“We did, Mira. We were in the store too.”
“But not close up like me. No sir! Wowee, she gave it to that clerk! You should have seen his eyes.”
Mira only heard the words I gave to the clerk. She didn’t see the hundred-dollar bill I slipped into his palm. Much better than a commission, and I knew he wouldn’t want to be caught in a lie. But for a hundred easy dollars anyone can muster some creative explanations. Besides, I contributed to Mira’s humiliation as much as he did. It should cost me something too. My tab of borrowed money is growing.
Mira models her shoes, turning one way, then the other, trying to catch all possible perspectives herself. “He said these were the last pair. Probably set aside for another customer, which is why they weren’t where they should be. But he said he was sure no one was coming for them.” She shoots me a quick sideways glance. I watch her, smoothing out the wrinkles, the way she does at Hedgebrook, so no one is wrong, everyone is right, so everyone is happy. Forgiving even me. In the space of twenty minutes, she has managed to turn her world around and move on. Shoes or not, she would have done the same. No grudges. No looking back. Or maybe looking back in a way the rest of us can’t see.
24
THERE IS SOMETHING TO BE SAID for not looking back, but it has never been my strong suit. I look back every day. Sometimes other people do too.
“Will you be staying, Destiny? Or shall you turn your world upside down once again?” Mrs. Wicket was the first to ever phrase it quite that way. Or perhaps it was the tone of her voice. Or maybe it was just who I was and where I was at that moment in time that made it sound different. Will you be staying? Like I was a guest who might check out of a hotel. Like it was my own choice and perhaps the sheets were not quite to my liking.
The incident that brought about this meeting in her office was the trimming of Camille Preston’s ponytail. I had asked Camille quite civilly to stop flinging it in my face. True, it had never actually touched me, but it came close. Wasn’t the worry of it all enough to justify its departure? And the way Camille carried on. You’d think her golden tresses were actually made of the precious metal. I never saw so many tears over one silly rope of hair. As penance, and to expose her shallow preoccupation with appearances, I chopped my own hair off to within a half inch of my scalp, uneven spikes going every direction. I shoved the black locks into a lace handkerchief and gave it to her as a gift. I thought it might squelch the drama and bring forgiveness, but it only landed me back in Mrs. Wicket’s office.
Of course, Mr. Gardian, as usual, had already taken care of the main problem. Camille’s parents agreed that a check for next year’s tuition was probably sufficient to make the whole nasty affair disappear. And my seat was changed so I no longer sat behind Camille and her distracting hair in civics. But the chopping off of my own hair seemed to distress Mrs. Wicket just as much as the cutting of Camille’s.
“And now this.” She gestured at my new haircut and shook her head. “I know you’ve been here for quite a while, but I was hoping this time you might stay longer than your past schools. Look back, Destiny. Is leaving what you really want? Look back.”
I already had. I looked back as I do every day of my life. As I always must. But my vista is entirely different than Mrs. Wicket’s. I see things that no one else can see.
“Destiny? Are you listening? Will you be staying?”
Again, as though I had a choice. But she didn’t know my parents. No one ever has.
“It depends if my parents will let me.”
She sighed, knowing this was a useless road to go down. And that was the end of the matter, but before I left, I turned and said, “If it helps, I’ve retired my scissors. No more haircuts.” She smiled and nodded. It was the least I could offer to someone who cared whether I stayed or left.
25
ACROSS THE STREET ON THE NEXT BLOCK, the busyness of Langdon opens up onto a vast green expanse, a city park with towering mature trees and wide winding paths. Part of a lake can be seen through the trees. I listen to the click click click of Mira’s heels on the sidewalk. What does she mean, she knows my life has been hell? I’ve never told her anything. She’s wrong. It hasn’t been hell. It’s simply been purgatory. A limbo existence of waiting.
“Great park,” Seth says. “Did you come here when you were a kid?”
“Of course,” I say, wanting to sound as though at least some portion of my childhood was normal, but in truth, I am not sure I have ever been here at all.
