by Sara Biren
“Blue,” I whisper, and then I lean in and do what I’ve wanted to do for weeks.
I kiss her, and the world shifts.
Chapter Thirty-Six
JUNIPER
When Gabe’s lips brush against mine, tentatively at first and then without hesitation, with confidence, the world lights up in a burst of color and sound and stars.
My hands clutch the lapels of his coat, I pull him in, closer, closer still, and I’m dizzy with the sensation of skin, of touch, of connection as my mouth opens to his and his tongue slips in, tangles with mine, fills me with something undefinable, unimaginable. I have never known a feeling like this, like I belong with him.
He pulls away, out of breath, but still I clutch him like he’s air itself and I won’t survive without him. Gabe Hudson is turning out to be so much more than I would have ever thought. To mean so much more to me. I swallow hard, swallow down these tangled emotions.
“I’m so glad I came to Minnesota,” he whispers.
“Me, too,” I whisper back. This time, I’m not pretending. I don’t know that I ever was. “Happy birthday.”
He laughs. “I thought that when Chris tossed me the keys to the Twister, nothing could make this day any better. Then I saw the fucking aurora borealis. And then—holy shit, Juniper. That kiss.”
My cheeks heat. This is not the time or place to tell Gabe that before that—let’s face it, life-altering kiss—I’d kissed exactly one other guy. I can’t help it—a laugh bubbles out of me, partly from embarrassment, partly from this feeling of utter and complete happiness.
Gabe tugs me even closer when I do.
“Hey,” he says. “What’s funny about that?”
“No, not that,” I say in a rush. “There was nothing funny about that kiss, Gabe.” My face heats even more. “I was thinking how you’re only the second person I’ve kissed.”
“You’re kidding,” he says. “How is that even possible? And by the way, I don’t think I want to know who the first person was. But please, for the love of God, tell me it wasn’t Ted.”
I laugh again. “No, not Ted. A guy I worked with at the nature center. He had a girlfriend the whole time, so I reamed him out and stomped on his foot for good measure.”
He laughs. “That’s my girl,” he says.
I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted anything to be true as much as that. He kisses me again, his hand reaching around to grasp the nape of my neck, and somehow we’re even closer than before.
The kiss sends a charge through me that lifts me up on my toes, a feeling as powerful as the northern lights in the sky behind me. He deepens the kiss, moves his hand to my lower back, drags a finger along the waistband of my skirt.
“Be my girl,” he says breathlessly as he breaks the kiss. “I don’t know what’s happening between us, Juniper, or where we’ll go from here, but I need to find out. I need to follow through on this adventure.”
Be my girl.
“I want that,” I whisper. “So much.”
He leans in, forehead against mine, closes his eyes. The sky glows behind us. I never want to leave this place, this moment.
He opens his eyes and locks his gaze with mine. “I’ll never forget this night, Blue. Never.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
GABE
She is everything I could have imagined and more.
She is every swath of vivid color, every glowing star, every light, every reflection.
She is every note I’ve ever played, every lyric I’ve yet to write.
With Juniper, my world is more blues than grays. More sun, less rain.
My heart is hers to do with as she pleases.
I drop Juniper off and drive the Twister into its special parking space in the garage. Chris is waiting for me in the dining room, working on a crossword puzzle from the newspaper.
“Hey, old man.”
He looks up at me, then back down to the paper. “Five across. Four-letter word for birthday boy with a shit-eating grin on his face. What’s going on, Gabe?”
“Thanks for letting me drive the 1970 Ford Mustang Mach 1 Twister Special tonight,” I say, ignoring his observation and question. I can’t seem to wipe the so-called shit-eating grin off my face, though.
“Where did you go?”
“We drove up toward Eveleth and stopped at a scenic overlook.”
“Yeah, nothing like a scenic overlook in the dark of night.”
“We saw the northern lights. That was pretty amazing.”
