Glass Girl

by Kurk, Laura Anderson

  We walked upstairs to say goodbye to Ms. Harrold. I told Henry about hiding in this room and showed him the desk that shielded me. Ms. Harrold listened quietly as we talked. Then she stood up and gave me a hug.

  “Wyatt’s scholarship was awarded to the first senior this year, Meg,” she said.

  She perched on the small desk behind her and unfolded a typed letter that she’d been holding. “It went to Brian Heffington. He’s going to Carnegie Mellon. It’ll cover part of his tuition and books. Here’s the letter I’m getting ready to mail to your parents about it.”

  I took the letter and glanced through it. “I’m so glad Brian got it. He was in here when the police officer knocked on your window.”

  “Of course, I remember. Brian is a good person. I chaired the committee that selected him for the scholarship and we all agreed that he reminds us a lot of Wyatt.”

  “Tell him I said congratulations.”

  “I will. Meg, you take care of yourself, okay? And come visit me whenever you’re in Pittsburgh. I miss seeing you every day.”

  “I miss you, too. I’ll visit next time I’m in town.”

  Henry shook her hand again and thanked her, and then we turned to go.

  When we were almost home, I touched Henry’s hand. “Thank you for being with me. For being interested in everything.”

  “I’m glad you let me see it all, Meg. This means a lot to me.”

  “When do you have to leave?”

  “My flight is tomorrow afternoon. Any chance you could change your ticket and go with me?”

  “I’d better wait to see what happens with my mom. Maybe I’ll get to see her.”

  It was five-thirty already. We stopped and picked up pizzas and cokes and junk food for tonight. When we got to the house, Allie and Krista were sitting on the porch. I knew I had missed them, but, until I saw their faces, I hadn’t realized how much. Now it felt like home. Henry stood back and watched us quietly, smiling. He was used to his mom and sisters getting carried away with each other. He knew it was best to get out of the way. He carried the food into the house and then sat on the porch listening to us. Finally he cleared his throat and grinned at me.

  “I’m so sorry, Henry. Guys, this is Henry Whitmire, my cowboy.”

  The three of them got acquainted and my friends found it entertaining to share my most embarrassing moments with Henry. He never took his eyes off me as they described my awkward junior high self and my first crushes. We ate pizza and laughed about old times until midnight when Henry kissed me goodnight, and went upstairs. Allie and Krista and I all crashed in my room and it felt like we were twelve again.

  The next day, Henry and I got up early and ate breakfast together, and then I walked him out to his rental car. He stared at me with one eyebrow arched and I smiled at his unspoken concern. “I’m okay, Henry. Really. I actually feel better than I’ve felt in a long time—like a burden has been lifted. You don’t know how hard it’s been keeping this from you.”

  “I’m glad. Things will get better now, I promise. What day are you coming home?”

  “The thirtieth—Thursday. Maybe we can spend New Year’s Eve together?”

  “Absolutely. Can you come to my house?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Too soon, it was time for Henry to go to the airport. I watched him drive away, wondering how I’d make it without seeing him for a few days. That boy had made himself at home in my heart, he’d coaxed all my secrets out of me, and he’d reassured me in a way no one had been able to do. It was an oddly satisfying thing to feel bereft when Henry left for the airport. I knew I could look forward to seeing him again.

  Dad and I flew back to Chapin together after the Christmas trip, mostly silent, aware of each other, but not altogether comforted by being together. He’d returned to Canning Mills from the beach house confused and hurt, just in time for our flight. Mom stayed in New Jersey without him—she said she wanted to be alone with her memories—and a couple of weeks later, she moved her things into our Canning Mills house. I planned to spend spring break with her. She didn’t exactly invite me, but I wasn’t waiting for an invitation. Aunt Catherine checked on her every day, and that’s how I knew that she was painting again (good) and that she was losing weight and ignoring her doctor’s advice about medication (not good).