And then I see it. The white split-rail fence that borders the walking path near the lake. The uneven timbers I climbed as a child. The fence that made me clutch my stomach when Mr. Gardian sent the brochure of Hedgebrook. “Of course,” I repeat, not even sure if I have said the words out loud. I cross the street and hear the others following behind me.
“There’s cars coming!”
“You can’t just walk out into the middle of traffic!”
“What about our real lunch? And Lucky’s ball?”
“Just follow her!”
I kick my Mary Janes off as soon as I reach the grass. The blades are as cool and soft as I remember them to be, and I dig in with my toes. I used to come here with my aunt Edie on her brief visits before I was sent away for good. Of course Mr. Gardian accompanied us as well because Aunt Edie was not to be trusted. At least that is what I heard him whisper over the phone to someone—perhaps Mother and Father off on one of their never-ending jaunts. He said Aunt Edie was wild and impulsive and had to be watched constantly. But she always behaved herself as far as I could tell, and her shocking red hair was always tamed into a dutiful bun when she came. Mr. Gardian kept a respectful distance so we could visit but was never too far away. She used to sit on the split-rail fence with me, our balance precarious, and we would pretend about all the places and all the people we might really be. She talked enough for both of us, because I wasn’t speaking then, but I listened to every word. I imagined, right along with her, that I was the princess in a tower, the cowgirl on a horse, and the trapeze artist in a circus. And even on my own, I imagined I was Humpty Dumpty, an unsteady egg ready to fall, and no one could put me back together at all. I was clever even then.
Mira spots a fountain, points, and I hear Seth say something, reaching into his pocket and putting coins in her palm. Handing over Lucky’s leash. Words to Aidan, something like Go. Go now. Other sounds too. A child laughing somewhere far off. And music. And Aunt Edie . . . laughing and telling stories. But not laughing too loudly so that we draw Mr. Gardian’s attention.
“Des?”
I look at Seth. We are alone. There are two creases between his brows. Where did those come from? “Want to sit down?” he asks. His words are slow and careful like I am a small child who might not understand.
I look around. “There?” I point to the white split-rail fence that borders the lake.
* * *
Seth tests the rail with his hand to make sure it will hold his weight.
“It will hold you,” I say. It held Aunt Edie. We sit on the upper rail, each of us holding a post with one hand and our feet braced against the lower rail, facing out to the lake. The breeze blowing across the lake is gentle and slow, and yet it weaves through the branches overhead to make the softest of music, like a hundred fingers plucking the stringed bows of the tree.
“Beautiful here,” Seth says.
I shrug. “Think so?”
He shakes his head. “Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Pretend you don’t care. It’s all right to care about something, even if it’s just the view of a lake. You don’t lose points by admitting that you care about something.”
I sigh and look away. “It’s a pretty view.”
“When was the last time you were here?”
“When I was eight. I came here with my aunt.”
“It’s been a long time, then.”
I nod. “Very long.”
“Want to talk about it?”
> I hear the inflection of his voice, the prodding of the word talk. He doesn’t really mean talk—he means reveal. “I am talked out, Seth.”
He grunts softly. Like he thinks I won’t hear?
I turn to face him. “Every boarding school I’ve ever been to has had their own resident expert who has wanted to pick my brain apart and talk, but I have never found talking to improve the status of anything.”
“To each his own. It helps me. I talk my way into and out of everything.”
“Oh, you mean like trash duty? Yes, your talking really helped you out there.”
He smiles and nods. “Touché.”
We sit looking out at the lake, and an orange butterfly flutters close to me. I reach out and it lands on my finger, its long delicate legs dancing along my knuckle. I watch the fragile beat of its wings, mesmerized. One small careless action, and life as we know it can unravel.
“A girl of many talents. You can even charm butterflies.”
“Are you implying I’ve charmed you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” He fidgets on the rail. “Only semicharmed.”
“Here.” I reach out my hand, and the butterfly crawls from my finger to his.
“One of a kind,” he says, looking at me and not the butterfly.
“Thank God, right?”
