Spark

by Rachael Craw

  “I’m glad you stopped in to see me.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re going to stop terrorising the doctors with your mystery blood?”

  I snort. “Yes.”

  He runs his thumb over my knuckles. “Have you talked to Jamie?”

  I screw my nose up. “He has avoidance issues.”

  Barb sighs. “He’s slept in that horrible chair in your room every night you’ve been here.”

  “I know. I’ve heard him arguing with Miriam for dibs.”

  Leonard chuckles. “Gallagher men are notoriously unforgiving … especially of themselves.”

  “That’s not true,” I say. “You forgave me.”

  He squeezes my hand. “There’s nothing to forgive. You protected our daughter. You saved your brother’s life. I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

  I bite hard inside my lip, not wanting to cry, glancing warily at Barb. She strokes my arm. “We love you, Evie, even though you’ve cost us a fortune in household repairs.”

  My friends, and it’s weird but nice for me to think of them as mine and not just Kitty’s, wait at the end of the corridor. Miriam comes towards me, looking worn out. She suffered a dislocated shoulder and hip, another split lip, cuts to her legs and a concussion. Her face is almost completely healed now. The dark shadows under her eyes are from sleepless nights shared between hospital rooms, watching over me and watching over her son – from his room’s viewing window.

  Neither Miriam nor I have touched on the big issue between us – her being my mom – keeping that and the matter of my twin brother, and all that means, a secret. For my part, I have no clue what I’m supposed to do about it or if there’s anything to be done at all. I sure as hell don’t want to talk about it. I know she won’t push it. She’ll wait for me, but that feels like pressure too.

  She touches my arm. “How’s Aiden?”

  I keep my voice low. “He spoke.”

  Her eyes widen. “He did? How did he seem?”

  “He wanted to know about Kitty.” I can see by the narrowing of Jamie’s eyes, over Miriam’s shoulder, that he’s heard me.

  Her face creases in concern. “What do you mean?”

  “He wanted to know she was okay.” I hurried through the explanation. Now isn’t the time. “He was relieved.”

  Hope overshadows her surprise and disbelief. “Okay.” She smiles. It’s all a bit weird, the pressure of so many things that need to be said. She pats my hand. “I’ll come back to see him tonight.”

  Kitty reaches me first. The bruising on her cheekbone has turned a spectacular purple. She wraps herself around me and hugs me tight.

  “Gently,” Barb warns.

  Kitty steps back, allowing room for Imogen, Lila and even a quietly concerned Kaylee to crowd in for a moment.

  “Jeez, Evie,” Lila says. “Who looks that good after a gunshot?”

  “Van, of course.” Gil Bishop smiles across the heads of his friends. Abe and Pete are there as well, grinning at me.

  “Shall we go?” Miriam says.

  “Where precisely?” Kitty asks.

  I stop in my tracks. So does everyone else. I haven’t given it a single thought. I no longer need to return to the Gallaghers’. Kitty’s safe. I can go home.

  “Come back to our place.” Barb steps beside me. “Your aunt–” She swallows and those in the know look awkward for a moment. “Miriam won’t mind sharing you a little longer.”

  Miriam nods. What can I say? I don’t have it in me to argue, though the idea of smiling my way through dinner is exhausting. I let them lead me up the corridor.

  Jamie walks stiffly behind his sister, quiet and introspective. He has come to see me every day but never by himself, always with Kitty. The nights he has spent propped in the vinyl recliner that sat in the corner of the hospital room, leaving before I stirred in the mornings. I hate to see him torturing himself.

  The silver lining of this dark cloud is Kitty – to look at her and see her easy smile. There’s lighthearted banter as talk swirls towards the Halloween Ball. Habit makes me want to walk beside her. Habit makes me close my eyes, briefly feeling for danger. There’s nothing. No tension beyond my own emotional baggage. No alarming zapping in my spine. Nothing.

  The oversized hospital elevators allow room for the crush of supporters and Barb hits the button for the basement. “Reporters out the front,” she explains. “We can make a discreet exit.”

