Here

by Denise Grover Swank

  “Really what?

  “Watch Lifetime. I’m not a Lifetime kind of girl.” Our conversation from last night rushes into my memory. Maybe the key to figuring out who I am is to not think about it too much.

  “So what did you end up watching?”

  “A wedding dress show.”

  He laughs and tosses his backpack on the table. “All right then, don’t tell me. How far have you gotten?”

  “I’m on the second assignment. Twenty more to go.”

  He pulls his textbook out of his backpack and stops to stare out the window. “The colors are so… amazing.”

  I glance up. “Oh, the trees. Yeah, I guess so.”

  I expect him to start working, but he remains frozen. “Are they always this beautiful?” He asks, his eyes wide in awe.

  “The trees? They’re the same trees every year."

  “They’re like this every year?” Disbelief drenches his words.

  "You act like you’ve never seen fall leaves before."

  He snaps out of his daze and smiles, but it looks forced. "Of course, I’ve seen leaves before. I just haven’t seen them here."

  "They’re the same everywhere. Besides, are you telling me you don’t ever come to the library?"

  His mouth lifts into a mischievous grin. “Nah, I’m not a library kind of guy.”

  “Could have fooled me. You seem to be spending a lot of time in them lately. So what kind of guy are you?”

  He half-shrugs. “I don’t know, just a guy.”

  “Nope, that’s not good enough.” My playfulness catches me off guard, but I go with it. “Let’s play a game. You say the first word that comes to mind about yourself when I say go.”

  “Ok-ay.” He draws the word out as though he’s still undecided.

  “One word about you. Go.”

  “Humble.”

  I laugh out loud and library patrons eye us with suspicion. “No, seriously,” I lean my head closer to his and say in a hushed tone. “I answered you last night. It’s only fair you answer me.”

  He tries to look serious but smirks. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

  “Close your eyes this time. Maybe it’ll help.”

  His eyelids sink closed and the right side of his mouth forms a lopsided grin.

  “First word about you. Go.”

  “Driven.”

  I smile. His answer is no surprise. “Was that so hard?”

  “Can I open my eyes now?”

  “No, one more.” I’m amazed to be this close to him and take advantage of the opportunity to study his face. His dark eyelashes are striking against his pale skin. A small scar crosses the bridge of his nose and stubble is scattered across his cheeks and chin. My heart skips as I breathe in his scent. He smells like laundry soap and a hint of autumn leaves. He’s extraordinarily beautiful, although I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate the adjective choice. But his attractiveness is a reminder there’s no way he can be interested in someone like me without a reason. Sadness seeps into my heart, but I accept it for what it is. Reality.

  He shifts in his seat. I’ve taken too long.

  “Clear your mind of everything. Your mind is completely blank. Now tell me one word about you. Go.”

  “Sad.” His eyelids open. I’ve moved far too close to him, our faces a foot apart. Tears blur his eyes and his mouth lifts into a half smile.

  I can’t imagine why Evan is sad. I consider ignoring his response but can’t ignore the dejection on his face. I whisper, “We’re going to fix that.”

  My cheeks burn as I wonder what possessed me to say such a thing.

  His eyes fill with longing and I think he’s going to kiss me, right here in the library. Instead, he swallows. “I think I forgot my pencil in the car.” He looks out the window. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t go anywhere.” He stands and disappears before I can offer him my extra.

  I worry he’s going to leave, but his half-opened backpack lays on top of the table. Fingering the zipper on his worn, army-green canvas bag, I wonder what made Evan so upset.

  My gaze lifts to the trees bursting with fall colors. They’re beautiful this time of year, and although I have to admit the view here is gorgeous, his reaction seems odd, along with his sudden interest in me. There’s no denying it’s more than his compulsion to tutor me.

  The chair beside me scrapes the floor and Evan sits, slightly subdued and his face blotchy. He pulls out a notebook and opens to a blank page.

  I almost ask if he found his pencil, but we both know that’s not why he left. “Do you have work of your own?” I ask. “Because I don’t need help with this part.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of my own homework.”

