“PTSD? What happened?” Joy asked.
“She broke up with her boyfriend.” All three of us stared at the motionless lump that was Chloe.
“Ah.” My sister nodded, picking up a thin quilt folded at the foot of the cot. She draped it over Chloe, who grunted a one-syllable sound before rolling toward the wall. Then Joy grabbed a small paperback book from her back pocket and handed it to me. “Read this, and I’ll bring you two some herbal tea.”
“The Singularity of Sex? How is this going to help?”
“It’s amazing. I’ve always believed in a woman’s individuality, but I don’t think I actualized the significance it brings to healthy life and to relationships. This book reminds me of the importance of the core of our sexuality. The raw power. The fluidity. The fire. And, of course, the uniqueness we bring to that. I think people forget that sexuality is an organic power, you know?”
Heat prickled at the base of my neck. I was adopted. I had to be. Who talked like that? Not me. Only a DNA glitch could explain away the vast divide between my sister and me. The Grand Canyon could exist between us.
I gulped and peeked at Reed. His expression remained the same as before: good-looking, with a side of amusement. I shook my head and put my hand up in an effort to slow Joy down if not stop her. I was afraid she was about to perform some sort of bizarre, one-woman, organic, sexuality display right then and there, in the cabin. In front of Reed, no less. I didn’t need to see all aspects of her relationship with him. I dropped the book on the cot. “I think we get the idea, Joy.”
“Do you? Because you didn’t sound all that powerful on the phone the other day. You’ve gone so beyond fluidity. You’re floating without respect to your sexual core. Stop abandoning yourself. Harness it. We all possess something very powerful. Something primal,” my sister said, sounding, well, um, possessed by her brand new power. It was worse when she was wasted and screwing up her life, but did she have to go all obsessive and psycho over everything she was interested in?
“Joy. Please.” I hoped Reed had slipped out of the room and wasn’t actually behind me as my sister discussed my sexual clout.
“Stop giving away your power.” Joy pointed at me.
“I’m not.” I clamped my teeth together.
Joy stared me down as if she didn’t believe me. “So you’re saying you’re a pleasure-filled being who is meant to experience desire? That you embrace ecstasy, creativity, fun, and play? And that you don’t judge yourself for it?”
“No, I…” I was floating in a sea of mortification. She was certainly making a case for me never visiting her ever again. Why couldn’t we talk about our parents, or other things we actually had in common? Even the topic of the weather would have been better than Sexual Healing 101.
“No?” Joy stepped closer. “Just read it.”
Anger took root, and I motioned her away. My fingers trembled, but I ignored the warning and let all my words fall out at once.
“I mean, yes. Of course I’m a—a pleasure-filled being. I like pleasure. Who doesn’t like pleasure? And um, ecstasy. Bring it on. Because I’m not a prude. I see your sexual bet, and raise you …” I held my hand up and wiggled my fingers as if I could pluck my next word from the air. “I don’t know, whatever one bets in this case. But I’ll have you know, I’m healthy. Sexually. And all.”
Actual crickets chirped outside the open door. I cringed.
Joy tilted her head, and I folded my arms over my chest.
“Good,” she said. “I’m glad you’re claiming your core. Don’t give up on your creativity just because you didn’t get in to the art program.”
“The art program?” I dropped my arms to my sides. I snuck a peek at Chloe to see if maybe I wasn’t the only stupid one to make an assumption about my sister’s bizarre sex charged rant, but she was curled up on the cot, facing the back wall. “Uh…you…this…, you’re talking about my…creativity?”
Joy stared at me. “Yes…”
“But you…and ecstasy? I thought you were talking about sex.”
Joy placed a hand on her hip. “Yes. Gender empowerment is very crucial.”
“Sex as in my gender. Huh.” I scratched at my neck. I felt like I had a heat rash from all the blushing.
“I’m saying, don’t abandon yourself. In any way.” Joy patted me on the shoulder. “Okay, I have some chores to finish up, then we’ll hang out.”
I nodded, barely.
