Love Storm

by Ruth Houston

  "You all better not come back with presents," I sneered, just as unpleasantly. I thought about adding on an "I hate you", but decided it was too childish for the situation. It had worked when I was younger though. I hung up angrily, tossing the cell phone to the ground with disgust. I suddenly realized I was standing up – huh, must have gotten caught up in the fiery rage. It was not slowing down at all. In fact, it must have been picking up speed, gaining strength, ripping and burning through every hope I had had, re-igniting old arguments and new loathing. The anger clouded my thoughts as I paced restlessly on the banks of the duck pond.

  "Damn you!" I yelled out across the water, my voice startling most of the birds and forcing them to fly up in a wave of feathers and wings. A young mother looked at me disapprovingly, got up from a bench, and rolled away her baby in its stroller.

  "Shit," I muttered, not referring to the mother.

  I jumped when I felt a hand on my back. "Zack?" Her voice was small.

  "Winter," I sighed. She pulled me down slowly until we were lying down next to each other on the grass, I on my back, Winter on her stomach. I was left to look up into the empty sky, while she watched the water contemplatively.

  We stayed there for a long time. She didn't say anything, but once when I shifted moodily, anger stirred up again, she turned over on her back and took my hand with both of hers. She held my hand, and it almost seemed she was examining it. She turned it over once in a while, now tracing patterns on the inside of my hand and palm, now on the back with the tips of her fingers, now tugging gently on my fingers, and now running her thumb over my knuckles gently. It was actually… soothing.

  When complete darkness had descended on the park, I muttered an apology and said that perhaps we should be leaving.

  She shook her head. "Don't apologize," she said softly. "You have nothing to be sorry about, especially not to me. But yes, let's go."

  I got up first and pulled her up. She whispered a quick "Thanks," and we made our way back to my car. When we were buckling up and pulling out of our parking space, Winter said, "Don't answer if you don't want to, but who's Victoria?"

  "She lives with me," I exhaled quietly. "Victoria Sanders. She's a forty-five year old widow. Her husband drowned out on his yacht during a storm when she was in her late twenties or so, a couple years after they got married. They never had children. She's been with us since before I was born, and she's always taken care of me and stuff. She cooks, cleans, and does other handy work around the house – almost like a maid, except she's a pretty close family friend. She's been with us a long time. Would you like to meet her sometime?" I don't know what had prompted that invitation; it was out of my mouth before I could pull it back.

  "Sure, that would be lovely," Winter said. "Where are we going now?"

  "I don't know," I said honestly, blinking. I hadn't thought about it. We were just driving. "Back to your house?"

  "Not yet, maybe later," Winter said. She took my right hand again. "Will you tell me about it all?" she then asked gently.

  "Yes," the word spilled out of my mouth, and I didn't regret it. "But it will be easier to show you than to tell you."

  ~Winter~

  Neither of us said anything as we drove. Gradually, the neighborhoods we were passing grew nicer and more expensive. It wasn't until we had reached Galvest Street, in the most expensive neighborhood in Branner City, did he make a turn into the cul-de-sac. Zack pulled up in front of a huge house. I was awe struck. His family must have been extremely rich to afford this kind of home.

  "This is my house," he said in a low voice as we stood in the driveway, looking up at the many windows and gently sloping roof. "Come inside."

  The front door opened to a huge foyer that was roomy and had a high ceiling – I'm pretty sure the hall coat closet was bigger than my bedroom. The house was rather chilly, and eerily empty. For such a large house, it was decidedly unfilled and looked almost unlived in; it was unnaturally clean.

  "Victoria?" Zack called as he hung up his jackets (current and new) in the closet. His voice echoed.

  "Yes, Zack?" said a faraway, clear voice. A tall middle-aged woman stepped regally into the foyer and came over to us. Her dark brown hair was twisted up into a bun, and her light grey eyes looked at us inquisitively. She was elegant, and was beautiful in an aristocratic way despite her age. She must have been a real heartbreaker when she was younger, I decided. She was wearing a knee-length skirt, low-heeled pumps, and a nice blouse.

