by Teri Harman
“As a friend, Tilly. A really good friend. And you’re struggling. I was selfish after Jetty died. I’m trying to be a better friend now.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
Parker half smiled, but the pain in his face stopped the expression. “Love isn’t about what you deserve.”
She looked at him for a moment, feeling slightly amazed. He really had changed. “Thank you,” was all she could think to say.
He opened the back door. “Stop saying thank you and sorry so much.” His tone was light.
Matilda dared a small smile. “Night, Parker.”
“Good night, Tilly. And really—call me if you need anything. Promise?”
“Promise.”
Henry
Henry hobbled as fast as he could away from Matilda’s house. His heart was beating too fast and his hand throbbed painfully. A small cut on his middle knuckle bled profusely.
I hit someone.
A nasty tangle of emotions came to life inside him. He hadn’t hit someone in over twenty years.
In elementary school, he’d been an expert at getting into, and winning, playground fights. All his orphan rage had to go somewhere. But then came Lou Smith. Foster parent, committed drunk, and strong believer in physical violence as a form of disciple. Or just plain fun when his nightly six pack was drained.
The first time Lou hit Henry, the world had turned a putrid shade of gray. Henry had never known such pain. Not only the physical burn but also the wound to his ego, the blow to his sense of safety. In that agonizing moment, hitting became repellent to him. Making another person feel that way was as wrong as it got in his mind.
Henry had never started a fight again.
Even when he’d wanted to badly, even when it’d been justified.
Now, he’d hit a stranger over a woman he hardly knew.
Words like unstable and unbalanced trotted around in his head as he hurried back to his apartment. I am not okay. And Matilda will never speak to me again.
Henry left the lights off in the apartment; the dark felt safer. He cleaned and bandaged his hand. Unable to even think about reading or sleeping, he stood over the messy remains of the typewriter. Gently, he gathered every broken piece and placed them neatly on his desk. Lastly, he placed the body of the machine there on his operating table and started the tedious work of putting it back together. Atonement. If he couldn’t fix his life or repair what he’d just done at Matilda’s, he could fix this. He could put the typewriter back together and type more insanity.
n
Dr. Wells sat heavily in the chair across from the exam table. Henry shifted his weight and the sanitary paper crinkled loudly.
“There’s nothing wrong with your head, Henry. And the ankle is healing nicely.”
Henry only nodded. He had hoped there was some residual trauma to his head responsible for his behavior and delusions. Hearing that there was none was a huge disappointment.
“Stress can cause erratic behavior and actions,” Dr. Wells continued, “And you’ve had your fair share of stress. The accident, injuries, a new town, new job.” Dr. Wells folded his hands and smiled warmly. “Give yourself some time. Eat some hardy food and get plenty of rest.”
Henry nodded again, thinking of his nightmares. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll do that. But, umm …”
“Yes?”
“Do you think …” Don’t ask. “I was in an accident before, in Detroit—” Could be right—I have scars I can’t explain— “And I think my brain may have been damaged more seriously than I thought.”
Dr. Wells blinked in surprised confusion. Henry wished he could take back the question. “Why do you think that? What are your symptoms?”
“Some memory loss.” Some could mean six years, right? “And headaches, trouble sleeping, punching Parker for no reason.”
Dr. Wells frowned. “It’s possible. Was it a car accident?”
“Uh … yes.”
“Well, let’s do more tests then. Maybe there is some residual trauma that was missed.”
Henry nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. You can schedule another appointment with Fanny for those tests. Next week should work.” The doctor reached back to the small counter and took a paper from a file box. “Start doing these exercises every morning and evening for your ankle. It’ll help your mobility.”
Henry took the paper, glancing at it but not really seeing. “Sure.” He stood. “See you later, Dr. Wells.”
“Yep. Have a good Monday.”
