit,” she said, flipping around so fast, a braid whipped across my cheek.

  “Need help?”

  “I got it.” Her oven mitt-covered hand fanned at the air frantically.

  I opened the kitchen window as she threw a baking sheet of something thirty degrees past appetizing on the counter.

  “Are you supposed to make pancakes in the oven?”

  She nodded, tapping the book with the oven mitt. “These kind. They’re stuffed with apples. It’s a German recipe.” Her face fell surveying the ruined dish. “I can’t believe I burned it.”

  “It’s not the end of the world.”

  She nodded at me, her mouth crinkling into an almost-smile. “You’re right, I’ll just start over. I was going to put the chocolate chips on top, but now I can bake them right inside. It’ll be better. I have enough time until the next ferry.”

  Scarlett could twist bitter into sweet better than a pound of honey. “You do.”

  I had a feeling she’d be able to make a whole bunch of batches.

  Leaving, I kicked the gravel on her driveway, pissed at her and for her. I wanted to shake her shoulders and tell her to wake up. But I would never do that. Her never-ending optimism was the very thing that drew me to her. It balanced my negativity.

  Later, much later, after Rose had opened her presents and we’d had our meatloaf, I still had Scarlett in my head. I went for a bike ride, passing her house, even though it wasn’t on the way to anything. The gravel driveway, long and narrow, still stood empty. A girl, wearing a green sundress, sat by the window, braiding another strand of her long red hair.

  Instead of leaving or knocking, the only two logical choices, I did something else. Taking a seat on her front porch, I waited with her in silence, saying a little prayer for the girl inside. I had my doubts, but I wanted to have hope for Scarlett.

  Her voice, soft and raspy, drifted through the open window as she hummed along to some song. Scarlett breaking into Patsy Cline meant only one thing. The girl was in a world of hurt.

  I skipped rocks along the sidewalk, watching a weed that grew out of the gravel. It was tall, swaying the wind but never getting knocked down. The time for brunch had long since passed. The sun set over the island. The smell of barbecue and sounds of kids playing permeated the air. A ringing phone inside the house sliced through the other sounds. Still, I sat, a statue on her porch, until the barbecue grills held nothing but dying charcoal embers. When the last ferry horn sounded, I knocked on her door.

  Her eyes were red. She looked silly with all those braids.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You said we could hang later. It’s later.”

  She would not meet my eyes, her face tilted downward. “She didn’t come. You were right.”

  “I didn’t want to be.”

  “I’ve been calling her all day. She couldn’t even pick up the damn phone. I thought something happened. That maybe she got into an accident. Because that’s the only way a mama would miss spending Mother’s Day with her only daughter. I mean, it can’t be because she’d rather hang with her loser boyfriend, right?”

  I had no respect for Janice, but Scarlett did. She loved the woman, so I chose my words carefully. “I bet she’s just fine.”

  “You’d bet right. She finally called to tell me she was sorry. Frank got tickets for a baseball game at the last minute. She lost track of time.” She stamped her foot against the floor. “She fucking lost track of time!”

  I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her hard. We stood in that position until her anger faded and the tears began. She cried against my chest. I wished I had a handkerchief. No…that’s not quite right. What I really wanted was to take the tears from her, to absorb her pain.

  Eventually, we made our way to the couch. My leg hit the plywood coffee table, knocking over one of the many bottles of nail polish lining it.

  “She thinks Frank will pop the question soon. He’s been holding off until…”

  “Until what?” The sharpness of my question caused her to wince.

  “I’m more mature.” Her body clenched, part anger and disappointment, but underneath those things was a fear so strong it scared me. “Like I’m the one that needs maturity.”

  “You’re very mature.” How could she not be? She’d practically raised herself. “I don’t know a person with a bigger heart than you.”

  “Thanks,” she said, biting her lower lip. “At least Frank stays away.” Her laugh sounded weird. Too high-pitched and unnatural. “How the hell does someone develop onset seasickness at his age? I guess I’m lucky to live on an island. I hope that doesn’t change.”

  I grasped a braid, tugging on it to get her attention like I did when we were kids. “Listen to me, Frank is never going to marry her. You’ll never live in the mainland with them. Never.”

  She lifted her head, her fingers gripping my shoulder. “What makes you so sure?”

  I shrugged, struggling to find an explanation. “She’s been saying it for years. If it hasn’t happened by now, it won’t. Besides, even if it does, you can move into Rose’s house. Rose loves you.”

  Her smile lifted, revealing the dimple, which drove me crazy. I closed my eyes, wanting to pull her toward me and push her away at the same time. I typically avoided being alone with Scarlett these days. We did things in groups, but today I thought she might need me. Turned out, I was right.

  Even so, I couldn’t contain all the raging hormones when I was around her. My best attempts to suffocate them proved unsuccessful.

  She shook her head, the braids flying in sync. She stood, walking toward the bathroom. “I have to take these out. They’re hurting my head.”

