by C. L. Stone
“I...have something upstairs. They’re fuzzy on the inside. More like slippers. It’s been snowing, so it might rain. Should I wear those in this weather?”
“The Uggs?” Kota said. He turned toward the front door. “You can wear those. They’ll go with your outfit. I’ll grab a proper jacket from Nathan’s house for you.”
“And I had a gift for him.” I slumped my shoulders and looked down again. “Do you think I should give it to him now?”
Kota paused, turning toward me. He approached me and put his hands on my shoulders. He slowly and steadily massaged my muscles. “Sang, for whatever reason, he wants you to join him today. He’s never turned away any gift we’ve given him. If you give him one, he’ll open it when he’s ready. You don’t have to push him.”
I breathed in slowly, finding my courage in his touch, soothing the shaking that had started in my heart. “I want to hurry,” I said. “I don’t want to make him wait.”
“I know,” Kota said, and he kissed my forehead before he gently urged me on. “If you need anything, call me right away.”
I nodded, although I sent a long look to North and Silas, knowing they’d seen the kiss.
North frowned, adjusting his weight on the couch to lean more on the armrest. He shared another look, something I couldn’t understand, but I wondered if he was uncomfortable witnessing this.
Silas was still, looking toward me, but with unfocused eyes. His broad nose dipped down slowly until his gaze dropped to the floor. I noticed his hands clenched, one on the arm rest, one at his leg.
I retreated to the bedroom upstairs, finding the boots. I didn’t dare linger, not wanting to make Mr. Blackbourne wait.
If he came for me on this day, the day he never went out on, I didn’t want him to change his mind.
♥♥♥
Moments later, I was in boots and a light gray jacket, holding the gift that was wrapped in gray paper and a maroon bow.
I couldn’t hide it as I approached Mr. Blackbourne’s BMW. He stood beside the car, holding open the door for me, but his eyes dropped to the gift.
I offered it to him, unsure of what else to do. “I didn’t want to forget,” I said, and then quickly added, “You don’t have to open it now. I just wasn’t sure...”
“Thank you,” he said. He reached for it, grasping the bottom of the box, and waited for me to get in.
I slipped in, reaching for the seatbelt as he closed the door for me. He opened the back door and placed the gift onto the rear seat snugly, using a floor mat as a brace so it wouldn’t shift around. He left the gift there as he circled the car to get in.
Good enough. I second guessed getting him a gift for his birthday. Maybe I should have just gotten him a card. Maybe he didn’t want a gift. Maybe I should have held off until tomorrow.
Mr. Blackbourne backed up the car from the drive in silence. I kept an eye on the house, suspecting Kota and perhaps North and Silas might have been peeking out from behind curtains, wondering as much as I was right then as to where we were headed.
As Mr. Blackbourne drove, I kept my eyes on the brown grass on the lawns we passed by. The sky was gray and overcast, but I wasn’t thinking about the scenery.
With his somberness and black tie, a thousand concerns flew through my head. Maybe something important had happened, and he was about to tell me terrible news that couldn’t wait. The police were about to arrest me for not going to school. My stepmother was demanding to see me or she had threatened them. The Academy had rejected me the moment they talked about me and I wasn’t going to be invited to the important introduction the following week. Something drastic had clearly forced Mr. Blackbourne to come out today despite his usual desire to be alone.
It was something they’d all respected, an unspoken rule, but I was breaking that somehow.
I wanted to talk to him, but my tongue was glued to the top of my mouth. I was afraid to say the wrong thing. He never spoke, his eyes focused through the windshield as I got more and more nervous.
Since his gaze never left the road, I stole long glances at him, trying to gauge his mood. His light brown hair, trimmed perfectly, was as neat as ever. The scent of his spring soap was strong today. His fingernails were manicured. I wondered if he did that himself, or if he went to a spa like Victor often did.
I was unsure of where we were going until he took a turn into a park when the lane and surroundings started to look familiar.
I wasn’t positive until we got to the end, where there was a playground, a picnic area, and a dock stretching out to a lake. There was no one at the park today, probably because of the cold. There were remnants of people having been there recently, though, with a child’s forgotten shoe on top of a picnic table, and footprints in the sand near the playground.
Mr. Blackbourne had brought me here before, the time I’d been angry with North and he had given me guidance. He had told me about how his mother had brought him here when he was young. Perhaps his mother brought him here on his birthday, and while those had been happy times, now that she was dead and gone, he continued the tradition even though it made him sad.
Would he have brought me here if that were the case? Maybe I’d angered someone else without realizing it and he was had brought me here to talk about it.
Afraid to make a move before I knew why he’d brought me, I waited quietly as he parked and got out. He walked around the car to open the door for me, holding it expectantly.
I kept a soft smile on my face, trying to not appear as anxious as I felt. I got out and stepped away so he could close the door. I kept my hands behind my back to hide the shaking. The air was chilly, but with the jacket, it was just my nose and face that were exposed to the wind.
He moved to the trunk, opening it.
I stepped closer as he lifted out a picnic basket. It was something I hadn’t ever seen in person, only in movies. It even had the red checkered cloth sticking out of it.
