Love Storm

by Ruth Houston

  Still grumbling, I went to answer the door, smoothing down the front of my skirt as I walked. I had changed into a knee-length white linen skirt that had some pretty cobalt flowers embroidered at the hem and a light blue blouse, or so my mom called it. It was just one of those collared, cuffed, button-down formal shirts that are modeled after men's formal shirts. To spite my mother, I had unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled them up to my elbows.

  Skirt, blouse, and The Bourne Legacy in one hand, I answered the door.

  "Hello," I said with a cheeriness and brightness I didn't feel. In front of me stood a six-person family, and the mother was smiling very nicely at me. Suddenly I felt very, very short. And I'm not even really that short. I'm 5'5". Honestly. That's not short. But this family was tall. Every single last one of them. I had to look up to talk to the mother. "Come on in, Mrs. – ah, Mrs. –"

  Oooooh, holy crap-o-moly. I didn't know her name! I started panicking, smile frozen in place. "Mrs., uh…F-Farr–" –something-or-other, I thought desperately.

  Just then I looked behind her to her four boys. And what did I see? Lo and behold…

  One of her sons was Ian Farrington. Ian Farrington, as in the Ian Farrington, Gavin's bestest buddy in the whole world, cocky and arrogant and popular beyond belief, sure to be future Prom King Ian Farrington. The one who had asked me to Morp. The one who supposedly liked me. The one was royally pissed off because I had rejected him. I groaned inwardly. What a fun dinner this was going to be.

  "Mrs. Farrington, it's nice to see you again," I said automatically, not embarrassed by the weird look her youngest son sent me. Stupid little boy. I gave him a discreet glare, which someone – Ian, or Mr. Farrington, I didn't know who – had caught; I heard a low chuckling. I made a mental note to convince my mom to flunk mini-Ian later on after they had left.

  "And it's a pleasure to see you again as well, Winter," Mrs. Farrington said graciously as I stepped aside and held the door for the six of them to troop in. Her voice was melodic and pleasing to the ear.

  "Uhm…my mom is still in the kitchen," I said uncomfortably. "You all can…sit down, if you like." I gestured toward the living room couches.

  "Thank you, Winter," she said in reply.

  When Ian passed by me, he scowled lightly. His father came in after him. Though taller than me by a long shot (I am not resentful), he seemed like a pleasant man – he was tall, and handsome; all of his boys looked just like him. And he had a nice smile. I thought he was the last one in, but one more person followed him. At first I figured it would be a younger son, hiding behind his dad, but I was in for another surprise.

  Following Mr. Farrington, Gavin walked into my house.

  I stood there, still holding the door open, gaping at him.

  "You – you – why are you –" I spluttered inarticulately.

  "Shocked much, darling?" he whispered as the rest of his "family" was looking around my living room interestedly. "My, you're looking quite pretty tonight." His dark green eyes sparkled mischievously.

  "What are you doing here?" I hissed. "You're not –"

  "Part of the Farrington household? But I am." Gavin looked pleased at the stunned expression on my face.

  "Explain yourself later," I muttered, shaking my head, but grinning slightly. "You are just full of surprises, aren't you, Gav." It wasn't much of a question.

  He laughed lightly and joined Ian at the other side of the room, near the fireplace that we never used. They were looking at the pictures on top of it. Gavin pointed one out to Ian, said something under his breath, and they shared a secret smile. I knew it well; it was the kind of secret smile that only passes between the best of friends. I furrowed my brow, returning Mrs. Farrington's pleasantries automatically as I pondered over this development. Were they brothers? Not possible. Gavin didn't look remotely like anyone in Ian's family. Half-brothers? Adopted? Dropped off on earth by aliens and taken in? Of course it had to be the last, I decided with a private grin.

  "How have you been lately, Winter?" Mrs. Farrington asked warmly. My gaze wandered for a split second, over to her two middle children, who were sitting on the couch and looking at the magazines my mom had there.

  "I'm just fine, Mrs. Farrington," I said politely, with a smile. "And you?"

