Eve

by Anna Carey

Page 27

  I thought back to an eight-year-old Arden, telling everyone of the birthday parties her father threw her, how he’d built her a tree house, how they just had to get “situated” in the new City before she could join them. Arden had seemed so alive then, so animated.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed. “I’m so sorry. ”

  Part of me wanted to get up, to get away, but the hurt in her eyes seemed real, the apology genuine. Yes, I had imagined reunions with my mother that would never happen. But I also had memories, keepsakes to turn over in my mind. How she had lifted me to hang candy canes on the Christmas tree. How we had painted with our fingers. Unlike Arden’s stories, mine were real. “I’m sorry, too,” I said, still unable to look at her.

  We both sat there for some time, our shoulders touching as we watched the boys enjoy the raid. “I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . ,” Arden said, finally breaking the silence, “. . . thank you. ” She stared straight ahead and pulled the thick green sweater around her neck.

  “For what?” I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

  “For saving my life. ” Arden turned toward me. “I’ve never had anyone be so . . . kind to me. ” Tiny tremors rippled the skin of her chin, and then the tears spilled over her bottom lids.

  I pressed my palm on her back to steady her. I wasn’t used to seeing her upset. She was supposed to be the one who refused to cry. The one who killed rabbits. Who never once complained of her illness.

  “It’s okay. ” I patted the back of her head, working the black tangles from her short hair. “You don’t have to thank me. You would have done the same for me. ”

  Arden raised her head and nodded slowly, as if she weren’t quite certain of that fact. “I didn’t even know where I was sometimes. I just remember you combing my hair and washing my face and—” her voice cracked.

  I pulled her into a hug. “It was nothing. Really. ” I felt her breath in my ear, choked with something wet. Her chest heaved beneath me, and I realized how hard she was crying. Her tears seeped through the wool of my sweater, slicking the skin of my shoulders. “It was nothing,” I repeated.

  “I know. ” Arden sniffed hard, not meeting my eyes. She pulled away, her hands wiping at her cheeks, blotting the skin around her hazel, bloodshot eyes. “I know. ”

  During my life at School I always had Pip or Ruby by my side, calling me to supper or straightening my skirt when it was crooked. But for days in the wild, only the birds spoke to me. The stream was the only hand that touched me, the wind the only breath that blew the dust from my eyes. I learned the strange art of loneliness, the weathered yearning that swells and passes, swells and passes, when you walk a trail alone.

  But Arden had long mastered it. In School, out of School. For too long.

  I rested my hand on her shoulder, knowing then that I had misspoken—it wasn’t nothing. To Arden, it was everything.

  Chapter Twenty

  WE STAYED LIKE THAT, WITH ARDEN’S FOREHEAD ON my shoulder, until Caleb called out from the piano. “Come on you two,” he said. “Stop being such . . . girls. ” He shot me a mischievous grin, his eyes shining.

  Berkus, an older boy with shaggy gold hair, was playing “Heart and Soul,” a remnant from his childhood. It was a simple tune with staccato notes, unlike the complicated chords we learned from Teacher Sheila, their sounds held by pressing the pedal. Michael and Aaron stood behind him, drumming their fingers along with the melody, bobbing their heads every so often. Even Leif’s normally sullen stare was softer as he hunched over the piano, sipping contentedly on his beer.

  I pulled Arden up. “You remember the Viennese waltz, don’t you?” I asked.

  During most classes, Arden had scribbled across the top of her notebook, making unrecognizable blobs in the margins of the page. But there was nowhere to hide when we danced. Every girl was partnered, every girl expected to keep her chin up, arms firm, as she glided across the lawn.

  Arden’s lips were still pressed into a line, but she let me pull her toward the piano. Berkus started the song again and I positioned my arms, gesturing for her to cradle her hand in mine. Caleb paused, his head cocked to the side, as he watched us. Then we stepped forward, the boys parting as I led her around the room, stepping lightly past the shelves, back straight, laughing.

  “Heart and soul,” I sang, “I saw you standing there, heart and soul, you look just like a bear. ”

  “Those aren’t the words!” Arden laughed. She let her head fall to the side, giving in to the turns. The boys cheered when I dipped Arden effortlessly to the floor and clapped when I spun us around in place. When I took her across the room, darting toward the kitchen, a serious expression seized her face. “About before—” She glanced over my shoulder at Kevin, who had ventured out onto the floor, beer in hand as he made a clumsy pirouette. “I think I’m still a little out of it, and that emotional stuff, it’s probably just a side effect of—”

  “I know,” I interrupted. “Don’t worry about it. ” There was a long pause, the piano notes ringing between us as we waltzed back toward the boys, our steps slower than before. Then she offered me a grateful smile.

  When we spun our last spin, buoyed by the music and cheers, Caleb came toward us, gracefully stepping through the room. Behind him, Michael and Charlie were attempting wild moves, Michael spinning around the floor on his back.

  “Can I have this dance?” Caleb asked. He extended his hand, palm up, waiting for mine.

  “I don’t know—can you?” I challenged, unable to resist myself. It was that silly grammatical slipup the Teachers always called us on in School.

  Caleb took my hand in his own and gave it a firm tug, pulling me toward him. The boys hooted behind us. Aaron brought his fingers to his lips in a loud whistle.

  “I guess I can. ” He smiled as my body pressed against his.

  I rested my chin on his chest as Berkus gave up “Heart and Soul” for a slower, more tentative song. The heel of Caleb’s hand fit into the small of my back, resting on my spine. His breath warmed my neck. He wasn’t a bad dancer, but it seemed strange to have someone lead me around the floor. I had always determined the steps, the direction—sent my partner off into quick, elegant spins.

  “Are you glad you came?” he whispered in my ear.

  The boys kept their eyes on us for a while, until they realized there would be nothing to see, only swaying back and forth, and the occasional step to the side. It was not the grand performance Arden and I had put on.

  “I am,” I said.

  Berkus gave up his spot at the piano and climbed out onto the porch. A few others followed, along with Arden, and they all headed to the makeshift pool outside.

  “I’m glad you came, too. ” Caleb adjusted his body, moving closer so I fit in the grooves of his form. My eyelids lowered, the storehouse disappearing from view. I felt only the warmth of his chest next to mine. It would be so easy to stay here, like this, to spend the days in the dugout and the nights on raids with Caleb. The visions kept coming to me whenever my mind quieted, the images piled one on top of another. Arden and I would take care of Benny and Silas, making sure their hands were clean, teaching them to read and write. We’d work with them until they were scrawling full paragraphs across the mud walls and explaining the themes of A Winter’s Tale. With their new skills, the older boys could start organizing, sending out messages to other escaped orphans, and making further plans with Moss.