  I nod, feeling a little weak at the thought. Barb used her husband’s clout to minimise the media fallout. There were no names mentioned, the assailant’s identity suppressed and though it made national news, the details were ambiguous.

  As the elevator takes us down to the lowest level, the others chat around me. It’s bizarre being with schoolfriends. That whole world seems so distant. None of them appear to question the whitewashed version of events Kitty has fed them. The intruder attacked Kitty and shot Leonard and me before Jamie finally overpowered him. It’s being described as a home invasion. No mention of the fact it took place out past the estate grounds. No mention of Aiden, though I doubt that can be kept quiet for long.

  There has been a lot of debate about the audacity of the attack and whether it was connected to what happened to Kitty at the ball; debate about the intruder’s goal. Looking for cash? Jewellery? Priceless artworks? Perhaps someone hoping to get into Leonard’s business files? Some kind of personal vendetta?

  The musical ding of the elevator’s bell has us all turning to the doors. I use the opportunity to position myself next to Jamie. He glances down at me with his permanent frown. I take his hand, weaving my fingers through his. I need to get him alone though I don’t like my chances in the crowd. He wants the buffer of our friends between us.

  There’s some indecision about who will go in which car. I stick by Jamie so that he won’t be able to dispatch me with someone else. He resigns himself to the fact and opens the passenger door of his car for me. I wave at Pete, Abe and the others. They crowd into Gil’s SUV, winking and grinning. They know Jamie blames himself, though they have no idea why, and I feel a rush of affection for them all for giving me a chance to talk to Jamie alone.

  Jamie slides into his seat and starts the engine.

  “Take me to the willow tree,” I say.

  He looks at me, meeting my eyes properly for the first time in days. His confused frown gives way. He knows where I mean.

  I smile. “Time for you to right a wrong.”

  WILLOW

  In the late afternoon light, the sky is hazy pink. Leaves fall in splashes of dying colour and the sun, a diffused golden ball, hangs low above the trees. The air is cold and sweet and the river sparkles in the shallows.

  I leave my shoes and sling in the car and make my way gingerly to the water’s edge, where the smooth round stones give out to freezing gravel. I relish the icy burn when the current pushes the flow up the bank and over my toes. Jamie makes his way higher up onto the boulders, whitewashed relics heaved from the mountain. Hands in his pockets, he navigates the rocks with little concern for the placement of his feet. “We’ll be late.”

  “They won’t care,” I say. Miriam and Barb both like to feed people, the boys like to eat and Gil will love being the centre of attention with four girls to look after him. I point downstream to a press of willows, anticipation rising in me. “There it is.”

  I reach the tree first. Looking back over my shoulder, I wait for his hooded eyes to meet mine before I brush through the branches, a fragrant curtain with moving shades of gold, catching my clothes, tugging my hair. It’s much darker inside the almost perfectly spherical underside of the tree, but the effect of the late afternoon sun is magical, gleaming behind the long willow fingers.

  I remember the fallen branch that forms a makeshift seat. There’s new graffiti now and the bark has worn smooth. I remember his warm lips and feeling that something momentous was happening to me. I remember the crowing boys, my burning shame and anger, and my heart sw
ells, not at the memory of an old wound but the deep ache of present longing.

  I listen for him, and swivel on the stones to face him, biting my cheek to keep from smiling. Jamie, furrowed brow, pursed lips, digs his hands in his back pockets, stretching his shirt against the broad plains of his chest and stomach, surly, stubborn. I hold my hands behind my back so he won’t see the tremor in my fingers. How many days has it been since we last kissed?

  You’re an addict.

  “Okay. Before you right your wrong, I have a speech.”

  His eyes narrow. “I thought we weren’t going to make speeches.”

  It feels like stepping into empty space. “I’m sorry about Aiden.” It isn’t quite right. “Or, I’m not,” I say. “I’m not sorry he’s not dead.” This is complicated. “I mean, I’m sorry that Kitty got hurt. I’m sorry I didn’t keep her safe.” I spent my hospital nights torturing myself about Kitty’s close call. “I’m not sorry that Aiden’s alive.” I sigh. “But I am sorry about what that means for you.” I’m making a crap job of it so I stop.