  "Quite well," she said. "Have you met my husband? I don't believe you have. Harrison, this is Winter. Winter, this is my husband Harrison."

  "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Harrison," I said, accepting his outstretched hand with surprise. I was pleased that he treated me like an adult. It was large and warm, and his grip was strong.

  "And it's very nice to meet you, Miss Winter," he grinned.

  I returned the grin. My instincts had been right on with this man.

  "Children, come here. Don't wander off," Mrs. Farrington called to her boys. "We haven't had introductions yet."

  The four of them grudgingly made their ways back. "All of you, this is Winter. Bruin," she added on my surname as an afterthought, though unnecessary. "Winter, this is Isaac –" She touched her youngest on the shoulder. He was the one that was my mother's student. "He's in fifth grade, but you knew that. And this is Isaiah." Her middle child; looked to be in 8th grade or so. "Ian," she said, gesturing towards her oldest, "And Gavin."

  I nodded. "I know Ian and Gavin," I said, because there was simply nothing else to say.

  "Oh, you do?" Mrs. Farrington's light grey eyes registered surprise. "You go to Branner High?"

  "Yes," I said. "We're in the same grade. All three of us," I added on.

  Ian didn't meet my gaze, but Gavin, who was behind everyone else, sent me an impish grin.

  Ooookay. Now what? Uncomfortable silence… Ho hum. Oh, drat it. Where was my mom when I needed her? What was taking her so long? And my dad. Where was he?!

  "Cheryl!" my mother cried, rushing into the living room, wiping her wet, freshly washed hands on her apron. Yes! I breathed a sigh of relief. I was saved. Perfect timing, mom. I applaud you. Next time, just try and come a little earlier. When, you ask? Oh, let's see, maybe when the fricking door bell rings.

  Also more or less on time, my daddy followed her in, giving Mr. Farrington a pleasant nod and a greeting. My mom herded everyone into the dining room, and we had dinner.

  It was by no means a quiet, uncomfortable, overly-forced-and-polite conversation meal, which I was glad of. My mom and Mrs. Farrington carried on a lively conversation the whole time, and my dad and Mr. Farrington seemed to be getting along quite well also. Isaac and Isaiah talked between themselves, and it was the same for Ian and Gavin, who I just knew was laughing at me, because his forest green eyes were twinkling with mirth every time he caught my eye. Ian didn't say a single word to me for the whole meal, though Gavin and I conversed animatedly. Since Morp, we had been hanging out more and more, though after the summer started I hadn't hung out with him at all – probably from lack of time on both sides. It was nice to see him again, and catch up with him.

  After dinner, the adults stayed at the table to chat over coffee, and we "kids" were banished from the dining room. I let Isaac and Isaiah use the computer downstairs to play whatever online games they liked to play (Shockwave games, or whatever they were), and Gavin, Ian, and I were left to find a way to amuse ourselves. We wandered into the backyard, Gavin and I still making conversation enthusiastically. I smiled as I chatted away with him, happy at this unexpected change of events. Gav had a way of making my mouth loosen up, and it definitely lifted my spirits to be able to talk and hang out with him again. On the other hand, Ian settled more and more into a stoic silence, which I ignored.

  We had a swing in our backyard, on the back porch, and the three of us sat down on it. Gavin easily settled himself between Ian and me, ever the peace maker, still listening attentively as I talked to him about my summer, laughing in the appropriate places and sympathizing with me when it was necessary. The swing was comfortable, and it was nice being squished between Gavin's reassuring body and the wooden side panel of the swing.
My bare feet grazed the tops of the grass blades as Gavin swung the three of us, pushing off from the ground with his feet every once in a while. The air outside was warm, and, due to Daylight Savings Time, it was only dusk, the last of the sun's rays splashing color on the sky in long, blazing streaks.

  "Gavin?" I whispered, when I was done filling him in about the past few weeks.

  "Yeah," he whispered back. He had slung a friendly arm around my shoulders as I talked, its weight warm and comfortable on me. I rested my head on his shoulder.

  "Thanks." I smiled up at him, and his lips quirked up as well.