He smiles. I look away, and another butterfly flutters near my face, and then another. In seconds, we are enveloped in a flowing stream of butterflies, a river of flapping color all around us. Seth laughs. So do I.
“I think it’s migration season. Aidan would probably know—”
“Don’t,” Seth says. And then, in a much softer voice, “We don’t have to explain it.”
We are transported, suspended like bits of glass in a spinning kaleidoscope of wings and flashing color, and explaining it becomes as ludicrous as counting the stars, and for that moment I decide Seth is right about something too.
26
THE BOAT KEEPER’S EYES ARE KIND. That is the first thing I notice. So when Seth asks the old man if he has a life preserver for Lucky, his eyes don’t roll, but instead a small smile plays behind them and he says, “I’d be happy to keep an eye on the little fella while you’re out.”
Seth looks at me, and I nod my approval.
“Well, all right. Thanks. You’ll keep a close eye on him?”
“We’ll be best buddies. Don’t worry.” He takes the leash from Seth, and then his ticket. I watch him take Mira’s and Aidan’s tickets too. When I hold mine out for him, he stops, stares at me for the briefest moment, and his pale eyes dart away. He waves me on through without taking my ticket. I feel the cold sensation of fingers walking up the knots of my spine. His eyes are familiar. Does he know me? Or, more important, does he know my parents?
“I have just the boat for you,” the boat keeper says. “You have an hour, but I don’t pay much attention to clocks. Especially this time of year. We close up for the season at the end of the week. Take however much time is necessary.” Seth and I exchange a look at the odd remark. We follow him to the end of the dock. “Enjoy yourselves,” he says. “Stay away from the swans, though. They can get nasty if you get too close.” And then almost as an afterthought, “Any of you know how to row?”
“I do!” Mira says. Indeed, she is probably the only one among us who has ever rowed a boat, but I have serious doubts about her claims regarding that. When she and Aidan returned from the fountain, they wanted to go for a ride on the lake, pointing to the boat rentals. They had already bought tickets with money left over from the hot dogs. She had also brought along my shoes, pointing out how I had forgotten them on the grass. I slipped them on and fell in love with them all over again. I felt like a foolish twit, not for forgetting them but for liking them so much.
“You all get in, and I’ll give you a shove,” the boat keeper says. He motions to a red boat with a name lettered in gold on the side, Courage. Perhaps with Mira at the helm we will need it.
“Can we count on smooth sailing?” Aidan quips.
“No, sir. Only smooth rowing with this little bucket—and even that will depend on your skipper.” The old man winks at Mira.
She giggles and offers an exuberant salute. Aidan steps in the rowboat and offers a hand to Mira. I cringe. I hope Seth doesn’t follow suit. A simple boat ride is becoming very complicated. Mira and Aidan settle into the back of the boat, Mira on the rowing seat and Aidan in the next seat facing her. That only leaves one other seat that I presume Seth and I will have to share. A very narrow seat. Seth steps in and turns to face me. He hesitates.
“Sit,” I order, hoping to avoid the whole hand-touching scenario. “We need some ballast so I don’t go tumbling over the edge.”
“Yes, Captain,” Seth says, sitting smack in the middle of the seat. Where does he suppose I am to sit? I think I detect a smirk on his face. Mira and Aidan don’t offer any help, too amused with each other’s company to even notice.
“Scoot over. Unless you want me in your lap.”
He smiles. “Not a chance. Too much ballast.”
I sit next to him, our arms and thighs touching. Now that it is all settled and behind us, I find the tight quarters much less distressful. I can almost relax against him. It is only out of necessity, after all.
The boat keeper gives the boat a stout shove with the heel of his boot, and Mira confidently lowers one oar and flips the direction of the boat, sending us toward open water. She dips both oars and pulls smoothly. We all register our surprise.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” Seth asks.
“I spend a month every summer with my grand-parents. They have a cottage on Lake Wannapu, and Gramps handed over the oars to me when I was twelve.” She glances over her shoulder to confirm her direction. “Good thing, because by the time I was fifteen, he couldn’t row anymore—his heart, you know? But Gramps still likes to go out, and he won’t have anything to do with motors because of the buffleheads. It disturbs them. At least that’s what he says. There aren’t many at Lake Wannapu. . . .”
