“No, really. Come here. Have you ever felt a baby kick?” I shake my head, and she says, “Well, now’s your chance.”
The swinging gate squeaks as I push through. Stuffing the cash back into my pocket, I lower my backpack and camera to the floor behind the counter.
Mary Jane reaches for my hand. “Here.” She presses my fingers beneath her rib cage. Her stomach is hard and tight, like a rubber ball, not mushy and soft, like I expected. “Now…wait just a sec,” she murmurs.
I flinch when something firm pushes against my fingertips then rolls toward Mary Jane’s navel, which protrudes through her shirt like a bony, clenched knuckle. “Oh…wow,” I whisper. “That’s weird. I can actually see it.”
“Kind of reminds you of that movie Alien, doesn’t it?” She laughs then burps. “Excuse me. Indigestion.”
A grin twitches my lips. I pull back my hand. “Thanks for letting me feel it.”
“Anytime.”
I pick up my backpack and push through the swinging gate, then take the cash from my pocket again. As I’m handing it to her, an idea strikes me. Before I can change my mind, I unzip my backpack and remove the large manila envelope of photographs I brought with me to school today to show Bethyl Ann. Shuffling through them, I find the one of Mary Jane with her kid’s class. “Here,” I say, drawing my lower lip between my teeth.
“Oh!” The tension in her face melts away. “Did you take this?”
“I, uh, hope that’s okay,” I stammer, startled by her reaction. “You looked so…I don’t know.” Joyful. That’s how Mom described Mary Jane’s expression in the photographs with the elementary school children. It’s the right word, but I’m too embarrassed to say it.
“Look at me!” Mary Jane sounds thrilled and amazed. “I actually look happy.”
J. B. comes around the corner and joins her. “You? Happy? Now that’s something I’ve got to see.” He nods at me. “Afternoon, Tansy.”
“Hi.”
Mary Jane chuckles. “I look like a circus tent.”
“More like a hot-air balloon.” The words slip from between my lips before I can stop them. I slap a palm over my mouth and mutter, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I meant you look joyful. Like a hot-air balloon. I—”
“It’s okay.” Mary Jane giggles and punches J. B.’s arm since he’s laughing, too. “I do look like a hot-air balloon.”
“And joyful,” J. B. adds. “I never thought I’d see the day.” He looks up from the picture and into my eyes. “So your mother isn’t the only talented gal in the family. I knew you were a photographer, I just never guessed you were a pro, as young as you are.”
“Thank you.” Emotion gathers in my chest like a bank of storm clouds. His compliment makes me feel proud and awkward at once. “I’ve been doing it a really long time. My, um, grandfather, he bought my first camera for me when I was really young.”
“Could I have a copy of this?” Mary Jane asks, holding up the picture.
“Keep it. I have another that’s almost identical,” I tell her.
“Thanks, Tansy. I really love it.” Mary Jane lays the photo down and slides off the stool. “I’d better go help Rita.” She pushes through the swinging door.
J. B. nods toward the envelope I left open on the counter with a few of the other photos sticking out of it. “May I take a look?”
“Sure.” J. B. studies another shot of Mary Jane with the school kids, then moves on to the picture of Bethyl Ann and Hamlet. “Interesting,” he says while looking at Rooster Boy in a rare serious moment on the sidelines of the football field after school, his bobcat head off as he waves to an old woman on the sidelines—his grandmother, according to Bethyl Ann. The last shot is of Alison at cheerleading practice, her head turned away from the other girls, her eyes uncertain and expectant, like she’s watching for someone out of the camera’s range. She looks as unsure of herself as I feel 99 percent of the time. I feel a sudden tug of compassion for her that catches me off guard.
“These are really good, Tansy.” J. B. glances up from the shot of Alison, and I see a flicker of sadness in his eyes that stirs my curiosity even more about Bethyl Ann’s loyalty toward her. “You’ve caught them all at their best,” he adds as he gathers the photos together. “Folks around here tend to be a bit cautious when it comes to anything new. Eventually they tend to come around, though. Cedar Canyon’s full of good people. They’re loyal as can be once you get to know them.”
