by R. R. Smythe
I extend my hand to him. He eyes it, one eyebrow raised. A lopsided smile breaks as he slips his hand into mine, allowing me to help him out of the water. It’s shaking.
Superman does have a Kryptonite. Good to know he isn’t made of stone, after all.
The rest of the tour finally catches up. One man asks, “Should I call 9-1-1?”
The mother and I both shake our heads. She responds, “He’s okay. We’ll go to our own doctor to be sure.”
“Let’s get you back to Orchard House.” Morgan gently guides the woman through the crowd.
I take the two younger children by the hand, following in their wake. The toddler’s eyes are already drifting shut, his head resting against his mother’s shoulder.
****
That evening
Beth is hovering, stoking the fire. The quiet house is like a balm on my irritable nerves. She places another blanket on both mine and Morgan’s shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, Beth.”
“Mia, it wasn’t your fault. You aren’t responsible for other people’s toddlers. I don’t know what that mother was thinking, anyway.” She eyes both of us, her eyes lingering on Morgan. “I’ll go make you tea, yes?”
She bustles into the kitchen.
One blanket drapes over both our shoulders. I feel the heat rolling off Morgan’s body. The whispers urge me closer, under his arm. I refuse to budge. A harsh anger grits my teeth. I’m furious.
Morgan’s eyes finally leave the fire to look at me. One eyebrow rises in question. “What, Mia?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s something. You look about to tear my throat out.”
“I…” I clear my throat. “Why aren’t we friends?”
He shrugs and looks forward. “I don’t need friends.”
“Everyone needs one friend.”
His eyes flick back to me. They’re reluctant, like a barrier rumbles, wanting to lift.
He scowls. “People here don’t understand me.”
“What? It’s not like you’re a foreign exchange student.”
He smiles. It’s an ugly thing. “I am, after a fashion.”
I push off the quilt and stand. “Seriously, quit with the cryptic crap. Just ‘speak plainly’, as you love to say.” My fingers use the quotation marks, mocking his frequently used phrase. “And what’s with the way you talk? I think you’re taking the character acting to an extreme; it’s like it never leaves you.”
His lips twitch. “Is that so?”
Ugh. He’s impossible. “Yes, it is.”
I move to leave and he catches my arm. His thick fingers could circle my wrist twice.
Something in his expression shifts. “Sit down, Mia.”
I glare at him.
“Please?”
The whispers moan to be near him. My anger leaves in a rush, leaving only exhaustion. “Fine.”
I sit roughly.
He gently replaces the blanket around me. “You’re still trembling.” His arm lifts tentatively and then rests on my shoulders. I relax under its weight. The whispers hum like kittens.
From behind, Beth’s footfalls enter and pause; she’s undoubtedly having a stroke that I’m not only quiet, but in his arms. They pad away quietly.
His voice is in my ear, deep and husky, as I’ve never heard it. “What’s really wrong, Mia? Why are you so angry?”
Hotness flushes my face and I speak through my teeth. “Because I’m tired of being weak. I couldn’t even run. I couldn’t save him. I. Hate. Being, being…”
“Dependent?” He finishes my sentence.
“Yes. It sucks.”
He pulls me closer, till our sides are touching. “I imagine it does. You remind me of one of my sisters. Willful. Independent. Headstrong.”
My mind takes flight with my beating heart. I don’t want to be your sister. I want you to want me, like a man wants a woman. Like this ridiculous, insatiable need I have for you.
And it suddenly hits me. How lonely he must be. Are all of his family dead?
I bite my lip, terrified he’ll resume his guard. “Do? Do you miss her? Your sister?”
“Terribly.” His smile is tight, but his eyes are still warm. “Maybe I could use a friend, after all.”
I want so much more. But it’s a start. I smile back. “Just one.”
He smiles in earnest. “Just one.”
Chapter Nine
A Heart Divided
I feel awful today; every movement’s like swimming upstream. Since the collapse in the shop yesterday and the death-wish-toddler-tour, I’ve felt breathless and light-headed.