Henry stepped outside the clinic. The June morning was perfectly pleasant and yet he felt gloomy, oppressed. It didn’t help that he’d been up all night working on the typewriter. Using forks and knives as tools, he’d done a pretty decent job. But he still had a long way to go. He needed some super glue, black paint, and a new ribbon. Did stores even sell typewriter ribbons anymore? Maybe he could rewind the one he had.
Henry shuffled toward the library and a long day of work. He prayed he could avoid Matilda, though he knew he would think about her every moment.
Matilda
Matilda took a deep breath as she opened the large door of the library. As she’d expected, Thea stood behind the circulation desk, arms folded, face stern.
“Well?” Thea demanded as Matilda meekly approached.
“I’m so extremely sorry, Thea.”
Thea huffed. “His perfect face. His perfect Robert Redford jaw!”
“I know. I don’t—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Thea raised an eyebrow and stared hard.
Matilda looked down at the desk. She hadn’t expressly asked Parker not to divulge the truth about her mother and herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Thea, but Thea had a way of talking. Maybe it would only be to defend Matilda’s actions over the last weeks, but still. Matilda didn’t want the whole town knowing that her mother was mentally unstable and had driven their family into oncoming traffic. And that now, she too, had an unstable mind.
“Thea, look. I really didn’t think—”
“How long has it been going on?”
Matilda frowned, set her purse down. “Well, it’s not easy to explain, but …”
Thea suddenly smiled and leaned in closer. “Is he a good kisser? He looks like a good kisser.”
Matilda took a step back in shock. “Henry? You mean Henry?”
“Of course I do! If he likes you enough to punch Parker, it’s got to be serious. And I want the details. So spill!”
Matilda scoffed. In some ways, Thea was still Thea. Matilda sat down in a chair. “It’s not like that … I mean, there really isn’t anything going on.”
Thea plopped down in the chair opposite. “Oh stop it, Tilly. He stormed into your house and punched Parker. Which, yes, I’m really pissed about, but this is big. And Parker said there was this thing between the two of you, the way you looked at each other, or something. So come on!” Thea was nearly bouncing in her chair.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I swear there is nothing to tell. I have no idea what happened last night.”
“Why was he at your house?”
“I don’t know.”
“He just showed up? Fists blazing?” Thea put her head to the side doubtfully. “For no reason?”
“I guess.”
“But there has to be something going on between you?”
“I’m not sure. We sort of …”
“Sort of what?”
“Keep running into each other.” Matilda shrugged. “It’s weird.”
“Do you like him?”
“I’m not sixteen, Thea.”
A scoff. “Oh, don’t try to act all mature.”
“Ladies!” Thea and Matilda both jumped from their seats at the sound of Beverly’s stern reprimand. “What is going on?”
“Nothing, Beverly,” they chorused together, like schoolgirls to a stern nun.
Beverly looked doubtful. “I need you two to go through the overstock downstairs and get things re
ady for the sale at the festival.” She dug a fist into each hip and leaned forward. “Do you think you can pause your chatter long enough to do that?”
“Yes, of course,” Matilda said. “Sorry,” she added for good measure.
Beverly pointed to a stack of empty boxes. The librarians hefted them and silently headed downstairs. Once out of earshot, Thea resumed her inquiry. Matilda half hoped Beverly would stop her again.
“So do you? Like him? Are you interested? You should be interested. He’s very good looking.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
Matilda shivered from the cool air of the dank basement. She took a breath of the musty air. “I forgot it was almost festival time. It was always my favorite time of year.” The Bright Nights Festival was Silent Fields’s best annual event. Held on the night of July fourth, it was far from the normal Independence Day celebration. It began with all the regular traditions: barbeque, small fair with vendors and rides, and kids eating too much cotton candy. But when the sky turned to navy silk, everything changed. All the lights went out. Everything. Street lights, neon signs, house lamps. All off. A moment later, a glow would appear in the distance, to the west of the fairgrounds. And then the music. Big band stuff, the happiest music, as Jetty would say. Like the call of the Pied Piper, the town came, walking down the dusty path to a field. A field rimmed in towering evergreens, all of which were ablaze with white Christmas lights. The dancing lasted until midnight. And the night ended with a grand fireworks show.
