Flutter

by Linko, Gina

  “I lied earlier,” I whispered. I heard him wake then, the rhythm of his breathing break.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “I lied.”

  “About what?” he whispered.

  “Well, I didn’t exactly lie, but when you asked me how this stuff affects me physically, I didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

  “What is it?” he asked, and I could see his brow furrow, his eyes squint in that worried way.

  “It’s killing me, Ash.”

  “No, don’t say that,” he said, his voice raw.

  “It’s true,” I continued. I wanted him to know everything. “I know it’s killing me. The doctors knew it.”

  We lay there in silence for what seemed like a long while. “Don’t say it,” Ash said again. As if he could will it not to be true.

  The look on his face was so pained, his mouth pinched, his brow dark. It moved me. The tears welled in my eyes, but I wiped them with the back of my hand. Ash cupped my face with his hand, pulling my chin to his face. He very slowly and deliberately kissed each of my eyes, my nose, his lips soft, warm, gentle. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling my body toward him, pressing me up against him. He kissed me again, and this was a new kiss. Different from before. This was a kiss that I could live in, retreat to for the rest of my life, measure all kisses against for all eternity. I responded with my lips, my whole body, desperate for more of him. It was like he had finally given in, let me have all of him.

  But then he pulled back, looked me in the eye.

  “I can’t,” he said, leaning his forehead onto mine. “I can’t let you be—”

  “It’s okay,” I said, suddenly desperately afraid that he would leave this cabin and never return. I put a bit more distance between our bodies, letting him know that I could resist, if I had to. “It’s okay,” I said. “This is enough.”

  Ash reached his hands out and grabbed mine. He held both of my hands between his large, roughened palms. “Go to sleep, Em,” he said. “I’m here.” Now that I was certain he was staying, my eyes gradually closed, and my breathing slowed and began to match his. Dala jumped down from the mantel then and curled up next to Ash’s head.

  He sighed deeply, I curled our intertwined hands next to my heart, and we slept undisturbed, on the cabin floor.

  Twenty-One

  When I woke up, Ash was already gone, and I surprised myself. The old me would have regretted telling him all my secrets, but I didn’t. I felt lighter because he believed me.

  Ash had left for the Wingings’ before I even had the chance to make him breakfast. There was a sketch on the table, a gorgeous sketch of my hands. It had made me giggle and I held it to my heart. I pirouetted through the tiny cabin, knocking down one of the many Dala horses, making a mental note to pick up some Super Glue while I was in town that morning.

  As I trekked my way out toward the square, I listened to the grinding crunch of snow beneath my boots. The snow had come last night, intermixed with rain and sleet, and the product was a glistening white forest with each surface covered in a zillion tiny, sparkling snowflake crystals. It was beautiful and still as I headed into the forest, onto the path worn by Ash earlier that morning.

  I wanted to get something good to cook for dinner. I wanted to get some flowers for the cabin. I wanted to go to the Broken Egg, use their Wi-Fi, and check my email. I had told Ash that I wanted to see what crazy messages I was getting from Dad. I had asked Ash if he thought they could trace my Internet connection on my laptop or my email usage. “Maybe I should just use the library again,” I said.

  “Are they the FBI?” he had asked.

  The look I gave him must’ve helped him understand that I was really in over my head. Dad was not the FBI, but I wouldn’t put it past him.

  In this beautiful morning walk, in this gorgeous December wonderland unfolding in front of me as I emerged from the forest, turning myself toward the square, I thought of Ash, how he had reacted to my secret, how he had accepted it, accepted me. I refused to give in to that tiny voice of insecurity, that tiny voice of doubt, that told me Ash was simply feeling sorry for me.

  Look at yourself, Emery. Why you?

  Last night, it had all seemed so real. He seemed so purposefully with me in every sense of the word. Almost.

  But I didn’t know. In the light of day, I caught a glimpse of my rumpled self in the diner’s windows as I walked past and had to wonder. Why me?

