by Laura Emmons
I was glad Evan waited so the meal with his family was relaxed and enjoyable. I wasn’t sure when I’d get to spend more time with them. His dad, named Bob, was a fantastic cook. His little brother Brandon, only a couple of years younger than me, was a fellow nerd. His absolutely adorable baby sister was Corey’s age, and just as exuberant about life. In comparison, I often thought Corey had an old-soul wisdom, where Alyssa was just sweet. She turned out to be one of the kids in his class who had befriended him. I really liked Evan’s family. Jenny hugged me when the time came for me to leave, so Alyssa, they called her Lissy, did too. I regretted not being able to stay longer, but the snow had started to stick on the streets and the temperature had plummeted. Two inches already covered the lawn. I bundled up and trudged out to the Jeep.
Once driving, Evan cleared his throat.
I looked at him expectantly.
“I think there will be some fallout from Madison’s outburst yesterday.”
“What kind of fallout?”
“Even though she was drunk, and most people will disregard anything she said, a few people will agree with her. I mean, given your parent’s history, they’re bound to jump to some conclusions.”
I absorbed his opinion. Slowly, I asked, “Okay, so what do you think we should do about it?”
“I think we should start dating.”
“Huh?” He surprised me so much I did the cockatoo head-tilt thing, but he wasn’t finished. “…other people, that is. Not each other, obviously…” Obviously??? Really??? Who jumped whom on Hogmanay? And damn his ability to read my expressions so well. He still blustered through his prepared speech. “…if we did go out with other people, those who question our relationship would relent. It would take the scarlet letter off you; I can’t stand it when people say rude things behind your back.”
“What you mean, is you want to date someone other than me,” I said clearly and succinctly. My head reeled. I still tried to process the concept of anyone dating anyone else.
“Well, yeah…” he finished futilely.
Somewhere from deep down inside emerged a grace I didn’t know existed. How much time had he spent carrying me through all of my personal drama? He was a seventeen-year old, healthy, red-blooded male. Of course he wanted to date. I had no claim to him. He really didn’t even have to ask my permission, but he was kind enough to ask anyway.
I nodded my head. “Yeah, I agree. It’s a good idea.” Thankfully my voice didn’t crack.
His did. “Okay.”
I opened the door and stepped out. He made no move to get out and help me to the porch. That hurt most of all.
Chapter Eighteen
Steve
On Monday Evan and I had Psychology together, as usual. We were lab partners, study partners and test partners. He seemed a little quiet, but normal. I felt relief, because it was too late in the year to change things. After class he said he had to do something and left quickly.
I sat alone at our table in the cafeteria for the whole lunch period.
On Tuesday, he didn’t wait for me after class and I saw him later, sitting with his long-time friend, Liam McFadden and a bunch of other guys, joking and laughing.
So this is how it’s going to be.
On Wednesday, I found a couple of girls from my Pre-Calculus class, and sat with them.
That’s when he told me he wouldn’t be driving me to and from school anymore.
The only part of my weekday schedule which hadn’t changed as a result of his need to distance himself from me was Chorale. We were the only clan members in it, and there was no association between the choir and either the school or the clan. On Tuesday, he picked me up in front of my house at the regular time and behaved as if nothing had changed. We had more to talk about since we hadn’t spent the whole week together. Tuesday night helped me cope with the sudden emptiness in my life.
***
Also on Monday, I’d asked Fiona about the best way to trace my family tree, and she told me to see the clan’s genealogist, which sounded simple enough. I found out this person was Mrs. Sinclair, the Great Poet’s wife, and she worked as a guide for the Berkeley Springs State Park. I left Fiona’s store early on Monday, and walked two blocks to visit her. Gina Bruce Sinclair was descended from a line of Poets, like her husband. Her family had always held the genealogies of the clan; the Sinclair’s preserved the clan’s history.
