by Jordan Ford
Her smile morphed to that compassionate one from before and she reached forward, rubbing her thumb over the crease lines on his forehead. The pads of her fingers were soft on his skin, lighting small, tingling flames every place they touched. He froze on the couch, studying every inch of her exquisite face as she gazed at him.
“You know your eyes turn a little gray when you’re sad. I wonder what color they are when you smile.”
His lips twitched, rising into a lopsided grin as a short breath puffed out his nose.
“No, I mean a real smile. An unabashed, reckless, spontaneous smile that you have no control over.”
His mouth dipped, his expression crumpling with an unspoken apology. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled that way. His lips had probably forgotten how.
“Poor Tristan.” Her fingers brushed his face one last time before she sat back and tipped her head to study him. “Your sadness is a heavy burden. You must share it with me.”
Tristan squirmed on the couch, tugging at his pant legs and trying to get comfortable. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because a burden shared is a burden halved.”
“You don’t want to know my sorrows.” His eyes rounded with the word and he rolled them. “I wouldn’t want to put that on anybody.”
“Oh, but I do.” She leaned towards him, her eyes wide and earnest. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked you.”
“You seem ridiculously honest for a teenager.” He clenched his fist again, resisting the urge to reach forward and touch her.
She giggled, her eyebrows bobbing up. “Sometimes I don’t know if it’s a strength or a weakness. All I do know is that bottling things up can destroy your soul.” Her merry expression faltered for a second, her face washing with a flash of sadness as she glanced at the attic door.
Tristan peeked over his shoulder, wondering what lay behind the dark wood and caused the ominous creaking on the stairs.
The dragon.
His stomach clenched and he was about to turn back and ask her about it when she stopped him by rising from the couch and moving to her desk.
“I, for one, believe very strongly in letting things out—both good and bad.” Her fingers kissed the bottom of one of her dangling cranes. It swayed beneath her touch and she smiled lovingly at the origami bird before reaching for the one behind it.
“These are my victories, those moments in time you want to treasure for the rest of your life.” She held the wing of the one closest to her, her lips twitching with a smile as she read something on the wing. “This was when I first learned to ride my bike and the sound of my father cheering me on.” She moved to the one beside it, tipping the wing so she could read the inscription. “And this is the first time I read The Princess Bride and I fell in love with Wesley. I treated the book like a teddy bear until I’d read it at least ten more times.” Helena giggled. “Oh, and this is the time I baked chocolate chip cookies from scratch with no help at all from anybody. A very proud moment indeed.” She tipped her nose in the air, putting on false airs until a giggle gave her away.
Tristan rose from the lumpy sofa, stepping around it to take a closer look.
“Treasures,” she murmured beside him, her face cresting with sadness before she pulled in a deep breath and pointed to the one dangling just past Tristan’s shoulder. “That one’s new.”
Tristan turned to look at it. “What’s it celebrating?”
“The time a strange boy climbed in my window and thought I was a ghost.” She grinned.
Tristan’s cheeks caught fire. He dipped his head, rubbing his face and letting out a bashful sigh.
She laughed, nudging him in the side with her elbow. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.” She wrapped her arms around her tiny waist and swayed for a moment, her expression peaceful and content as she gazed at the paper cranes. “I hang them here to remind me of all the reasons I have to smile.”
Moving to the window behind her, she leaned her head against the glass and pointed down. “Those are my burdens.”
Tristan’s face twitched with a frown. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he shuffled towards her, standing close so he could see what she was pointing at. Her soft breath tickled his neck, trying to distract him as he peered down at the slanted roof and clogged gutters. They were littered with white cranes. Some of them were still intact, but most were disintegrated by the weather, white clumps of rotting paper with bleeding black ink scratched onto the surface.
“Whenever something really tries to get the better of me, I write it on the wings and then throw it out the window.”
Tristan glanced at her, his brow still wrinkled with bewilderment.
“I want to live with my victories, not my frustrations.” Helena let out a short sigh and reached for Tristan’s hand. They were still shoved in his pockets, so she sufficed with wrapping her fingers around his wrist. “I’m not saying throwing them out the window takes them away completely, but it is a good reminder that they can’t own me. I may not be able to control everything in this world, but I can control what I choose to do with it. And I say burdens be gone.” She looked over her shoulder, her gaze locking on the hanging birds above her desk. “And joys be treasured.”
Letting him go, she moved to the old wooden desk and gathered a couple of cranes from the corner before spinning back and holding them out to him.
“Here, take them. Cover the wings with all the nastiness you had to endure this weekend and then throw them out the window. It’ll be like watching your worries fly away.”
Tristan kept his hands in his pockets. “I wish it was that easy.”
“It is, if you’ll let it be.” She stepped towards him, her head tipping to the side as she bobbed her hand up and down.
He still couldn’t reach forward to take them. He couldn’t quite make himself believe that writing it down and chucking it out the window would make anything better. He’d probably just end up feeling like a fool.