“Don’t change the subject,” Thea said. Then, “Those books over there, I think.”
They dropped their boxes and set to the task of filling them with books to sell at the fair. Matilda asked, “Do they still serve homemade root beer at the dance?”
“Of course. And Estelle started frying donuts right there. It makes the air smell like heaven.” Thea shook her head, annoyed to be pulled off the matter at hand. “He’s upstairs.”
Matilda gripped a book in her hands with excessive force. “I know.”
“You should probably go talk to him.”
“And say what?”
“How ’bout ‘just wondering why you punched my friend and if you want to spend the night.’ ”
Matilda laughed loudly. “You are still in high school.”
Thea grinned. “You still haven’t answered my question—did you kiss? Or hold hands? Or … anything! A guy doesn’t punch another guy over nothing.”
Matilda focused on the books, trying not to feel Henry standing close to her in her kitchen. “No kiss. Sorry to disappoint. Just random run-ins.”
Thea looked at her thoughtfully. “Did you date anyone or ones after you left? I know it’s a touchy subject, but … did you?”
Matilda didn’t have an answer. She’d taken her first crazy pill that morning. She couldn’t pronounce or remember the medical name of the medicine Dr. Wells had prescribed her, and she didn’t want to because that made it too real. He’d said it would take some time, possibly weeks for it to have any significant effect. But part of her had been hoping the memories would be coming back already. So far, only a growing headache.
“No, not really,” she said as normally as possible.
Thea blinked. “Go up and talk to him.”
“I can’t.”
Thea paused, looked over, but Matilda didn’t meet her eyes. “Why not?” Thea asked tenderly. “Is it because of what you won’t tell me? What happened after you left?”
Matilda looked at the books in her hand. A cheesy Western sat on top, a horse standing in the wind, a sunset in the background. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it.”
“But you can talk about it with Parker?”
Matilda looked up, uncertain if the tone she heard was curious or accusatory. “I’m sorry …”
“He didn’t tell me. And it’s okay. I know you’ll tell me eventually. And I know you guys have history. I was there.”
Matilda nodded. “I promise it’s just as friends.”
Thea shrugged lightly. “I know. I trust Parker. And I trust you.”
“He told me about the river.”
Thea’s face darkened. She looked away quickly, blinking. “So are you going to talk to Henry or not? You better get to him before the rest of the town drives him out for assaulting our beloved Parker. I mean, Parker isn’t going to go broadcast it, but these things get out. His face is hard to explain lightly. I guess he could tell people I hit him in a pregnant rage.”
Matilda frowned, confused at Thea’s reaction to the mention of Parker and the river. She wanted to press it, but something in Thea’s stance and rambling tone stopped her. Had Parker not told her the whole story? “The town! I hadn’t thought of that. They’ll hate Henry. Almost as much as me, but he doesn’t have a lifetime of living here on his side to temper the rage.”
“Someone should warn him.” Thea was still focused on a pile of books behind her.
“Yeah.” Matilda turned to look at the old stone steps. Go up there. I don’t want to. “I’ll be right back.”
n
As Matilda approached the back of the second floor, her heart already racing, she heard Beverly’s voice. “We won’t tolerate that kind of behavior in our town, Mr. Craig.”
Matilda stopped, closing her eyes in sympathy. Henry mumbled a reply she couldn’t hear.
“Well, I hope so. Ronnie’s not dead, you know. We could easily fire you and bring the old dog back here, if it turns out Silent Fields isn’t the right place for you.”
Another soft reply. Matilda crept closer, wedging herself behind a shelf to keep out of Beverly’s line of sight.
