by Teri Harman
The medicine didn’t seem to be doing anything to help. She still had no memories or clarity, only headaches. And the sound of keys, and itching fear, and a wall between her and Henry. Because how could she let him love her if she were as unstable as her mother. She hadn’t even been able to tell him yet about Ivy and her own possible insanity. The secret sat between them each night, an unwanted stranger.
She fingered the smooth basil leaf, releasing its smell into the air.
“Jetty, why is it so hard to just be happy?”
“I’m sorry, Tilly.” Jetty’s voice, wispy and far away.
Matilda spun.
An empty yard.
And still hearing voices …
Matilda forced her racing heart to calm. She slipped the basil leaf into her pocket, a talisman against the waking insanity. Henry would be there any minute. She walked around to the front porch, focusing on the sounds of the Bright Night Festival. To the west, Matilda saw the top of the small Ferris wheel. Maybe tonight, sitting in a squeaky, rocking cart at the top of the wheel’s rotation, she’d finally feel happy enough to let Henry kiss her. Was it possible for a kiss to erase the sorrows of the past and put hope into a bleak future?
This is not a fairy tale.
She wanted to feel different tonight, wanted to feel as normal as she had with Henry that night in the bookshop. She wanted it so badly that she had even left her long sleeves and skirts in the closet. Feeling bold (or maybe desperate), she’d opted for shorts and a tie-dye tank top. Standing on the porch in the heavy, hot air, she felt too exposed, but also exhilarated. Like she could be someone else tonight.
An urge to go to the empty bookshop twitched inside her. Over the past weeks the Ugliest Couch in the World had become a refuge. Most nights after Henry left, she found herself there, fleeing from the mixed emotions of being with him. Every time she was sure the door to Booker’s would be locked, but she always found it opened. She’d hoped to find some clarity in the creaking loft, some map of direction on the dormer window glass. All she found was dust and aching sadness.
And yet, every time she’d gone back, pulled to the bookshop like a bee to nectar.
Matilda tugged at the hems of her jean shorts.
I should go change.
“Hello.”
Henry always managed to approach with shy stealth, presenting himself as a surprise. A freckled surprise. Matilda’s stomach flipped at the sight of his effortlessly handsome figure, dressed in khaki shorts, a Bright Night Festival 1998 T-shirt (which Matilda was certain Abby had insisted on buying him), and flip-flops. No more boot cast.
“Hello,” she answered with an easy smile.
“Ready to go?”
She nodded and stepped off the porch. Her hand instinctively went to her forearm, her left leg hiding behind the right. Henry held out his hand and she took it. His eyes traveled over all her bare skin. His fingers rubbed at the scars on her forearm; she wanted to crawl away. “You look radiant,” he whispered.
She laughed nervously, some of her self-consciousness fleeing. Henry flipped his arm to expose the underside of his forearm. “Shall we compare?” He smiled as he also held out his leg to show the small scar near his ankle from the accident.
Matilda warmed inside. “I think I win.” She lifted her leg out in front. She’d never thought about how much they were both scared. A chill moved through her.
Henry clicked his tongue. “Yeah, I think you do.”
Hand-in-hand, they headed toward the fairgrounds, an open dirt field adjacent to the pine-surrounded light theater. Tinkling, breathy calliope music floated toward them. People were everywhere, lifting hands in friendly waves. Matilda had promised to stop by the library tent to see Thea and Parker. She looked over at Henry; it’d be the first time the two men faced each other since the punch. Parker had been faithfully checking up on Matilda, but always carefully when Henry was not around. Maybe they should do that first and get it over with.
They came to the main entrance, a large wooden arch draped in red, white, and blue cloth, and strung with a thousand tiny white lights. As they stepped through, Matilda’s breath caught. It was like stepping back in time to old-fashioned fairs of the twenties or thirties: wooden booths and stripped canopies, candies and pies for sale, hats and pinwheels. The energy of the night was intoxicating, the pressure of the happy sounds on her skin exhilarating. She and Henry exchanged a smile.