With an exasperated sigh, Helena stepped into his space and wrapped her hand around his wrist again. Her hair smelled like jasmine, turning his arms to compliant limbs of string. With an insistent tug, she pulled his hand out of his pocket. Laying the cranes in his palm, she gently wrapped his fingers around them.
Placing her fingers over his, she looked up at him, her bright gaze so sweet and sincere he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “Trust me,” she whispered. “I like you too much to fool you.”
“You don’t even know me,” he croaked.
Her smile was soft as she reached for his face, her fingers gently resting on his cheek. “But I see you…and I like what I see.”
The urge to lean forward and press his lips against hers was overpowering; he could almost taste the sensation on his tingling mouth—the soft, sweet pressure of her supple lips melting against his. He’d never been so intoxicated by a girl before.
“Tristan!” A sharp call from outside jolted him away from the thought. They both jerked, the spell between them shattered.
A creak on the stairs behind the wooden door made Helena’s eyes bulge and storm with worry. “You should go.”
She stepped away from him, her head bobbing, her eyes trained on the door.
Tristan reached out for her. “Wait, are you—?”
“Tristan! Where are you?” His mother’s voice punctured the air below them.
“Go.” Helena pointed at the window. “Your mother is calling.”
“But—” He sighed, reluctant to leave her.
Catching his pained expression, she softened it with one of her smiles. “Please come back and see me again. I’m always here to listen.”
“Why are you always here?”
The light in her eyes dimmed, the smile on her lips faltering.
“Tristan!” His mother’s call was turning into an anxious bellow.
“Please, you must go.” Helena pushed him towards the window, her touch firm yet kind. He stumbled towards the exit, not wanting
to leave her, especially knowing he had to climb back down to reality.
“Are you going to be okay?” He stopped at the window, a sudden fear clutching him.
“Of course.” She smiled. “As long as you promise to come back and see me again.” She winked.
He nodded, finding the request a solemn one in spite of her playful wink. “I promise.”
The words helped him turn away from her, the idea that he’d be coming back making it easier to climb onto the sill. Shoving the paper birds into his pocket, he shimmied out into the cold air. He took a moment to find his footing and began a careful descent.
“Write them down,” she called to him. He looked up in time to see her blonde locks tumbling over her shoulder. “I promise it will make you feel better.”
She responded to his grin with a giggle before disappearing back inside. An unexplained warmth bloomed in Tristan’s chest, that sense of wonder engulfing him as he climbed down the tower and landed in a thick lawn that was in desperate need of a cut.
12
Paper Crane Magic
“TRISTAN!” His mother was going to lose her voice if she didn’t stop shouting for him.
Darting across the grass, Tristan scrambled up the fence and landed behind their garage. His foot sank into the soft earth at the edge of the building and he ended up walking through a cobweb as he darted into his backyard. He slapped at his skin, then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth before sucking in a breath, pulling his shoulders back and trying to hide the warmth racing through him by dragging his feet toward the house.
He appeared on the driveway just as his mother spun around, muttering a flurry of curses. She was staring at her phone screen, her nails tapping on the glass.
“I’m here.” He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and ambled over to her.
“Oh.” She touched her chest. “I was worried you’d taken off and I wouldn’t have a chance to say goodbye.” She clipped towards him, depositing her phone back into her purse. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”
“The yelling arguments are quieter from outside.”
His mumbled explanation made his mother flush. Her nostrils flared before she pulled her lips into a tight smile.
“Sorry about that,” she muttered, smoothing down her eyebrow and lifting her chin. There seemed to be a tickle in her throat as she gazed at the side of the white house.
“Did you tell him?” Tristan kicked at the concrete, wondering what he’d be walking into after his mother drove off.
She ran her tongue over her top teeth and then pursed her lips. “Now wasn’t the best time. Your father isn’t ready to hear about my life.” She stepped forward, holding him at arm’s length and giving his shoulders a little squeeze. “But you’re welcome to tell him if you’d like to.”
“I’m good.” Tristan’s reply was swift and sharp, accompanied by a pointed glare that made his mother let go and step away from him.
She scratched her collarbone and fingered her expensive gold necklace, rubbing her thumb over the diamond pendant.
“Think about the car offer. It’d probably make life easier on all of us.”
Tristan’s shoulder hitched and he shook his head. “I don’t want Dad to feel bad.”
Her head jolted back, a tendon in her neck pinging when she sniffed. “Why should it make him feel bad? You’re my son too, you know. I have a right to look after you.” She hitched her purse higher onto her shoulder. “This would be so much easier if you’d just move back with me.”
“Someone’s got to look after Dad.” Tristan winced and scratched his eyebrow, worried he’d said too much.
His mother’s eyes narrowed, her right eyebrow arching. “He’s a grown man. He’s not your responsibility, Tristan. He should be able to take care of himself.”
Looking to the ground, Tristan scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the uneven patch of concrete and shrugged. “I like it here.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” Tristan glanced over his mother’s shoulder, watching a minivan amble past their house. Little Red appeared in the back window, waving frantically. Tristan snickered and looked to the ground.