  "What for?" he asked softly, dark emerald eyes holding my gaze curiously.

  "For being you," I said simply. "For being here when I needed you to be." I closed my eyes, enjoying the roughness of his old t-shirt on my cheek.

  He sighed, almost imperceptibly. "You're a sad girl," he said gently. "Tell me why?"

  The corners of my lips curved up automatically. It was just like him to be so perceptive of my feelings.

  "You wouldn't wanna hear it," I said very, very quietly. "It's a long and weird tale. I guess I was kind of stupid about the whole thing." I smiled; a bittersweet smile. "And besides, you've been listening to me talk for the past fifteen minutes. You talk now."

  "I want to hear it," Gavin insisted softly. I opened my eyes and looked up at him through my lashes. "Please?"

  "Okay," I whispered. "But not now. Some other time." I looked past him to Ian, who was sitting on his other side, silent as a stone, face turned away from us, and made a small jerk of my head to indicate him.

  "Alright," Gavin said, catching on to the movement. "I'll hold you to it."

  "As long as you tell me about why you're part of the Farrington household."

  "You have yourself a deal," he grinned. "That's too simple. I ran away from home. Ian's mom is giving me a couch to sleep on, basically."

  I made a small face. "Why doesn't she give you a bed? Hell, if you stay at my house I can give you bed." I brightened up. "Wanna stay at my house? My parents wouldn't mind. And I definitely wouldn't mind."

  Gavin chuckled. "A sorely tempting offer, but I think I'll stick with Ian. I think you know why."

  I nodded. It was part of the best-friendship deal. You couldn't just refuse the hospitality of your best friend, even if the couch was the hardest, lumpiest, oldest, smelliest, most uncomfortable couch in all of America. I knew.

  "So why'd you run away from home?" I asked gently. I had the feeling that Gavin trusted and liked me enough that he wouldn't clam up and refuse to tell, and I was right.

  "Because my parents hate me," he exhaled. "And I can't say I like them too much either. We came into conflict so much, that one day, I just couldn't take it anymore, you know? Sometimes you can only take so much before it's too much. So I packed up, put my suitcase in the trunk of my car, and left. Easy as that. Haven't looked back since."

  "Wow," I whispered, a newfound admiration and affection for Gavin stirring in me. "You're braver than I am."

  "Not really," he laughed. "I was scared to death when I left my key to the house under the front mat for them and got in my car. It took me about fifteen minutes of self-pep talk to get me to start the ignition."

  "I don't think I'd ever be able to do something like that," I said.

  He shook his head sadly. "You could if you wanted to. Sometimes I wonder if I took the easy way out, just avoiding my troubles. Maybe, at best, I'm a coward."

  "Hey," I said, catching his other hand and holding it tightly. "You're not a coward. Sometimes there's just no other way out."

  He shrugged lightly. "Okay," he said, changing the subject. "I'm done. Your turn."

  "I said some other time."

  "Now is 'some other time.'"

  "Some other time, after this 'some other time.'" Just as I was saying it, Ian rose from the swing and went back into the house without a word.

  I looked after him, astonished. "Where's he going?"

  "Back inside. You know," Gavin said slowly, "He's not a bad person. Sometimes he's arrogant and cocky and stuff, but…that's kind of just his way of covering up his insecurities. Everyone has those."

  "I knew he wasn't rotten at heart," I said.

  "Did you?"

  "Yeah. You wouldn't be best friends with someone who was."

  Gavin smiled. "I knew there was a reason we get along so well. Okay. Now, spill. All the down and dirty details. I want to hear all of it."

  I laughed. "There's nothing really down and dirty about it," I said, stalling for time, unlike he, who had told me his story without a pause when I had asked him for it.

  "Let's hear it anyway. Hey, want to spread out more? There's room now, you know."

  I glanced at him sideways, and grinned when I saw him brush a piece of his unruly brown hair out of his eyes, annoyed with it. It had gotten slightly longer since the last time I'd seen him. "But I like this spot right here," I said.

