Pieces of Hope

by Carter, Carolyn

  “Good. I’m glad,” I snapped, carefully avoiding looking at him.

  He took me back to a terrible moment when he said, “That’s when my mother went missing. I lost it. You had to have heard about it. It was all over the news.”

  “You didn’t even bother to tell me about it!” I shouted, still averting his gaze. “It was exasperating! You didn’t let me help you!” I made a mistake and looked at him. Something smothered me. My lower lip trembled.

  “Biggest mistake of my life,” he repeated, shaking his head. “It wasn’t a conscious decision to ignore you. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I know I hinted at times that things weren’t great at home. I should have told you the whole story.”

  Though I suspected he was making it up, I mumbled, “What story?”

  His eyes narrowed as he spat, “John Hartlein—it disgusts me to call him my father—used to beat my mother so often that she kept a packed suitcase hidden in the trunk of her car, just in case she ever got the courage to leave him for good.”

  My one trip through John Hartlein’s body came rushing back—an intense hatred and a desire to harm Daniel flooded my senses in present time. And what—what was it Hartlein had thought when he passed through me? The hair on my arms stood up. Anyone, I thought, would run from a man like that. Though Daniel was capable of lying, I could see in his eyes that he was telling the truth.

  I was relieved when the disturbing memory passed as quickly as it came.

  “How awful . . . for both of you,” I muttered, suddenly feeling miserable for him. “Did he, I mean, did he ever—?”

  “Hit me?” He looked at me as if to say he wouldn’t dare. “My mother protected me when I was younger and as I got older, he knew better than to try. I told him once if he even thought about hitting me, he’d better make it a good one because I would kill him before he got in a second punch.” Daniel was breathing rapidly. His last few words were nearly inaudible. “I still would.”

  I reached out to comfort him. Daniel remained frozen, but along his ribs I could feel his breathing settling down, and without really thinking about it, I pulled him closer. This was once so easy between us. I missed him more than I had realized. His body was still so familiar—lean and lightly muscled. Daniel used to hate it when I said he reminded me of an Abercrombie and Fitch model with a sharper edge. It messed with the image he had of himself as a moody, rebellious artist.

  “I know you still love me.” He wrapped his arms around me as his body relaxed. I felt his breath on my neck. “You can’t deny it forever.”

  Coming to my senses, I dropped my arms, appalled at my behavior, and took one step backwards. “Daniel, too much has happened since then. I love—” I love Ethan I started to say, but I couldn’t hurt him like that so I changed it to, “I loved us once, too, and we were great together, but like I said—”

  “Too much has happened.” There was laughter in his voice.

  Suspicion crept into my tone. “What are you playing at—”

  “Give me today, Hope. Give me a last goodbye.” He was begging, but there was a glimmer in his gray-blue eyes. Then he added pitifully, “Don’t you owe us that?”

  “You’re exasperating!” I huffed. “And stop looking at me like that.” He flashed a hint of a smile. “If I don’t agree, I suppose you’ll just keep trying?” A brief nod followed. Through my teeth, I muttered, “Well, since I have no choice . . .”

  “I’m irresistible, aren’t I?” He smirked, but I didn’t think that he was joking. Daniel had the wildest imagination of anyone I’d ever met so, better judgment aside, I did feel a tiny jolt of anticipation that prickled down to my toes as he said this.

  He spun me back around, facing the sea, wrapping his arms around me again. The breeze was strong, a perfect day for kite flying. Perhaps I was so preoccupied earlier that I had missed it.

  “As I recall,” Daniel said, “you aren’t much of a fairy tale kind of girl.”

  He had obviously been spying on more than one of mine and Ethan’s dates—at the waterfall, and Ireland—and this question was reminiscent of an earlier one from Ethan. If I’d wondered if Daniel Hartlein was over his jealousy, I knew better now.

  “I hate Cinderella,” I told him. He lifted his mouth into a crooked grin. “But you already know that. That story messes girls up for life.”

  He howled with laughter. It was a bit much, I thought. Plus, I wasn’t joking.