I study my fingernails, hoping he won’t see that my face is twisting into the repulsive crybaby face I hate so much. I get what J. B. is trying to tell me, but he doesn’t understand. Being the new girl all the time isn’t easy. I’ve moved so much that it’s hard for me to let people in. And the truth is, I guess I’m not very different from everyone else in town, at least on the inside. I mean, it took me a while to accept Bethyl Ann.
I wish I could rewind my life, go back to my first day here, and give Cedar Canyon a chance. I didn’t want to risk liking the town or anyone in it. I just wanted to force Mom to keep her word and move us back to San Francisco. Then, after finding out about Hailey and Colin, I was sure I’d only wind up hurt again if I tried to make friends; I’m still afraid of that. And now it seems too late to try to start over with the people here. I wouldn’t know how to begin, and the very thought of it scares me, anyway.
I look up and see J. B. brush a finger along the edge of Alison’s picture on top of the stack. “Have you shown this to her?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Maybe you should. I bet she’d like it.” He slips the photograph into the envelope with the others, then hands it to me. “I bet they all would—everyone you took a picture of. They’d love seeing your work.”
I leave the pharmacy telling myself I should put Henry’s things back in the cellar and try to straighten myself out, face what’s happening to Papa Dan, and make my life here work. I wish that could be as easy as it sounds.
As I pause at the curb to wait for Mom, a breeze sweeps over me with just enough chill in it to scatter goose bumps up my arms. I close my eyes, imagine a whisper on that thin, cool wisp of air…Listen…be patient….
The earth seems to tilt, but I know I’m only thrown off-kilter by the tug of Henry’s words. Until I visit the world inside the photographs—his world—one more time, how can I make any decisions about my future? He’s trying to tell me something. How can I give up on him?
14
“Stay with me longer, Bell. I’m not ready for you to go.”
I’m with Henry again as Isabel, climbing the sloping trail that leads out of the canyon bordering his father’s property. Sunshine warms the winter day. We’ve spent most of it outside, walking, picnicking, and sitting beneath bare-branched trees while Henry played his violin.
“I can’t stay.” Avoiding his gaze, Isabel remains focused on the path ahead and the scenery around us. With each step she takes, more and more colors appear to me like magic. It’s as if she pushes a giant paintbrush in front of us, streaking ribbons of rust, dusty pink, and milk chocolate across the canyon wall. Throughout the day, sounds have intensified: wind-rattled tree limbs, the honks of geese flying high overhead, an occasional rustle of an animal in the brush.
“You can’t stay, or you won’t?” Henry asks.
“Do you realize the trouble I’ll be in if Mama and Papa hear that I wasn’t in school today? I shouldn’t have done this.”
Isabel can’t stop fretting over the consequences she’s bound to face for her behavior. This morning she gave her friend Louise a note to take to the teacher, saying that she was sick. She forged her mother’s signature on the note, and it still stuns her to think she did something so dishonest and bold. Lately, Henry has that effect on her.
She glances across at him, and Henry’s smug grin assures me he knows that, despite her worries, Isabel doesn’t really regret their stolen time alone; he’s aware of the power he has over her—or is it me that he’s smiling at in that self-satisfied way? Me who he’
s happy to be maneuvering like a character in a video game?
Isabel swats his arm. “Don’t look at me like that! If Miss Lee calls the house to check on me, I want to be home to catch the phone before my mother does.”
“Ah,” he says, teasing her with his narrowed gaze. “Aren’t you the sneaky one. Pulling the wool over your sweet mother’s eyes.”
“Stop it. I feel bad enough as it is. But it’s not only that, Henry. I’ll have points deducted on my report for turning it in late. And I can’t even imagine what Daniel must think of me for skipping school.”
“Daniel.” He spits the name. “He’s the real problem, isn’t he?” Angry slashes of red slice Henry’s cheekbones.
Alarmed by how quickly his lighthearted mood turned to anger, Isabel peers down at the trail again. Before my eyes, with each touch of her boots gray winter grass becomes amber and brown. “Daniel a problem? What are you talking about?”