“Oh yeah? What else was amazing at the scenic overlook?” he asks. When I don’t answer, he keeps digging. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me? Anything at all.”
“Nope. Long day, turning eighteen and all. I think I’ll go to bed. Thanks for a good birthday.” I toss the keys to him, but he tosses them right back.
“Happy birthday. She’s yours.”
My mouth drops open. “What did you say?”
“Happy birthday. I’ve already transferred the title. You’re a good kid, Gabe. I knew the first time I saw her that she would be yours one day. I think today’s as good a day as any.”
“Holy shit,” I say, my grin widening. “That’s fucking awesome. I don’t know what to say.”
“Take good care of her,” he says slowly, locking his eyes on mine. “And I’m not only talking about the car, Gabe.”
As I climb the stairs, a thought knocks me back: The Twister’s worth three times what I need. And selling a car would be so much simpler than having to deal with attorneys or complicated real estate transactions or tools like Eric Dunbar. I could make it happen within the week.
I could make it happen, and then I would be the complete tool in this scenario.
What would be worse, though? Facing Chris’s rage if I sell his baby or having to tell him I screwed up and stole money from him?
I lie awake in bed, the brick of dread back and much, much bigger. My gut churns with guilt for even thinking about selling the Twister, and heavier guilt for taking the money in the first place. And for what? For a girl in trouble, a girl I thought I loved, who didn’t love me back. Who never did, no matter how many times she said it.
What happened at the overlook—that moment, God, I’ll never forget—is overshadowed by all the stupid shit I’ve done. And the one person I want to talk to about it is the very last person I should talk to about it.
My phone chimes with an incoming message.
Juniper: I’ve decided. My favorite of your songs is Imitation of Life.
I’d forgotten that I’d asked her that question.
Me: Really? Not Burden or everyone’s favorite ballad Fonder?
Juniper: Hmm, is it rude of me to say that I usually skip Fonder?
Me: You’re not the only one. Everyone seems to think that song is about a guy missing his girlfriend but really it’s about her cheating on him. Considering I was fourteen when I wrote it, can you guess who it’s about?
Juniper: Your parents?
Me: Yeah the day I wrote it there was this photo of Elise spending a lot of up close and personal time with her costar in Love on the Line.
Juniper: That’s awful. I’m sorry.
Me: Awful song for an awful subject.
Juniper: He’s a terrible actor, too.
Me: I’m glad I got to spend my birthday with you.
Juniper: I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift.
Me: Not to sound creepy or sappy but the time we spent together at the overlook was better than any gift anyone could have given me.
So much for not being sappy.
Me: And that’s saying something because Chris GAVE ME the Twister.
Juniper: SHUT UP
The phone rings as I’m thumbing a response.
“SHUT UP, Gabe,” Juniper says in greeting. “He gave you the 1970 Ford Mustang Mach 1 Twister Special?”
I laugh. “You’ve been paying attention, I see.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and then, “I’m always paying attention.”
“I know,” I say and then yawn. “It’s not you, it’s me. I’m exhausted.”
“Did you have a good birthday?”
“The best.” I yawn again. “Good night, Juniper. See you bright and early. But tomorrow, I’m driving you to school.”
“I’ll grab my parking permit.”
“Very practical. But I’d bet I could talk my way out of a parking fine. I know a few people.”
“See you bright and early. Good night, Gabe. Happy birthday.”
Sleep doesn’t come, so I get out of bed and take the Martin out of its case. My brain slows down after a few minutes as I work through my usual warm-up. Some Floyd, some Zeppelin, some Alice in Chains.
Then I play “Imitation of Life.” Juniper’s favorite. I don’t sing, I only play the melody. Of my own songs, I’ve probably played this one more than any other.
I didn’t know Juniper when I wrote this song, not like I know her now. She was the girl who lived on Chris’s farm, the girl he took to the Grammys instead of me, the girl I wanted nothing to do with.
