“You look like the skeleton in Mr. Pullman's class,” she said, and smiled, remembering that first day in biology. Her mind wandered over the months they'd known each other and over all his idiosyncrasies. She shook her head. “I should have figured it out when you told me about your Dad's book. Your appetite, how sleepy you got last winter, how much you hate dogs—it was all there. Even the early curfew and your parents’ paranoia make sense now.”
Lynda kept talking. She told him about Ellen's hair cut, and how everyone missed him at school. Her legs grew stiff, and her throat started hurting again, but she wouldn't leave his bedside. Lynda watched Greg until her vision blurred and she had to blink to see his features clearly.
She blinked again and rubbed her eyes. A subtle movement, almost too slight to see, had rolled across Greg's face. His expression shifted, lightened, and relaxed into the faintest hint of a smile.
“Dr. Lavar!” she called, frantically pushing the button in her hand. “I think something's happening.”
Greg's eyelids twitched, fluttered, and opened.
“Lynda?” He blinked and touched her bandaged face. His smile broadened. “Lynda. It is you.”
She dropped to the edge of the bed, too full of joy to speak.
His smile faltered. “What's wrong?”
“Wrong?” Lynda laughed and pressed his hand against her good cheek. Tears streamed over it. “Nothing's wrong. Look!” she cried, when the door opened. “He's awake!”
The doctor ran into the room followed by the Urseks. They crowded around the bed, and Greg looked around the circle of faces. “Mom, Dad, Dr. Lavar? What's going on?”
The doctor took Greg's other hand and felt for his pulse. “What do you remember?”
Greg's brow furrowed. “I was at Lynda's house. There was this dog and a guy with spooky eyes. He threatened us with a shotgun.” He gasped, turning to Lynda. “You saw me change.”
She smiled so hard her cheeks ached. “Tell me about it.”
“And you're still here?”
His father leaned over the bed. “We could not keep her away. Your Lynda is a very persistent young lady.”
“And you're a very lucky young man,” Dr. Lavar added. “Very lucky indeed. There was a while there, when we didn't know if you were ever going to wake up.”
Greg looked from the doctor to his parents and back again. “Why? What time is it?”
“Almost six,”
“But that's early!”
“It's six o'clock Monday evening,” the doctor said. “That makes a difference, eh? You slept over sixty hours.”
“No wonder I had such strange dreams,” Greg said after a moment.
His mother brushed the hair off his forehead. “That's all over now. Everything's going to be fine.”
Dr. Lavar patted Greg's arm. “I'd like you to stay with us for a couple of days, perhaps three, to complete your recuperation and put back some of the weight you lost. No hurrying back to school for you.”
Greg's father frowned. “No returning to school at all, not here.”
Lynda turned to him. “But why? If Greg's fully re-covered.”
“Remember Lynda, by now most of your friends are aware of the incident Friday night. They know Greg was shot. How could we explain his returning in good health a week after such an injury? I am sorry,” he said. “But Greg must fly home as soon as Dr. Lavar says he is fit to travel.”
Stunned, Lynda swallowed the burning in her throat. “I thought we'd have more time.”
Greg's hand slipped over hers. “We'll have all the time we want. Don't worry, Lynda. You're not getting rid of me that easily.”
His skin was as pale as the sheet he lay on, and so transparent, Lynda could see his pulse throbbing in his throat. Horribly gaunt, he reminded her of pictures she'd seen of concentration camp survivors. Then he smiled, and her chin trembled. “I don't want to get rid of you. Not ever. I love you.”
She hadn't meant to say that out loud. Lynda froze, her face blazed, and her hand leapt to her lips, as if to catch the words and shove them back. Afraid to meet anyone's gaze, she stared at the sheet and wished she was young enough to hide under the bed.
“Oh, Lynda.”
Greg reached up and tilted her chin until their eyes met. Her embarrassment melted in the warmth of his gaze.
“Uh, well, must attend to my other patients, eh?” Dr. Lavar turned and quickly left the room.
Mrs. Ursek took her husband's arm. “Come, Bernard. We need to make airline reservations.” Ignoring his pro-tests, she dragged him out the door.
Lynda barely noticed. As soon as the door closed, Greg drew her down on the bed. His ribs felt like speed bumps though the thin hospital linen. Throwing her arms around him, Lynda returned his embrace, pulling herself even closer, as if with enough pressure she could dissolve into him.
