Within a few musical bars, Enko and Jennifer owned the dance floor. Gil and Lynette were good dancers and looked mighty fine on the floor. But Jennifer and Enko were better than good. Enko knew how to show Jennifer off at every turn. As a couple, they were riveting. No one else was worth watching. Gil was impressed.
At the end of the set the emcee called out, “Let’s give a hand to our royal couple!”
Kids clapped. Many claps were directed to the king and queen. But even more went to Enko and Jennifer. Enko bowed to Gil and Lynette. Gil bowed in return and swept an arm out to encompass the nominal king and queen, who pretended not to understand what was going on.
The room understood. Whoever might be wearing the crown that evening, Gil was the king, and Enko was his right-hand man. Gil placed a friendly hand on Robert’s shoulder. Robert beamed.
The rest of the evening centered on them. Kids watched what they did—when they chose to eat, or decided to dance, or sat out a song. If the homecoming king and queen felt upstaged, they didn’t let on. After all, Gil and Enko were the school champions.
The dance ended at midnight. The limo had been rented till two a.m.
“I heard there’s a party at Stone Orchards,” Gil said.
Everyone at the table was game. A bubble of good humor followed them into the car.
Located in the north of town, the orchards were part working farm, part autumn attraction for the pick-your-own crowds that mobbed the place on weekends for hayrides, pumpkins, apple picking and a corn maze. When the limo pulled into the driveway, all the buildings were dark.
The driver stopped in front of the shuttered snack bar. “Where next?” he asked.
“Let me check it out,” Gil said. “It might be in the back.”
“I don’t want trouble,” the man said.
“There won’t be trouble,” Gil said. “I’m just checking it out.”
They spilled out of the car and gathered around picnic tables by the parking lot. The moon was bright, and it felt festive.
“They have an outbuilding this way,” Gil said. He pointed around back toward the orchards.
“I’m not walking there in heels,” Amy said.
Robert crossed his arms. “My father’ll kill me if I damage his tux.”
“All right, I’ll take a look and be right back,” Gil said.
Enko didn’t say anything but followed. A dirt footpath led them to signs pointing to the trees for the pick-your-own crowd. Gil ignored them and headed for a row of trees that had been cordoned off.
“I didn’t hear about any party,” Enko said.
Gil ducked under the rope. “That’s ’cause there isn’t one.”
Enko stood on the other side of the cord. “Then what are we doing here?”
Gil paused. “Haven’t you ever wanted to pick apples when no one else was around?”
“Pick apples?” Enko said. “You’re kidding, right?”
“When I was little, my mom used to bring me here every year. I’d look forward to it—it was the highlight of our fall. But we were always forced to pick from one or two rows of trees, and I always wanted to come back here and go down the good rows.”
Enko stepped back in disgust. “There are five people expecting a party, not some pathetic apple-picking gig.”
“And we’ll give them one. We’ll pick a few apples, tell the guys we didn’t find the party, head over to your place and have fun. Just like we planned. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”
Enko stood firm. “Don’t you have to pay for what you pick?”
Gil huffed, exasperated. “It’s only apples.”
“Gil—”
“This isn’t a big deal. Just keep me company, okay?”
Enko hesitated, then lifted the rope to follow. But the orchard was dark, trees shading the moonlight. Within a few feet he slipped on an apple on the ground, barely avoiding a fall.
“We’re in dress shoes!” he growled.
Gil didn’t turn around. “Don’t be such a wuss. We’ll be done in a minute.”
He led the way. None of the trees in that area had apples—at least none within easy reach. They had been picked clean.
“Let’s try the next row,” Gil said.
He stepped between trees to get to it, but no fruits were there, either. They tried a third row, and a fourth.
By this time their pant legs were wet with dew. They had both repeatedly stepped on rotting apples, slid and had to catch themselves. When Enko lost his footing yet again and landed sideways, he rose, dusted himself off, and turned to head back.
“Where are you going?” Gil demanded.
