Henry said, "It's not your fault. You've had an extra helping of sorrow."
"I'm trying to do better, son. And somehow, through al of this, I think you've helped me." She patted her pocket where she normal y kept her pil s. "Empty," she said. "That day I got lost, I sat near the creek and thought about taking down the whole bottle. But the pil s make me fuzzy, and I didn't want to be fuzzy anymore. I'd been fuzzy al this long summer. I'm ready to live, to see what happens. Aren't you?"
Henry nodded slowly. "Yes, ma'am."
"Look, son, sometimes you have to trust that everything's going to turn out the way it should. That's part of living—and love, too." Her eyes were shining in the lamplight, and she had the softest of smiles on her face.
"Trust," he repeated.
"You have to trust that al of this has been for a reason. That's what I feel. Don't you feel that it has, too?"
Henry's throat tightened so he couldn't speak. He got up from the floor and embraced his mother.
"Amy is here for a reason," she said. "Don't worry about what happens tomorrow. Worry about what's happening in your heart. Go and tel her how you feel before it's too late."
"And what if I can't come back?" he said, vocalizing the darkest fear he held. "What if everything disappears and I'm lost—we're al lost—
forever?"
"Then that was meant to be as wel ," she said.
***
Henry strode through the mist, fortifying his confidence with deep breaths. When he reached the edge—Amy's side—he hesitated at the sound of humming, the electric buzz that marked the boundary. It was going to hurt. Then, reminding himself that this was the only way to reach Amy, he plunged through the last barrier.
He stumbled out into a large meadow of overgrown grass. The transition had knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment, he sucked in air like a drowning man. His first thought was to look down at himself. He'd just traveled forward more years than he cared to think about, but his hands were smooth, and as he ran his fingertips over his face, his skin felt unwrinkled, stil young. Relieved, he continued on through the field, rain soaking his clothes and hair. He would be a mess when he found Amy, but he didn't care about that. And he knew she wouldn't, either. He couldn't wait to hold her in his arms.
Ahead was a woodlot. He hurried down its wel -worn path toward lights. He passed several cords of meticulously stacked firewood and came upon a flat-roofed house, like train cars put together. A German shepherd ran around the corner toward Henry, barking madly.
"Easy," he said, holding out a hand.
The dog slowed, and then whining, came up to sniff Henry. She was friendly; that was good. The shepherd fol owed him as he stepped up the back porch to a large glass window that looked into a parlor. His breath caught in his chest.
Inside, Amy was sitting on a sofa with a dark-haired boy. They were talking—the boy wearing a smug expression, and Amy looking tense.
Henry watched them sitting there, alarm and confusion pulsing through him.
After a moment, Amy saw Henry through the glass. She opened the back door and came out onto the porch. Her eyes appeared tired, with dark makeup ringing them, as if she'd been crying. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I—I..." Henry's voice didn't seem to work. He stood there, dripping rain, and staring at Amy, al hope of a happy welcome dissolving.
"You crossed over?"
"I had to."
For a second, Amy's expression changed, softened into the sweet, understanding smile he had expected. But then concern took over her face again. "You have to go."
Henry's heart constricted. Something was definitely wrong. He surveyed Amy's strange outfit—some kind of gymnasium sweater and pants, and a beautiful string of pearls around her neck. It didn't make sense, even for Amy's sense of future style.
"You left the flowers for me," he said, unable to keep his gaze from wandering to the boy on the couch. "I thought that you—"
"I'm glad you came to see me, but now's not a good time," Amy said. She reached a hand out and touched Henry on the chest. "We'l just talk later, okay?"
"Okay, so who's this dude?" Issuing an irritated grunt, the boy who'd been on the couch pushed past Amy in the open doorway. He stood behind Amy, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Some country bumpkin giving you trouble?"
Henry planted his feet and looked the boy square in the eyes. "I'm Henry Briggs."
"Yay for you," the boy said. "Come on, babe. Shut the door and let me warm you up." He ran a hand down Amy's arm.
"What's the big idea?" Henry's voice was sharp.
