by TJ Klune
Nate hesitated.
She knew he was there. “What are their names?” she asked.
“Art,” Alex said, a warning in his voice.
“I’m just asking.”
“It’s okay,” Nate said, surprised when he meant it.
Alex grunted, as he was wont to do.
“Linda,” Nate said, coming to stand next to Art. “My mother. And my father was Mitchell.”
She reached up and fixed a frame that was slightly off-kilter. The photograph was of a fourteen-year-old Nate standing with his parents on the dock near the cabin. Rick had taken it. Nate had a fishing pole in his hands, the tip of which was bent, the line taut in the water. His father was next to him, a net in his hand, ready for the bluegill that was on the hook. His mother was laughing, her head rocked back, her smile wide, teeth bright, eyes closed.
“And they’re dead.”
“Yes,” Nate said.
She looked up at him, head tilted. “You still don’t sound sad. Just angry. I thought when someone died, you were supposed to be sad.”
“It’s not like that. Not always.”
“Oh. Why?”
He shouldn’t be talking about this. Not with a little girl. Not with anyone, really. He didn’t ask for this. He’d come up here wanting to be alone, wanting to deal with his grief that was more rage than anything else. He should have told her to stop asking questions. Told her to mind her own business, which, honestly, was just a fucking hoot, given all the questions he had for them.
Instead he said, “Because sometimes people don’t deserve for me to feel sad over them.”
“But you feel something.”
“Yes.”
She nodded as if she understood. He didn’t know if she did. “And him?” She pointed to another photo. The first summer at the cabin. Rick had his arm slung around Nate’s shoulders. They both wore shorts and tank tops. They were barefoot on the porch. There was a little troll statue his mom had bought in Roseland sitting at the bottom of the steps. It’d be broken a few years later when a great storm rolled through the mountains in the fall. His mother had been weirdly sad over it when they’d come up on the weekend to inspect the damage. The cabin was fine—just a couple of shutters off their hinges. But that damn troll had been knocked over and broken into several pieces, and she’d been upset.
“Rick,” Nate said. “My brother.”
“He doesn’t look like you. Not very much.”
And yeah, he’d heard that before, hadn’t he? Rick had been the handsome one, the cool one, the brother who played football in the fall and basketball in the spring. He’d been popular, always with a girl on his arm and a devilish twinkle in his eye. Nate had been in the marching band. He’d played the trombone. He hadn’t been very good at it.
He’d also worked for the Shout, the biweekly newsletter that went out at Northwest High. He’d been the intrepid reporter, chasing down leads for such riveting stories as new sod being laid down on the football field and Mr. Harrison’s retirement after teaching history for thirty-nine years (“I’m old, kid, I don’t know what the hell else you need for me to tell you”). He had loved it, had run it almost single-handedly. And yeah, it’d looked great on college applications, but he wasn’t Rick. Oh god no. Sure, Rick had washed out playing college ball at Arizona State. Had torn his ACL his sophomore year. He was a real estate agent now. A wife. A picket fence. Three kids. Nate had only met one of them. The others he’d seen in a Christmas card he thought had been sent to him by mistake.
“He took after my father,” Nate said, keeping his voice even.
“Oh,” Art said. “I guess I can see that. Did he die too?”
“No.”
He knew the question that was coming next. Could see it working its way through her mind and down to her lips. “How did—”
“Art. That’s enough.”
She had an irritated look on her face when she glanced over her shoulder at Alex. “I’m just asking questions.”
“I know that. But it’s not polite. Not always.”
“How can we ever learn anything if we don’t ask questions?”
“You have to respect boundaries.”
She looked back at Nate. “Am I not respecting your boundaries?”
Nate… didn’t know what to say to that. “It’s not—I don’t. I haven’t seen any of them for a long time. It’s… I don’t like talking about it.”
She nodded, reaching out and grabbing on to a couple of his fingers, squeezing them gently. For a moment, he thought he felt a warm pulse of something roll through his skin, but then it was gone. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
She shrugged. “This.”
He didn’t know what this was. “It’s okay.”
“Do you want to take them down?”
Yes. He did. He said, “It’s not—it’s fine.”
“Okay. But if you change your mind, let me know. I can help. You’ll have to get the ones I can’t reach, but it won’t take long.” She frowned. “It’s like a Band-Aid, right? Just gotta pull that sucker off.”
“You’re very strange.”
Her smile was blinding. “You have no idea.”
It surprised him when it was Alex who asked instead.
Later that night, Nate was on the couch, a book in his lap and a little girl curled up against him, snoring loudly. Her legs were folded up underneath her. Her head was on his shoulder, her mouth hanging open. They’d been reading The Ferguson Rifle. Ronan Chantry’s wife and son had died in a fire that he’d been blamed for, and he was heading west to try and start a new life. Art had been enthralled. She’d lasted all of ten minutes before her eyes had closed and a loud sound that no little girl should have been capable of making began falling from her mouth.