“This stopped being fun a while ago.”
“Wait! The next row is full. Look!”
And it was. Trees overflowed with fruit! Gil had no idea what kind of apples these were. He wasn’t even sure of their color. But he picked at least half a dozen and handed them to Enko.
“What the hell are you doing?” Enko demanded.
“Getting some more. That way everyone walks away with apples.”
Enko looked down at the apples he cradled in his arms. “This is a bad idea.”
“Chill. I’m almost done.” He held on to even more apples than Enko. “Okay. Let’s go.”
As they approached the picnic area, a bright beam shone in their direction. It came from a flashlight held by a police officer. The driver stood next to him, backlit by headlights and red and blue flashes. The other kids huddled to the side, Jennifer’s arm around Lynette’s shoulders, Amy being comforted by Robert.
Crap!
“You. Here!” the officer ordered.
It was too late to drop the apples. Gil and Enko walked deliberately toward the group.
“What’s up?” Gil asked.
They deposited the apples on a table.
The officer was an older man who had probably seen more high school pranks in this small town than he cared to remember. He directed the flashlight beam up and down Gil’s suit.
“You tell me,” the officer said.
Gil knew he had better play this right. He made a show of looking sheepish. He explained that he had hoped to find a party. He had been sure there was an outbuilding back there, but he couldn’t find any. “The restroom’s closed. And I kind of needed to take a leak. Then I slipped on some apples.…”
Enko gave a pained look that said, “Lord knows that kid needs to grow up.”
Gil continued the story, feigning embarrassment. They were surrounded by trees and thought they could mitigate everyone’s disappointment by bringing them a few apples. “There used to be a scale on the side,” he added, pointing to the darkened store. “We were going to leave money in the door.”
Enko smiled in agreement.
That did the trick, of course, Enko’s smile. The officer didn’t exactly soften, but you could tell he was amused.
He took down everyone’s name and address, checked the driver’s license, then spent time talking on his radio in the police car. No one looked at Gil. Enko’s face became blank.
When the officer finally emerged, he handed the driver a slip. “The owner won’t press charges. But I have to file a report in case he changes his mind.” He tilted his head toward the limo and addressed the kids. “Now get outta here. You’re trespassing. And you,” he said, addressing Gil and Enko, “leave the apples here.”
The driver crushed a cigarette into the pebbles. “They’re going home now.”
No one argued.
Robert was dropped off with Amy. Lynette and Jennifer were let off at their homes. Gil saw Jennifer give Enko a polite kiss after he walked her to her door. Lynette was less generous. “Next time, Gil, spare us the police, okay?” She shut her door without so much as a wave. At least she had said “next time.”
“Who’s next?” the driver asked when Gil settled into his seat.
“We go to Enko’s,” Gil said.
Enko looked at him.
“Unless you’d prefer that I don’t come,�
�� Gil added.
Enko shrugged. “My mother left me food for an army.”
They peeled off their jackets at the front door. Enko wrinkled his nose. “We really stink.”
They did—a foul combination of sweat mingled with rotting apples and something nastier that one or both of them must have picked up under their shoes.
“You can use the downstairs shower,” Enko said. “I’ll leave you an extra pair of sweats on my bed.”
Gil had just finished dressing in Enko’s room when Enko emerged from the adjoining bathroom, toweling his head. Enko reminded Gil of one of those athletes on Greek urns he had seen during a field trip to a museum. Enko’s body was perfectly sculpted. His powerful legs, flat stomach, broad chest and strong arms radiated vigor. And something animal about him added to his attractiveness. Gil understood why Jennifer had asked Enko for the date.
And then, out of embarrassment, or nervousness about the police encounter, or fatigue from a long and eventful day, or just plain stupidity, Gil couldn’t help himself. He giggled.
Enko peeked out from under his towel. “What’s the joke?”
Gil had no explanation, so he said the first thing that popped into his head. “How did you ever get so furry?”
