The Life After War Collection

by Angela White

  I’m sure she knew how rarely I was shown physical affection, and I didn’t know how to tell her that I would need this again now that I’d had it. It was as if the entire world had vanished, leaving calm and an edge of everything being almost perfect.

  We stood there for a long time, just holding onto someone who understood how important the contact was. When she slowly moved away, (I couldn’t. I didn’t have the will power) it was as if a cloud had come over the sun.

  I realized that was her reaction, not mine. She had a deep need for me, though I had no idea why, and that sealed the deal. I had never been this wanted. I would try to keep some contact with Angie even while I was on the farm. Maybe I could sneak back a couple times a year.

  “How long will you be gone this time?”

  “Most of the summer, I think,” I answered. I liked my time away, but I didn’t want her to be hurt.

  “Early again?”

  “Yes. She sensed something, I think.”

  “And then back to the farm again come fall?”

  “Yes. She’s been talking about moving me there…permanently.”

  Angie swallowed her agony to say, “Then we’ll have this moment, at least.”

  I was lost. It was exactly how I felt.

  I know, she sent softly. It’s how I found you.

  It was a relief to know I hadn’t imagined any of it. She could read my mind and make the corn grow. She could talk to me without saying anything. She had the family curse, and I was the only one she trusted enough to tell.

  That made me smirk.

  We settled into the cold patio chairs, blocked from sight by tall bushes and snowy trees. Our eyes remained on each other in fascination. With no prying adults to observe our every expression, I stared at her pale skin and the violet orbs that had been blue a minute before. She was like a perfect china doll that I could never admit to wanting to play with.

  My gaze swept over her again, and my heart tightened. She was amazing, beautiful, and when she was older, I might beg to kiss her.

  “I’d let you.” She blushed, sparkling at me.

  I blinked in surprise. “Okay.”

  I had asked Uncle Larry some careful questions about girls during our mornings. I’d left him with the impression that I meant my soon-to-be girlfriend, Jeanie, and he’d left me with an image that filled my thoughts every night after that when I tried to sleep. He told me to be careful about age.

  “Men get old, Marcie. We age and grow bitter. Get a younger woman and be sure you really like her. You’ll be together a long time in this family.”

  Now, staring at the forbidden fruit, I thought I understood. Angie had a face that I would never get tired of.

  My chest thudded in real pain. It was a face I would miss over the coming years. There was no way my mother would let this happen and there would only be so much sneaking around that I could do before she found out.

  “I might be able to make it go away,” Angie offered sadly.

  “No!” My quick answer drained the misery from her. I really wanted to hear her laugh again, but it was a risk. Mary could be anywhere by now.

  “She’s helping your sister with her dress.”

  I was relieved to hear it and didn’t doubt the information. As we stared, there were so many things that I suddenly wanted to say, to ask, and Angie knew them all without me having to speak a word if I couldn’t figure out how to put it. It was great.

  “Yes, it’s true. You won’t tell?”

  “No. How can you do it?”

  “I always could.”

  “Born with it?”

  “I think so.”

  Which meant she had unanswered questions, yet she’d never been exposed. She was smart. My mother would have her shipped off the same day that she found out.

  I saw Angie wince and said,” Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Not your fault.”

  “Not yours, either.”

  Her eyes darkened again and I shook my head firmly. “You didn’t choose to have it.”

  She was silent, but I caught her thought.

  Then why are they so mean to me?

  I didn’t have a good answer for that. All the punishments that should have gone to my uncle Georgie were being dealt to his wife and stepdaughter. “She’s trying to run you off.”

  “Yeah.”

  My gaze swept Angie again, this time lingering where it wanted and I felt my pulse increase. Angie was a baby compared to me–at least on the outside. On the inside, she was where I was–a lonely preteen who couldn’t wait to grow up.

  “She’s searching for you.”

  “Okay.” I didn’t hurry off, though. I’d chosen this place carefully. I used to be allergic to the plants out here and I still avoided the area. It was among the last places she would search. First, she would find out if I’d discovered the dirt bike in the garage and taken it for a spin. I would, tomorrow, when it might be warm enough to stay out all day.

  I wondered if Angie had ever been on a dirt bike and she shook her head.

  “Tomorrow, down by the old tire swing?”

  “Yeah! When?”

  I thought fast and tried to account for any extra chores. “Noon.”

  We would be alone for hours, away from everyone.

  Angie grinned at me, showing those dimples, and again, her happiness jerked me into a world where only the two of us existed. It wasn’t weird, like when I flipped through the magazines in my closet, but I knew the sensations were connected.

  When she leaned over, I held my breath to keep from touching her hair.

  “I made this for you.”

  It was a grass ring, the kind you handed to a friend and then yanked the top off as a joke. Except this one had been repeatedly woven around itself until it was a solid object, able to be worn.

  My hand went out as if it was someone else. Our fingers touched…and sizzled, like ice meeting fire. I winced at a sharp flash of lightning. Where had that come from?

  “Me… Sorry. It gets out of hand when...”

  I wanted to know what she’d been going to say, but I could sense her unease with the subject. She was afraid someone might overhear.

  “Did you miss being home?”

