In so many ways, he looked exactly like the boy that he’d been at sixteen. Except for the stubble and the height, of course. And the newly-developed muscles that Ashling knew were hidden beneath his light sweater and jeans. His shoulders had broadened, his torso tapering to a narrow waist. Clearly, he devoted a certain portion of his life to workouts. And it paid off.
Now that he was as famous as anyone on the planet, well, it seemed odd to be standing face to face with him. Fame made people rise to levels that made them seem untouchable; spectres who walked on another plane of existence. They became fictional creatures, even. Unicorns. The day that Hawke Turner had made his first appearance on a tabloid cover was the day that he’d altered in Ashling’s mind into a person she’d never known, and now she found herself wondering if it was a hologram that stood before her.
But he was really there. He was really in Woodland Creek, if only temporarily. And the young man who’d been wandering across her television screen so recently smiled at her from the other side of the screen door, his teeth gleaming an impossible white against dark stubble.
“Ashling Jones,” he said.
She froze for a moment, unable to utter the name that perched, waiting, on her lips. Somehow, letting it loose would mean acknowledging that he was really standing in front of her. In truth, she was surprised that he remembered her name, as though fame should wipe a person’s memory banks clean.
“Hawke,” the young man continued, gesturing to himself as though speaking to a chimpanzee who hadn’t yet grasped the English language. “My name is Hawke Turner.”
“I know,” Ashling replied at last, laughing. “I know who you are, of course. I remember you.” How could I possibly do anything but?
“Oh, good. I thought I’d become all forgettable,” he said, his smile still intact. Those teeth — how did he get them so white? “I’d hate for you of all people to forget me.”
“What are you doing here?” Ashling asked, even as she registered the significance of his last statement. “I must admit, you’re the last person I expected to see today.”
“Young Mr. Turner is here to collect a necklace that I was repairing for his mother,” said Ranach, who leaned in front of Ashling and pushed the screen door open, glaring silently at his employee for her failure to show their guest a proper welcome.
Hawke stepped inside and Ashling backed away, feeling mortified to be so star-struck in front of a former classmate, let alone a former close friend.
“Is it finished?” asked Hawke, turning to Ranach.
“Absolutely,” said the silversmith, reaching over to a nearby table and extracting a silver chain from a box. He handed it to the young man, saying, “I hope she’ll be happy with it.”
“I’m sure she will be,” said Hawke. “Thanks so much for doing this on short notice.” He turned to Ashling. “So tell me, how are you? What have you been doing with your life for the last eight years?”
“Oh, this and that,” she said. “I work here. In Ranach’s studio downstairs, making trinkets and thingies.” Trinkets? Thingies? Way to impress him, Ashling, you idiot.
“Thingies? That’s great. I’ve always wanted to know how to make a thingie. I took a course in thingie-construction at university, but I’m afraid that I got an F on the doowhacky exam.”
“Well,” replied Ashling, relieved that he seemed to have remained the same old Hawke, “thingies are, of course, not quite up to your level of glamour, but we take what we can get here in Woodland Creek.” Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Ranach making himself scarce by heading for the kitchen.
“My life is far from glamorous,” Hawke retorted. “Busy, after all, isn’t a synonym for ‘exciting.’ But it’s an interesting life, to say the least.”
“Well, you’re famous, anyhow,” said Ashling. “The town must be freaking out that you’re here.”
“God, I hope not.” Hawke pushed his fingers through the thick hair at the back of his head. “I have no interest in being fawned over. By strangers, anyhow. I don’t suppose I’d mind being fawned over by you, Ashling. You’re looking awfully good.”
The young woman felt her cheeks go hot and cursed them for it; no doubt Hawke could see the crimson shade that had permeated her flesh. How on earth had he done this to her with only a few words?
“I’ll bet you say that to all the ladies,” she said, attempting to tease him. But the words came out earnestly.
“I really don’t say any such thing to all the ladies. I’m not so smooth as the characters I play,” he replied, laughing. “I used to have such a crush on you, you know. I’m not play-acting. I always knew that you were destined for great things, too.”
Did he really? No. No way. He was being friendly and overly kind, because he felt bad for her. Surely that was all. She chose to change the subject, rather than test his gifts for charm further. “So...are you just in town for a visit? I mean, I haven’t seen you in years. I thought you’d disappeared for good.”
“I’m here working for the next couple of days, actually,” he said. “Shooting a few scenes from a film set in small town America. You should come have a look at the set. We’ll be on High Street tomorrow, and probably for the next few days. After that I’m hoping to take it easy for a little while and to catch up with this place. But seriously — do come by and say hello, would you?”
“Really?” Ashling realized immediately that her voice had gone up by about half an octave. This was not exactly playing it cool. “I mean, maybe I will. You know, if I’m not too busy.” She wondered if her attempt to sound uninterested was working.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, go to the bloody set!” shouted Ranach from the kitchen. How the hell had he heard so clearly?
“I’d really like it if you did.” Hawke was standing closer now, his eyes looking down into hers. He was taller than she remembered. And he smelled…well, he smelled like a man. Musky, delicious, sexy. He was no longer the boy she’d known. In almost every way he’d changed. If it was even possible, he’d improved. He had the air of experience about him, of knowledge. And his closeness meant that Ashling wanted quite desperately to touch him, to feel that body of his through his sweater. Good lord, he was divine.