  “Meg, I have to go out of town this weekend,” Dad told me several weeks later as I poured cereal into a bowl. I glanced at the calendar on the kitchen counter—Friday would be Valentine’s Day. I wondered if Henry had made plans for us. He’d been so busy with the ranch, getting equipment ready for spring planting, that I hadn’t seen enough of him and I missed him and was feeling more than a little annoyed by his work habits.

  “Did you hear me, Meg?”

  “Yes, sorry. Where are you going?”

  “Our G.M. was supposed to go to a conference in Salt Lake City, but his daughter decided to drop in on them this weekend with their grandkids and he doesn’t want to miss that—so I’m going instead.”

  A lot of things crowded into my head at once. Mostly, did he think I would be okay to stay alone, or would I have to go to someone’s house? He was okay with friends staying with me in Canning Mills, but he may feel differently about it here. Did I have a friend I’d be comfortable staying with?

  Dad interrupted my thoughts. “I was thinking…I know you’re probably old enough to be here alone, but I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d stay at a friend’s house.”

  And there was my answer.

  “Well, I’ll talk to Tennyson today if that would make you feel better. I’d probably get scared here alone, anyway.”

  He kissed me on the cheek and rolled up his newspaper. “Thanks, babe. I’ll see you tonight for dinner.”

  Later that morning, in Landman’s class, I told Tennyson about my dad’s trip and asked her if I could stay at her house.

  She grimaced. “Uh-oh. We’re going to see my brother in Fort Collins. It’s Parent’s Weekend at CSU. And Taylor’s going with us. Maybe you could talk to Sara.”

  Henry, who’d been listening intently to our conversation, leaned over and spoke only to me. “Hey, I agree with your dad. I don’t want you staying alone. I found out today that my dad and I are going to Casper on Friday with a couple of mares that we’re selling. We’ll be gone Friday night and all day Saturday. My mom hates to stay in the house alone. Why don’t you stay with her?”

  “Do you think she’d want me there? Maybe she’d like having the place to herself.”

  “I know she’d want you there…girl bonding and all that.”

  He laughed at the thought of his mom and me together, talking about girl stuff. “She misses her daughters a lot so it’ll be therapy for her. And, I’d worry a lot less about you if I knew you were there. Plus, it’ll mean neither of you will be alone on Valentine’s Day.”

  I blushed at the holiday reference. So he hadn’t forgotten. “Well, ask her and let me know. I can call Sara, really, if your mom isn’t comfortable with it.”

  I forgot about the weekend dilemma until Henry called me at work later that afternoon.

  “Hey, sweetie. I talked to my mom and she insists that you stay at our house. She’s already left for the grocery store to buy stuff that she wants to cook for you. She’s washing sheets for Kate’s bed and she’s got me dusting and sweeping under the furniture instead of out in the fields where I need to be. So, you’re staying here whether you want to or not.”

  “Really? Please tell her not to go to any trouble. I can bring a pizza with me and rent some movies.”

  “Nope, no pizza. You’re eating fancy cooking from her kitchen. I’ll be home Saturday night, probably late, so I won’t wake you.”

  “Okay, my dad will be glad. Thanks, Henry. Tell her I’ll come over as soon as I get off work tomorrow.”

  The next day, I threw my overnight bag in the Jeep when I left for school so I could drive out to Henry’s as soon as I got off work. He and his dad were already in
Casper—some kind of huge livestock sale going on this weekend had them all excited. He said they’d probably sell two horses and buy two horses. I told him it sounded like a wasted trip. He just looked at me strangely and smiled.

  Mrs. Whitmire seemed sincerely glad to see me and I felt the same about her. After eating her incredible dinner, we watched Unforgiven and then The Searchers with John Wayne. I’d never seen either movie and I embarrassed myself by crying through the ends of both.

  Mrs. Whitmire broke the silence after the movies. “I’ve always been so fascinated with men in Westerns. I guess they remind me of what it is I love about Clayton.”

  “Yeah, I can definitely see that—the whole strong, silent, protector thing.” I smiled, thinking of Henry.