Words rumbled through his chest. “I fell in love with you the first night I was in Chicago. The moon was up, and I was exploring when I caught your scent. I didn't know who you were, or when we'd meet, but I knew I loved you. When I saw you playing basketball the next day, I couldn't believe my luck. You're so beautiful.”
He ran his hand down her hair. “Dad's right about my having to leave. I'm going to Stanford next year, but I can transfer to the University of Chicago the year after, if you're staying for undergrad.”
“That's the plan,” Lynda murmured, only half listening to his words. The steady thrum of his heart held most of her attention. It seemed to be saying, “I'm alive. I'm alive. I'm alive.” It was the most wonderful sound she'd ever heard.
“I'll come next August, then.” He hesitated, then added more quietly, “If you don't mind waiting that long.”
She pulled just far enough away to look into his eyes. “I'd wait forever. I love you.”
Leaning down, she kissed him and discovered she really could dissolve.
Epilogue
HE STARED OUT the window while the plane circled O'Hare airport. At first, the view was a patchwork quilt. The lake lay like blue satin next to the multicolored textures of the city and suburbs. Seams of long gray interstates stitched them all together. As the plane flew lower, the quilt became a child's game, toy cars zooming past doll houses. Then solid reality rumbled beneath him, and he was there.
And so was she. Stepping from the walkway connecting the plane to the terminal, he saw her standing at the gate, scanning the mob.
He stopped and gazed. Her hair was longer than when he'd last seen her, falling well past her waist. She was taller and slimmer than he remembered, and much more beautiful.
She spotted him and waved. “Greg! Over here!”
“Lynda!” He pushed through the endless crowd. “Lynda,” he repeated when he finally reached her. The emptiness he'd felt ever since he'd left lodged in his throat and made it hard to speak. “I—I missed you.”
Reaching up, she brushed the hair off his forehead. “I missed you, too.”
She pulled his head down, and her lips grazed his. He smiled; she still smelled like summer flowers. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her. Their lips touched again, merged, and the emptiness vanished.
“How are you, Greg?” she asked when they parted. “And your parents, how are they?”
Locking their arms around each other, they turned and let the crowd push them toward the baggage claim area.
“Same as always. Dad's mellowed since his book came out.”
“I saw a review of it in the Tribune Sunday Magazine. They liked it.” She looked up and smiled. “My folks are expecting you for dinner, you know, and they want you to stay the weekend. The dorms don't open until Monday, so I figured it'd be okay.”
“Sounds great. Will you be living on campus?”
Her smile broadened. “Same dorm you're in. Mom and Dad don't exactly approve, but when I reminded them I could always get my own place, they decided not to hassle me about it.”
They chatted about school, family, and friends while they waited for his luggag
e to appear on the slowly revolving belt. After snagging his duffel bag and suitcase, they headed for the parking garage.
She led him to a green hatchback. “Here it is. Grandma Malone's idea of the perfect birthday present.”
He ran a finger along the white detailing and grinned. “I agree.” Throwing his stuff into the back, he squeezed into the passenger seat.
She got in on the driver's side and leaned forward to turn on the ignition. Their shoulders touched when she sat back. “Greg?” she said, suddenly shy in the intimate con-fines of the car.
“Yes.”
She stared out the windshield a moment, then turned to him. “I checked the Farmer's Almanac. The moon won't rise until after midnight tonight, but it'll be full. I was wondering—would you dance with me under the bear moon?”
His smile was all the answer she needed.
* * * *
Carrie S. Masek
A resident of Chicago's Hyde Park for over ten years, Carrie now lives in the suburbs with her husband, four children, and a psychotic house rabbit. A veteran of many bedtime story hours, she made up werebear stories to keep her five-year-old niece happy on long car drives. The niece loved the stories, but hated the nightmares they gave her.
How did you like the story? Please drop by Carrie's web site at: http://www.masek.net or write her at PO Box 113, Lake Bluff, IL 60044, and let her know.
* * *
Visit www.hardshell.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.
This ebook is published by
Fictionwise Publications
www.fictionwise.com
Excellence in Ebooks
Visit www.fictionwise.com to find more titles by this and other top authors in Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Mystery, and other genres.
Under a Bear Moon Page 18