Enko didn’t smile as he usually did when someone mentioned his hair. “It’s the way I am.” He pursed his lips, turned his back and opened a drawer.
Gil immediately wished he could take back the words. He had hurt Enko.
This wasn’t the first time Gil had said something he wished he hadn’t. But this might have been the first time he felt the pain he had inflicted. Enko was beautiful. Yet kids made fun of his hair, as if it mattered.
Gil had, too, on that first day.…
How could he have been such an idiot? He took a step forward. “I’m sorry.”
Enko didn’t turn. He searched the clothes in his drawer with violence. “No, no. Don’t be. Now I know what you think.”
“Enko—”
Enko’s shoulders folded, his head bowed. His voice was harsh. “Not everyone, Gil Marsh, is born smooth and pretty.” He turned around, holding a shirt. “Not everyone smiles and then is told by everyone around how clever he is.”
He pulled the long-sleeve shirt over his head. He grabbed pants from the drawer and stepped into them as if he couldn’t get into them fast enough. He pushed past Gil and headed for the stairs.
Gil had to fix this.
He found Enko in the kitchen, lit by the open refrigerator. Gil stopped in the doorway. Enko grabbed a can of soda and shut the fridge door quietly. Neither boy turned on the room light.
“You don’t have a clue, do you?” Enko said.
“I—”
Enko interrupted. “I’m here on my parents’ visa.” He remained quiet and deliberate, focused on the can, never once looking in Gil’s direction. “I get in trouble with the law, and they can kick me out. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And now my name is on a police report sitting in the Green Valley Police Department.”
“The officer said the owner won’t prosecute.”
“Let’s hope he’s right.” Enko popped the can and took a long drink.
Gil sagged against the doorframe. He was exhausted. He put a hand on his forehead and shut his eyes. Damn it, why hadn’t he done any thinking?
Enko walked past him on his way to the stairs.
“I’m going to bed,” he said. “There’s a couple of air mattresses and sleeping bags in the basement if you decide to stay.”
By Monday morning, everyone in school had heard about the incident at Stone Orchards. Robert, rumormonger that he was, treated it as a great joke. The story went around the Internet social networks a few times, never hurting Gil’s and Enko’s status. Gil did get some ribbing at practice about whether he needed to pee by the side of the school, but he laughed with the other boys. Someone also left a bag of apples on top of his locker—he shared those with the team. By Wednesday, it was all but forgotten.
The chill between Enko and Gil thawed more slowly.
Nationals were next week, and Coach had them on a full schedule. On Thursday it rained, and Coach restricted them to the track. “No point spraining an ankle today.” By the time they finished, everyone was soaked. “Hot showers,” Coach said. “I want to see steam everywhere.”
The disaster struck in the locker room. Gil slipped as he was dressing. A random puddle, guys jostling, who knew why it happened. When Gil got up, his leg shot out just as he put his full weight on it. His head smashed against the bench.
He woke to Enko calling, “Gil! Gil!”
“What …?” Gil asked.
He tried to stand but Coach wouldn’t let him.
“You stay put, Marsh.”
An ambulance arrived, and they strapped Gil in. He tried to stop them.
“I’m okay.” He flexed his arms and legs. “See. Everything works.”
“We’ve got to check for a concussion,” the attendant told him.
Coach followed the ambulance and agreed to take Enko along. Gil’s mother, who had been reached at her office, met them in the emergency room. Coach took her aside to explain what had occurred, while Enko kept Gil company. A couple of ambulances pulled in, filled with trauma victims from a car crash. Gil’s X-rays took lower priority and they had to wait.
Gil sat on a gurney. “What a waste of time,” he grumbled. “I feel fine!”
“Coach has to follow procedures,” Enko said.
A half hour passed, and still they waited.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Gil said. “Why don’t we just leave?”
Coach and Mom exchanged glances.
“You were out for several seconds, Marsh,” Coach said. “I can’t let you run unless the doctors clear you.”
What?