  "Victoria, this is Winter Bruin," Zack said. "Winter, this is Victoria."

  "Nice to meet you," I smiled.

  "Likewise," she said pleasantly as we shook hands. "You must stay for a late dinner." She had a slight musical lilt to her voice that I could not place.

  "Oh no, I couldn't," I said, embarrassed. "We've already eaten."

  "Well, you'll eat again," Victoria declared. "Besides, it's only 8."

  We chatted for a while. Zack was quiet, his anger now subsided to a suppressed kind of moodiness, then at a good moment he intervened and politely excused us and took me on a quick tour of the house. It might have qualified as a mansion. The only parts that looked lived in were Victoria's room, Zack's bedroom, the kitchen and dining room, and the smallest of the three living rooms. Everywhere else gave off an air of cool detachment and indifference.

  We joined Victoria downstairs for that quick dinner, and I found that she was an excellent chef – I'd even venture far enough to say that I enjoyed her cooking better than I do my own mother's. I quietly made small talk to fill up the silence, neatly engaging Victoria in conversation and trying to include Zack whenever I could – he was distant and brooding, and ate little, and he still had not told me anything.

  After dinner Zack led me to that small living room – it consisted of a small TV, a little coffee table littered with whatever kind of books and magazines he liked to flip through, one couch, and a large armchair. I manned the latter, while Zack chose to sprawl himself out on the couch. I sat sideways on the armchair, hooking my knees over one arm and hanging my legs over, while resting my back on the other arm.

  When the two of us were seated comfortably in our respective places, he breathed a deep sigh and said, "I suppose you want me to tell you what it's all about, then."

  I nodded slowly. "Only if you want to tell me."

  Those mysterious golden eyes of his were locked on the blank television screen, but were unfocused, not seeing the solid object in front of him. "Sure," was all he said. I interpreted this to mean that he wanted to tell me.

  "My mom's from Italy," he started out. "And my dad grew up as one of those all-American jock boys. You know the type," he glanced at me, then returned his gaze to the screen, almost as if he could see pictures there that were giving him prompts. "Anyway, they're both into advertising. Met in college or something, and later became business associates. Got married, had me, and, maybe a month later, decided it would good for business to take their branch to Italy, where everything's expensive, and dumped me with their cook/maid/housekeeper, Victoria. So I had a childhood without them. I talked to them on the phone a lot when I was little, but gradually the phone calls got shorter and farther in-between."

  He continued on, and slowly, the pieces of his missing past came together. He grew up with Victoria; she was like a mother to him. The last time he had seen his parents had been six years ago, and since then, they had probably communicated three times on the phone. He never had any friends in elementary school; they all thought him odd because his parents never came to back-to-school-night, the Christmas presentations, or Bring Your Parent to School Day. He was the quiet and studious type in middle school, more likely to be found eating lunch alone on the bleachers than hanging out with friends at the basketball courts. Then, one day he began growing taller – filling out a little more, growing older and slamming into puberty in full force. That was the summer before ninth grade. The first day of high school came, and suddenly, all the girls wanted to know his name, all
the guys began recognizing him and nodding and saying "hey" to him in the halls. For the first time in Zack's life, people were taking notice of him, all because of a couple inches and a lower voice.

  But he didn't push it away – he had had been alone for so long. Acceptance was a thing he had never known, especially not from his parents, and he drank it all in. But, slowly, he began realizing that acceptance was a funny thing – sure, now everyone in the school knew who he was, yet he was still without a single friend. Brock Davis began drifting toward him more and more, and yet Zack felt he had never really connected with Brock.

  "So there I was, and here I am now," he finished with a bitter chuckle. "Not alone, and yet still very lonely. Accepted by all, but friends with no one."

  "Friends with me," I interrupted softly, my heart aching for him, for this boy sitting in front of me, on the brink of manhood but still never having the chance to grow up inside or in his parents' eyes.

  He looked at me, eyes re-focused, and something in them was… almost grateful. But, "Perhaps," he said vaguely.

  "Not 'perhaps'," I said. "For sure."