  I pulled his sketch of my hands out of my coat pocket. No, this was real.

  I had spent a lot of my time in this life trying to determine what was real and what was not, and I was pretty good at figuring it out. Ash was real; what was between us was indefinable, undeniable. He had yet to share his secrets with me, whatever they might be, but I knew it would come.

  If, for so long, so many things had felt like they were coming to an end for me … if for so long, I felt like I was floating, unattached to much, without meaning and purpose … now it felt like a beginning, something to peg myself to. Someone.

  I had truly given in. I couldn’t fight it anymore. What we were. What was happening between us.

  I pulled open the door to Sam’s Broken Egg, my laptop under my arm.

  Daisy came right over with a pot of coffee. “Hi, doll,” she said with a smile, smacking her gum. “You going to the Cranes’ golden?” she asked.

  “I think so,” I told her. “I’m Emery.”

  “I’ve heard. What can I get you?”

  “The Country Sampler,” I answered.

  I opened my laptop and clicked on my Internet icon. I had to see if they were onto me, if we needed to move on.

  We. I had just thought in terms of the plural pronoun, we.

  I smiled at that thought.

  Daisy came back then with my order, and before I even realized it, I had eaten practically the whole thing, the biscuits, the grits, the bacon, and one of the two sausages. I hadn’t eaten so much in a really long time. If Gia was here, she would have been pleased. She was always on me to eat more.

  I quit stalling then and opened up my email. Fifty-three messages. Most were from Dad. I quickly scanned each of the earliest ones. They began with short messages. Where are you? Or, What is going on, Emery? Then, Please get in touch with us, Emery. Next, Your team is worried.

  Your team. Not your dad. Your team.

  It figured.

  I skipped down to the last email from Dad, and it was longer, explaining that he was sorry he’d driven me to this, explaining that he would listen to me, blah, blah, blah. But it was like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and when I got to the end of the email, I realized I was right.

  We have a new theory, Emery, one that needs to be protected. Don’t make me involve the authorities. Dad.

  A new theory. It needed to be protected. I didn’t need protection. It. And then, of course, a threat.

  And I knew he meant it, and I knew he didn’t mean just the Greater Ann Arbor Area Police Department. He meant more than that. He had connections, and I felt scared.

  I felt dark and unsure. And damn my father for his ominous emails and secrets and his inability to see beyond the science.

  I never should have come here and checked my email.

  “You looking for Ash?” Daisy had come back to refill my coffee.

  “Um.” I was still staring at my computer screen and didn’t know how to answer. “Sam said he just saw Ash up at Crane Hardware.” Daisy smiled a knowing smile.

  I smiled back. I shut my laptop then and decided I would go surprise Ash before I continued on with the rest of my errands.

  I found him in the back of the hardware store near the stacked bins of nuts and bolts, different-sized nails and screws. They were still in wooden bins; it felt very authentic, a bit of ordinary time travel.

  His cowboy hat was bent over two bolts in his hand, scrutinizing the size. He was deep in thought over it, and I watched him for a beat, the beautiful span of his shoulders, tight against his work coat, h
is jaw locked in an expression of concentration. He turned then, saw me staring at him.

  I recoiled for a second, embarrassed. And I saw the faintest hesitation in his body language, but then he smiled his crooked grin.

  “Hey, Emery.”

  He came over to me, and we looked at each other. Ash grabbed my mittened hand for a moment and gave it a squeeze.

  It settled me. “Just me, your everyday, ordinary, time-traveling cabin stealer.”

  “You want to come see something with me?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  We paid at the counter, a handsome older gentleman manning the cash register who knew Ash by name and obviously liked him. “See you, son,” he said as we walked out.

  I noticed Ash wince at this, ever so slightly. But I didn’t ask.

  Ash led us out of the store, holding the door for me, of course. He headed back to Winging Stables. We walked silently. Halfway there, he grabbed my hand again, and I felt the warmth of his touch through my mitten, and right into the center of my being.