I listen to the even rhythm of the oars slicing through the water, the barely perceptible whoosh of Seth’s shirt rustling against my shoulder, the rattling of Mira’s endless explanation of Lake Wannapu and the buffleheads, the huffs and grunts of her propelling us across the lake, and I wonder at where I am and who I am and what I have missed because I have been afraid for so long of moments just like this, places of touching and speaking and letting others in, and even now I’m afraid, but I’m in a new place, a place where I can’t go back, a place I am being sucked to against my will, a place where a soft underside is exposed. That’s what today had done. And I don’t know if it will be the end of me or the beginning. Or maybe the end of us all. It’s possible. It’s happened before. You don’t lose points by admitting that you care about something. But it’s not points I am afraid of losing.
I allow my weight to lean slightly to the left, like the boat is jostling me. I feel Seth’s bones, his elbow, his warmth, the tightness of arm pressing against arm, the squeezing away of the space between us.
As we skim across the water, the swans the boat keeper warned us about join us, following along on either side like sentries. They are black, as dark as midnight, menacing in their color and stature, but not in their demeanor. They float like black angels, watching the waters ahead, their presence casting a silent spell over us.
Finally Seth whispers, breaking the silence. “The boat keeper was wrong. They seem to like us.”
Aidan grunts. “Today, anyway. Why am I not surprised?”
“That was my thought exactly, Aidan,” I say. “It is a rare and frightening day that you and I think alike.”
“Agreed.”
“It’s an extraordinary day,” Mira says. “And every now and then, one of those is bound to come along.”
I’m afraid Mira may be closer to the truth than she knows.
“You’re an accomplished rower, Mira,” I say, hoping to shift the conversati
on.
“Thanks, Des. I’ll be sure and tell Gramps you said so next time I see him. He takes pride in things like that.” She stops rowing, and the swans disperse, their mission apparently complete. We’re in the middle of the lake. “Should we float here for a while?”
It is agreed, and Aidan turns in his seat so he is facing me and Seth. Mira boldly stands to join him on his seat. Though her rowing may be accomplished, her grace in flashy platform pumps in a rocking boat is lacking, and she nearly topples over the side. Aidan grabs her just in time by the largest body part within reach—her backside—and pulls her to their seat. He flushes crimson and thrusts his hands into his lap.
“Sorry,” he says.
Mira hoots. “Sorry? You saved my life! And my new skirt and shoes! Imagine what the lake would have done to them! Grab away, Cowboy!” She smooths her skirt so the poodle isn’t creased and then kisses his cheek. “Thank you!” The rosy hue on Aidan’s cheeks spreads to his ears.
Yes, another realm. That is the only place I can be. The Mira I knew yesterday would never do such a thing, but maybe today we are all in a different place from where and who we were a day ago. Certainly the Destiny they all think they know would never join them in an excursion like this. I wonder about the structure of Hedgebrook, and the structure we have all built into our lives, some of our own making, some thrust on us—girders, timbers, nails, wire—sometimes desperate pieces of string that hold us up but at the same time keep us from being anything other than what we have always been.
Aidan and Mira slide to the floor of the boat, pulling their seat cushions with them, and lean back against the seat, their knees bunched up together. “A game,” Mira says. “Time for another game.”
No one protests. Mira has earned this one. “A truth-ordare game. Each person has to answer a question—any question the rest of us choose—or take a dare. I’ll go first.” I briefly glance at Seth and then turn my gaze to Mira. We lock eyes, and I feel my stomach floating somewhere beneath my ribs. Not me. Not me. She looks away, and I feel breath return to my chest. “Seth,” she says. “What made you do it? Why’d you tell Mr. Bingham about his comb-over calamity? You could have just kept your mouth shut and let him parade around with it all cockeyed for the whole class hour. Why’d you bail him out? All you got was grief from it.”
The Miles Between Page 9