“You’re always so worried about him. Poor Daniel. What about Daniel?” he mimics in a mocking tone. “I don’t want him around all the time. Not anymore. He’s jealous of us.”
Isabel’s laugh is short and baffled. “Daniel’s not jealous. He’s our friend. He worships you and, lately, you treat him terribly.”
“Don’t be naive.” Scowling, Henry stops walking and sets the basket and his violin case on the trail beside him. “Daniel doesn’t like it one bit that you and I are becoming closer.” He grasps Isabel’s arms, and I feel his fingertips press into her flesh. “I won’t let him come between us, Bell. Do you understand?”
She twists free of his hold and touches his cheek. “Daniel isn’t jealous. He doesn’t feel about me the way—” Isabel lowers her eyes.
“Say it.” Henry lifts her chin with his fingertips, forcing her to look at him—forcing me to.
“Daniel doesn’t feel about me the way you and I feel about each other,” she whispers, and I feel the flutter of her pulse as if it’s my own as Henry’s lips curve into a smile. She probes her mind for a safer topic, as unnerved by the intense way he searches her eyes as I am. “You shouldn’t skip school, either,” Isabel says weakly.
“Don’t change the subject, Bell. What are you so afraid of?”
Everything, she thinks. She is afraid of the unfamiliar emotions strumming inside her, afraid if she gives in to them something will go wrong and she’ll not only lose Henry’s love, she’ll ruin their friendship, too. Still, she smiles and tells him, “I’m not afraid of anything. You’re the one who’s avoiding questions.”
Henry’s grin slides off his face. He lowers his hand. “You know why I don’t like to go to school. I might as well be a leper there.”
“They just don’t understand you.”
“And you do?”
“Of course I do. Better than anyone.” Isabel tilts her head, starts walking again, headed for the wagon bridge that looms ahead. She glances back at Henry, and sees him grabbing the basket and his violin case. “You’re different than everyone else,” she calls to him as he hurries to catch up to her. “They’re used to the same old bores, day in, day out.”
“You mean themselves?” They both laugh. “The fact that I’m different is why most people avoid me.”
“They haven’t given you a chance. Maybe if I talked to them—”
“I’ve lived here my entire life, Bell. They’ve had plenty of opportunities. The problem is, they’re afraid of me.”
“Henry…”
“They are.” He shrugs. “They can rest easy. I’ve decided to quit school.”
“No!” She pauses and grabs his arm, stopping him, too. “You can’t quit now. You’ll graduate soon. And what about college?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Pulling away, he continues on up the trail.
“But it does!” Isabel exclaims, following after him. “If the others knew you the way Daniel and I do, they’d treat you better.” An idea forms in her mind—one that I wish I could make her think twice about before mentioning it to Henry. If she brings it up, she’ll be setting something in motion she might not be able to stop. She takes a breath, then blurts out the words before I can stop her—if I even could; I’m still not sure I have any control over Isabel’s actions. “Go with me to the Winter Dance tonight, Henry,” she says. “Spend some time with everyone. I was planning to go alone, but—” She smiles up at him, thrilled with the proposal now that it’s out. “Be my date. Daniel is taking Louise. It’ll be fun.”
“You mean Daniel didn’t ask you?” When Isabel refuses to take his bait and engage in another quarrel about Daniel, he says, “Your father won’t let you leave the house with me. He doesn’t trust me around his little girl.” Henry smirks and arches a brow. “I can’t imagine why, can you?”
I feel the warmth of Isabel’s blush. “Papa doesn’t have to know. I’ll meet you there. Daniel already said he would come out to give me a ride after he picks up Louise.”
“So he’s taking both of you?” Henry’s smug expression turns into a scowl. “Daniel is becoming quite the Casanova.”
“Louise is his date. I’m only tagging along.”
“Once your folks discover you played hooky today, I doubt they’ll let you go at all. Even with do-gooder Daniel.”
“If I hurry home, they might not find out. I can grab the phone if Miss Lee calls to check on me. She’ll believe what I say; I know she will. I’ve never given her any reason to doubt me before.”