  We spend the next hour working side by side. When I’ve finished three trig assignments and can’t stand any more, I close my textbook. Evan looks up. “Done?”

  “With trig, for now. The math portion of my brain is mush.”

  “Moving onto history?”

  McCarthyism and the Cold War isn’t calling out to me. “No, I think I’ll work on English Lit. I have some stories to read.” I study his face. His eyes are soft and his hand slides closer to mine. My heart melts as my guard flies up. I’m not sure I should trust him. “Tell me a story about yourself.”

  His shoulders jerk and he sits straighter. “What?”

  “If we’re going to spend time together, tell me something about yourself, other than the obvious.”

  “Obvious?”

  “You know like you’re popular, you play football, and date cheerleaders. Tutoring the social outcast doesn’t fit with your M.O., so tell me something to make me trust you.”

  His eyebrows knit in confusion. “M.O.?” He releases a loud breath. “A story, huh? Okay. Hmm…” He taps his pencil as his gaze wanders to the trees then back to me.

  “It has to be about you.”

  He laughs. “Okay. Once upon a time—”

  I raise an eyebrow with a sarcastic grin.

  “It’s a story, right? It needs to start like one.” He leans closer, folding his hands together on top of the table as his voice softens. “Once upon a time there was a little boy who loved a little girl. They were in the same kindergarten class. He was determined to make her notice him so he teased her mercilessly, but it only made her hate him. He was about to despair since he knew that this little girl was the love of his life. His life would be incomplete without her.” Evan’s eyes mist.

  “How could he know that? He was only in kindergarten.”

  He lifts his mouth into a tight grin and picks at the corner of his paper. “Some things you just know. Anyway, one day he noticed another boy push her at recess and he ran over to stop him, but the girl had already shoved the other boy to the ground. But she saw the boy run over to help her and she smiled at him. He was a goner.”

  “Who was the little girl? Sarah?”

  He scowls with a snort. “No.” He looks up into my eyes. “The girl left him for awhile and he was devastated. Then one day, he found out where she was.”

  “Did he go to her?”

  “He moved heaven and hell to get there.”

  “Who is she?” I whisper.

  But he only looks at me until he clears his throat. “Nope, that’s my story. You never said I had to mention names.”

  “That wasn’t about you and that was the rule. It had to be about you.”

  “I assure you it’s about me and if you think about it long enough, maybe you’ll figure out who she is.” He leans back in his chair. “Time to get back to work. Let me know if you need any help.”

  I scour my brain, searching for memories of Evan but they’re all fuzzy. I still doubt his truthfulness but realize he’s not going to volunteer any answers right now. I pull out my notebook and it falls open to a page full of my drawings.

  Evan leans forward. “What’s that?”

  Covering it with my hand, I slide it toward my backpack. “It’s just doodling. I started doing this after the a
ccident.”

  He reaches for it and stops. “Can I see?”

  I hesitate. No one’s seen my drawings. But the gentleness in his eyes is reassuring and I slowly slide it toward him. “Sure, it’s just doodles. I don’t even think about it when I draw. It just flows out.”

  He pulls it closer to look, then sucks in his breath. “You don’t know what this is?”

  “No. Do you?”

  His face is paler than usual and after a moment of hesitation, he nods.

  “What is it?”

  Evan scoots the notebook between the two of us. “See this? It’s a Celtic love knot.” His finger traces a scroll design in the middle. The lines on the page are so intricately woven it’s difficult to make out. Finally, two elaborate interwoven hearts jump out, one upside down on the other.

  “I didn’t even know I was doing this,” I whisper. “I can’t believe I drew that.”

  “Why not? You’re an artist.”

  I purse my lips and shake my head. “No. I don’t know why I said that last night. I wasn’t lying, though. It just slipped out.”

  His lips part as he stares at me in disbelief. “But you can draw. Look at this.” He points to the paper.

  “No, I only started doing this after the accident. I could never draw anything before.”