  “I remember,” he said, still laughing. “But I’ve been giving some thought to the idea of princesses being rescued by knights . . . usually in shining armor.”

  “You have? That’s a little weird, Daniel, even for you.”

  He laughed again. Definitely overkill. Where was he going with this?

  “Actually, I’ve been thinking . . . what if there was a twist in the in the tale? What if the damsel in distress didn’t end up with the glossy, shiny, perfect knight? Wouldn’t it be a far more interesting story if she chose the dragon instead?”

  Glossy, shiny, perfect knight? Was he talking about —?

  “That’s not the way the stories go,” I argued, knowing that he was Ethan bashing.

  “You don’t like them, anyway,” he reminded me shortly. “Remember?”

  I opened my mouth in reply, then snapped my teeth together. Something fluttered in a fresh breeze. I caught a flash of red and raised my left arm. A long trailing sleeve, open to my elbows, danced in the wind. To my shock, I saw that I was wearing a blood-red floor-length gown—the fashion equivalent of fantasy vixen meets fairytale princess. The velvety fabric clung to my body until it reached my upper thighs. From there it billowed out, puddling around my feet. Lifting the long skirt, I stared in disgust at my feet. I wore ballerina-style flats with thin ribbons attached to them. The ribbons crisscrossed up my legs and tied just below my knees.

  I gave him a look that could frighten the dead. Instantly, I morphed back into my T-shirt and jeans.

  But the moment I dropped my arms, the sleeves began to flap again.

  “Stop doing that!” I tugged awkwardly at my T-shirt as it returned, probably more of an attempt to hold onto it than anything else.

  “I wanted to see you in a dress. You never wear one. I thought about a short one, but for modesty’s sake, I thought a long one would be better.”

  Once again, my sleeves fluttered. “Modesty’s sake? What do you—”

  “There are alternatives,” he suggested slyly.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I warned, fearful that my clothing might disappear in the next instant. “So, what of this idea of yours . . . dragons and such? Were you actually going somewhere with it or was that just an ADD thing?”

  I would have sworn I felt him smile.

  I heard an odd whooshing sound and felt strong blasts of wind billow from behind us. It was strong enough to push the hair into my face and rustle my stupid dress around. I was afraid to look, afraid that what my gut was telling me was right—that I had a darn good reason to be frightened. But Daniel was here with me, my logical brain kept saying, and he would protect me—he would—unless he was the source of the problem . . . . And maybe, heaven help me, that’s really what I was most afraid of.

  Craning my neck slightly, I caught the briefest glimpse of enormous leathery wings that were the color of dried-blood. They had long, lethal, dagger-like tips. His imagination had surpassed my expectations. Sprouting dragon’s wings? What, were we about to go flying or something? A chuckle threatened to surface.

  “Okay, this wasn’t among my top thousand guesses, but I have to hand it to—”

  Daniel leapt from the cliff. We plummeted down at an alarming rate, the crashing waves rushing up far too swiftly to meet us. The sound of my deafening scream bounced off the massive stone walls. My hands clawed into his as I held on for dear life, squeezing my eyes shut tight.

  “Stop screaming,” Daniel encouraged. “Nothing can happen to you here.”

  We began leveling off, travelling outward rather
than downward. I slowly became conscious of what that loud whooshing noise was now. At first I’d thought it was the echo of a distant scream in my ears, but then I realized it was from those enormous wings billowing in the breeze.

  “And open your eyes,” he said with a laugh. “You’re missing the view.” I inched one eye open, but refused to relinquish my grip. “Ouch.”

  I glanced down at saw that his hands were bleeding.

  “When did you grow fingernails?” he asked.

  “Sorry.” Through chattering teeth, I extracted my nails.

  “Open the other eye, Hope. I’m sure that girl must have told you about this place, that nothing can hurt us here . . . you know, the one that follows you everywhere you go.”

  “Not everywhere,” I insisted, agitated. “And yes, Creesie told me.”

  “But you don’t trust it?” he guessed. Or was he was reading my mind?

  “That’s not the point. The point is I want you to put me down. I’m afraid of . . . of heights.” It was lame, but I was flying! Who could think straight?