  I heard the sink run. She came back with a freshly washed face, her pouty lips slick with new gloss, and a long mess of silky red hair framed her face. She sat cross-legged on the couch, running or more like dragging a plastic brush though her hair. I winced at the rough way she handled the brush. That had to hurt.

  “Hand over the brush, Jones. Before you snatch your hair out.”

  “I can do it.”

  I held her wrist in midair before she did it again. “I really love your hair. I’d stand between anyone who’d harm a single pretty strand of it, including you.”

  The brush fell from her hand, landing on her lap. My fingers gripped around the handle.

  “Turn.”

  “What?”

  “Turn around for me.”

  “Are you seriously going to brush my hair?”

  “I wager I’ll do a more decent job of it than you.”

  I had no fucking clue what I was doing. My hair required a few swipes of a comb. Girls didn’t comb. They primped. Hell, they had fucking rituals dedicated to their hair. With a shaky hand, I managed to get the tangles of the braids out without pulling too hard. She relaxed a little. I fought against running my fingers through those silky strands, especially when I caught the peppermint vanilla scent of it. I sniffed the air, tightening my grip on the brush handle to keep my fingers from twitching. My knuckles turned wh
ite.

  “You really think my hair is pretty?”

  Yeah, along with the rest of you.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Thank you,” she said, shifting a bit. “You can stop.”

  She gathered all those loose wavy strands in her fingers and secured a rubber band around them.

  “Want to work on math tomorrow?” I asked, needing to change the subject.

  “Yeah, but can you come by later? Russell’s teaching me to play the guitar after school.”

  “Sure,” I said, almost hissing the word. Russ was my friend, but he was really starting to piss me off.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then what the hell is wrong with your jaw? You’re going to give yourself TMJ if you keep flexing it like that.”

  I hadn’t realized I was doing that, but I sure as hell felt it when I worked it loose.

  “I told him I’d practice today, but I wasted the whole day making pancakes.”

  “It’s not a waste if we eat them.”

  “They’re cold now. Most of them are undercooked.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  “You sure?”

  I patted my gut, the sound louder than I expected. “I have a strong stomach. Why don’t you go fetch us some?”

  Her eyes grew wider as she glanced at my stomach working her gaze up my arms. I’d grown myself a few nice muscles this year. Nice of her to notice.

  “Be right back.”

  She returned with a single plate. “Where’s yours?”

  She shook her head. “After inspecting them, I decided this is the only one I feel is safe enough to eat.”

  “Then we’ll share it.”

  We sat across from each other, the plate balancing on my lap. We tore apart the pancake with our hands dipping it in maple syrup. It was sweet but not overpowering. Of course, the temperature was a shade or twenty to the rare side.

  “Damn good, Jones.”

  “Really? I wasn’t sure about it.”

  “Just wish you had more is all,” I said, taking our empty plate to the kitchen to rinse it.

  She was spread out on the couch when I returned. So I lifted her legs and put them on my lap—not the wisest idea.

  “Can I ask you something, Flynn?”

  “Ask me anything.”

  “Do you think it’s better to have a bad mama or no mama?”

  “Um…”

  She slapped her palm against her face. “Shit, that was an awful question. I’m sorry, Jason. I shouldn’t have—”

  I clasped her chin in my fingers, tilting her face to meet mine. “I said you could ask me anything, and I meant it. There aren’t any lines between us. None. It’s just that I’m not really sure of the answer since I only know one side of that equation. But I’ve seen you time and again get hurt. I guess if I had to pick no mother is better.”

  “I don’t know. Even with a bad mom, there are good times. I have a handful. Probably more, if I really thought hard about it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the time I was ten, right after my dad left. She called me in sick from school even though I wasn’t. We made some fancy pancakes and painted each other’s nails and watched old movies. It was a good day. A very good day and I wanted it back again.” She put her hands over her face. “So stupid, right?”

  I took her hand. “It’s not at all.”

  I wanted to say more. To tell her she had a heart bigger than this island. Hell, bigger than Texas and the Gulf of Mexico combined.

  Instead of that, I said, “I saw this weed outside on your driveway, and it reminded me of you.” Yes, because that was a much better thing to say.

  “I remind you of a weed? Not something pretty like a flower?” She kicked my leg.

  “Nope. Definitely a weed.”

  She crossed her arms. “You really suck at cheering a person up, you know that?” She kicked me again, and it hurt this time.

  I grabbed a hold of her ankle. “Quit it. Let me explain. This weed grew out of shallow soil and broke through rocks to reach the sunlight. It survived through droughts and thunderstorms and long stretches of shade.”

  She tilted her head, my rambling explanation making little sense.

  “Don’t you see, Scarlett, it had no nourishment, no one to tend to it, no one to watch over it, yet it grew strong and tall. That’s kind of beautiful in my opinion. That’s like you because you had no one. And you shouldn’t be this person you are. This sweet, courageous, loving girl who had no sun for herself, but she still manages to bring sunshine into everyone else’s life…especially mine.”