  That was a hard question to answer, and I shrugged as I slid the ring into my pocket. “Parts of it.”

  “You don’t belong with them.”

  There it was. Honesty. And I would be expected to use it with her, I could tell. “It’s more like they don’t belong with me.”

  Angie wanted to ask if she did, and I didn’t know what to say at first. If I got a vote, she would, but my parent wasn’t going to give me one. I would have to steal it. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be better than nothing. The idea of not being around this little girl at all hurt. She’d already found a way into my heart, and I was anticipating tomorrow in a way that I knew to be wrong, but couldn’t help.

  “I’ll fit you in somewhere,” I whispered, giving her my promise. “I’ll make you a place that no one can remove you from.”

  “You promise?” Angie demanded, little hands clenching.

  “Yes, baby-cakes, I do.”

  “She’s coming!” Angie whispered urgently.

  I waved toward a gap in the bushes. “That goes back to the field.”

  Angie hurried out of sight without even a glance back, telling me Mary was here. I controlled my breathing as the patio door opened.

  “Marcus?”

  “Out here, mother,” I answered right away.

  “There you are. Why did you leave the party?” she asked sweeping the patio for signs of any bad behavior that I might be hiding.

  I bit down on a stupid remark. “I’ve got a problem. Maybe you can help me?”

  I never asked her for anything anymore and she eagerly listened to me explain that I was nervous about asking Jeannie on a date like she wanted me to do. It was the perfect excuse to use, but I hoped Angie wasn’t able to hear us. I didn’t want her to be upset and I knew
instinctively that she would be over this.

  I left that conversation ahead of the game, except for the part where I had to ask out a girl that I didn’t know. But I had to do that anyway and after I promised to try, I went to play with the seat on my new bike. I wanted Angie to be able to sit on it and reach the bars while I drove us around. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow and I spent the rest of the day in a haze of low-key anticipation that I still don’t know how I managed to hide from everyone. It felt like the guilt was plastered across my face in neon paint.

  2

  I was out of the house just after dawn, riding that dirt bike as if I was as good as the kid down the street. I didn’t know Daniel very well, but I was certain he would be there for the marathon that I was organizing through the school. I wondered if Angie would join and then realized she may not have a bike. Not many of the poor kids did. Whenever one of them got a bike, it inevitably broke from being lent out. That was one of the things I liked about the side of town that I was forbidden to trespass–they cared about each other.

  As the morning of chilly breezes and carefully timed jumps drew closer to the magic hour, I ducked out of sight of the other children who were also enjoying the day. I flew through the woods to get to the field. Only the braver kids found their way down here, for several reasons. The biggest was the rage of the farmer who owned it. Tall and lean, he was here every year without fail. We called him Farmer Brown because his skin had turned crispy under the sun.

  I didn’t know where his house was, but I assumed there would be a wrinkled wife and a few more dogs waiting there for him. Farmer Brown knew the teenagers spent hours tramping down his perfect rows and ruining his harvest totals with bonfires. He and his big hunting dog, Ticker, were regular visitors that one might run across. Ticker was as high as my waist and twice as thick. With a massive head and a long tail, he was a terror to any vegetable-loving animal or child. Except, me and a few other kids had figured out that the old tractor couldn’t run by the rougher tree line on the far edge of the field. Over the years, a large overhang of trees and wild corn plants had grown up to provide cover. Someone had put up a tire swing, and made it the place to be and meet for generations of children.

  Except Angie wasn’t coming.

  I felt the instant that something went wrong, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I lingered in the warmth of the unplowed field until 2pm and then slowly made my way toward town. I planned to go by the restaurant for a warm drink, and salvage the afternoon somehow. When I got to the main road and saw the flashing lights, I forgot about my drink.

  The house on the edge of town was in flames. The shack was engulfed and smoke billowed from it like a chimney. The heat was melting the garden and I watched the vegetables pop and sizzle in horror. I hated fire. All the kids raised by Mother Brady’s punishments did. I had a few old wounds on my feet, but there were cousins who had their entire bottoms covered in angry red scars. That type of punishment made a lasting impression.

  I spotted a cluster of kids on bikes near the flaming home, ones that I was approved to be with. Nearby was another, larger group of raggedy children on foot (the K-Mart kids) and I scanned them for signs of Angie, even though I knew she wasn’t their kind either. I’d made some subtle observations and it seemed like neither side cared about her. I didn’t understand that after my brief, unforgettable interactions.

  I joined my own kind at the edge of the police tape and listened to their chatter. I stayed quiet, like I usually did, and learned what had happened.

  “Was he in there?”

  “Who was it?”

  “Is he dead?”

  “It was that old man who worked at the plant off 128.”

  “You mean the feed production place?”

  “Yeah. He quit last year. My dad runs the front gate. He said old man Rudder was bitchin’ about keeping secrets and they fired him for stirin’ up trouble.”

  “Your dad don’t run the front gate.”

  “He does so.”

  “Does not. Tommy’s uncle runs it. Your dad orders the pizza.”