  Jamie stares at his shoes as though he wants to set them on fire. There’s a long pause. “I don’t begrudge your brother his life. I’m trying not to. But I don’t understand. How did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Not kill him.” He looks up. “Was he too strong for you?”

  I shake my head, waiting for his disapproval.

  “You were about to finish him but you resisted your instinct?”

  The conversation isn’t going where I expect. “I guess.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “It was very hard.” Like confessing a dirty secret. “I nearly couldn’t … not. I wanted to kill him.”

  “Of course you did!” Jamie throws his hands up. “That’s the way it works.”

  I’m confused now about what I should be feeling bad about – about wanting to kill Aiden or about not killing him? “I’m sorry?”

  His mouth hangs loose. “Why are you apologising?”

  “I have no idea.”

  A choked laugh bursts from Jamie’s throat.

  “Please don’t be angry with me. I can’t stand it.”

  Another choked laugh. “Angry?”

  “You’re not?”

  His face softens, a thaw that makes me warm with hope. He rolls his eyes. “I am amazed. I am envious. I am confounded. I am not angry.”

  “Oh, all right.” I want to kiss him, badly, but I know I have to play it cool. “Why envious?”

  “You were able to make a choice.”

  I don’t know what to say to this. I’m not sure I did have a choice. “Well. We’re here.” I make my voice velvet soft. “You may right your wrong.”

  His face immediately hardens and he lowers his head. “I can’t.”

  My shoulders slump. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m standing right in front of you.”

  He runs his hand over his eyes and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I can’t make it right. It’s unforgivable.”

  “Pfft.” I shake my head. “That’s a bit dramatic. Even I can accept you were a smug bastard, but breaking my fourteen-year-old heart is hardly guilt for the ages.”

  He glares, not impressed by my dodge. “I nearly killed you, Evangeline. You could have died. Do you have any idea–”

  I flick my wrist. “Pfft.”

  “Stop-making-that-noise.”

  “You weren’t trying to kill me, Jamie. It was an accident.” I fold my arms. “Now, I want my apology.”

  His brow buckles tight. “You are deliberately being obtuse.”

  “You are deliberately being an ass. Isn’t the offended party the one who decides whether an act is forgivable or not? Being shot, accidentally, has not offended me.” I wave my fingers at him. “I release you from your unnecessary burden.”

  He makes infuriated sounds and clenches his fists.

  “You know,” I begin quietly, determining not to be embarrassed, “that whole summer, all I thought about was what it would be like to kiss you.”

  He sighs and squints up into the roof of the tree. “You’re changing the subject.”

  “No. It’s the subject I came here to discuss. Every day I was at your house with Kitty, watching your TV or eating cookies in your kitchen or swimming in your pool … I was imagining what it would be like to kiss you.”

  His lips twitch. “You always ignored me.”

  “You were mean.”

  “You never gave me the time of day unless I was hassling you. You had this whole aloof thing going on. It drove me mental.”

  “I was fourteen! Of course I had a huge crush on you.”

  “I didn’t know that,” he mutters. He shifts his weight, facing me again but keeping his eyes on the ground, his voice heavy and serious. “If it’s any consolation, I spent a great deal of time thinking about you swimming in my pool.”

  Silent laughter shakes me and I can see him trying hard not to smile.

  “It exceeded my expectations, that kiss. I don’t mean the psychological trauma of being a joke to your friends. I mean the actual kiss, itself, the way your lips felt against mine, the softness, and the taste and some combination of limited oxygen and body proximity and location and, I suppose, the fact that I had never been kissed before.”

  He looks up, sharply. “Never?”

  I shake my head.

  “That was your first ever kiss and those bastards …”

  I nod.

  He widens his eyes. “That’s awful.”

  “It was. I was very upset.”

  “I am extremely sorry.”

  I grin. “Thank you.”