He closed the trunk, holding the basket in his left arm, and then turned to me, his steel eyes softer now, turning silver.
Surprise surged through me, replacing my anxiousness. I stepped up beside him, allowing him to lead the way. I was still unsure what he had in mind but understood I’d been wrong in my previous assumptions.
This wasn’t about me at all.
He headed toward the dock. I checked for other people that might have been behind the picnic area, or further down the beach, but I didn’t see anyone else. We were alone today.
We walked the dock, our shoes the only sound, creaking against the wood beams as we walked over them. At the very end of the dock, he stopped and gestured for me to stand aside. He put the basket on top of a post at chest height, and then opened it, taking out a heavy blanket that had been on top. He put the blanket down on the wooden planks. I stepped toward him with a hand out to help but then paused, unsure if I should get involved, afraid to do something wrong.
He looked at me with a lifted eyebrow, and then held out a corner of the blanket to me.
I took it from him, and together we lay the blanket over the dock.
Once it was smoothed out, he nodded down toward it. “Please, sit. Get comfortable.”
I was grateful in that moment that I hadn’t switched the pants for a skirt. Still, I sunk down to my knees, choosing to sit on my heels. The blanket was only a thin cushion against the rough boards of the dock. I wanted to be ready to stand if he needed any more help.
He brought the basket over, sitting it on one corner of the blanket, and then knelt down. He removed his shoes that looked a little too stiff for sitting on, and kept those at another corner of the blanket. I considered if I should remove my boots but they were comfortable and flexible enough. Also, it was chilly, and I wanted to keep the warmth.
Mr. Blackbourne reached his hand into the open basket, bringing out three boxes. The boxes reminded me of Chinese food containers, made of some kind of paper, but flat like a bento box—something I’d seen in Dr. Green’s Japanese textboo
k. He handed me one of the boxes along with a fork, also made of a strange material, like a thick stock cardboard. Next, he put a second box in front of himself, and then the third, he placed nearby, as if he were expecting someone to join us.
I looked up and around, looking for someone else who might be approaching.
Mr. Blackbourne took out a bottle of water, offering it to me. I took it and opened it to take a sip since he hadn’t opened the boxes yet. I smelled food, something greasy like fried chicken, but the boxes were cold.
He took a Thermos from the basket and then a small paper cup. “Do you like tea?” he asked. “It’s black tea. I’ve got sugar packets if you’d like.”
“I’ve never had regular black tea,” I said quietly.
There was a slight lift to one of his perfect eyebrows but he said nothing. He poured out some tea into the cup and passed it to me. I was more interested in holding a warm cup in my hands than actually drinking it. Still, I tried a sip, and the flavor was bitter to me. I did my best to press my lips together in an attempt to mask my soured expression.
He poured himself a cup and then another one, placing it near the third bento box.
I looked around us again, back toward the shore and toward where he had parked, expecting someone else to arrive.
He passed over a couple of thick cloth napkins. I suspected they were to replace paper napkins that could blow away in the breeze.
When everything was laid out, he settled back and opened his box.
I opened mine, finding small pieces of fried chicken, bite-sized to eat with a fork, along with potato salad and diced peaches in the other compartments.
He held his box close to his chest, and picked out a piece of chicken, looking at me and waiting.
I sensed he wanted me to eat first, so I chose a piece of chicken and began to eat it. It was white breast meat and was tasty, despite being cold.
Once I’d taken a bite, he began to eat too. I couldn’t think of what to say, so I focused on the food, enjoying the comforting tastes in an otherwise very curious situation.
The entire time, I waited for someone else to arrive, but no one ever did. He never looked for a third person behind him to arrive, but also seemed to ignore the place setting for the third person. He hadn’t set out a water for the person, just the tea.
I finally realized no one ever was ever going to arrive for the food and a haunted feeling washed over me, wondering who it was for, but not daring to ask. As we ate, I occasionally glanced at the third set. I shifted as I sat, uncomfortable and feeling out of place.
When there was nothing left to eat, I sipped at my water until Mr. Blackbourne was finished.
When he did finish, he put his empty box down and sipped at his tea, looking out over the lake. I did as well, getting lost in watching the water lapping against the shore. In the distance, bare trees stuck out over the water. Without a strong wind, all was still. The gentlest of sparkling light reflected against the water, despite the light covering of clouds overhead.
After a while, the silence between us became less awkward and I felt myself relax. Feeling like we were almost meditating, the quiet trance-like, I was aware of my full stomach, the cool, crisp air, the nice park surrounding us, and his close, silent company.
It was an hour before he finally sat up, having shifted to sitting cross-legged after lunch. He collected the empty boxes and forks and emptied my unfinished tea into the water.
The lunch for his third person, our invisible guest, he simply slid aside to sit on the dock, while he collected the other items. I stood and helped him collect the blanket which he refolded and put it back in the basket.
We walked away from the dock, leaving behind the paper items and the food. I imagined animals and bugs would be by to eat what was left over, and the paper items he used wouldn’t hurt the environment, being biodegradable. Isn’t it still bad to leave it behind?