"I want to talk to you, but later, okay? Matt showed up and—"
"Matt Parker?" Henry's blood rushed to his ears. At his sides, his hands bal ed into fists. "This is the creep you mentioned."
Amy moved closer to Henry and said, "It's fine. I've got it handled."
"Who're you cal ing a creep?" Matt took a step toward Henry, his lip curling.
"Anyone who'd treat a lovely girl like Amy the way you have is a creep in my book," Henry said. "You're a disgrace. I oughta sock you."
"Sock me? I haven't heard that one in a while." Matt laughed and pushed Amy out of the way, stepping onto the back porch. The German shepherd whined at Amy's side.
"Okay, stop. That's enough." Amy tugged on Matt's jacket sleeve, but he didn't seem to care.
Henry stood chest to chest with the boy who'd broken Amy's spirit and her heart. He wanted to pound him into a bloody mess. "Someone ought to teach you a lesson," he said, leveling his gaze at the creep.
"And that someone's you, farmer?" Matt said.
"Knock it off!" Amy pushed the two boys apart and stood between them. "Just freaking back off, both of you!"
"No, I want to see what farmer thinks he's bringing," Matt said.
"I'l be bringing you a shiner," Henry said.
Amy grabbed Henry's hand and pul ed him away from Matt, into a shadowy corner of the deck. "I've got this. It's not what you think, okay?"
"What should I think? You told me you were through with the likes of him. Don't you understand that you deserve so much more?"
"I do understand that, Henry. Trust me!" Amy's eyes flashed with anger. She let go of Henry's hand. "You need to leave now."
Henry felt a coldness that sank into his bones. "I can't let you return to him."
"Just go!" Amy stared him down, until Henry backed away from her and down the steps.
If she real y wanted him to go, then wel , that was that. No sad goodbye. No kiss for him to hold in his memory for the days to come. Nothing.
Not what he expected, and not enough. She'd chosen someone who'd used her and thrown her away. She'd chosen that creep over him. He couldn't understand it. The pain of rejection seared through him. Somehow maybe that would make it easier to never see Amy ever again, but he didn't want to let it end like this. He couldn't.
Matt Parker, wearing a smile of triumph, gave Henry a finger wave. "So long, farmer."
Henry continued to back away down the path. Amy stared out at him defiantly, but behind the defiance, Henry saw fear. She wasn't al right.
She didn't want him to go. And he wasn't about to, anyway.
He took a deep breath and slid into the trees where he could keep watch.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sending Henry away was the hardest thing ever, but I knew I had to do this on my own. Matt was my problem. I'd cal ed him the other night. In my desperation, I'd somehow summoned him here by reaching out. But maybe it was good to be face-to-face with him. There were things I wanted to say, things we needed to talk about, things Henry didn't need to hear.
"Come on," I said, turning to Matt. He fol owed me into the house and plopped back down on the couch. I stayed on my feet, watching him relax into the pil ows.
"That guy was a tool," Matt said, with a smug laugh.
I decided not to comment. Wrapping my arms across my stomach, I took a seat on the couch corner Matt wasn't occupying. Katie settled on her bed near the
wood stove, her brown eyes watching us, her ears up, listening.
"So, you were about to tel me how you found this place?"
"I asked at the gas station about your aunt Mae," Matt said. "Everyone knows her. She went into the hospital, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Cool, so the house is ours, right?"
"Uh ... what? My aunt's had a heart attack—she's real y sick. It's not like I'm hosting a house party here," I said.
"On the phone the other night, when you cal ed me, it sounded like you couldn't wait to see me. So, here I am. You sounded like you real y missed me, babe."
"I did miss you, it's just—"
"What? Farmer guy? Please. That's hilarious."
"Look, why did you come here? Was it just to put me down or what?"
"Whoa—attitude," Matt said. "I just want to take your mind off things for a while."
I total y knew what he was talking about, so I rol ed my eyes. "You real y came al this way for that."