  A single tear fell from her eye. “That’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  I waved it away as if I hadn’t just bared a piece of my soul to her. “So anyway, that’s why you’re the weed and not the flower.”

  Her lower lip trembled. She swallowed, the tiny freckles disappearing as a deep blush washed over her face. Suddenly, she was too close for me to keep the feelings stuffed away. I shifted her legs off me and bent toward the table. I took a deep breath, straightening the fallen bottles of polish. “Which color would you pick?”

  “The purple one.”

  I reached for it. “Toes or fingers?”

  “Huh?”

  I grabbed her hand, holding it steady. I made the decision for her because painting her toes seemed reckless right now and we were already tethering too close to a point where I couldn’t turn back.

  “Are you kidding?”

  I shook the bottle. “Nope. You trust me?”

  Her brows knitted together as she regarded me skeptically. “Not with this.”

  “Too bad. We’re doing it.”

  She had a good reason to doubt me. I thought this would be easy, but the brush was tiny, and my big clumsy hands became unsteady. The polish went everywhere but where it needed to go. How did girls do this stuff?

  “You do know you’re supposed to get it on my nails, right? It’s not called finger polish.”

  “Shut up, Jones. You didn’t see me complaining when I ate your raw pancake.”

  “Hey, you said you liked it.”

  “I’m a guy. I can eat sawdust if you salt it first. I did like it, but c’mon, it was like eating batter.”

  She laughed, punching my arm.

  “Okay, fine, but stop painting my hand purple.”

  She grabbed a cotton ball and soaked it in something that smelled like turpentine. She undid my very bad Jackson Pollack manicure.

  “Hey, Flynn.”

  “Yeah?”

  “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind tonight, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

  “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  “Are you going to watch the movie with me, too?”

  “Look, Jones, they’re about to confiscate my man-card if I do one more girly thing. No Princess Diaries.”

  “Did I say Princess Diaries? Because I meant Princess Murderer Part Three.”

  “Are you fucking with me?”

  “Nope, I got it the other day. I was in the mood for a good slasher flick.”

  “What the hell are we waiting for? Slide that sucker in the slot.”

  Somewhere between the first and sixth knife scene, she clasped her hand against mine. “How come you’ve never kissed me?”

  Yeah, I could ask myself that question.

  I shrugged, taking my hand back quickly enough that it surprised her. “I don’t know.”

  I leaned forward on the couch, putting my elbows on my knees and resting my face on my clenched fists. My eyes were level with the television, watching the movie as if it was a cinematic miracle.

  “You like me, don’t you?” she asked right after the virgin escaped the axe. Yep, virgins always survive. A good lesson in life, too.

  “Yeah, sure. You’re my best friend.”

  “Shut up. You know what I’m saying here. You like-like me. I feel that, too.” Her vo
ice dropped an octave above a whisper. I had to lean in to hear her all while pretending I wasn’t interested. “In fact, I like-like you so much, it might not even make sense to call it like anymore.”

  “I don’t speak Girl. I got no idea what you’re saying.”

  She crossed her arms. “Be real with me. Maybe I’m not making sense, but you said there were no lines between us, so there it is.”

  “I change my mind. There is a line, and that’s it right there.”

  “You can’t draw a line.”

  I swiped the air between us to cement my point. “Too late. Just did. It’s drawn in permanent marker. Don’t cross it.”

  “Just trying to tell you how I feel.”

  We turned back to the movie. I pretended to be interested, but I kept stealing glances at her. She crossed her arms, her knees shaking. I imagined Russell’s fingers over hers when he showed her a new chord tomorrow. “How do feel about Russell?” The loaded question bolted out of me before I could even assess if I had the strength to hear her answer.

  “Russell?”

  “Yeah, Russell Foster, who’s coming over to teach you the guitar tomorrow? That Russell.”

  “We’re friends.” Her pretty mouth gaped. “God, Flynn, are you jealous?”

  “No.”

  “He’s like my brother.”

  “And me?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Nothing brotherly about you. It sort of changed that day when the three of you sang me that Temptations song. Everything between you and me changed. Or at least it did for me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you sucked.”

  I arched my brow, my smile less than amused. “I suck?”

  “Let me explain. Russ was good with the guitar. Tommy, he can sing and dance pretty good. But you…you couldn’t do any of those things, Flynn. And you knew you couldn’t, but you tried anyway. You tried for me. I never told you, but that…that meant something. It was the biggest thing that ever happened in my small world.”

  Scarlett’s shield, usually carried high over her heart, had been forgotten in that moment. Tonight, the chips in her façade cracked wide open. But all the stuff that swirled around my head when she was near confused and frightened me. My feelings for her were too strong. If I gave in to them, it would break us. After all, we were both a little fractured as it was.