  He tilted his head slightly as he looked down at me. "Okay," he said. "I like my spot too. Now go on."

  "Okay," I said quietly. "Let me think where it all started." Because it really was hard to remember when it did all start. After a moment's contemplation, I said, "Well, I guess we could start…with Eva. She's my best friend, you know. Anyway, it was…wow, I think it was last summer when it all began," I realized with a start.

  Had it really already been a year? It seemed impossible. But it had been. What a different person I was now than I had been a year ago. I could still remember that call with Eva, during the summer. What had we started out talking about? SAT camp or something? Something small and insignificant, anyway. It was hard to believe that so many changes had happened within the past year. Eva's family had broken apart and moved away from Branner City, while a tall boy with a tan complexion, dark curly hair, mysterious golden eyes, and the only smile in the world that could make my heart pound, had both entered and left my life. Forever. Because now there was no doubt in mind at all that he would ever be back, heartbreaking as it was.

  I sighed, brought back to the present as a gust of warm air blew by us. "Yeah, it was a year ago," I said to Gavin. "Anyway, I was in my living room, and I got this call from Eva…"

  Chapter 30: Closure

  -Zack-

  "Oh, shit," I muttered to myself as the box came crashing down. It was a white cardboard packing box that wasn't taped together at the top, and when I turned it over, the contents spilled out. It piqued my interest and quelled my anger momentarily.

  There was a patchwork quilt – it was old and tattered at the stitches, but clean nevertheless. The colors of the patches had faded with time, but the cloth was soft and beautiful still. I weighed it in my hands – it was light. I set it aside and reached in for the next object, a rag doll. It, too, was old, and her dress had been repaired lovingly with colorful scraps of many different materials; silk, gingham, cotton, satin, denim, fleece.

  What else was in there? I kept digging. A cream colored gingham sun dress. Three books, Great Expectations (I snorted), Jane Eyre, and a Peanuts cartoon collection, all translated into Italian. A jewelry box, which I didn't open. A diary which I leafed through briefly, its aged yellow pages filled with flowing cursive, also written in Italian. A scrap book, written in the same hand, with many odds and ends, such as colorful paper candy wrappers, glued in carefully – but also glued in was something that heightened my interest: pressed flowers.

  Pressed flowers? I only knew of one person who liked pressed flowers, and that was my mom. Was it possible that these were her things? I pulled out the last object from the box. It was a framed black and white photo of a teenaged girl, wearing the cream colored gingham sun dress I had taken out of the box seconds ago, and an older woman, who was sitting. They had identical smiles, and there were subtle similarities between them – the same face shape, the same narrow, aristocratic nose, the same way they carried themselves – that I knew the older woman must be the girl's mother. I took a closer look at th
e teenage girl. She was beautiful. She was standing behind her mother, and her elegant hand was resting on the older woman's shoulder. There must have been a slight breeze blowing when the picture had been taken, because the skirt of her sundress, which went to her knees, was being tugged by the wind, as were wisps of her dark, curly hair. Who were these people?

  I took another look at the photo, and started. I knew who the teenage girl was. It was my mother. These must be her things.

  But what were they doing in an old box in my closet? I frowned. Why had she left them here, if they held as much sentimental value as it seemed they would? None of it made any sense. I placed everything back in the cardboard box and left it off to the side so I could finish what I had started earlier.

  Looking around my temporary bedroom, I figured I had most of my belongings either on my bed or already packed in my suitcases. I spent the next forty five minutes methodically folding all my clothes and running checklists through my head, just to make sure I had everything.

  I stood up later with an acing back from bending over to fold my clothes, exhausted from my frantic packing, lack of sleep, and too much thinking. I took one last look around the room with a kind of grim satisfaction. If all went well I would never have to set foot on this property ever again. I would make sure of that.

  Jason would have willingly dragged all my luggage downstairs for me, but nobody was home, so I did it myself. I didn't mind. I made a call to the local taxi company and sat down on the marble floor in the foyer next to my suitcases. Now it was only a matter of waiting. I checked my watch – it was two o'clock.