Now, after only a few weeks on the farm, I can’t imagine life without her. Now, it feels like I wrote this song about her. Until I met you, mine was an imitation of life.
Tonight, there are other songs in my head, new songs, new melodies. I play around with something slow and ballady, working in lyrics, until I can barely keep my eyes open. More blues than grays, more sun in my skies, these are my days, the light in your eyes.
It’s not perfect, but I’ll get there.
When Juniper climbs into the Twister the next morning, the smile on her face is contagious and telling.
“Hi,” she says, a bit breathless. “This car smells good. Like a hot summer day. A carnival ride. Swimming in the river. Like we don’t have a care in the world.”
“Hey.” I reach for her hand and her smile grows. “We don’t.”
Today, she’s dressed like fall with her bulky orange sweater and jean skirt with crimson maple leaves stitched above the hem. Her hair is one long, loose braid, a dark burgundy ribbon twisted through.
“Did you make that skirt?” I ask.
“No, it was Mom’s from high school. I embroidered the leaves.”
I let go of her hand to trace one of the leaves and then move my hand down to circle one of her tiny kneecaps. Finally. I can touch her. Well, I think I can touch her. She doesn’t seem to mind. I slip a finger under the hem, and she swats my hand away.
OK, maybe I can’t touch her everywhere, not yet. I grab her hand again and trace my thumb across her knuckles. She sucks in a breath.
I’ve kissed a lot of girls. I’ve even slept with a couple. But nothing compares to holding hands with Juniper Bell in the Twister, thinking about that kiss last night at the scenic overlook.
“Blue, I—” I start, but stop myself before I pour out my entire heart, how everything’s changed, how I want to spend every waking moment with her and probably every sleeping moment, too. Tell her about the song I was writing late into the night. Tell her about Marley and the money.
I’ve been so stupid is what I should say, but I don’t say that, either.
“What?” she asks, and she must sense my apprehension. She turns toward me, giving me her full attention, and squeezes my hand, encouraging me.
“I missed you,” I say quietly, and even though my eyes are on the road, I know she’s still looking at me. I feel it. “I mean, I know it’s only been a few hours since we saw each other, but I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” she says. “So much. Deer on the left.”
I slow down as the young fawn leaps across the road. It’s good to have Juniper looking out for me.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
JUNIPER
I was nervous to see Gabe this morning. But then he held my hand and was so sweet to me and said that he missed me, and I admitted that I missed him, too.
Is it strange to miss someone after being apart for only a few hours? Separated by only fifty-two Norway pines?
The drive to school doesn’t take long enough. I tuck my parking permit into the corner of his dash as we pull into the lot. My phone buzzes before Gabe turns the engine off.
Amelia: Excuse me! UR in Chris’s mustang? WTH
Me: Library in 3 minutes
Amelia: OMG u kissed him didn’t u
Me: Be cool Amelia!
She is definitely not cool. She’s practically bouncing up and down at our regular table in what’s affectionately known as the Dictionary Room, where someone has usually opened up the large dictionary on the display stand to a page with one (or more) vulgar words. We’d met here yesterday, too, so that she could tell me all about her date with Ted: They argued most of the drive there, shared each other’s meals (chicken tetrazzini for Amelia, walleye sandwich with onion rings for Ted), walked along the harbor after they ate even though it was drizzling, and kissed in the rain at the lighthouse on the end of the pier.
“So,” she says, squealing, “was it as romantic as mine with Ted? Like, one day apart! What are the odds?”
I grin. “Yeah, I think it was.” I tell her and she squeals again.
“Do you still think he’ll want to sell the farm someday?”
“Not sure,” I say. Honestly, even though yesterday was the day that it could potentially happen, I haven’t thought about it. “I think the farm’s growing on him.”
“That’s reassuring,” she says and smiles. “You took the advice from The Godfather: Part II to heart, then? Keeping your enemies closer?”
I’m hit with a surge of guilt for that plan. But I tell myself that if I hadn’t done it, we wouldn’t be where we are today. Would we?