"For you." His face softened and his smile seemed genuine. He swung his feet off the couch onto the floor and scooted down next to me. "I love you, babe." The words that once meant so much to me coming from him sounded flat.
"Love?" I said. "You real y think this is— was—love?"
"Yeah." He leaned back into the couch cushion, appraising me. "You said you loved me, too. Remember that?" he said in a soft voice, his blue eyes lowered.
"Matt, I'm pretty sure that wasn't love," I said.
"Wel , aren't you Miss High and Mighty now," he said, rebounding with a laugh. "Farmer boy teach you about love, Amy? What—does he have a sexy tractor?"
I hugged a throw pil ow to my chest. Now that I had Matt in front of me, I needed to focus on what I wanted to say. "This is about you and me
—not him."
"Is it? Because the old Amy would be over here making out with me right now," he said, reaching his hand out to me. "What happened to you?"
"What happened to me? What happened to you? " I got up from the couch and tossed the pil ow into the nearest chair. "What happened to the nice guy who took me to the movies and wrote me sweet notes in class?"
"Hey, I would stil do that kind of stuff."
"No—I mean what happened to that guy? 'Cause he got replaced with someone who pushed me into wal s, who threw beer cups at me, who slapped me."
"What are you talking about?"
My stomach tightened. "We both know exactly what I'm talking about."
Matt's face reddened, and then, after a moment of staring me down, he said, "Why do you have to bring up old stuff? How many times can a guy apologize for al that?"
"Never enough times," I said, pushing back the tears inside that were threatening to ruin everything. "'Cause I told you to stop, but you kept doing it. And doing it."
Matt got up from the couch and moved toward me. Instinctively I held my hands out.
He let out a dry-sounding laugh. "Seriously? C'mon—I'm just gonna hug you," he said.
"Don't touch me, Matt. I don't want you to hug me. Just sit down, okay?"
"Oh, you gonna tel me what to do now?" he said, raising his voice.
"No, I'm asking you to calm down. Please."
He took another step toward me. "You're the one who needs to calm down."
"I am calm. I'm calm and I'm tel ing you what you did was wrong. How you treated me was wrong. The things you—"
"Yeah?" Matt was in my face now. "You real y think that? Is that the reason you left school like a little baby? Came out here to live in this crappy trailer in this stupid town? If I was the one in the wrong, why did you leave?"
That stung like a slap. I took a deep breath. "You know what you did—what you do—is wrong." I held my stance, even though Matt was up close to me. Katie growled from her dog bed.
Matt reached out toward me and I flinched. "Real y? You think I'd hurt you? I love you," he said. "Why you gotta be like that?"
"You need to go," I said, nearly shaking as I stood there now. "Just please go."
"So it's like that?"
"Yeah."
He got up close in my face again and it scared me. But the difference between before and now was that I wasn't going to accept it; I wasn't going to make excuses for him; I wasn't going to let him get away with anything anymore.
He reached toward my hair like he was going to grab my head. Growling deeply, Katie slowly moved toward us, baring her teeth.
"Easy, there, dumb mutt." He held his hands up and moved back from me. "See, I'm leaving now." He glanced from Katie to me. "You sure you want me to go? Once I leave, I'm never coming back."
"Perfect," I said.
Matt threw open the door and marched out onto the porch. I fol owed him. Rain was streaming down, but neither one of us was paying any attention to that.
"This is your last chance," he said. "I know it could be better between us. I know I could treat you right if you let me."
"I'm gonna treat myself right. I don't need you to do that for me."
He glared, then stomped down the porch steps, fol owed closely by Katie. I watched as he climbed into his truck and slammed the door. And then he tore off down the driveway, leaving only a ripple on the mud puddles where his rig had been.
Gone. He was gone.
The rain mixed with my tears. I buckled over onto the porch, crying for me then and me now. Crying it al out. Crying it al away.
And then arms were around me. Wet, warm arms were pul ing me up to my feet and holding me. "I'm here," Henry said, rocking me against the rain. "I'm here, sweetheart."
"I told you to leave." I sobbed into his already-wet shirt.