“Let’s hit the book tent first,” she suggested. “Then eat because whatever that is it smells amazing.”
He led her through the pulsing crowd.
“Tilly!” Thea’s voice cut above the clamor, but Matilda couldn’t see her yet. “Over here!”
A group of tall teenage boys moved aside. Matilda saw Thea in the library tent. Surrounded by books laid out on folding tables, she sat in a folding chair, belly protruding forward, straining the fabric of her yellow sundress.
“You made it!” Thea said. “Isn’t this the best?”
Matilda smiled. “Yes, it is! How are you feeling?”
“Like a whale. Look at me! I can barely stand and I’m convinced my ankles might actually explode if they get any fatter.” She rolled her eyes and picked up a paper fan to move air over her red, puffy face.
“I’m sorry,” Matilda said. “Should you even be doing this? You look like you should be laying in a bed, a cold rag on your face, and something good on the TV.”
Thea laughed. “I won’t stay too long. Sadly, I’ll miss all the good stuff. But enough about me—how are you two? Hi, Henry!”
“Hi, Thea,” Henry said shyly.
“We’re good.” Matilda smiled at Henry, meaning it. “Where’s Parker?”
“Right here.” Parker came out of the crowd and ducked into the tent to stand behind his wife. He smiled at Matilda, but it faltered when his eyes moved to Henry. “Henry,” he said stiffly.
“Parker,” Henry returned. His hand tensed in Matilda’s grip. “I never … I’m really sorry …”
“Don’t worry about it,” Parker saved him, but still the two men stood stiffly, not really looking at each other.
Matilda looked at Thea and they both burst out laughing, which instantly dissipated the tension. Matilda hadn’t laughed so freely in … when was the last time I just laughed? The thought sobered her a bit, but her smile remained. She offered it to Henry and he returned it, a blush of embarrassment across his freckled forehead. She reached up to brush her fingers along it playfully. He released her hand and brought his arm around her shoulder, holding her eyes.
Feeling heat rise in her own face, she turned to Thea and Parker. “Can we bring you anything? Food, cold drinks, an epidural?”
Thea laughed, flapped a hand at them. “No way. Go be lovers in the night. Don’t worry about us old, boring married folk.”
They said their goodbyes, and Matilda and Henry merged into the crowd.
As the night aged, and Henry and she became more at ease with each other, Matilda felt like herself for the first time since Jetty got sick. Buoyant and carefree. Happily wrapped in the moment. They did all the obligatory fair things: ate too much food, pulled cotton candy from a white paper cone while they rode the Ferris wheel, browsed homemade fare, played impossible-to-win carnival games, walked through the fun house hall of mirrors and laughed until their sides hurt.
Around ten, they made their way to a large white tent on the edge of the fair grounds. A sign, a quilt made of red and blue with white embroidered letters, announced, Quilts for Charity. Stepping into the tent, Matilda took in a kaleidoscope of color. The walls were lined with various sizes of quilts, so expertly crafted they looked like paintings. In the center of the quilts displayed for purchase was an expanse of quilting frames slung with unfinished blankets and gaggles of women sitting around pulling yarn into place.
Mesmerized by the display, Matilda didn’t initially notice that some of the conversations had lost volume. Henry’s hand grew stiff in hers. Her eyes traveled around the tent, st
artled to find several sets of curious, bitter eyes trained on her. Including Beverly’s, sitting next to Rosie Silverton in one of her pantsuits. Matilda blanched, blinked, and nearly turned to run. If Henry hadn’t held tightly to her hand, she might have done just that. She moved to tug at her sleeves, but fumbled at her bare skin instead, hating her frivolous choice to be normal tonight.
The accused … the outcast … the unwanted. Apparently, no one had actually forgiven her for leaving, coming back, yelling at Beverly, and now dating the stranger who had hit Parker. She imagined that several of those buzzing conversations around the unfinished quilts had circled her name. Her embarrassment was soon edged aside by simmering fury.
“There you are!” Abby’s cheerful announcement broke the stare down and the tent filled with chatter once again. Matilda stumbled a bit as Abby pulled her into a hug; Henry released her hand, but stood protectively close. “You ignore those nasty hens,” Abby whispered into her ear.