  He walked us behind the oldest barn, gray paint peeling, old tractor parts thrown here and there around the edges of the building. But behind the building was a used blue-and-gray minivan, with what looked like a wheelchair lift visible in the open side door.

  “I have to adjust the lift a bit. It wasn’t made for an electric wheelchair like this boy has, so it’s a bit narrow, and I’m going to widen it. But it will do.”

  He stepped back and crossed his arms on his chest. I was unsure what this was exactly. But I sensed it was something he was extremely proud of.

  There was a certain line in how he stood, chest out, shoulders squared. He felt good about this.

  It made me love him more.

  “Are you doing this for someone? Helping them out?”

  “Yes, a waitress down at the diner. Daisy. She has a handicapped son, no money.”

  “Ash—”

  “It’s just part of my penance, Emery.”

  I was getting closer. He was going to let me in.

  He stepped closer to me, face to face, and I could feel his warm breath. “I want to tell you about it, Emery, so you will understand about … me.”

  We stood there for a long moment, behind the barn, in the freezing cold, but I was not aware of any of this. I was only aware of him, so close to me, hovering above me, me looking up, his head bent toward me. His breath was sweet, smelled like peppermint, and it drew me to him, hypnotized me, pulled me closer.

  “I want to tell you everything. Later, Emery. Tonight. At night …” He was dangerously close now; the brim of his cowboy hat grazed my hair. “At night …” He closed his eyes then and continued. “At night, it’s harder to talk yourself out of the truth. It’s harder to run.”

  “Okay,” I said breathlessly.

  He broke the spell then, by clearing his throat, taking several steps back.

  He walked me toward the square again. We said our goodbyes, and I hurried on to my other errands. In the back of my mind, I knew that I would spend the rest of the day at the cabin, trying to decipher what it was that he was going to tell me.

  Would it help me solve my mystery? Help me figure out what I should be gleaning from the loops?

  Once I returned to Dala Cabin, the magical security blanket that was Ash had worn off. I was back to my old self, dissecting every last thing that he had said.

  I knew he had something big to tell me, there was no question. Maybe it would explain the reasons that he was running from the past that he didn’t want to talk about, the reason he didn’t want to let me completely in.

  Maybe it had something to do with the silver key.

  I mixed the batter for my rosettes and started to heat the oil. Dinner might have to be plain pasta, for I needed an oven and not just a hot plate to be the Julia Child of the UP, but I could still make my beautiful, favorite dessert, my little snowflake-shaped cookies. I had found the rosette iron at the little Swedish shop near the VFW.

  As I dipped the iron in the batter and placed it into the hot oil, my mind traced over my conversation with Ash. I was unsure how I fit into this confession that Ash had to give me tonight.

  His penance, that was what he had called his project for Daisy. And hadn’t I overheard the two blue-haired ladies in the booth next to me at the diner talking about how they thought there was a Good Samaritan around Esperanza these days, paying people’s parking tickets, taking groceries to the widow down by the bait shop, buying a bicycle for the one Winging girl?

  Was this all Ash? The bike was. The van was. I knew that. Was he also responsible for everything else? I was sure it had to be him. What was it that he was trying to atone for?

  My heart ached for him, for whatever it was that he was carrying around with him. For whatever debt he felt he was repaying.

  I placed the first rosette on the paper towels I had laid out and dipped the iron in the batter again. I clumsily dropped the iron in the pan, and the hot oil splattered, burning the palm of my left hand.

  “Ouch! Shit!” I quickly ran my hand under the cold kitchen sink water, and a thought jumped into my head. It flashed across my mind in big neon letters, and it leveled me.

  Of course! I felt like I had been socked in the stomach, and I pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down, reminding myself to take deep breaths.