She wanted to smile, to think how many young women would have killed to be in her position. But she wasn’t like other women, after all.
Hawke spoke again, defeating her silence with his persistence. “Listen, Ashling — I’m really glad that I got to run into you. There are things I’ve wanted to talk to you about, ever since…” He stopped himself, seeming to contemplate his next words with care.
“Things?” she said. “What things?” Her heart was sprinting in quick laps inside her chest, though why, she couldn’t exactly say. Something in his tone was exciting her, making her nervous, frightened, thrilled, all at once.
The kitchen door creaked open and Ranach pushed his head out. Ashling wondered a moment later if she’d only imagined her boss issuing a look of stern reproach to their visitor. What was going on between these two?
“You know what? It’s nothing,” Hawke added hurriedly, stepping back and running his fingers through his already mussed hair as though attempting to release a thought that had been brewing. “I should go. But really — do come by tomorrow. I’d like to see you. You don’t know how much.”
His repetition of those words almost gave him the air of a nervous teenager rather than a renowned film star. But there was no way, thought Ashling, that a man like that could ever be nervous around a woman like her.
Though it was sort of adorable to see.
“I’ll think about it, like I said,” she answered, smiling. “I suppose I would like to watch you in action. I hear that you’re pretty good.”
“Well, I hope I don’t let you down. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Unless—”
“Yes?” said Ashling.
“Nothing,” he replied, seemingly thinking better of whatever he’d been on the verge of saying. “It’s just that I would
like to spend more time with you. Very much.”
Her heart once again bounced against her chest, as though trying to escape and give itself to him. Was he — almost — asking her out? Surely not.
He grinned at her one more time before turning to leave. “So long, Ashling Jones. We’ll see one another soon.”
She watched him go. That boy from so long ago. He’d changed so much, morphed into something of a legend. Someone so inaccessible, so handsome. And yet a part of him was the same as it had always been: gentle, down to earth, sincere.
As he disappeared from sight, Ashling felt as though a delicate thread had attached itself to each of them, tugging at her chest as he moved away and threatening to snap if he went too far.
If only he still lived in this town. And if only he weren’t world famous. And far too good for the likes of her.
If only she weren’t Ashling Jones.
“He’s just a simple human,” she told herself, trying to shake free the thoughts of his handsome face and perfect body. Or the kindness in his voice. “Just a guy. You’ve seen him cry, for God’s sake.” It was true; when they were little he’d hurt himself on a jungle gym and wailed impressively for his mother. But then, everyone had done that at some point.
But no other kid had ever done what she had.
No other kid had set anyone on fire.
3
As Hawke strode away from Ranach’s front door he closed his eyes for a moment, snapping a mental camera shutter to steal a photograph of Ashling’s face. It had been years since he’d last laid eyes on her. She was a woman, and yet she was the same girl that she’d always been. As lovely as ever. As lost as ever.
That night years earlier, he’d wanted so badly to go to her. To let her know what he knew; to console her and free her from the burden that he was sure she must carry. And yet he’d chosen the coward’s way. He’d let her suffer on her own. And he’d always regretted it, through all the years spent nurturing his skills, his career as an actor. Always he’d carried around the knowledge that he could have done more, if not for his selfish need to keep a secret from her and from everyone.
Now, maybe he’d have a chance to make it up to her. No — more than that. Maybe he’d have a chance to reignite the spark that had once flared delicately between them.
She was so beautiful now. So gentle. No one that he’d met over the years, not even the most gorgeously attired, thin, manicured actresses, had even begun to come close to Ashling. And, he knew, no one ever would. She was otherworldly, her beauty only enhanced by the fact that she couldn’t see it.
His gait lightened as he walked. He would see her again; he knew it. And when he did, he’d find a way to let her know how he felt. He’d let her know that she had never been alone, even in the darkest days. That he’d always watched over her, as others had.
* * *
Ashling abided by Ranach’s wishes and made her way outdoors that afternoon, with the promise to herself that she’d return later to finish another silver piece.
The University Observatory was a favourite haunt of hers, and had been since she could remember. Up a long, steep pathway flanked by tall trees, the area was generally quiet, devoid of people, and lured her frequently away from civilization. On occasion she’d run into a fellow recluse on her walks up the slope, but like her, they avoided eye contact, looking to the trees or the distant buildings, until each was well out of reach of the other. Breathing communal sighs of relief and continuing on their way.
On this day, there was very little risk of eye contact with humans. Ranach was right; she did spend too much time indoors. The studio was her place of comfort, of safety. But here, outside, she had to admit that she felt everything melt away; all those worries that nagged at her seemed to shed and sail off in the breeze.
She loved to watch the birds soaring above, free in their open sky, safe from all that might hunt them down below. That was their true sanctuary, as the silversmith’s studio had become hers. And she envied and admired the birds for their gift of flight. Their freedom from earthly cares.