“You may not be my employee, but this is my library and I won’t have a heathen working here.” With that brutal honesty, Beverly stomped out of the office. Matilda watched her go. She waited until she heard the woman’s low, sensible heels assault the limestone floor of the first level. Then she walked slowly to the open door of Henry’s office.
The sight beyond made her heart ache.
Henry sat with both elbows on the cluttered desk, his face in his hands. His shoulders were slumped, his hair ruffled more than usual. She fought the urge to run to him and put her arms around him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Henry startled, dropping his hands. His eyes grew wide at the sight of her.
She took a step inside the stuffy office. There was one small wooden desk, a tall window looking down on Main Street, and one bookshelf with bound copies of past editions of the Silent Fields Post. It smelled of old paper. And for some reason that smell fit him perfectly. “Beverly likes to pretend she’s in charge of the whole world.”
Henry half smiled, his eyes never leaving her face. “She’s right though. I don’t really deserve to stay.” A slow breath. “I owe you an apology.”
Matilda stepped closer, now at the edge of the other side of the desk. She could smell soap on his skin. There was black grease under his fingernails and she wondered why. “I just want to understand what happened. Parker’s the one who needs an apology.”
Henry rubbed his hands over his face. He looked as tired as she. “I’d like to understand too.” He shrugged. “I was walking by. I thought I’d stop. I saw the lights in the kitchen and walked back. When I heard his voice, I just …” He opened his hands and shrugged again.
“Decided to charge in and commit assault and battery?” Matilda said it gently.
Henry frowned, looked away. “Dr. Wells said it might be stress. Not that that is an excuse.”
“What’s going on here?”
Henry didn’t answer right away. Silence stirred between them. “I don’t know. But I think we need to do something about it.”
His tone was so serious that Matilda looked up, met his eyes. “Like what?”
“I think I better walk you home tonight.”
Matilda blinked in surprise. “Why?”
“To talk. To try to decode this … thing.” Henry gestured between them.
“Would that be okay?” He nervously thumbed the edge of his desk.
Matilda’s stomach fluttered, excited, but wary. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m done at six.”
Henry nodded, looked away. “Six.” He stood and came around the desk. Matilda’s heart pounded even harder. She lifted her chin to look up at him. She remembered that Henry had been crying when he’d plowed into her kitchen. If he’d just been on a walk, why had he been so upset? She wanted to ask him but felt too shy. He moved his hand as if to touch her but folded his arms instead. “Do you think Beverly will be back to lecture me again?”
Matilda smiled. “It’s highly likely. Along with most of the town. Prepare yourself.” She stepped back. “Uh … see you later.”
Henry smiled, a blush rising under his freckles. “See you later.”
Henry
I think I should cancel.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“But I don’t understand what’s going on between us. She makes me so nervous. She makes me … assault strangers.”
“That sounds right, not wrong. Parker needed to be knocked down at least once in his privileged life. Real people shouldn’t look that nice. A bruise on his jaw humanizes him.”
Henry dropped his head to the surface of his office window. People were filling the sidewalks below, headed home. “Abby, I can’t do it.” It was five-thirty, and he hadn’t been able to think of anything all day. His head filled with pictures of walking side by side with Matilda. He felt like a flustered moron. One moment, he wanted to run to Matilda as fast as possible and the next he wanted to leave town permanently. How could she thrill him and scare him to death at the same time? Why did she make him happy and give him nightmares? Was this normal? Maybe Dr. Wells should do those tests sooner.
“Henry, son, take a breath. It’s just a walk. And it’s about time. You two need to figure this thing out. Together. Not apart and brooding. Just go. Talk about the weather. Then talk about other stuff. And then kiss her.” He could hear the smile in her voice.
If I kiss her, the world might implode. Henry sighed loudly. “Beverly Wilson lectured me on proper behavior today. Everyone knows I hit Parker. I might be run out of town the moment I step outside. I shouldn’t have come here.”