She was wearing her sunglasses too, because of course she was. They sat at an odd angle on her face. He thought about taking them off.
“What happened?” Alex asked. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a half-empty glass of water near his hand. Nate thought he had the gun, but it was out of sight. Alex never went anywhere without it.
“What?”
Alex’s brow furrowed. He looked pissed off and wary and confused, all at the same time. He jerked his head toward the photographs on the wall.
“What happened to boundaries?”
Alex looked down at the table. “You’re right. It’s not my place.”
Nate sighed. “It’s fine. It’s… complicated.”
“They’re dead.”
“Yes.”
“How complicated can that be?”
He felt irrationally angry. “My mother was murdered.”
Alex didn’t flinch. “That’s rough.”
Nate snorted. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“When did that happen?”
“Just after Christmas.”
“Sorry.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Alex looked frustrated. “I—it’s. I have a hard time. Sometimes. Saying… things.”
“Wow. That was as succinct as usual.”
“Nate.”
“Right. Right. Sorry. That was unnecessary.”
“I’m trying.”
“Are you?” Nate asked. “Why?”
“Art told me I needed to.” He looked faintly embarrassed.
“That was… blunt. Do you often do things she tells you to do?”
“Only the things that won’t get her hurt.”
She huffed out a little breath, smacking her lips. Nate and Alex waited, but she resumed snoring only moments later, a child-size chainsaw rumbling against Nate’s shoulder. “Still.”
“She’s wasn’t wrong.”
“About?”
“Trying harder. I’m not… good at these things.”
“What things?”
Alex scowled. “You’re being difficult.”
“Maybe a little,” Nate admitted. “
But this is weird. Everything about this is weird.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because I don’t know if you do.”
“You have no idea.”
He stared at Alex for a beat too long. Alex didn’t look away. Nate wanted to get a reaction out of him. Something. Anything. He said, “My parents walked in on me with someone they didn’t expect when I was twenty-one. It didn’t go well. That was the last time I saw them.”
Alex’s shoulders stiffened slightly, but that was it. “And your brother?”
“Wants nothing to do with me.”
Alex shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Because of…”
“Yes. Because of.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
Alex shrugged. “Okay.”
“That’s not… God. You’re so…”
“What?”
“Frustrating.”
“You’re not the first person that’s said that.”
“I don’t get you.”
“There’s nothing to get.”
Nate rolled his eyes. “You’re on the run with a little girl you’re protecting from people you won’t tell me about. I’m pretty sure there’s something.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Alex snapped. “You’re… pushing.”
“Or maybe I’m trying. Just like Art told you that you needed to.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Whatever.”
Alex made a low sound in his throat like he was growling. “You’re aggravating.”
“Pot, kettle.”
“You don’t know when to keep your mouth shut.”
“Not the first person who’s said that about me. Won’t be the last.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“There’s nothing to understand,” Nate said, flip and a little cruel. He couldn’t help it. He was feeling cornered, and he didn’t know how they’d gotten there.
“Why are you here?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know,” Nate said honestly. “I don’t know much about anything anymore. I thought…” He shook his head. “I thought I could use a change. That something would happen if I came here. I lost my job, and I… I don’t know. I thought I’d use this place to clear my head.”
“And then we were here.”
“Yeah. There is that.”
“I offered to leave,” Alex reminded him.
“I know.”
“We still could.”
“Can you?” Nate asked. “Where would you go? Do you have a plan? Money? Any other place to stay?”
Alex looked uncomfortable. “I’d figure it out.”
“Because of her.”
“Yes.”
“Because it’s your job to protect her.”
“Yes.”
“To get her back home.”
“Yes.”
It was close. This thing that was happening around him, that was happening to him, was almost within reach. There were things he wasn’t being told. He knew that. Obviously. But everything he had been told had sounded plausible, regardless of how ludicrous it was. Still, it felt slightly off. He didn’t have the full picture. He didn’t even think he was close.
He said, “You can trust me. You know that, right?”
Alex shook his head slowly. It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did. “It’s not… it’s not you. It’s just… she’s. She’s special. More than you could ever know. And I—can’t take chances. Not with her. It’s not you.”
Nate chuckled. “It sounds like you’re breaking up with me again.”
He swore he saw the smallest of smiles on Alex’s face, there and then gone again. “I would, you know.”
“Would what?”
“Trust you. If I could.”
They didn’t say much after that.
She’s special.
Nate would remember that. For a long time to come. That moment. Those words.