  He sits back in his chair in silence.

  “You said this was a Celtic knot. I thought Celtic knots were three interwoven triangles, not two hearts.”

  After a couple seconds, he sits straighter. “Um…” He rubs a hand over his face. “Celtic knots have lots of different shapes and styles. Triangles usually represent the Holy Trinity. This is a love knot, which is why it has two hearts. The lines don’t have a beginning or an end. It represents a timeless love.”

  “How do you know about Celtic knots?”

  He pauses, then, for the first time since he saw the page, he smiles. “I’m Irish. Part of my heritage.”

  “Whittaker doesn’t sound very Irish.”

  “I’m Irish on my mother’s side.”

  “Lucky you. I’m German. You get St. Patrick’s Day and Celtic folklore. I get wiener schnitzel and sauerkraut.”

  The smile disappears. “You’re different.”

  Dread creeps in. “I thought that was obvious.” My words are clipped.

  “Wait. That’s not what I meant.”

  Pulling the notebook away, I close the cover. “That’s okay. I know what I am.”

  “And what exactly do you think you are?”

  I heave a sigh. “A freak.”

  He grabs my chin and turns my head to face him. His eyes narrow and he looks angry. “You’re not a freak and don’t you let anyone make you think you are. You’ve been through hell.”

  The courage to ask the question burning in my gut erupts. “Why now, Evan? Why notice me now?”

  He searches my face. “Because it took me this long to find you.” His hand drops and he turns his attention to the window. “I’m going to call it a day. If you have any problems, give me a call.” He stands and is gone before I can say anything.

  I stay at the library for two more hours, only paying partial attention to my English Lit reading and continuously looking over my shoulder, half expecting Evan to show up. He’s not coming back. You scared him away.

  But his words run through my head.

  Then one day, he found out where she was.

  Because it took me this long to find you.

  …if you think about it long enough, maybe you’ll figure out who she is.

  How could I be the girl he was looking for? I never left and neither did he... wait. He did. He was missing a couple of days last week. My imagination runs wild before I rein it in. Evan tutors me. Nothing more, nothing less. Of course, after this, he might not even show up on Tuesday.

  I go home and dig out my kindergarten yearbook, flipping pages until I find my class. My finger flies through the pictures, searching for Evan’s name. Nothing. I turn the page and find him in another class, with Sarah. To my annoyance, disappointment courses through my veins.

  I go to bed and relive the afternoon in my head, trying to remember every nuance. It all comes back to me flying my freak flag in front of him. Of course, he tried to make me feel better. Turns out that Evan Whittaker’s a nice boy after all.

  My pillow bears the brunt of my frustration in my vain attempt to get him out of my head.

  Sleep is impossible until I resolve this. I turn on the lamp next to my bed and dig the cell phone out of my backpack. The paper with Evan’s phone number is in my drawer.

  I stare at his number, hoping it will tell me to forget this foolish idea, but the paper only mocks me with silence. With a groan, I punch his number into my phone and my thumb hovers over the send button.

  I can’t do it. I can’t call him.

  Instead, I go to the text screen and compose a lengthy text in my head, explaining my reaction, but in the end, I only type two words.

  Sorry – Julia

  My hand grips my phone for what seems like forever, waiting for him to reply. Defeated, I turn off the light and crawl under the covers.

  Just as I begin to doze, the phone vibrates with a text.

  Jules, don’t say sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. Sweet dreams.

  And for the first time in months, they are.

  Chapter Seven

  My semi-return as a functioning member of society means that I’m expected to attend church. Mom beams when we walk in, her family once again intact, even though we couldn’t be more distant if we sat on opposite sides of the sanctuary.

  To my relief, we skip the tradition of eating out after church and head home for sandwiches. Anna goes to a friend’s house when we finish, and my parents disappear for their Sunday afternoon nap. I shut myself in my room and pull out my trig book.

  Halfway through the first problem, my phone vibrates with a text message. I check the screen but already know who it is.

  What are you doing?