  “Henry is the spitting image of his dad and his grandfather—good, strong, stubborn men. I’m really proud of how Henry lives his life.”

  “Mrs. Whitmire,” I said, meeting her eyes so she’d see how sincerely I believed this. “You and Mr. Whitmire have done such an amazing job raising Henry. He really is the kindest, most respectful person I know.”

  She smiled wistfully. “Yeah, he is nice, isn’t he? And so are you.”

  We were quiet, in our own heads for a minute, and then she spoke again very softly. “It’s beautiful—when a man gets it right. This world makes the mistake of thinking of men as emotional baboons—simpletons. But actually, I think they’re more complicated than women. I believe in an omniscient Maker who gave men their desires and qualities for a reason. It’s no accident that men crave honor and respect, or that they’re single-minded about protecting their families, their clans.”

  She sighed and turned to me. “It’s such a privilege to watch a little boy grow into a man. When you have a son, or a brother, you see how difficult it is for them. The issues they wrestle with are extremely challenging. Shaping a man, a real man, is an important job. I only had sisters, and I know now from raising Henry, that my mother really missed out. Men have this strength and wildness, really, but also such a soft spot for a woman—it’s lovely, don’t you think?”

  She got quiet again thinking about the men in her life.

  “You’re right,” I said. “Things seem kind of upside down right now for men. It seems like every show these days makes them look weak and confused. It’s disrespectful, isn’t it?”

  “I knew you’d feel that way, Meg. Henry told me once after he met you that you were wise way beyond your young years. I’m glad. I was that way, too. Hardships in life tend to do that to you. But if you let them, they can be a blessing.”

  She jumped up and stretched. “Guess I’ll get the kitchen cleaned up and then go to bed.”

  “I’ll help.”

  We fell into an easy rhythm together, clearing the table, and rinsing the dishes. In the middle of scrubbing a pan, Mrs. Whitmire spoke. “Tell me about your mother, Meg. Henry regrets that he hasn’t been able to meet her yet.”

  So, there was the four ton elephant in the room. I’d been thinking of my mom all evening, comparing her to Mrs. Whitmire and finding that in so many ways, she came up short right now. I wished she could be as open and warm, and, well, motherly.

  “Well, she’s beautiful. She’s an artist. She’s still struggling with my brother’s death, and I’m really worried about her.”

  Mrs. Whitmire came to my side and put her arm around my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. At first her touch made me uncomfortable. I’d spent so many months avoiding sympathetic touches from others, but Henry’s mom was so sweet that I relaxed.

  “Mmmmm. I won’t pretend to understand what you and your parents have lived through. I’ve thought about your family so much since Henry told me what happened. But, if you’ll let me, I want to say something as a mother to you.”

  I nodded and held my breath, waiting for her to speak again.

  “Your mom’s struggles don’t make her a bad mother. She feels every little prick of pain, emotional or physical, that you feel, and she feels your brother’s death in such an acute way that it torments her. You have to understand that she suffers because she is so connected to her children—it’s what happens as soon as we find out we’re pregnant. These little people take over our hearts and our souls and our minds and it takes all our strength to love them through even the minor hurts of this life. The major hurts of life just nearly do us in. But you should know that if you stand by her and love her through this, she will get her strength back. My prayer is that your family stays whole and grows stronger together. But if that cannot happen, because of these circumstances you’ve been thrown into, then you will be able to love your mom and your dad for who they are. For what they mean to you as individuals. Hope, Meg. There is never a reason to give up on each other…never. Relationships are too important.”

  She almost whispered as she finished what she wanted to say, and I felt tears sliding down my cheeks silently. She smiled at me and rubbed my wet cheek with her fingers. “Yes,” she said. “I see why Henry loves your heart so much.”

  The phone rang just then and we both jumped and laughed. She checked the caller ID and then grinned at me. “I think this one is for you.”

  I answered and heard Henry’s sweet voice. After the conversation I’d just had with his mother, I had trouble holding back a sob.