“And, Reed? You take care of my little sister.”
Take care of me? After all that had been said, I couldn’t remove the sexual connotation that filled the room. It seemed to seep into my pores, my gray matter. My um, organic core.
I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath before opening them again. Finally, I turned around.
Reed didn’t look any different than before. Same upturned mouth. Same almost laughing eyes. “All right, Miss Grace. Let’s hit the hay.”
Ugh.
Chapter 9
American Gothic in Wonderland (Without the Overalls), Graphite Pencil on Vellum
Everyone liked Reed.
Either that or everyone was gosh darn friendly at Happy Hills. Especially the girls. Because as we toured the grounds, they waved at us with cheerful hellos and dopey grins that matched Reed’s very own secret one.
Did Joy care that her cowboy was so popular?
“This is, Kosher.” Reed stopped at a pen with a very large pig sprawled in the middle.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not.” I studied the pig. Pink and gray ombre. Too fashionable and cute to even consider eating. Besides, I knew pigs were definitely not kosher. Chloe’s dad was Jewish.
Reed raised his eyebrows.
“You guys don’t eat the animals here, right?” I may not have been all that close with my sister, but she wouldn’t live anywhere near animal slaughter. Unless, she had some sort of plan to stop it. On more than one occasion, she’d put Liberate me stickers on the lobster tanks at the local seafood restaurant in Hickory Bend.
Reed shook his head, but now that disarming, playful look on his face was back. Turned out, there was nothing particularly funny about the pigs or goats, or anything. Reed sauntered about with that secretive expression all the time.
Maybe he knew that it made him seem curious, mysterious, or just plain sexy. Maybe that sexual power book was something everyone at Happy Hills harnessed.
Or maybe I was the one making a big deal about it. My mind had been on the topic of Fiji ever since Zac and I talked about it.
“His name is Kosher.”
“Oh.” My mouth formed a small circle around the word. “Cute.”
Reed reached an arm through the fence and placed his hand on Kosher’s back. He was gentle with his touch. Something tiny and small fluttered in my gut, as if it wanted to personally acknowledge his sweet gesture.
I was glad my sister had Reed. Sure, she was Miss Independent-Mystical-Guru all the time, but that didn’t mean she had to be single and alone.
That thought made me miss Zac even more. Being led around the property by Joy’s charming cowboy made me feel it like a pit in my gut. I wanted to smooth things over (specifically my impulsive insecurity), but I couldn’t reach Zac. I had zero cell service on this mountain.
We moved away from the pigpen, across a meadow, and stopped at a wooden fence. Reed rested his arms on the top rung and seemed to take in the view of another grassy field. This one was dotted with wildflowers. It was really pretty, so much so that the animal smells kind of blended in to a comforting outdoors scent.
Again, I was struck by the realization that my sister’s life seemed calm, productive, and kind of bordering on normal. Other than that sexual escapade speech. I mean, she went off to do her chores. She had a boyfriend. All of it sounded a bit like playing by the rules, which had never been a Joy kind of thing. She seemed to flit obsessively from one thing to the next, from high school mischief to spiritual self-help books. Maybe she’d found contentment here, at the farm.
The unattached, sexual (gender empowering?) freedom kind, apparently.
How much did Reed have to do with that?
I propped my elbows on the fence—although, not as easily as Reed, considering he towered several inches over me.
“So why are you here?” I asked.
“I live here.” He faced me. “When I’m not at school.”
“Well, so does my sister, but she’s here because . . .” I wasn’t sure why Joy was there. Because she didn’t want to go to college? Because she was finding herself? Because she loved animals? Composting? Because she was a certified flake who couldn’t stick to one thing? I didn’t really know. After she announced in Mexico Palace last June that she wasn’t going to college, everything at home went to crap. My sister and I never actually discussed her motives. Not that it was ever easy to talk to her. Joy didn’t have discussions. She did monologues. Monologues that had to be completely spontaneous, considering she bristled at my attempt at a weekly phone chat.