  He lowers his head, his teeth flashing. “You don’t know how many nights I spent re-orchestrating that whole thing in my head.” He drops his voice and lifts his eyes. “Many nights.”

  It’s hard to look at him, hard to comprehend the echo of my feelings painted so exactly in his face. Fascination, familiarity, the shade of longing and things I can’t name. I force myself to hold his gaze, force myself to let him see the mirror of it all in my eyes. My courage grows with his slow smile. “Show me now. Give me back that kiss.”

  “Do you promise not to faint?”

  I laugh. “No.”

  “Then I will just have to catch you.” He looks around the glittering hollow, moves close and shifts me to the right. “Let’s see. I think it was like this.” Lit from the side, he seems almost luminescent, holding me with his grey eyes. I make the decision in that moment to push aside the clamour of my fears for the future, what Affinity will do when they find me, what will happen to Aiden, how things will be with Miriam, right and wrong, and Helena, all of it. I love Jamie and I only want to think about him right now. He smells so good and I breathe him in and like three years ago, the sense that something momentous is happening swells inside me.

  He rests his hands on my waist and draws me against him, his lips opening mine, softly, carefully, a tender exchange. The memory reforms in my mind, I press it into the bandwidth, the taste of sun-warmed skin, the smell of sunscreen, the brush of hesitant hands, my fluttering pulse. He chuckles against me and the KMT fades, blending with the present, then it evolves into something new, urgent and ripe with meaning.

  I slip my hand around his neck and dig my fingers up into his hair. My wounded shoulder keeps my right arm lingering at his waist, gripping the hem of his shirt. I begin to sway and he bends down, lifts me to his chest and carries me to the branch seat. It brings us nose to nose. He slides my hips forward. I wrap myself around him. Our kisses grow insistent. He cups the back of my head and fog rolls in. I cling to him, resisting my thrashing pulse, but lights pop behind my eyelids, the sea crashes in my ears, and a sigh lifts in the back of my throat.

  “Evie,” he murmurs against my lips, whispering as I go under, “I choose you.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Short of sounding like an R&B singer accepting a Grammy, I’d like to thank my Heavenly Papa for the dream that
“sparked” this story, in answer to my prayer, and the grace that has sustained me.

  Heartfelt thanks to Audra Given, my first reader and cheerleader, for voraciously wanting “more pages, please” and your tireless encouragement and love. Hayley George, my first “editor”, beloved friend, thank you for living this journey with me. Your generosity of heart (in all things), your words of life and hope are a gift to me.

  To the Walker Books family, my deepest gratitude. Sarah Foster, thank you for welcoming me to the fold. Nicola Robinson, thank you for cultivating the best in my work. You are wise and cunning as a fox, patient, kind, insightful, a true advocate and I am so glad you are my editor. Amy Daoud, thank you for creating a cover that makes my heart burst with pride. Jaclyn Prescott, thank you for being my tour guide, publicist and ally. Thank you to the marketing team, assistant editors and “Spark” enthusiasts who have been so kind to me at WB.

  Chris and Barbara Else, my mentors and agents, thank you for championing my work. Barbara, you are a wonderful role model and inspiration. Chris, you are a generous teacher and guide, you always tell me the truth and expect the best of me. I have greatly benefitted from your wisdom, experience and listening ear.

  To the many family members and friends who have endured me banging on about this book for years, Ann Ridden, Tracey George, Michelle Wilson, the gals from the Diamond Mine, Lifegroup and Write Club who have cared, prayed, encouraged and been so supportive, thank you.

  Finally to my forbearing husband, Ian, and my beautiful girls, Sophie, Isabelle and Evangeline (yes, darling, Mummy stole your name), thank you. Your love and support makes this possible, makes this worthwhile.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rachael Craw studied Classical Studies and Drama at the University of Canterbury, but became an English teacher after graduation. Working with teenagers has given her a natural bent towards Young Adult fiction and a desire to present a feisty female protagonist in her writing. Rachael was born and raised in Christchurch, New Zealand, and currently lives in Nelson with her family. Visit her online at www.rachaelcraw.com