  One corner of his mouth quirked up, just a little bit. "For sure, then. How sad is that?" he then asked wonderingly to the room at large. "All these years, and finally the one person who I make friends with is possibly eccentric."

  I gaped at him for a moment, then realized something, and laughed lightly. This was a good development – it was the first normal-Zack remark he had made all night. He gave me the smallest of grins.

  "So now they're coming back to visit. My parents, I mean," he muttered, and we sobered up again. "They're coming to visit me on their vacation. How terrible is that?" he spat, and I saw something in his eyes more clearly than I had sensed it all night – a slowly burning anger, covering up a bitterness that it turn hid things he would never let anyone see – a deep hurt, faint, desperate hopes that he knew would never come true, and an eternally unquenchable longing for the normal childhood he would never have.

  "Pretty terrible," I agreed in a murmur.

  "They'll probably bring back lots of presents, like they think they can buy me with their expensive Italian gifts."

  We were quiet for a long time, each immersed in our own thoughts.

  "Anyway," Zack finished at length. "That's about all there is to it. Any questions? Comments? You better ask now, because we're not going on another trip down memory lane for a long time," he half-warned.

  "Yea," I said. "What's up with all your girlfriends?"

  He chuckled. "I thought you would ask that sooner or later. All about Eva, huh?" he said, looking at me sideways.

  "Well, she is my best friend," I said.

  He shrugged. "All those people I went out with were part of the acceptance thing. Easy enough."

  "Eva's not part of that, now, is she?" I asked tentatively, not quite sure I wanted to hear the answer to that question.

  He looked down at his hands, playing with the edge of a pillow in his lap. "No," he said, a shadow of regret stirring in those beautiful eyes of his. "She's not. Eva's probably the first girl I've dated that I really liked. But see how that turned out," he said. "We're not even really friends. How can you go out with someone that you're not friends with?"

  "You're getting there with her," I said gently. "Eva's very open. She's friendly to everyone, and is willing to give everyone a chance. You know, you were probably the first decent guy she's gone out with."

  He smiled at me, and something in my chest gave a little jump. "Thanks, Winter," he said. "But, like I told you the other day, we have been having a falling out lately."

  "That's alright," I said. "It happens." I unconsciously touched his hand.

  Suddenly, Zack's cell phone rang again. He groaned and brought it out.

  "Man, I am so not answering this," he mumbled.

  I saw a flash of the number on the caller ID, and suddenly an unsettling feeling took over the pits of my stomach. "Give it to me," I said urgently. "I'll answer it."

  He handed it over.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi," I said.

  "Uh… I might have dialed the wrong number. Is this Zack's cell phone?"

  "Hey Eva, it's Winter," I said, trying to sound cheerful. I had a feeling she wasn't calling just to say hi to Zack.

  "Winter?" she said, sounding extremely surprised. "Are you hanging out with Zack or something?"

  "No," I lied. "He left his cell phone at your house the other day. I picked it up. I'm returning it to him tomorrow." I mumbled a little at the necessary parts to make my sentences less clear. I felt little remorse at the moment in stretching the truth to my best friend, for an uncomfortable feeling was still tugging away at the corners of my mind. "What's up?"

  Zack frowned at me. "Is it Eva?" he asked in a low voice.

  I held up a hand to shush him, but didn't answer his question.

  "Uh… nothing. Just wanted to say hi to him," Eva said uncomfortably.

  "Okay, we both know that that's not the truth. Spill it, will you?"

  She heaved a great sigh on the other end. "Winter… I was calling to break up with him."

  There. There it was. "I knew it," I said angrily, finding myself struggling up out of the arm chair.

  "Come on, Winter," she said hurriedly, an apologetic tone in her voice as I stood up. "I don't know if you know this or not, but we… we haven't been getting along very well lately. I don't know," she said desperately. "It was all good in the beginning, but we don't work together very well." She was repeating herself, and redundancy in her speech was a sure sign that she was nervous. Normally, Eva could be a very eloquent speaker.

  Zack, who was still sitting, tapped my knee to catch my attention, but I ignored him.