As she hiked, Ashling kept her eyes focused largely on the clear blue expanse above her. Anything that took her mind to another place, to the beauty of nature and creatures whom she could admire from a distance, was a good thing.
She made her way up the tall hill, where she knew she’d find some large rock or fallen tree to sit on. The sun had come to rest high in the sky, and the air smelled of late autumn: crisp, clean; the aroma of decaying leaves scattered about and picked up by the breeze. A few clouds stretched across the deep blue above, but none threatened to block the warmth that was pouring down, caressing her shoulders and lighting her long hair to a fiery red-brown.
When she reached the top and passed the Observatory to wander to the quiet area at its rear, she sat down and pulled out an apple that she’d shoved into her satchel. With the first crisp bite she scanned the sky once again, disappointed by its frustrating emptiness. Nothing. Not even a bloody pigeon.
Still, it had been worth the brief climb for the solitude, the sun and the time to think about absolutely nothing and everything at once. In these moments of aloneness, she always felt that the world was a clean canvas opening itself up before her. Everything that had ever happened in her relatively brief life seemed for the moment to matter very little, and perhaps — just perhaps — something great was yet to come.
But moments such as these were invariably interrupted by worry, and worse: a fear shrouding her, forming a cloud just above her head that seemed to separate her from the surrounding beauty. The same fear that had held her back all her life, kept her from advancing, from looking for those talents that Ranach insisted she had. A paralysis taking hold of her, stopping her in her tracks.
And today it was coloured by her brief chat with Hawke. All the good memories, accompanied by the recollection that in one fell swoop her relationship with him had gone crashing to the ground, a shattering piece of glass. Fragmented now, and irreplaceable.
For too many years she’d succumbed to this feeling of a looming concern; the heavy, repeated question, like a weight strapped to her neck. What if it happened again? That loss of control which, in one quick instant, had ruined her life and robbed her of any chance at normalcy.
It seemed as though each day she contemplated running away to start over somewhere, to see if maybe she could get a handle on all of it. But as she sat and breathed deeply, slowly, she told herself that today was not the day. Today was enjoyable and nearly worry-free. She’d seen Hawke, who’d apparently managed to leave the past in the past.
She’d crafted a beautiful bird of fire. And Ranach had been right, naturally; she’d needed to get out and breathe the fresh air. Nothing would have made her happier, and happiness was a rare commodity, a gem. It was to be nurtured, cultivated and appreciated in those brief moments when the light caught it just so. Because in a flash, it could disappear. And there was no way to know when it might return.
She rose after her period of contemplation, disappointed in the lack of an eagle but refreshed nonetheless by a series of positive thoughts.
And that’s when she heard it.
The distant cry of a bird of prey high overhead. Once again her eyes veered upwards, searching, avoiding the blinding laser of the sun.
She saw him instantly.
The Golden Eagle was moving high in the sky in smooth circles, gliding directly above her. And as she watched, he seemed to come closer, to grow larger, the circles descending gradually towards her until she realized that she could make out each feather on his wings, even the colour of his talons. He was a beautiful creature, his head noble, his eyes alert as he studied the landscape around him.
His flight was calculated as he spiralled downward, as though his target were exactly where she stood.
There must be a small animal around here to hunt, Ashling thought. Otherwise I’d almost think he was coming down to see me.
But of course he wasn’t; no bird would d
o such a thing. Instead, the eagle swerved, dipping into the nearby cover of tall pine trees and disappearing from sight. No doubt that was where his prey — a rabbit, perhaps — lay in wait. Ashling considered stalking him as she began to walk, but thought better of it. She’d only startle him and his prey, and spoil his chances at a meal.
The only thing that could have improved the moment was a little company. For all her time spent alone, Ashling was all too aware that even those who shun society crave companionship to share moments of beauty. A friend — a male friend, she admitted to herself — would have been a nice addition. Though he would have had to be a special one indeed, to be tolerable.
And what man in his right mind would want to spend time with someone as flawed as she was? Hawke had seemed interested in catching up, in spending time with her again. But then, he’d always been kind and charitable with his time. No doubt he perceived her simply as a former classmate. He was willing, perhaps, to forget the event that had caused the end of their friendship.
But she wasn’t exactly someone that any man aspired to get close to. Sometimes she wondered if she should just give in and join a convent. For one thing, it would give her an excuse to avoid men and for another, weren’t those places generally made of stone? The building would be able to resist one of her “accidents,” if need be. But a man? A body of flesh and bone would be vulnerable to her cursed ability. And she could never live with herself if she really hurt someone. She’d come close enough already.
“Fire Girl,” they had called her.
Her nickname had hit at the beginning of her sophomore year in high school, when a bunch of teenagers had headed down to a nearby lake for an evening bonfire. Somehow, a girl that Ashling had barely known had issued her an invitation without realizing the gravity of her error — you didn’t invite girls like her to such events.
Hawke had told her that he’d be there. And Ashling, having resolved to be more friendly than she had in her younger years, had shown up to find a sea of sour faces greeting her, but his had been lost among the masses. And so she only saw the unfriendly ones; the sorts of faces that not only ask how the hell you came to be here, but that convey a wish that you’d sink to the bottom of an ocean with lead weights tied to your feet.
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