Matilda nodded stiffly, hoping her heart rate would return to normal soon. “These are beautiful, Abby.” Normal talk. Say normal things. They don’t know you or what’s going on. They don’t matter.
“Well, thank you. My mother taught me to quilt. And there’s plenty of time on a farm to sew.” Abby moved her eyes to Henry. “Have you two had fun?”
“We have. It’s quite the party,” Henry said, taking back Matilda’s hand confidently, as if challenging the hens to peck past his protection. It made Matilda smile and mostly forget their stares.
“And the best is yet to come!” Abby said. “Help me pack up my things. Then it should be about time for the lights to go out.”
Henry
The night was both pleasure and torture, as every encounter with Matilda was. Henry’s senses were hyperaware of her: each quick, graceful movement, every facial expression, the sound of her words. She’d started the night as a tight coil, but as they moved forward, he watched her unwind to that person he’d seen in the bookshop. A person free from worry.
His own emotions had started about the same: an uncertain jumble, anticipation and hope snarling in his stomach. But now, standing outside the quilting tent, Matilda’s hand locked in his, and Abby crooning on about the spectacular sight they were about to see, he felt normal. He felt at peace, a sensation he barely recognized.
“This is the best spot to wait,” Abby said excitedly, a large quilt tucked under her arm. Henry carried her picnic basket. “See the pines down the hill there?” she pointed. “That’s the place. In about five minutes it’s gonna light up like heaven.” She hummed in pleasure. “You know, Gill asked me to marry him at this party. We were only sixteen.” She laughed. “But that wasn’t so unusual back then.”
Henry understood even more why Abby wanted Gill to come. Matilda asked, “How did he do it—the proposal?”
“We stood just over there. The lights went out and when they came back on he was on one knee in front of me.” She lifted her left hand. “This simple little band held out in shaking hands.” She sighed nostalgically. Her smile faded a bit. “I miss that Gill.”
Matilda reached for her hand, but didn’t say anything. For a moment they stood in silence. Henry’s mind wandered to the idea of marrying Matilda. He’d been careful not to think too far down that road, but now it rose so easily in his thoughts. And it felt so perfect, so natural, and yet there was an itch of fear. Or something negative—he wasn’t sure exactly what the feeling meant. But it was easy to picture himself kneeling down, a ring in his shaking hands—maybe in a bookshop or library—and then … life. Lying beside her in bed on Saturday mornings, watching TV late at night, light flickering on her face, a child, maybe two or three. Sitting on the porch, wrinkled hands joined, watching the sun set. The kind of life he’d never had, never actually witnessed, but knew existed, and wanted more than anything.
Without warning, all the lights cut out.
The world went from a whirlwind of color and light to dark indigo shadows. Raucous cheers filled the air. Henry blinked a few times, his eyes now picking up the pearly moonlight from the swelling gibbous moon high in the sky.
Matilda laughed beside him, a zing of excitement moving from her to him, and Henry felt everything would be okay between them. Whatever she couldn’t tell him and all the things he couldn’t tell her would eventually see the light of day and they could sort through it all. It wouldn’t matter what it was. Because this was how they should be.
“Here it comes!” Abby called out.
In a delirious moment of anticipation, the whole town went silent, energy rising on the air like steam. Matilda leaned her head against Henry’s arm. With a snap that could only be felt, not heard, the giant pines erupted with light, so blinding Henry closed his eyes involuntarily.
Matilda pulled her hand from his and she and Abby clapped, laughing. Henry watched the two women, faces flooded with light. Matilda looked back at him, smiled, and held her hand out to him. “It’s amazing,” she yelled. “Isn’t it?”
He laughed. “It certainly is.” He wanted to kiss her, but hesitated, and she turned to listen to something Abby was saying.