"I wasn't about to leave you alone with him."
"I had to tel him," I said, sucking in my breath. "I had to tel him on my own."
Henry kissed my forehead. "You did so wel ." He stroked my hair and held me tighter. "Everything's going to be al right."
And I felt so strong. And I felt so loved.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"It's not much, but..."
"It's fine." Henry glanced around the trailer. It was cozy enough, and it was dry. He hadn't expected anything grandiose.
"Be right back," Amy said.
Henry tried to contain his dripping to the few squares of tiling near the wood stove and couldn't help but gawk at the contents of the room. A big, rounded sofa was positioned under the front windows, and a wood cabinet at the end of the room held several things that looked electric. Little lights decorated their black fronts, including a bright green 12:00 that flashed repeatedly. Beneath those machines, he saw his reflection in the glass screen of what had to be a television. He'd only read about those in science magazines; he didn't know anyone who'd seen one in real life.
Shaking his head, he gave the German shepherd another pat and then added sticks to the fire. Soon he had the blaze stoked up and crackling away.
Amy returned in pajamas a moment later, carrying a stack of towels.
"Thank you. I haven't felt a good rain since I don't know when," Henry said, taking the towel Amy held out to him. "Mighty refreshing," he said with a nervous laugh.
Amy stood by the couch, watching him. "You're soaked. Do you want a bathrobe or something?"
"That'd be swel ." A minute later, Henry was returning from the bathroom, dressed in the thick, white robe, which smel ed of Amy's flowery soap, and hanging up his wet clothes near the wood stove to dry. The fire was warming up the room at last, and Amy had fixed them both mugs of tea. The lights were low, and it was about as cozy as Henry could have imagined the future to be.
"Better?" Amy asked.
"Yes," he said, taking a seat beside her on the sofa.
"It's been a terrible evening," she said.
"Yes, I know."
"No, it's not just Matt. My aunt's real y il . I'm so scared." Amy leaned her head on him, and he wrapped an arm around her thin shoulders.
"I'm with you now. Don't worry," he said, kissing the top of her head.
; "How did you know Matt was here?" Amy picked up her mug and took a sip.
"I didn't. I came here tonight for something else," Henry said. "I'm so sorry about the other night. You were right to tel me about Robert. You were right about everything. I need to go on. I need to see what happens."
Amy set her tea down. "So, this is it? You're moving on?"
He nodded. "I couldn't leave without seeing you. Without tel ing you..."
"Without tel ing me what?"
"I think you know." He held her chin up and planted the lightest kiss on her lips. When he pul ed back, Amy's eyes were closed, her long eyelashes stil rain logged, makeup smeared around them—but so beautiful.
"Tel me, Henry. Tel me and mean it." It was a demand and a prayer al in one.
"I love you," he said, kissing the bridge of her nose. "I've loved you since I met you. And I'l love you forever." He gazed into Amy's brown eyes, wanting her to know everything that was inside him, everything that he'd been holding at a distance. "I know you can't come with me, but I'l take you wherever I go. I'l remember you always."
Tears trailed down Amy's cheeks. "Me, too," she said. And she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.
He kissed the top of her damp head. "Tel me, Amy. Tel me and mean it," he whispered.
"I love you, Henry Briggs," she said. "And I mean it."
He had to kiss her then. And Amy kissed him back. And the kiss deepened into more than a kiss. Henry pul ed Amy on top of him, and for the moment there were only the two of them and the kiss taking a shape of its own.
A kiss that would have to last him a lifetime.
***
Minutes later, Henry was nearly trembling as Amy led him to her bedroom. "Stay with me for a little while longer," she said.
"Are you sure about this?"
"I want to fal sleep with you holding me," Amy said. "I promise I'l be a perfect gentlewoman."
And Henry knew he didn't want her to be that way. He wanted her to need him as badly as he did her. But he climbed into the clean, crisp sheets next to Amy and let her cuddle up next to him. Her hair was dry now and held that maddening smel of flowers. He tried not to think about her in her thin pajamas, of the feel of her shape curled against him.
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