  "That's not fair of you," I said. "The least you could do is to wait until tomorrow and do it in person."

  "I know," she moaned. "But Zack's different. I think he really likes me –"

  "No kidding," I muttered.

  " – and I didn't want to disappoint him like that in person, you know?"

  "Not really," I said coldly.

  "Winter!" Eva said, a hard edge to her voice now. I could tell she was getting mad. "What is up with you today?"

  "I don't know!" I shouted. "All I know is that you can't –" I caught myself just in time. A lie has to be backed up, and I had told her I hadn't been hanging out with Zack today, in which case I technically would not know that he was having bad day since his parents had called. "You should do it in person, at least," I finally said.

  "Okay," Eva said angrily. "Since you seem to be such an advocate for Zack today, why don't you tell him for me?"

  "Maybe I will," I retorted.

  "Fine," Eva said, and hung up viciously. I could hear her slam the telephone down.

  I hung up too, fuming. What was up with her today? We had both decided a long time ago that people who broke up with people on the phone were sleaze balls; if you're going to go out with a person, you at least owe it to them to break up with them in person.

  "Winter?" Zack said softly, his voice breaking into my thoughts. "Come here."

  I allowed him to pull me down into his arms, and found that angry tears were coursing down my cheeks. I wiped them away, frustrated, but all the same ended up burying my face into his shoulder. Eva and I had fought before, but never really yelled at each other. I felt really bad – I had been cold toward her, and had taken the first step in shouting at her.

  "It's okay," Zack soothed as I cried into his shirt. He was rubbing comforting circles on the small of my back with one hand. "It's alright."

  Even after my tears had subsided, he still held me close, one arm wrapped firmly around my waist, the other trailing fingers through the length of my hair; a calming gesture.

  God, now I felt even more terrible. Here I was, being comforted by Zack, who probably needed it more than I did at the moment. Our roles felt so reversed, and for the first time, I felt something like affection go out toward him – even in a ba
d time for him, Zack still found it in his heart to comfort me.

  ~Zack~

  One of her arms was around my neck, the other, resting lightly on my chest. I looked down at her – her fingers were curled into my shirt, and her cheeks were still wet. I was pretty sure Eva had been on the line, but what had they fought over so badly to make Winter cry?

  I continued running my fingers through her silky hair and marveled at her beauty, even at a time like this.

  "Eva was on the line," Winter finally said quietly, her voice holding no trace of tears.

  "I figured as much," I said lightly.

  She turned her dark eyes up to me. "She… she was calling to… break up with you."

  "Oh," was all I could say. "Well, that's alright. I figured we couldn't last too much longer anyway."

  Winter shook her head. "I yelled at her," she whispered. "Because you were already having a bad day, and there she was, calling to break up with you."

  "You wanted her to do it in person," I said softly, recalling the half of the conversation I could hear. I twisted the end of a small strand of her hair around my finger.

  Winter nodded, resting her head on my chest. "It wasn't fair of her," she said decidedly. "But I didn't have to yell at her. She got mad too."

  "Well, that's understandable," I said. "You didn't have to stick up for me like that. Just 'cause I was having a rough time with my parents –"

  "Oh god, Zack," she whispered, reaching up to press a kiss on my cheek. "You are so good. I'm sorry about Eva, and I'm really sorry about your parents too. I wish I could do something to take it all away, I really do, but I can't, and it pains me to see you so hurt." Tears started rolling down her cheeks again, but they weren't angry or regretful – they were tears of compassion, I realized after a moment, and I was stunned and warmed at the same time. I had never known anyone compassionate enough to cry for me.

  "It's alright. Don't cry," I said, swallowing hard. A mysterious lump had risen in my throat.

  Chapter Thirteen: Hidden Talents

  Eva

  "Damn," I muttered after I hung up, and flopped back on my bed, staring up at my ceiling moodily. I had really yelled at Winter, something that hadn't ever happened before. Oh wait, that would be a lie. I yelled at her once in seventh grade when we were fighting over… eh, what were we fighting over? I forget now. Oh well, whatever…