Claire’s tray clatters down next to mine, and she leans closer to be heard over the cafeteria noise. “Mia, hon, you look awful. Go home.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“You aren’t fine. And honestly, I don’t want to try out my new, mad CPR skills from health class. Why are you being so stubborn?”
I sigh and turn back to my fries, trying to blend in. Lately — this hasn’t been a problem.
I run through the embarrassing conversation with Beth from last night, trying to block out Claire’s prattling. Prattling? Where’d I get that? Too much Austen.
Beth threatened (and I didn’t think she was capable of threatening) to fire Morgan and I if we couldn’t keep our hands off one another.
Or our lips, or any other body part. She also promised to tell my parents if it happened again. Especially at work — where we were scaring her patrons away.
Morgan walks through the cafeteria, sweeping past my table without a glance. I flush with irritation.
Claire notices. “I thought you two were…”
“I don’t know what we are,” I snap.
He’s in gym shorts, and every eye in the cafeteria is ogling his deformed calf. It looks as if an animal bit and removed the outer muscle, leaving a barely-covered, stick-like bone in its place. And the skin… is discolored, darkened.
Morgan sits down beside the new kid, Calvin. The first black kid in this all-white school. They already look to be best buds as Calvin flashes him a wide smile. Well, at least he’s accepted one friend.
“Has he ever told you what happened to his leg?” Claire asks, not taking her eyes from it.
“No, he’s too busy swinging from his wild desire to suck my face off to not speaking to me for days at a time.” My hands ball into fists.
Apple struts past, hanging on Steve’s arm like some dangly man-purse. Her gum popping grinds my last nerve.
“That’s disgusting,” I say, loud enough for her to hear.
She stops dead, dropping her arm from Steve’s. “No, that’s disgusting.” She jabs her manicured nail toward a tiny bit of my scar poking out at the top of my shirt.
Claire quivers in her seat and shoots to standing. “You are a pathetic piece of plastic. How much did those cost?” Claire points to Apple’s double D’s.
“Maybe Mia can use my doc for her scar.” She smiles tauntingly.
Everyone within earshot is staring.
Humiliation burns down my face, like hot tentacles, spreading across my neck and chest.
“You stupid—” Claire steps forward.
“I got this, Claire.” I stand up and step forward, not thinking, not seeing.
I want to smear that perfectly made-up face to match her insides. Screwed up and ugly.
I cock my fist.
Claire’s mouth drops open as she leaps out of the way.
Apple’s face twists from haughty to fearful.
Steve barks, “Mia, don’t!”
Warm, calloused fingers close around my wrist, restraining it.
He whispers in my ear, “Good-humored, unaffected girls will not do for a man used to sensible women. They are two distinct orders of being.”
The anger melts from my body.
I drop my arm, and my jaw.
How could he know I love Austen, almost as much as Louisa? And now he’s quoting her to me.
The conversat
ion with Claire echoes from before.
My eyes brim with comprehension — that I’m the sensible woman that Jane Austen spoke of — and Apple… is Lydia. From Pride and Prejudice.
Silly and stupid and selfish. Without common sense and never thinking of others.
“You’re better than that, Mia.” Morgan’s eyes are concerned, not judgmental. “And I saw the Austen quote on your mirror, in your room.” Answering my unspoken question.
“Yeah, you’re better than that!” Apple cackles.
With the threat of my raised fist gone, her haughty posture is restored and she saunters off. Steve trails behind her, still shaking his head, stealing backwards glances at me.
“I wouldn’t have believed it, had I not seen it,” quips Claire.
I’m still angry; I can’t seem to control it. “Yes, this doormat’s been lit on fire.”
Teachers are turning to look now. The lunch attendant picks up a clipboard and is making a beeline directly for me. Great. Detention. Another first.
Morgan gives my hand a little shake, demanding my attention. “Have you read the book I gave you yet? A Long Fatal Love Chase?”