Mrs. Sinclair was generous with her time and knowledge. I had to drop by four days in a row, to record everything she dictated to me, but eventually, I had a pretty good picture of my family tree on both my mother’s and father’s sides, going back seven generations. She didn’t just give me names and dates, but she knew little tidbits about each person. Five generations back, on mom’s side, we’d descended from Kade Bruce, a distant relative of hers.
“We’re all cousins at some level, honey,” she said sweetly to me, “that’s why we need to look out for one another.” In addition to making a new friend, I learned about the Cherokee line of my heritage. Dad’s dad, Ewan Stewart, came from a long line of powerful Seers, but Dad’s mom had been a full-blooded Cherokee of Hunter lineage named Margaret Running Deer. Mom named me after her. She had died of cancer soon after my parents eloped. Her mother and my great-grandmother, Shining Face, had grown up on the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians Reservation in western North Carolina. The Running Deer’s had been part of the Cacapon clan for many generations. If Jenny’s vision came true, and I was visited by ghosts, they would be from that part of my family. I felt buoyant about my ability to tackle a problem by myself.
Steven McCoy caught up to me walking back down Washington Street on Thursday. I knew what to expect. Steven, the oldest son of Connor McCoy, the Great Warrior, had been impressed by my ability to diagnose his torn rotator cuff last summer. He’d been grateful when I’d talked Fiona into healing the tear over several sessions during the football season. He stood a good chance of getting a college football scholarship as a result of my actions, so he’d made a point of asking me to go out with him at least once a week since I’d moved to Berkeley Springs. Every time I’d politely declined, since he did not impress me as much as I impressed him.
As he crossed the busy street to intercept me, I thought about what Evan had said. I’d never told him about these advances from Steve. Evan and he despised each other. I didn’t want to make him angry, but Steve was the only guy who’d had the guts to ask me out. Plus, if I wanted to draw attention away from my relationship with Evan, dating the varsity quarterback would be the most dramatic way to go.
I painted on a cordial face. When he fell in step beside me, he said the usual, “So…Stewart…how about it?” and I stopped, looked him right in the eye, and said, “Sure…why not?”
Flustered, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He stammered for a few moments, clearly shocked I’d changed my mind. Then he recovered. “Okay, why don’t we go to the movies next Saturday? We can get dinner. Do you like pizza?”
“I love pizza,” I answered truthfully.
“That’s so great. So…I’ll pick you up at six, and we can get pizza and see a movie.”
I had to smile at him; he seemed so vulnerable for a hulking mass of muscle.
“That’s sounds wonderful. I look forward to it.”
We’d reached the door to Fiona’s store. He nodded and I waved goodbye as I stepped inside. He probably could have gone out with almost any girl at Berkeley Springs High, but he’d asked me. He whooped and jumped in the air as he ran back across the street. It definitely helped to soothe my still bruised ego.
***
That night I showed Corey my dream diary and asked if he’d had a similar vision about Madison McLoed.
He laced his answer with bitterness. “No, but I wouldn’t cry a river of tears if it came true.”
Realizing he wouldn’t divulge any more information, I left him alone. Corey hadn’t had any more fights or instances of aggressive behavior since the first day of school, but his depression worried
me. I knew Corey saw things in his visions, dark and ugly things, but he kept it all inside. What would happen when those emotions broke free?
***
On Saturday I wore my short, indigo-colored, knit dress over black leggings and boots. I left my hair down so it framed my face. I didn’t wear make-up but I indulged in a shiny lip gloss. Steve arrived right on time. As the son of the Great Warrior of the clan, I assumed military precision had been part of his upbringing. From the window, I saw him leap out of a bright red Bronco with oversized, monster truck tires, and bound up the stairs to the front door.
When I answered, he gave me a look up and down and exclaimed, “Wow, you’re hot!”
For a second, I thought he referred to the room temperature, because hot is not a word I’ve ever heard used to describe me. I blushed horribly because I still didn’t think it should be used to describe me. Somehow I managed to say, “You look nice too, Steve.”
“I know,” he looked impressed, “we look good! Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s do it!”