  “Hope, you climb like a monkey on steroids. I’m the one who’s afraid of heights.”

  “Put me down!” I was growing weary of his childishness. “Put me down. Now!”

  “Now?” he asked, slightly amused. I could guess how funny he thought this was—me in a ridiculous dress, trapped by his wild imagination as we flapped around the Cliffs of Moher on dragon’s wings. “Right now?” he questioned. “You sure you don’t want to—?”

  “Now, Daniel! Right now! Are you suddenly deaf?”

  “Whatever you say,” he agreed easily. “But I don’t know why you’re being such a chicken.”

  His arms released me and I fell like a stone toward the sea. The waves, rising like angry wet fire, swelled and crashed below me. Right up to that last second, I thought that Daniel was going to save me. I’d heard that hitting water from great heights was a lot like crashing into concrete. I couldn’t muster enough courage to scream so I relied on my old standby and closed my eyes. If I were about to die, I didn’t want to see it coming.

  Then, at the moment of impact, I plunged into feathery softness—down, down—down? Feathery softness? Chicken?

  Sprawled flat on my back, I opened my eyes and started to speak. Something was stuck to my lips and tongue. Hurriedly I pulled it from my mouth, examining it as I sat up, then fell back down again. I could see that I was sitting in an enormous pile—easily fifty feet high—of chicken feathers. Astonishment, then anger rushed to take its place.

  “Not funny!” I looked up. Daniel was still flying languidly over my head, an absurd smirk upon his face. “Get me out of here!” I shouted, pulling more feathers out of my hair.

  I heard a tune. It repeated several more times. It almost sounded like a phone. As I searched for the sound—digging first in the feathers, and causing more of them to stick to me—I knew where it was. I lifted the hem of my skirt. From the crisscrossed lacings that ran up my leg, I yanked out the phone. I had a text message that read:

  If you want out, you’ll have to sprout your own wings and fly. 3 back 3.

  “You and me through eternity?” I shouted, angrily throwing my fist in the air and flailing in the huge pile of fluff. Spitting feathers, I said, “I’ll kill you long before then!”

  He dove straight for me—a dreamy apparition even in my distressed state—wings tucked up neatly behind him, his naked chest bared to the wind. The long pointed tips of his wings extended several feet above his head. When he was only a fraction of an inch from our noses touching, he arced up gracefully, taunting as he passed, “First, you’ll have to catch me!”

  “Ughhh!” I screamed, struggling like a small flightless bird in my feathery cage.

  And that’s when it came to me. This shouldn’t be that hard, I thought. It was, after all, all in my head. Of course, knowing something was in your head was one thing. Doing something about it, quite another.

  Daniel drifted further and further away. Even with my spectacular vision, he was almost a speck on the horizon. I could hear the waves crashing around me. From my high perch, it looked as if he had cut out a small circle in the sea to protect me. That was good, but also terrible. Daniel might take all of eternity to return. And so, with limited options, I forced myself to concentrate.

  If this worked at all like returning to the Station, it should be a piece of cake. This thought made me hungry which, in turn, made me think of the café which then made me miss my new friends—so I changed that thought to—It should be a breeze. Not as easy as I’d first guessed. Distractions were becoming, as Creesie had predicted, the norm.

  I tried to visualize my new wings, but got hung up on the specifics. For one, I had no idea where they should go. Attached between my shoulder blades—or higher? Too low and I’d end up with a permanent downward tilt. Too high and they might not support my lower half. I agonized on the structure as well. Should they be firm but feathery? Translucent but tough? And last but not least, the color was a problem. Blue—too traditional? White—too angelic? Red—too bold?

  “Speed it up!” I heard Daniel say, though he wasn’t anywhere in sight. “You may be a perfectionist, but we’re talking about wings here . . . not a cure for cancer!”

  I settled on crimson to match my gown—what can I say; it was growing on me—tucked between my shoulder blades, and finely veined. I couldn’t feel them resting there, but the instant I wondered how they looked, one of them stretched out to the side for me to see. As far as wings went, they were stunning. Translucent, not feathery. Much shorter at the top, but extending in a long, narrow tip at the bottom. Unlike Daniel’s—pointy and masculine—mine were smaller, delicate-looking, and with softly scalloped edges.