His question sidetracks me. He’s doing it on purpose. I’ve forgotten all about the book, it’s shoved under my bed at home. “No.”
“There’s a mystery in it. See if you can figure it out.”
“What do I get, if I do?”
His mouth pushes to the side, thinking. “Mask off.”
My heart flips, landing a somersault in my stomach. “Mask off? For keeps?”
He smiles, “Yes.”
“What about the tunnel?”
The mask returns, his hand tightens on my wrist. “What about the tunnel?”
“There’s something wrong with it. You know it, and I know it.”
He laughs. “That one is non-negotiable.”
“We’ll see about that. What about Bronson Alcott?”
His eyes leave my face, staring behind me. “Not a chance.”
“Ms. Templeton. If I see you even threaten to strike another one of your classmates, it will be detention for a week. Do you understand me?”
Mr. Hickey and his horn-rimmed glasses are visibly flustered that his once-favorite English student is now a candidate for UFC.
“Yes, sir. I’m so sorry, sir.”
He pivots, heading back to the teacher pack.
I turn to further question Morgan, but he’s gone. I look around the cafeteria. Nowhere to be found.
I slump beside Claire. “You okay, champ?”
“Shut it.”
I spear a piece of lettuce, shoveling it into my mouth. Claire eyes me warily. “Mia, you hate salad.”
I stop, mid-chew, at the revelation. “I do. I did… I guess I don’t anymore.”
****
After School
I finish hitching the buggy to Charlotte and Bronte. Bronte whinnies, shaking his black mane in protest.
They haven’t drawn a carriage since… my mind ticks off the months.
A year or more? No wonder he’s irritated. He’s way out of practice.
When my heart took its last dramatic splutter, plummeting me from the top of the cheer pyramid into full-on illness, all my horse-related activities came to a halt.
I crawl up on the seat and flick the reins on their hindquarters.
A movement in my periphery shifts my attention.
The curtains flutter in the upstairs bedroom. My eyes flick up, but don’t catch, what I know is my mother’s clandestine stare. She’s off today, which means she’s making me mental with her hovering.
She’s nervous. Doesn’t want me doing this. Or anything else for that matter.
She’s going to have to deal. This new heart has given me a second shot, and I’m diving into this life wringing whatever drops of joy it’s willing to relent.
I snap the reins again and they pick up the pace. The clip-clop of their hooves and the low grind of the wheels against the pavement provide a rhythm for my heart, calming it.
I hear the whispers. They’re humming and I try to ignore the tune.
The battlegrounds drift past on either side as the setting sun glares off the white war monuments.
I click my tongue. “Ha! Charlotte!”
Charlotte automatically trots, forcing Bronte to keep time. Farms whizz past, making me dizzy.
White fences, rolled bales of hay, and the bray of horses are so familiar, so comforting that, for a precious moment, I feel normal.
The school comes into view where the outdoor play practice is already underway.
Mr. Connelly spies the carriage and waves me forward.
I smile. The English teacher is so very chic; he’d look more at home on the streets of New York than Gettysburg.
He’s different, too. Probably another reason I like him so much. And say yes to his pleas for help, despite wanting to just hide in my bedroom after school.
“Great! Just in time. Mia, I need you to instruct the leads on the horses’ commands.” He smiles widely.
He treats me like any other student. Never cuts me slack, never looks at me with pity.
“Fine. Where do you want them?”
“Over here.” He gestures behind a massive, white tent.
I angle the carriage in the direction of his outstretched finger. The carriage turns the corner, and my stomach bottoms out like the downward pitch of a roller coaster.
Apple. And Steve. They are the leads?
“You have got to be kidding.”
“Ironic, I’m afraid.” I start at the voice and see Morgan on Beth’s white mare, Pilot.
“What are you doing here?” I say, more hostilely than I intended.
He eyes the carriage. “I’ll wager the same as you. Teaching these non-horse folk how to fake it.”