  I drifted away from the fight that always came when the two popular boys disagreed about something. I already knew that Alex would come out on top and Ricky would spend the next week telling everyone he had let the shorter boy win. It was how our lives were, except that I was growing up faster. I assumed it was because of who my family was to this town, but there was also the chance that it was related to my secret friendship with Angie. I never intentionally disobeyed my mother. It was a big change for me.

  I stared in guilty fascination as the ambulance crew rolled the cart from the side yard and moved away. I was glad when I heard my approved friends calling for them to lower the sheet so they could view his charred body. I didn’t understand why they would want to and it brought another moment of comparisons. It didn’t take long for me to reach the conclusion that I’d already come to several times. I was different.

  On a hunch, I scanned the stopped traffic that was waiting for the ambulance to pull out and found a familiar brown wagon. My heart thumped.

  I picked out Angie’s mom in the passenger seat, leaning against the window, and Georgie in the driver’s seat, appearing nervous. I peered harder, noticing Frona had a bandage on her neck and felt the hair on mine stand up. That’s why Angie hadn’t come. Her mom had been hurt.

  I saw the traffic was about to be let through and quickly wheeled my bike toward a side street. I got out of view quickly, not sure why I was upset. People got hurt all the time.

  I sped toward Angie’s home, trying to remember if I’d ever been there. I must have, because I knew she and her parents were in the front of the trailer park. Maybe I’d come here before Georgie married Angie’s mom. Was his former wife the shadowy woman I sometimes saw in my mind when I thought of the days before Angie? I knew he’d been married once before Frona.

  I skirted the main streets for the wooded paths that surrounded the tin cans. I lived on the opposite side of town and for a moment, I was embarrassed to be here.

  I forgot that feeling as I parked my bike behind a big tree and crept into the tall weeds around the trailer. The wagon pulled in a minute later and I spied on my uncle as he got out of the car.

  Georgie had always scared me a little. He was a large man with arms the size of my head. He was also noisy. Easily excited, was what my mother called it, and I’d always been careful not to tick him off. As I witnessed him grab his wife by the arm and haul her up over his shoulder, I realized that had been wise.

  The door to the trailer swung open and I listened to the words with a slight frown.

  “She’s fine.”

  “Do you want me to–”

  “No! Get out of here for a while.”

  Angie fled the trailer and Georgie disappeared inside with Frona. I expected Angie to go to the field, but she circled back right away and slipped under the trailer. I suspected she wanted to listen, but I understood what she was doing when her hand settled on the stabilizer brace.

  I ran for my bike, suddenly certain that’s what she needed. I didn’t care about trouble right then. I had to help her. There was no other thought.

  I heard the creaking of a heavy object and then a loud thump, followed by a thud and some hissing. I didn’t turn around. I swung a leg over the bike and waited with my heart in my throat. Had she gotten out from under it? Trailers were known to fall all the time, without serious damage. It usually only took a tire jack to raise them back up, but a person under there would be in big trouble.

  The instant the bike dipped slightly with added weight and arms slid around my waist, I got us rolling down the incline–without starting the bike. I didn’t want anyone to be drawn in this direction.

  Behind us, shouts came and I rolled into the woods in relief. “Did anyone see us?”

  I felt a hum of power at the same time that I realized she was clinging to me like a second skin.

  Nervous laughter burst from her. “No!”

&
nbsp; I was captured by her excitement and I started the bike with an easy movement. It came to life under us and I sped toward the cornfield with her against me. It was amazing. I never did things like this.

  “Faster!”

  I hit the throttle, taking us up to 30mph, and I shivered as she rested her hot little face on me. It felt like she was crying.

  It’s okay, she sent. I’m happy.

  Why do girls cry when they’re happy? I wondered.

  I felt her shrug.

  No idea. Why do boys like to hit each other?

  This time, I didn’t have an answer and we finished the ride without saying anything else. I wanted to wait until the bike and wind wasn’t drowning out her voice. And I wanted to gaze at her uninterrupted.

  She smiled against me again, grip tightening, and I took us up another 5mph, staying on the path that ran along the road. We flew by the empty trailers waiting for an idiot to rent them and then out onto the edge of the old highway that hardly ever saw traffic. I shot over the mill road and we both glanced at the gated driveway to the Feed Production Materials Plant. Several of our neighbors were employed there, but no one knew exactly what kind of feed materials they supplied.

  I took the path by the plant, studying the belching smokestacks curiously, and then shot down the creek line to emerge into the cornfield that would tower over both of us in the coming months.

  I drove straight to the side the farmer avoided and did a sliding halt, hoping she would like it.

  Angie rolled off the bike and into the corn, arm over her face as she giggled. “That was fun!”

  I tapped the kickstand down in the way that always made me feel cool and got off the bike. I joined her under the shaded overhang of the tree branches and stared at her expectantly. “What happened?”

  “She told him she might be pregnant.”

  I was confused and asked, “That’s a good thing, right?”

  Angie slowly told me, “Georgie doesn’t like kids much. When momma…fell down, he had to take her to the hospital.”

  I didn’t like Georgie in that moment, but no less than I already had. Hitting women to keep them in line was what my mother called home correction. She not only allowed it, she encouraged it. I blamed her. “I’m sorry.”