“But Nationals are Saturday! We leave tomorrow!”
Coach shook his head. “It’s the rules, Gil.”
A nurse brought a bunch of forms for Gil’s mom to complete. Coach sat with her, filling in some of the details.
Gil felt anger rising. He was going to be sidelined because he slipped in the locker room! He was in the best running shape of his entire life—this season’s times were his fastest ever. This just couldn’t be happening. He punched the gurney, hard.
He felt a hand on his arm. Enko’s.
“Did I ever tell you the legend of the ring?”
Gil scowled. “Which ring?”
Enko sat next to him, took off the ring from his pinky finger and began twisting it. It twinkled under the light. At first glance, the stone looked black, but as some of the light shone through it, Gil saw red, like dark blood.
“Your father gave it to you, right?” Gil said.
“It’s a family heirloom.”
Enko handed it to Gil, who noticed black streaks in the silver band.
Enko continued. “The story is that it was made in northern Québec by an immortal man.” He pronounced it Kay-bek, the French way.
“Immortal man?” Gil asked.
Enko nodded. “A boy had the immortal man make it for a girl he loved. But she died, and then the boy died, too. It’s all very romantic.”
Gil didn’t think so.
“But still, the ring brings luck,” Enko said.
Gil returned it to Enko. “Maybe that’s why I smacked my head instead of you.”
Enko laughed. “Maybe. The whole story is cool, though, even if it’s sad.”
“Okay,” Gil said. “Go ahead. Tell me. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
More than a hundred and thirty years ago, a settlement of rough farms and a few small businesses subsisted along the Red River, about a hundred miles north of Montreal, many days’ journey from the city. There, five-year-old Antoine Larivière fell in love with Clotilde Charette the moment he set eyes on her. She was only four, but her golden ringlets fascinated him. They bounced as she followed her mother out of church. And when the sun reflected off them, he thought she must b
e an angel.
As Clotilde grew, she gathered the curls into braids and buns and stuffed them under caps. But Antoine always managed to see the small ones that escaped to the sides of her forehead. He noticed her clear blue eyes that matched the summer sky, and her teeth as bright as a first snow.
Clotilde, for her part, thought Antoine a nice-enough boy. Their fathers were good friends, and Antoine often came when M. Larivière visited. Her mother, pious to a fault, approved of M. Larivière, since he was a regular at mass—more regular than her sometimes-wayward husband.
When Antoine turned fifteen, he asked Clotilde to marry him.
Mme. Charette objected. “At fourteen, she is barely a woman.”
M. Charette scratched his large belly. “Yes. But they can be engaged.”
Antoine was M. Larivière’s oldest son and likeliest to inherit his father’s store. A sound business, M. Charette assessed, and a place that wouldn’t be too hard on his gentle daughter.
Mme. Charette sniffed her disapproval. “He is a gangly, soft boy. He spends his time reading books!”
Reading anything other than the Bible, and that only on Sundays, was a waste of time, as far as Mme. Charette was concerned. Unless, of course, you were studying to become a priest, may the bon Dieu bless those with the calling. But the young Antoine was not cut out to be a priest, she could tell.
“Knowing to read is useful in commerce,” her husband said.
Mme. Charette allowed that, and permitted the boy to visit Clotilde on Thursday evenings. But Antoine needed to win over Mme. Charette.
He consulted with his father. “How can I get Mme. Charette to take me seriously?”
M. Larivière thought for a moment. “She has a soft spot for jewelry, not that she would ever admit it. But she’s proud of the few baubles she wears to church.”
Antoine had no money to buy a gift, but he remembered the family garnet, a red, almost black stone M. Larivière found at the bottom of his father’s hunting satchel. Story was that Antoine’s grandfather had gotten it from a voyageur in exchange for some good tobacco. The stone was perfectly round, a little flat, with a large number of tiny facets. M. Larivière kept it in a cabinet, taking it out once every decade or so to be admired. Useless, really.
Gil Marsh Page 2