His mother whipped around to see what he was smiling about. Her lips dipped with a frown as she watched the back end of the car disappear down the road.
“Who was that?”
“I don’t know his name,” Tristan mumbled.
His mother huffed, rubbing her forehead and looking older for just a second. “Okay, Tristan. You like it here. That’s great.” She flashed him a tight smile.
“If it’s easier, I can take a bus down next time.”
“No, I want to come and get you. It’s fine.” She blinked rapidly as she stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. “I just miss you, that’s all.” She sucked in a breath, her fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “I love you so much.”
Her broken whisper made Tristan feel bad, but he still couldn’t make himself hug her back…or say anything. His throat was clogged, his voice box holding a silent protest.
She gave him a final squeeze before letting go and then turned for the car, slashing at an invisible tear and sliding on her sunglasses as soon as she sat down in the driver’s seat. Tristan waited until she’d reversed onto the street, raising his hand in farewell before spinning on his heel and heading into the house.
His dad was on the couch, staring at the television, his expression blank.
“You need anything?” Tristan tapped his shoulder.
“All good.” His father nodded, his words clipped. Tristan didn’t miss the way his long fingers dug into the armrest, and figured it was best to just leave him to it. He understood the comfort of silence. Talking things through didn’t always make them better.
He clomped up to his room, the bags he’d grabbed from behind the couch feeling heavier than usual. Stepping into his room, he closed the door with his butt, then dropped his duffel bag and backpack before moving to the window. He couldn’t see the green tower from the angle he was at, just his own desolate backyard—a small square of lifeless grass that needed some warmth and color. It wouldn’t happen. The Parker men could mow lawns, but neither of them were interested in gardening.
Tristan pressed his head against the glass and pulled the cranes from his pocket. They were a little bent and crushed. He pressed one between his thumb and forefinger, straightening it out. It came back into shape pretty easily and he stared at it for a long minute before walking to his desk and pulling a pen from the black container in the corner.
Sliding into his chair, he nibbled on the end of the plastic ballpoint, gazing at the white crane until his vision blurred.
Blinking a couple of times, he sat forward and pressed the paper crane into the wood, writing:
Mom’s getting married while Dad’s getting drunk.
Curtis cooks with saffron and wants to buy me a car.
I hate Curtis.
I blame Mom.
I want Dad to change.
The wing was soon covered with his scribble, scratchy black lines that marred the white perfection of the paper. Holding the bottom between his thumb and forefinger, he lifted it into the air and then let it fall back to his desk. It dropped quickly, nose-diving into the nicked wood. A half-hearted smile tugged at his lips. Jumping from his seat, he walked to the window, wrestling it open with a grunt. With his breath on hold, he dangled the bird out the window. Doubt picked at him, reminding him how stupid the idea was. Dropping the crane wouldn’t take his problems away.
“But they can’t own you,” he muttered, flicking the bird out the window before he changed his mind.
The light breeze caught the bird, flying it sideways and whisking it in a circle before letting it fall. It landed in the gutter, perching on a pile of rotting leaves that had yet to be cleared. Leaning against the frame, Tristan crossed his arms and gazed down at the bird. A slow smile grew on his lips.
His problems were resting in a rot
ting pile of leaves, exactly where they belonged.
A chuckle burst out of him and he stepped inside, slamming the window shut on the cold breeze and turning his back on the discarded paper crane.
13
Paranoia
Monday brought with it the normal madness—the hectic rushing out the door to get to work and school on time, the bustle and unspoken frenzy of students in the corridor as they realized they probably should have done more homework over the weekend.
The second half of the school year was in full swing and end-of-year exams would soon be upon them. No one wanted to admit it, but the underlying stress was there nonetheless.
In spite of this, Tristan cruised through his day, a light freshness giving him a slight bounce. Nothing too obvious, just an internal air that he wasn’t even aware of. A smile toyed with his lips as he unlocked his bike at the end of the day, and it slowly grew wider as he pedaled home.
He didn’t even bother putting his bag inside. As soon as the garage door shut, he climbed the fence and ran—knees high—through the grass, climbing Helena’s tower in record time.
Clasping the window ledge, he pulled himself up and spotted Helena on the sofa. She was lying down, bathed in sunlight and fast asleep. Her left arm was dangling over the edge, her long fingers curled above the book lying on the floor. The hard cover was propped up like a tent and the pages beneath were bent from being dropped.
Tristan smiled at the serene image. He didn’t want to wake her, but the idea of climbing back down and not seeing her was too deflating, so in a show of outright selfishness, he tapped on the glass.
It took a few taps to rouse her, but when she sat up and spotted him, her face lit with pleasure and she raced across the room in her fluffy UGG boots to let him in.
“You came back.” She held his arm as he eased in the window, landing on his feet—much to his relief.
“I promised I would.” He gazed down at her, loving the sparkle in her light emerald eyes.