  Trig, I text back. What are you doing?

  Calculus. Having any problems?

  My stomach seizes. I want to see him and consider lying, but I type, No.

  His reply takes longer than I expect. Okay, I’m here if you need me.

  With a sigh, I work on my math problem. If he wasn’t so nice, then maybe I wouldn’t like him so much.

  Fifteen minutes later, he sends another text. Do you really not draw?

  No.

  But you’re talented.

  I doodle.

  Have you tried?

  Other than doodling? No.

  I work on another problem, obsessively checking my phone for a new message. Nothing.

  My mind wanders to the Celtic love knot on my page. How could I have drawn it and not known? I don’t remember ever seeing one but must have and forgotten. My subconscious found it buried somewhere and put it on the paper.

  I pull out my notebook and flip to the page Evan looked at. Now that I know it’s there, the love knot is obvious, like an optical illusion that jumps out of a picture. The hearts are mirror images of one another, and are composed of lines that intertwine in multiple places. They seem hopelessly tangled. Around the hearts are a group of scroll designs, scrolls and arabesques. Nothing else jumps out at me, but it doesn’t mean nothing else is there. I’ve drawn these things for months and never noticed the hearts before.

  Turning to the previous page, I search for the love knot. The first one could have been a fluke, but within seconds, I spot another one. Nearly identical to the first, it’s in the upper right hand corner. Scrolls and curving geometrics frame this one as well, but are slightly different. Page after page contains Celtic knots.

  If I’ve sketched hidden love knots, what else have I drawn? I look for five minutes and see nothing. Evan found the knots so maybe I can convince him to look again. The only problem is that I want to know now and won’t spend time with him until Tuesday afternoon.

  Patience has never been one
of my best virtues.

  I lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling. This should freak me out, but instead, it’s oddly comforting. My doodling means something. My subconscious must be trying to tell me something. What it has to do with two hearts representing a timeless love is beyond me.

  I sit up and finish my page, completing six trig assignments this weekend. That’s a lot of math for someone who doesn’t particularly like it.

  When I wander to the kitchen to get a drink, angry voices drift from Mom and Dad’s room. The door is closed but snippets of sentences drift through.

  “She’s been making a real effort,” Mom says.

  Dad’s voice comes through, sounding weary. “Things have to change.”

  Mom becomes exasperated. “She’s trying. Can’t you see that?”

  Dad is silent.

  My face ignites with shame for eavesdropping, but the fact that I’m the topic of their conversation makes me nauseous.

  Dad is giving up on me.

  My head is fuzzy with worry as I get my glass of ice water and go back to my room. Sinking on the bed, I stare at the dent in the wall. The one the picture frame made several days ago. The frame still sits on the bedside table and Monica’s face smiles at me, convicting me of my crimes.

  Down the hall a door bangs followed by my mother’s shouting. I jump up and open my door a crack. Dad walks into the hall carrying a suitcase.

  Mom stands in the doorway, gripping the door jam with white knuckles. “Don’t you do this, John. Don’t you abandon us.” Her anger pierces the tense silence.

  He stops in the living room and slowly turns to face her, suitcase still in his hand. His lip quivers and his voice cracks. “I can’t do this any more, Miranda. I’m sorry.”

  “What am I suppose to tell the girls?” Tears saturate her words.

  He looks at the ceiling and exhales. “Tell them I failed them.” Then he walks out the front door.

  Mom sags into the door, sobs pouring from her body as she falls to the floor in a puddle. I watch through the crack, unsure what to do.

  This is my fault.

  I rush to her and drop to the floor, throwing my arms around her heaving body. She pulls me into an embrace and buries her face in my hair. Mom’s body collapses on my shoulder as she cries. My hair is wet and sticks to my neck. Cramps seize my back, but I steel myself to be strong for her. As she settles down, her grip on my waist loosens. I lean my head against the door frame and close my eyes, desperately searching for a way to help her. My hand lifts to her head and I stroke her hair like she’s done for me a million and one times.