I enjoyed his enthusiasm. I’d never spent this much time with Steve. He reminded me of Corey. Except for the part where he put his hand on my ass to help me into his SUV, things were going well.
Steve’s dad was a master politician, so it didn’t surprise me that he had well-honed social skills. He managed the conversation artfully, with no embarrassing lulls. Mostly, he asked questions. He showed real interest in Southern California. He might have been interested in me as well. I’d eaten in the local pizza shop many times, so I felt completely comfortable going there for dinner. Soon, I asked him questions about himself and we even had a laugh over an anecdote he told me about an AMC Pacer which wound up on the roof of the high school a few years back.
One surprising thing about Steve was how he wasn’t nearly as stupid as I’d originally thought. He didn’t take Honors classes or study science, but he was sharp. I wondered if he enjoyed playing the role of the dumb jock, because it put people at ease. Steve had all of the special qualities to make a star college quarterback, or maybe even a pro quarterback.
Besides his natural strength and athleticism, which he enjoyed because of his magical gene pool, he was a charismatic leader, socially adept, politically savvy and secretly smart. Then he added another layer of depth to my opinion of him.
I’d been telling him how excited my mom was about my decision to go to med school, when it hit me. “…I mean she had been really excited about it, you know, before…” Since I never talked about myself to anyone, I’d never let memories of Mom come up in conversation. Suddenly all the grief, so fresh and raw, engulfed me.
To my surprise, Steve became gentle. He took my hand in his and said, “It’s okay, Maggie. I know how you feel. I lost my mom when I was nine years old. I cried myself to sleep every night for a year afterwards. You’ve been so strong, the way you’ve handled things. Especially the way you’ve taken care of your brother. If you ever want to talk, to someone who has been there, I’m here.”
I looked up at him through a filter of tears I refused to let fall, and nodded.
“So, do you think you’re ready for the movie?”
I smiled, “Yeah, I think I am.” He called for the check and I queried, “What are we going to see?”
He answered nonchalantly, as he paid the bill and gave the waitress an engaging smile, which left her practically drooling in front of us. “I thought we’d take in that new science fiction thriller.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised.
“Did you want to see something else?” He looked at me.
“No, I think it’s a perfect choice.”
“Good,” he nodded. He got up to retrieve our coats and helped me into mine. He didn’t choose a war movie or a blood and guts action movie, which is the genre he probably preferred. He didn’t try to take me to a romantic comedy, so I could get all weak-kneed and let him paw me. He didn’t pick a horror flick so I would get scared and jump into his lap. He picked science fiction because he knew I liked science. Smart…deviously smart.
He took my hand as we walked the half block from the pizza parlor to the movie theater and I let him. It was warm and kind of nice, but that’s all. Evan made my skin tingle. Steve felt…okay. I’m about five feet four inches tall. Evan is six feet and I think he’s huge. Steve had to be at least six foot four. He towered over me. As we walked, I wondered if he could bend down far enough to kiss me if things progressed that far. I figured it would probably be pretty awkward, but I liked simply holding his hand.
In spite of all of his strategy, I still didn’t let him lead me to the back row of the theater. I picked a spot in the middle surrounded by other people.
***
When he pulled up in front of my house, he told me to wait so he could help me out of the monster Bronco. I did, because I had no idea how to get down from there by myself. He wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted me out of the truck. He didn’t put me down right away. He held me in mid-air, so we could look at each other, eye to eye. Holding me there for such a long time would have been excruciating for anyone else. It spoke to the extent of his magical strength, because lifting me cost no effort whatsoever for Steve. I am not a wispy, thin woman. With my one-quarter Hunter lineage, I’m naturally muscular and I’ve never worried about carrying a few extra pounds of fat, as it helped me tolerate the cold water of the Pacific Ocean when I went body surfing in the winter.
I grinned in admiration of his effort. “I had a great time, Steve. Thank you so much.”
“You did? Good. Does that mean I get a kiss goodnight?”
I chuckled at him and wagged my finger. “Not on the first date.”