At the top of the trail, Isabel and Henry pause to catch their breath. Henry sets the basket and violin case at his feet then walks over and steps onto the wooden planks of the bridge. With a quick glance back at Isabel, he grasps the narrow steel railing with both hands and pushes himself up until his feet are on top of it. Crouched down and gripping the rail, he peers into the deep, craggy canyon below.
“Henry! Get down! You’ll fall!” Isabel’s panic is like an electrical shock. She rushes over to the bridge’s arched entrance, stopping short of stepping onto the floor, afraid the touch of her foot might create a ripple that would send him tumbling over the side.
Henry turns and looks back at her, his face unconcerned. “Would you even care?” He slowly stands, lifts his arms out wide, balancing precariously.
“Why would you ask me such a terrible question?” she shrieks. “Of course I’d care. Now get down. Please!”
Henry’s mask of indifference slips, and I see the anguish in his eyes. “I’m so lonely when we’re apart. I miss you,” he says, his voice a quiet rasp.
“I know,” she whispers. “I feel the same way.”
Crouching again, Henry takes hold of the railing and hops down onto the bridge’s wooden planks. He crosses to her. “Do you?” he asks, reaching for her arm.
“You know I do.”
I feel the truth in Isabel’s words. I understand her need to be with him. Whenever I return to my own world, I almost ache to be with Henry again. Or is that only a leftover remnant of Isabel’s emotions? Her yearnings? Which are hers and which are mine and where is the division?
“Your parents treat you like a little girl,” Henry says, pulling her into his arms. He lifts one hand to her cheek, presses his other hand against the small of her back. I smell the starch in his shirt, feel his suspenders, as Isabel’s palms skim across his shoulders. Henry’s lips brush hers…once…twice. So soft, so warm, his kiss. His lips taste like the fresh mint Miss Ivy put in their picnic tea. Isabel wants the kiss to go on and on and on…so do I.
But then Henry’s head shifts; his mouth presses harder; he pushes against her spine too tightly. Apprehension pricks my desire like a needle, and Isabel pulls her head back quickly, a startled look in her eyes.
“Come to my house tonight after the dance when your folks are asleep,” he murmurs.
“Your house? But Miss Ivy—”
“She sleeps like the dead.”
Isabel tries to step out of his embrace, but the pressure of Henry’s grip intensifies. “I’m afraid,” she whispers. “What are w
e doing?”
“Don’t be afraid. Not with me. I love you.”
“Of course you do.” Tears fill her eyes. “We’re friends.”
“Did that kiss feel friendly, Bell?”
Isabel and I both know what he’s implying and it’s true. She and Henry have moved beyond friendship. There’s no going back to the way things were. But as drawn as she is toward their new relationship, she mourns the loss of what they’ve left behind. Their love feels exciting, deliciously dangerous, but their friendship was safe and comforting, and Isabel knew what to expect.
As if Henry reads her mind, he says, “Things change, Bell.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a necklace—a crystal teardrop pendant on a long gold chain. “I bought this for you.” He leans back, places the chain around her neck, hooks the clasp, and says in a tender voice, “When the crystal catches the light, it shines like your eyes.”
“Henry…it’s lovely. Thank you.” She strokes the cool, smooth pendant with her fingertip and I recognize the cut of the glass; I know the feel of it by heart, the power of its light. “But I don’t have anything for you,” she says quietly.
“You gave me the leather journal.”
“That was a birthday gift. I want to give you something—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m crazy about it. I haven’t written in it yet, but I will. I’m waiting until I have the perfect poem. One that will describe just how beautiful you are.”
“I’m not beautiful.”
“You’re all the more so because you don’t know it.” He caresses her cheek. “You’re all that matters to me, Bell. You’re all I have. Without you, I’m alone. I’m nothing.”
She turns her mouth into his palm, murmurs, “Please don’t say that. It isn’t true.” As she pulls back, Isabel glimpses two thin red crisscrossed scars just above his wrist and gasps. The rumors about Henry slap her in the face—slap me. And in that instant, my fear of Henry overrides my other feelings for him. If he’s not afraid to hurt himself, would he hurt Isabel, too? Would he hurt me?
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