  “Hey sweetheart, are you okay? Are you crying?”

  “I’m fine. We were just talking and you know me, if there’s a reason to cry, I’ll find it. We’re having fun. Your mom is an amazing cook and we watched a couple of old movies.”

  His mom whispered good night and quietly disappeared to give us some privacy.

  “Sorry I’m calling so late,” he said. “Are you two getting ready to go to bed?”

  “I think so. Are you at your hotel now?”

  “Yep, Dad splurged on the Holiday Inn—usually it’s Motel 6 for him. I’m getting ready to take a shower and go to bed. We have to meet someone tomorrow morning at seven. I miss you, though. Wish you were here.”

  I could hear him smiling through the phone and it warmed me down to my toes.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “I’m sure sorry we’re not together on Valentine’s Day. I’ll make it up to you when I get home.”

  “You know where I’ll be.”

  “Yeah, I do,” he sighed. “Sweet dreams, Meg. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Henry. Get some rest.”

  Mrs. Whitmire had put my suitcase in Kate’s room earlier and I went in to get ready for bed. Claire curled up on the rug next to the bed and wagged her tail at me. After my shower, I decided to peek into Henry’s room on the other side of the house. I’d never really looked around in there, and I was more than a little curious. I turned on the lamp next to his bed and scanned the titles of the books stacked on his floor—they were all classics—Faulkner, McCullers, Capote, McCarthy. A framed picture of me sat on the table by his bed.

  On his desk, he’d left stacks of notebooks and papers. I thumbed through some of them—old essays he’d written and class notes. One stack was just college application materials. I picked up his University of Wyoming application and sat down on his bed to read through it.

  The first few pages of the application were all standard personal information. The last half of the packet contained the two essays he’d written for the admissions committee. One was about his life as a ranch hand—the lessons he’d learned about hard work and family and loyalty. The second essay was about Thanett and it was titled, “The Person I Admire Most in the World.”

  He’d started the essay with a Bible verse:

  But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are a
chieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary and what is unseen is eternal.

  I felt a chill skating down my arms when I read this verse. It sounded like it was meant just for Thanett, and for me, and my mom and dad.

  In the essay, Henry explained that he admired Thanett because, although he had cerebral palsy, he was the least disabled person in school. He wrote about Thanett’s quiet smile, his ability to sit still and listen without judgment, and his diehard loyalty to his friends. He described the difficulty Thanett had with getting through the day physically, and sometimes emotionally—how the kids at school treated him like his disability affected his brain, when actually he was the smartest kid in the junior class. He called him the “sneak attack” in class because Thanett waited until the perfect moment and then he would zing the teacher with some cryptic reference to Greek literature, or nuclear physics, or the history of mathematics.

  I peeked into the hall to make sure Henry’s mom was still asleep. Everything was quiet, so I sat down to read the rest of the essay.

  I guess it’s kind of funny, when you think about it, how close Thanett and I are. I’m a ranch hand more comfortable talking to horses than people; and he’s an extroverted, football-loving comedian. I think, though, that we have things in common that run deeper than the surface. We both have a faith that tells us that all of this around us will fall down one day. None of it matters—not the popularity we’ve achieved, the things we’ve accumulated, the races we’ve won—none of it but our relationships with our Maker, with the people we love and share our lives with, and with the people that we can share our faith with.

  Thanett is gifted in so many ways, but mostly in his quiet way of seeing people for what they are and nurturing the good that he finds. I was awake last night thinking about what Thanett does for the people that he cares for—he provides shelter; he lets us be ourselves, honestly, and he protects our vulnerabilities. One night not too long ago, I was out all night long in a blizzard moving livestock into shelters, out of the storm, protecting them. For some reason, the work I was doing made me think of Thanett. As much as most of us feel like we need to move Thanett into a shelter—protect him from the storms of this life—it’s actually just the opposite. He humors us with our attempts, but he’s really sheltering us.