The big band music started, only slightly louder than the animated commotion. The three, joined again at the hands, hurried after the crowd. The square of pines boxed in about two acres of perfectly cut grass. There was a large opening at one end through which everyone passed under another big red, white, and blue arch. Each of the tall trees, at least fifty feet tall, were wrapped expertly in white lights, and so radiant as to be almost too bright to look at. The band, on a stage at the opposite end, filled the theater with their happy music. The smell of frying donuts dusted the air. A large area in front of the stage had been roped off for dancing. The rest of the grass was quickly filling with blankets and lawn chairs.
Henry had never seen anything like it; his jaw fell open in awe.
“Over here,” Abby tugged on Matilda’s hand. “Best spot for watching the fireworks later.”
“She’s right,” Matilda said. “Jetty and I always sat over here too.” Abby smiled appreciatively. “If you sit on the other end some of the lower ones get blocked by the trees.”
Abby shook out the quilt, allowing it to flap out in the air in the satisfying way that heavy blankets do. It glided to the ground and they all sat. Henry fumbled with the clasp on the basket before handing Matilda and Abby a glass of strawberry lemonade, pink as tulle. He poured his own glass, took a long swig, and then leaned down on his elbow.
“I didn’t see my first big firework show until I was sixteen,” he said.
Matilda turned to him. “Seriously? How is that possible?”
Henry shrugged. “I never got placed in a family who was big on celebrating. Sure I saw some from far away—Fourth of July and such—but I never sat right under them until the summer between my sophomore and junior year of high school. A small group of us drove in for the River Days Celebration on the Riverfront in Detroit. Every year they do a big fireworks show. It’s really great.” Henry lifted his chin to look at her. “You know that deep thud in your gut each time a big one goes off?”
Matilda nodded, smiling.
“Well, that is what surprised me the most. That huge sound and how visceral it is. And I loved it. I was so disappointed when the show ended.” Henry’s eyes moved to the sky. “I could have sat there all night.”
“Did you go back again?” Abby asked.
“Every year I could.”
“The friends you went with—are you still close? Was one a girlfriend?” Matilda grinned, a hint of tease in her tone.
Henry laughed. “No and no. They were just casual friends. Those kind in high school who are just there out of convenience more than anything. I never really had any close friends. Abby is probably as close as I’ve had to a best friend.”
Abby gave him a big grin. “Well, aren’t you all kinds of pathetic?”
Matilda’s laugh rang out.
“Yep, all kinds,” he answered, smiling.
<
br /> Matilda set her empty glass aside. “But I can’t claim anything much better. My Aunt Jetty was always my best friend. There was Callie Burkins in junior high. We were both shorter than all the other girls and liked to read more than we liked people. So we’d sit together reading and talking about what we read. But she moved during ninth grade. Then I adopted the casual friends. Even in college. Parker was my first real friend.”
Henry nodded with understanding, ignoring the little spurt of jealousy. “Favorite book as a kid?”
“Matilda by Roald Dahl, of course. I felt like he’d written it just for me, and not just ’cause of the name. I have three different copies of it. You?”
Henry’s eyes had grown wide. He stared at her as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.
“What?” she asked, almost laughing.
He shook his head. “That’s a little crazy because mine was Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl. A little boy handed a sad lot in life that miraculously gets everything he’s ever dreamed of. I imagined I was Charlie so many times.”
“That is crazy.” Matilda shook her head, smiling at him. “How ’bout you, Abby? Favorite book as a kid?”
Abby pursed her lips. “Let’s see. I think I checked out Pippi Longstocking at least twelve times from the library. Wore out the copy. Have you read it?”
“Of course,” Matilda said. “Fantastic choice.”
Henry sat up, reached into the basket and produced a plate of chocolate chip cookies. For a moment they worked on their cookies. The dance floor spun with couples. Henry let their hypnotizing movement pull him along.
Matilda said, “The cookies are fabulous, Abby.”
“Thank you. I take that as high compliment from such a great cook.”
“Well, it’s all thanks to Jetty. And she was much better.”
They chatted for several minutes, the cookies disappearing from the plate. Abby brushed the crumbs from her fingers and gestured to the dance floor. “Well, you gonna ask this girl to dance or not, Henry?”