  “Hope!” Daniel called just over my head. “Stop admiring your handiwork and get to flying. You’re missing the fun!” Despite knowing that I would never get used to people hearing my thoughts, a giggle escaped me.

  Feeling a bit like a baby bird, I couldn’t wait to test my wings! I tried to stand in my loose pile of feathers, but failing that, I bent forward at the waist to give my wings room to spread. They made a slight snapping noise as they opened. Without me giving them much thought, they began to move—flutter, really—more like a hummingbird’s wings than an eagle’s. Soon I was off my perch and zipping around the sky in circles.

  I flitted over to Daniel, then stood immobile in mid-air before him, my tiny wings gently humming as his loudly whooshed. The view was spectacular, better than the one from the land. From here, you could see hundreds of layers in the centuries-old stone—reminding me of frosting in an enormous chocolate cake. The cliffs sliced straight down to the Atlantic where the deep-blue waves lapped relentlessly. Here and there, the Brad Pitts of the bird world jumped from isolated perches into the cold waters below.

  “You like it, don’t you?” Daniel flashed a diamond-bright smile

  I sighed. I did and I didn’t. The living weren’t supposed to be able to sprout their own wings and fly. And despite appearances, I was very much alive.

  Hearing my thoughts, he said, “You have a choice, you know.”

  “Choice?” I choked. Which one?

  In mid-air, he bent down on a single knee, wrapped his arms around my legs, and looked up at me earnestly. “Be my eternal angel, my love. Stay with me. Here. Forever.”

  Oh. That choice.

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Daniel. I’m no angel and this isn’t heaven.”

  “It’s all hell without you,” he said as he clung to me. “Besides, being with you is as close to heaven as I’ll ever get.” It was hard to take him seriously. Most of the time, he wore a nearly permanent smirk upon his boyish face.

  I pushed his arms from my legs and zipped backwards fifty feet. He laughed as he beat me there. I crashed into him, my wings bending in his embrace, but before he could get a good grip, I fluttered off again. Several times I zigged, believing Daniel would zag, but he beat me every time. While playing this game of fl
ying Tag, it occurred to me that it might be fun to stay here. Guilt seized me immediately. Had I forgotten so easily about Ethan?

  Daniel caught up and flew alongside me. I couldn’t get past him.

  “Ask him when you see him.” Daniel’s expression turned dark. “Ask him if he’d stay with you here. My money’s on no.” I flew into a cloud, popped out the other side. Daniel waited a few feet ahead, then slowed to match my speed. “I bet he’ll make up some noble excuse—something about valuing life or something else equally lame. But the truth is, when you get right down to it, he’s just a selfish coward.”

  “He is not!” I shouted. But my voice betrayed my doubts. I wanted Daniel to shut his big mouth. I wanted to get away from him and clear my head. I flew faster, but couldn’t lose him.

  We flew many miles over nothing but the vast ocean. I spotted several enormous blue whales as they journeyed to their destination, blowing water, the little ones chugging alongside their mothers. Daniel knew how much I loved this stuff. For our day together, he hadn’t overlooked a single detail.

  Eventually, we turned back inland, my thoughts drifting to wishes I had no right to wish for. “I can help make your wish come true,” Daniel announced, startling me.

  I glared at him, hating the small part of me that wondered if he could.

  “You shouldn’t poke your nose in people’s thoughts,” I snarled. “That’s private!”

  “You’re right,” he said, surprising me a second time. Daniel rarely agreed with me. “But I understand better than you know as to why that one wish is so important.” He caught me in his arms, gently crushing my wings. Immobile, I watched his enormous leathery wings rise and fall through the air, easily supporting us both.

  I bristled, but he had my attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I have a feeling my mother didn’t run away. I can’t imagine her ever leaving me on purpose. I think John Hartlein”—he paused, and I felt his grip tighten—“killed her.”

  “What?” I gasped in horror. “Your father is a sheriff, Daniel . . . and she was his . . . his wife, the mother of his only child.”