“Okay. Would you be willing to sit with me at lunch on Monday?”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Cool.” He tried to kiss me anyway.
I ducked him and he relented, putting me down. I laughed some more and waved at him as I ran up the porch stairs and into the house.
Chapter Nineteen
Eagles
The next morning I was shocked into consciousness by someone throwing open the drapes and letting an enormous amount of sunlight stream across my face.
“What the hell?” I sat upright to face my torturer. “What are you doing in my bedroom? How many times have I told you to knock before you walk in here?” I threw stuffed animals at him to punctuate my words.
“Get up.” He ordered as he walked around my room picking up the things I’d thrown. “I want to go for a drive.”
“Then go,” I pulled the covers up to cover my spaghetti strap tank top, “and let me get back to sleep.” Falling back onto the bed, I tried to pull my pillow over my head but he took it from me.
He sat down and held the pillow on his lap. “I want you to go with me.”
I peeked at him from my prone position, not able to tell if he was angry, or sad, or if he had stomach pain. Watching his internal struggle play across his perfect features broke my heart.
I sat up and faced him. “Fine, then…I’ll go with you, but stop looking at my chest.”
“Why wouldn’t I look at them,” he said, still staring, “they’ve grown two cup sizes since last June!” He held his hands up level with my breasts and cupped his hands as if trying to size them. His hands were far enough away so no danger existed of him copping a feel.
I waited a half a breath. When he was completely distracted, I snatched back my pillow and beat him savagely with it. “GET,” I landed a jab to his right cheek, “OUT,” I smashed the top of his head, “OF,” I bashed the pillow into his left cheek, “HERE!” I uppercut the pillow into his chin and he fell backwards off the bed.
He scrambled backwards with his arms open, palms facing me in a universal gesture of surrender. “Okay, I’m leaving.” As he turned around, he saw the poster boards on my wall. “Hey, what’s this?” He walked over to take a closer look.
“It’s my family tree drawn up
on four poster boards so I could get a good look at it.”
“Can I borrow them for a couple of days?”
“Sure.”
***
When Evan said he wanted to go for a drive, he meant it. He drove for almost two hours before our destination became apparent. When he paid the toll for us to enter Skyline Drive, I said “Why are we going to Shenandoah National Park?”
He replied, “Because no one will see us here.”
He’d told me to dress warmly and to be prepared to hike a bit. By the time he pulled off onto one of the many overlooks provided by the National Park Service, the morning fog had burned off and the breathtaking view extended for miles. Most of the snow had melted off the mountain, but a few patches still clung to the trees and brush. In the distance, the light glistened off a clear, blue river. Evan got out of the Jeep and walked around to the hatch. He pulled out a fully equipped hiker’s backpack. It had a harness, a bedroll, cooking supplies, and unknown items hidden inside it. He grabbed his six-foot, willow branch staff. I pulled on my gloves and hat and zipped my coat up all the way against the occasional frigid wind which whipped around the mountain. As we climbed over the short, stone wall that separated the overlook from the hiking trail, an old painted wooden sign said ‘Hogback Overlook – elevation 3,385 feet’.
We only hiked a short distance before he stopped. He’d walked far enough to get away from the auto noise and to find a nice rock ledge where we could sit. He spread his sleeping bag over the rock, and then knelt down and started pulling stuff out of his backpack. Soon, he’d set up a camping stove and brewed coffee the old-fashioned way. He pulled out two sets of binoculars and handed one of them to me. I eagerly wanted to get a better look at the incredible scenery, but first I had to understand.
“Why did you bring me here?”
He stopped fidgeting with the coffee pot and sat back. He took a deep breath. “I wanted us to go somewhere we could talk freely. Everywhere we go at school or around town we’re surrounded by clan members. We don’t know who they are or where they’re hiding, but Arianrhod has spies watching us. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, we’re free. At this time of year, it’s unlikely there’ll be tourists hiking the trail. Plus, I read an article on-line last night. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to see something really spectacular.”