I looked at Reed, as if he had the answers. He was silent though, probably waiting for me to finish my thought. For once, I didn’t notice that smile playing at his lips.
“I guess I don’t really know why she’s here,” I said.
Reed swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Well, if you don't know where you’re going, any road will get you there.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good thing. I think plans are better.”
“Is that how you got here?”
“Funny. I had a plan, and I deviated from it. This is what I got.” I made a sweeping gesture. Except the land was beautiful, so I wasn’t sure what it was that I was proving. I shoved my hand in my pocket.
“No worries. I like plans, too. Mostly.” Reed shrugged one shoulder. “Anyway, Lewis Carroll said that road quote, not me.”
“Ah, Alice in Wonderland. Well, that makes sense. In fact, it sounds like you might really know my sister. At least, the free-spirited, perplexing Joy I’ve always known.”
This time when Reed glanced at me, the sun perfectly angled behind him, and he glowed. Was it possible that he and my sister were in love? The guy was quoting literature, and my sister liked to quote things, too, (and write them on walls). “I think your sister is trying to find a way to share, connect.”
“Yes. By shoving it down my throat. My sister doesn’t share. Obviously, you’ve never played Monopoly with her. She doesn’t like to lose. She wants to win, be in the spotlight, and if she can’t, well, she leaves. Or flips the board over.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be judged,” he said.
“Judged? She’s the one doing all the judging. She thinks she knows what’s best for everyone.”
“Like The Singularity of Sex?”
Heat bloomed across my cheeks, but still, I managed to make eye contact with Reed. He wasn’t laughing.
I nodded, noting his jaw, which seemed to flex as he considered something. “I think all of it might be her way of connecting.”
“Connecting? That’s like going to Europe, expecting to be able to plug your American flat iron into an outlet just because you want to. It doesn’t work that way. You need to make an effort, get a converter.”
Reed dropped his head, toeing the bottom of the fence post. “If you don’t know where you’re going…”
“I know, I know. Any road will get you there. But you’re the one who said she was trying to connect. She’s had zero interest in me making any kind of attempt at a relationship.” I stopped and stared at the tree line in the distance. Why was I telling this to my sister’s boyfriend? “You know this conversation is just going to go around and around. The topic of my sister has that singular kind of power.”
I snickered as I referenced my sister’s sex book, but he barely reacted. The only evidence I’d said something even remotely funny was a tiny lift at the corner of his mouth.
“Maybe she doesn’t know that’s what she’s trying to do. Do you?”
“Did I follow a white rabbit down a hole?” I pursed my lips. “What are you talking about?”
He rubbed his jaw, then looked away for a bit, before focusing back on me. “Joy told me you didn’t get into the art program.”
I stiffened. Reed watched me. Did the guy ever blink? I lowered my chin, faking great interest in the fence post, noting the tiny pink flowers clustered at the base. “Whatever. I’ve moved on.”
“Oh yeah? To what?”
Who was this guy? He had no right to my plans, my business, simply because he was my sister’s boyfriend.
“Um, to life,” I said, unable to hide the irritation in my voice.
“Message received.”
I grit my teeth. I felt annoyed and actually wanted to argue a little more, but apparently, we were done.
Reed crouched, plucking a flower, before standing to his full height again. He held it out to me. “Virginia bluebell.”
“Oh.” I tried to focus on the flower, but I still felt completely irritated at the turn of our conversation. I didn’t know what bothered me more, that Joy told him my business, or that he thought he had any right to ask me about my life. He was just my sister’s boyfriend. One who, if history repeated itself, would be discarded. Sooner rather than later. “Bluebell? But it’s pink.”
“Eventually, these petals will change to blue, but they’ll have the faintest tinge of pink left.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah,” Reed said as if I’d asked him a question. “In the eighteenth century, colonist John Custis referred to these flowers as "Mountain blew cowslip." Because the European cowslip bloomed in the spring, much like Virginia bluebells. Also, Thomas Jefferson grew Virginia bluebells at Monticello, inspiring the name, Jefferson's blue funnel flowers. Formally though, they’re known as Mertensia Virginica.”