  I looked at the vase full of Christmas roses on the table and laughed. I laughed at myself and how silly I had been. I caught a glimpse of myself in my reflection in the east window. I had put on my favorite cream sweater dress, tights, fancy leather boots, and I put my hair in a messy pile on top of my head. I had smeared on a bit of blush, some glittery lip gloss. I had pulled out all the stops. I felt foolish—ridiculous. Angry at myself for being so naive, so ready to believe I could be something special to anyone who didn’t wear a white lab coat.

  I had been locked up for too long, lived a life of nothing for too long, and as soon as I was free for a moment, here I was—a fool.

  Ash knocked at the door then, one serious knock, then another. Dala looked up from her place on the hearth. Meowed once as if to tell me to answer the knock.

  I opened the door and knew that I was flushed, probably crazy-looking. I bit my lip and tried to regain my composure. He was absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous with his wind-chapped cheeks and his five-o’clock shadow. He took one look at me, and a hand went to his heart. “Wow.”

  He took a step in, but I could tell he sensed something was wrong. “The hot plate,” he said, motioning toward the boiling, sputtering oil. “Let me get it.”

  I watched him walk into the kitchen, drop his coat on the back of one of the chairs.

  I could hardly make myself say it. “Am I part of your penance, Ash?”

  “What?” He spun away from the hot plate. He looked at me, stricken. “What?”

  “Is that why you’re here with me? Is that what this is? You’re just helping out a … a … freak?” I spit that last word out and turned away from him, folding my arms across my chest in anger, in embarrassment.

  “Why would you say that?” he answered, turning me toward him. “No,” he answered evenly. “Of course not.”

  “I’m fine, you know. I can be on my own, Ash. I was fine, until you—” My voice broke then and I stopped, not trusting myself to go on. I didn’t want to cry.

  “No, Emery. Don’t say that. You know it’s not true.” His voice was even and low. He was standing over me now, his head bent toward mine. “Don’t say it.”

  “But you are holding back. And you should. I mean, look at what I am. I’m not able to think about the future. It’s best. I shouldn’t hope.”

  “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

  “I had given up hope before I came here.”

  “Listen, Emery, so had I. And you are not charity to me.”

  “Then what is it, Ash?”

  He pushed a stray curl from my eyes then, tucked it behind my ear. “Don’t you see that t
his is real, right here, right now, you and me?”

  “Then why the distance?”

  “I’m right here.” He moved even closer, our faces only an inch apart.

  “You know what I mean. We keep dancing around this … us. What are we doing together? Why can’t we be together?” I said, lowering my gaze for a moment. I had never been with a guy, barely kissed any, but now I knew what it felt like to want to.

  He was silent, and when I looked up, his eyes were soft, pleading with me. We both stood there, neither moving. If it wasn’t me imagining this, if this was real, what was it that was stopping him?

  “You don’t want me like I want you,” I whispered.

  “Emery. Don’t say that. Don’t even think that. I’m not who you think I am.”

  “I know you.” I touched the freshly healed scar on his brow. As we touched, he pulled me into his arms. And he kissed me. His lips pressed firmly onto mine, then gently, ever so gently. His mouth kissed my lips, my cheeks, my neck, and he pulled my body closer to his, one hand on the small of my back, one hand in my hair.

  I was melting, melting into him, pulled from the very core of my being, together, me against him, him against me, and we gave in to that force between us, each part of us molding into one another. And I kissed him back, tasting his lips, his tongue.

  He picked me up, swept my legs out from under me with one arm, and walked me over to the bed, laying me down gently. He tenderly hovered above me, kissing my collarbone, my jawline.

  “I know you, Ash, the real you,” I whispered.

  His body became taut. He stopped kissing me. He stood up, running his hand through his hair. He pinched the bridge of his nose and paced for a second. “No, you don’t” was all he said. Then he grabbed his hat and his jacket and walked out, leaving me confused and angry and alone.

  I threw on my coat and scarf and took off after him. Out into the frigid, snowy, quiet night. I saw him standing on the rocky shore of the lake, his body silhouetted by the lighthouse beam every few seconds. His shoulders were hunched, his hands balled into fists at his sides.