With my tongue glued inside my mouth, I followed him back to the car. I recalled something from Japanese class, where Dr. Green once talked about how the Japanese often left food for those who have passed away on different event days just for their ancestors. Leaving behind purchased or homemade bento, fruit, or other items.
But wasn’t the food left at grave sites?
Mr. Blackbourne was doing something similar but had added his own twist to the tradition. For whatever reason, on his birthday, this is what he wanted to do.
I waited while he placed the basket back into the trunk and shut it.
He walked around to the passenger side, and I followed, presuming he was going to open the door for me.
Instead, he stopped at the back door, and opened it, pulling out the gift. He held it in his hand, looking at it, tracing the gray paper and maroon-colored bow with a finger.
I was compelled to break the silence, even though it felt like I was somehow breaking a spell. “You don’t have to open it now,” I whispered. It felt silly to have even brought it up at such a time. I should have held onto it and given it to him when all the others had had a chance to.
He moved forward, and I backed up, allowing him space. He placed the box on top of the car’s trunk, and delicately removed the paper and bow, to get to the white gift box underneath.
He opened the flap and pulled out the protective paper to uncover a crystal flower vase.
I panicked, feeling silly. I’d remembered the roses, and some comments he’d made about other flowers, making me think he had a fondness for flowers. I thought something as perfect as crystal, a nice vase, might be a unique enough a gift.
Though as I stood there, it occurred to me that if he did like flowers, wouldn’t he have plenty of vases? It was too late to change my mind now.
He held the vase in his hands, smoothing his fingers over the curves. The store had described it as a bud vase, slim, meant to only hold one flower at a time. It narrowed in the middle, giving it a slight design, but otherwise, it was clear and simple.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice a gentler version than his usual strong tone. He looked over the vase once more and then gently put it back in the box. “You have a unique way of understanding, Miss Sorenson. I couldn’t have imagined how perfectly...” He quieted again.
Saying, “You’re welcome,” was on the tip of my tongue, but I waited to see if he was going to say more.
He pressed his lips together, sighed gently, and picked up the box. “I should get you home,” he said.
I understood. It must have been very emotional for him, to think of his dead mother on a day like today. I didn’t know why he brought me along. He hadn’t done it for any of the other boys. What about Dr. Green? Did even he know what Mr. Blackbourne did on his birthday?
Why, of all days, did he pick his own birthday to be so somber, making it like a memorial? It was more like visiting a grave than a celebration.
I held on to those questions and more while he placed the box and the paper gently back into the rear seat. He opened the door for me, and soon we were off for him to drop me back at Kota’s house.
I never told the other boys what happened, and they never asked, although questions filled their eyes when I returned. I couldn’t offer any explanation. It wasn’t my story to tell them.
They respected my silence, and never prodded me with a single question. I sensed their respect for Mr. Blackbourne.
Mr. Blackbourne had shared something big with me, inviting me along. Would I ever learn the mystery behind it? But I didn’t need to really know. I sensed it that day, felt it. Through it, Mr. Blackbourne reached out to me and again, like many times before, something profound had happened between us.
Mr. Blackbourne had let me in.
I would never forget.
CHRISTMAS MORNING
For the first part of the holiday break, it was a whirlwind of decorating. I found myself in awe of how much care the boys took to decorate every one of their homes.
Most of the time was spent on Kota’s and Nathan’s, and then Vi
ctor’s estate and Silas’s apartment. We didn’t do the whole house, just Victor’s and Silas’s rooms, and then certain other areas. I wondered if Charlie, or if Victor’s parents would notice. They didn’t seem worried about it. To me, it seemed they simply kept themselves busy to pass the days.
Dr. Green had no problem adorning his condo with fancy crafted snowflakes made out of paper.
Pam decorated the Coleman trailer, despite Gabriel pleading with her to let him handle it.
North said not to bother decorating their house; no one would see it except for him, Luke and Uncle. But despite his protests, Luke and I spent an afternoon putting up a tree and hanging simple holiday wreaths at every window. North only disapproved of the ones on the second story windows, telling us not to walk on the roofs.
Compared to my past Christmases, this one was full of activity. In what I’d started to think of as my old life, my stepmother had my sister and I put up and decorate the tree from when we were very young. At first, decorating was different, and different in the house that was always the same was exciting. My father was always working so it was usually up to us.
As we’d gotten older, when my stepmother was sick in bed and had directed us to put up the tree a week before Christmas, it had started to become a chore, and one that I often did alone.
There was little appreciation for it; no one wanted to help or even looked at it until Christmas. I did it more out of something to do because it was something I’d always done. There was little joy in the holiday.
Still, I knew Christmas this year would be different.
Leading up to the holiday, I had dreams of Academy people behind walls, whispering to me that something was coming. I kept those dreams to myself, not wanting to admit to the guys that I was stressed about the upcoming introduction. Being busy kept me just distracted enough during the day, but at night, with the long stretch of time between lying down and actually falling asleep, I worried about what was to come. Every evening, I practiced in my head what I would say when I was finally asked which group I’d like to join.