I stared at him, over the flower he twirled between us. Who was this guy quoting Carroll and spouting botanical history? Other than my sister’s soon to be ex-boyfriend, of course.
“Not a flower type of girl?” Reed asked, setting the bluebell on the top of the fence post.
“That’s not true,” I said, propelled by a bit of stubbornness. I reached out for the flower only to have my fingers graze Reed’s.
I pulled back.
Zac popped into my mind for the millionth time. Then, Jenny. Then Zac and Jenny. Together. Alone. A growl threatened to push out of my throat. I shoved thoughts of Zac and Jenny aside, into a cramped corner. Because there was nothing I could do about my insecurities right now. Everything was about as clear as what Kosher the pig rolled around in.
Reed picked up the flower and again held it out to me. This time, I took it from him.
And then tried not to stomp as I walked back to the cottage, Chloe, and my very own personal gnat cloud.
Chapter 10
Metamorphosis of a Barn, Recycled Materials
Dinner at Happy Hills was home style platters of vegetarian stews, homemade bread, and butter churned by Joy (and I thought her strong, sinewy arms were from some fancy farm yoga)—all laid out on long picnic tables in the dining hall.
“I don’t have an appetite.” Chloe pushed carrots and potatoes across her plate with her fork. “It’s another sign.”
My eye twitched. It so wanted to roll. It was possible that Chloe had some sort of psychiatric issue from the trauma of Taylor breaking up with her, but right there, sitting on that picnic bench? Chloe was delusional. I knew why she wasn’t hungry. Before the stew even got passed to our table, she’d downed a lot of bread and butter.
“Don’t worry, Chlo. We’ll be at the beach by tomorrow afternoon. Sun is supposed to be good for your mood, right?”
She nodded, shiny-eyed. Probably from carb overload or the three-hour nap she took on the cot. “You’re right. Vitamin D can be a mood lifter. Thanks.”
“Hey, party poopers.” My sister stepped a leg over the bench to sit next to me. “You can’t leave until you’ve been to the Cow Bell.”
“Huh?” I said, feeling a t
iny bit of drowsiness, and I only ate one roll. Maybe that was why cow folk drawled so much. Mini carb induced comas. “What’s Cow Bell?”
“What’s Cow Bell?” a male voice asked to my left as a warm body settled in next to me on the bench.
I turned to see Reed and a plate full of steaming food in front of him. I acknowledged him with a half wave, then dropped my head to peek at my phone. Still no response from Zac. I’d been trying to call and text him for the last hour. Meeting and hanging out with Joy’s boyfriend in the midst of a wildflower field only made me want to make things better with Zac, faster, except all my efforts produced was a “message failed” notice. The cell service on the mountain sucked.
“Cow Bell is only the hippest spot on the hill.” He dug a fork into his food.
“Yes,” my sister chimed in from my right. “You’re going. Both of you.”
My sister pointed at Chloe, but she pushed her plate away and slumped in her chair. Never before had I seen Chloe be so dramatic.
“Okay?” Joy elbowed me.
Even though Reed was silent as he ate his dinner, it was like I could feel his body heat as a force field on my entire left side. There was no denying his presence.
“Hey, Joy? Why don’t we switch seats?”
“Why?”
“So you can sit next to Reed.”
Joy’s nose wrinkled up in confusion.
“Um, your boyfriend?”
Joy hooted, dropping her half-eaten roll onto her plate. She reached around me and poked Reed as she continued laughing.
“What?” I held my palms out. “You’re not?”
Joy’s amusement wasn’t clueing me in to anything other than the fact that I apparently was an idiot. I glanced at Chloe, but she was zero help, so I turned to Reed.
He, however, was calmly scooping up the last bite of his food.
“I just thought . . .”
Joy snorted. “Grace, Reed is barely eighteen.”
“Oh okay, Joy. Sorry. How could I forget you’re a sophisticated nineteen year old?”
The Art of Second Chances Page 7