I grin and nod. I can’t help it. “I’m amazed Connelly drew you out of your self-imposed exile.”
His eyes flare and dampen quickly. “Yes, I like him, despite myself. I had a wonderful horse back home. Had him since birth. He was perfectly trained, almost like I didn’t need words or, or—”
His mouth snaps shut. I realize this is the most animated I’ve ever seen him, and the least surly. He realizes it too. And now he almost looks guilty.
For what? Being happy for two whole seconds?
“Morgan, Mia, this way.”
Connelly motions us over to the happy couple. I resist the urge to spit.
Apple’s blue eyes widen on seeing me and a wicked grin splits her lips.
The she-jackal.
Steve fidgets uncomfortably; his eyes darting from me to Morgan to Apple and back.
Mr. Connelly points to the two of them. “Take it from the top. When you’ve finished, help Apple up into the carriage. Morgan and Mia will have a one-on-one with you two later, but since we have it, let’s do the carriage scene.”
Connelly stalks away, oblivious to the powder keg he’s ignited.
I walk to Charlotte, holding her reins to keep her still.
Katie, a freshman, walks over to me, brandishing a script. “So you can see where we’ll need the horses and what days you’ll have to be here.”
I nod and glance down at it. I hear Morgan dismount; feel his stare burning the side of my face.
“We’re on page fifteen,” she prompts.
I flip it open and glance at the dialogue. My eyes zero in on the word ‘kiss’.
I grit my teeth. It’s only a peck. And it’s not like I honestly care where Steve puts his lips, anyway.
“Oh, Charles,” Apple says.
I roll my eyes, convinced her post-graduation destiny lies on a bad daytime soap.
She flashes me a meaningful glare and moves in for the kill.
Their lips meet. Steve attempts to break the kiss, to move on with the scene. But Apple’s hands wrap in his hair, holding his face to hers.
Her mouth opens as she presses harder, willing him to obey.
Steve resists at first, but quickly
melts under her unrelenting fire.
Connelly yells from his seat. “Cut!”
Nothing. Apple tilts her head, playing with Steve’s hair, kissing him feverishly.
“Didn’t I say, Ms. Jones, this was my concern, casting you two together?”Connelly’s irritated. “I suggest you stick to the script, or you will be replaced.”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I motion to Katie. She comes over quickly and I thrust Charlotte’s reins in her hand.
“I need a drink. Could you hold her?”
“Sure, Mia.”
I stalk past them into the white tent and over to the refreshment table.
“Are you alright?”
I turn. Morgan’s biting the side of his mouth, and his eyes are tight. “They really are dreadful. Both as actors and as people. The good news is — they’re perfect for one another.”
I laugh. It feels a little bitter, but good. “Yes, you can say that again.”
I hand him a soda. “Tell me more about your horse.”
He smiles, matching my bittersweet expression. “He was—”
“Black with a white mane?”
Morgan’s face drains and my hand flies to cover my mouth.
I saw it… in the vision before I kissed him. The words flew out of my mouth without my permission.
“How?” His fingers roughly grip my shoulders and his eyes pierce mine, searching. “How did you know that?”
I blush and feel vertigo threatening. “Am I right?”
He turns to go, stomping through the tent, back toward the horses. He throws me one last dark look over his shoulder before ducking out the exit.
Fantastic. Let the ignoring resume.
“Stupid,” I mutter and follow his path, preparing to suffer till the scene is over. And then I have to instruct the princess how to ride like a commoner.
****
Next day
I sigh, blocking out the fiasco of a half-hour spent with Apple. Luckily, Connelly supervised our encounter, so her barbs were just a whispered few when he wasn’t watching.
I push her ugliness from my mind.
My fingers tremble, thinking of Morgan’s note, surreptitiously slipped into my backpack. It merely said, ‘Please forgive me for my behavior yesterday. I’m sorry. I have a surprise. Meet me after school behind the barn.’