Gabe and I skip lunch and take a walk through the horticulture gardens, almost all of which has been harvested except for a few pumpkins and winter squash. The rich, earthy fragrance of any garden centers me. I think about The Secret Garden, how it brought new life and energy to Colin and his father, brought them out of their grief, and healed Mary, too. I know the healing power of working in the earth with my hands, bringing things to life, and ultimately creating a feeling of pure joy. I want Gabe to feel that, too. I tell him as much.
“Well,” he says, “I’ve got that big test coming up in Horticulture on Thursday. Maybe you can help me study? I’m sure acing that test will bring me joy.”
I elbow him. “Since when are you so concerned about your grades?”
“There’s this girl I’m trying to impress.”
“Well, I know one way you can impress her,” I say.
“Oh, reallllly?” he asks with a grin. “Do tell.”
My cheeks flush. “That sounded dirty.”
“I liked it.”
“I meant by knocking that e-biz presentation out of the park tomorrow.”
“With your brains and my inherent charm and stage presence, it’s a done deal.”
“And at the end of the week, we’ll celebrate.”
“Yes. With an adventure. Let’s skip school on Friday and go on a hike up to Kawishiwi Falls,” he says. “You up for it?”
Kawishiwi Falls is about an hour and a half north of Harper’s Mill, just past Ely. I’ve never been there.
I grab his hand. “Life with you is always going to be an adventure, isn’t it?” I say the words without thinking—life, always. So serious, so long-term.
“I hope so,” he says. He backs me up against a maple tree at the edge of the garden and kisses me, sweetly and quickly. Then he gently caresses my face, trailing his fingers from my ear to my jaw. He smiles, and in a moment when I think I could lose myself in that smile, I realize that I can find myself in it, too.
That night after dinner, Gabe and I move into the living room to run through our presentation. Gabe has spent the last couple of weeks capturing footage around the farm with his phone camera. He put together a movie trailer—complete with original score on acoustic guitar—while I worked on the presentation deck. In class today, we connected his laptop to
the projection system in class. We’ve gathered props—mostly items we sell at the farmers’ market and a couple of Mom’s smaller felted wool projects.
We’re so ready for this presentation, in fact, that we close the laptop and turn on a movie instead.
“I don’t want to hear one word about who you know in this movie or which song on the soundtrack is yours,” I tell him as I snuggle in next to him, a blanket across my lap.
Gabe laughs. “I promise. I won’t drop any names. And I don’t have a song on this soundtrack, so we’re safe. Go ahead, forget I’m a celebrity.”
I smile and rest my head on his shoulder. I won’t ever be able to forget that wherever he goes, people will know his name, his music. But tonight, I’ll try.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
GABE
Our presentation goes off without a hitch. The trailer plays without any technological glitches and gets a round of applause from our classmates before we even get to the meat of it. Juniper and I nail our lines, working together to illustrate how Field & Flock is profitable, engaging, and timeless. And it has a pretty cool name.
Everything I’ve learned about starting up Field & Flock I’m thinking about for Stone & Wool, too.
My Horticulture test does doesn’t go quite as well, but who cares? I’ve convinced my girl to make the leap to skipping school—not that it took much convincing.
Since I’m eighteen, on Friday morning I call in my own absence. Juniper somehow convinces Laurel to call her in as well. Not long after, as Juniper and I are loading our cooler and first aid kit into the trunk of her car, I get a text message from Janie in the office at school: You’re not fooling anyone, Gabe Hudson. Tell Juniper hi.
We listen to Led Zeppelin on the drive to Kawishiwi Falls so that by the time we arrive at the small trail parking lot, Juniper can pick a favorite.
“This is a tough one,” she says. “I liked a lot of them. But I think, since you’re basically forcing me to choose a favorite, I’ll go with ‘The Battle of Evermore.’ I like the story. And the mandolin.”