He didn’t understand. Not then. Not how far it went. How far it could go. There was this girl, and there was her giant shadow. She wore oversized sunglasses and pink socks and said things like, “Hey, partner, how ’bout we mosey on outside and see what we could see on that thar dusty trail?” with a ridiculous drawl that would have been grating coming from anyone else. But from her, it was oddly charming in ways Nate couldn’t quite put his finger on.
He didn’t understand, no, but he followed them as they did what she’d asked. They moseyed on outside to see what they could see on that thar dusty trail. Nate wondered if he could find a cowboy hat in Roseland for her. He thought she would love it.
He didn’t understand her. Or her shadow. He didn’t know where they’d come from, where they were going, what was going to happen next.
But he followed them all the same.
She’s special, Alex had said.
She skipped sometimes as they walked along the barely there trail that led away from the lake. She hummed to herself too, songs that almost sounded familiar. Every now and then, she’d bend over and pick up a rock, inspecting it up close before discarding it or handing it over to Alex, who would put it into his pocket without question.
Nate could see the bulge of the gun tucked into the back of his pants.
He followed them still.
He thought of his phone, turned off for a couple of days.
He’d get to it. Eventually.
There was a clearing half a mile away from the cabin. A field, really, where in late spring and early summer, wildflowers bloomed in bright colors, stretching as far as the eye could see. In warmer months, people would bring blankets and picnic baskets and eat ham sandwiches and potato salad and drink pop and lemonade.
The field was partially in bloom now as they walked into it. Tulips, mostly, red and yellow and white and a purple so dark it almost looked black.
“Wow,” Art breathed. “Would you look at that.”
Nate frowned. “Usually there are more by now. I know it’s been drier than normal, but. Or maybe it’s already past peak bloom and this is all that’s left.”
But that didn’t seem right. Getting closer, it looked as if many of the flowers had yet to open. Maybe if they had time, they could come back here in a week or two to see if anything had changed. He wanted her—them—to see what it looked like when they were all open. When the entire field was filled with almost every color imaginable.
He’d come here with his mother. She’d been told about it by someone in Roseland. It was summer, so it wasn’t like it’d been in the spring. But she’d wanted to see it anyway. Rick hadn’t wanted to go, saying he didn’t want to see flowers. His father was on the dock, fishing pole in hand, beer in a cooler buried in melting ice.
So he’d gone with her.
He would always remember the look on her face when she’d seen the field. Like someone seeing color for the very first time and unsure of how to process it. Her eyes had widened, her hand coming to her throat. She hadn’t spoken for a long time, and Nate had stood by her side, wondering what it was that had taken her breath away.
He hadn’t understood then.
He didn’t know if he did now.
But he wanted to. He wanted Art to see it. To see if she would see it as his mother had. And then maybe she could explain it to him.
He walked through the field.
Alex stayed at the edge.
He heard Art following behind him, humming her quiet little song.
He didn’t hear it when it happened. He was too focused on each step he took, careful to avoid crushing any flowers beneath his feet. He said, “It’s different. Later, when it’s all here. All the colors. When the wind blows through them. It rustles. Like bones. But bright bones, if that makes sense.”
“Art,” he heard Alex say. “This isn’t—”
“It is,” Art said. “It is.”
Nate didn’t turn
. “It’s something to see. They don’t have things like this back in DC. Not really. It’s all steel and stone and potted plants that you forget to water that sit out on tiny balconies. It’s a half life. A sleight of hand. An illusion.”
“But it’s real here,” Art said.
He nodded, closing his eyes and inhaling. His allergies would probably give him hell for it later, but right now he didn’t care. “It’s real here.”
“Is that why you came back here?” Art asked him. “To feel real?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s okay not to know.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t know.”
He laughed, the tangle of knots in his chest loosening for the first time since he could remember. He turned. “It’s—”
And that’s all he got out.
That’s all he could say.
Alex stood on the other side of the field, watching them both.
Art was only a few feet away, smiling quietly at Nate.
Behind him, the flowers had bloomed.
Every single one of them.
The entire goddamn field.
In a matter of minutes.
Gooseflesh prickled along his arms. His chest. His neck. He felt hot and cold at the same time. He said, “What.”
“They must have been listening,” Art said, shrugging slightly. “The sun is shining, and maybe they just needed some encouragement. The earth is like that, you know. It needs to hear that someone is waiting for it. People are like that too, I think.”
She’s special, Alex had told him.
He didn’t understand it. Not then.
He allowed himself to believe she was right. That that’s all it was. The sun. The fact that it was spring. It was rational. Logical… mostly. That was how his mind worked. He dealt in facts. Discernable truths. There was no room for flights of fancy. For esoteric bullshit about the earth listening. They just happened to pick the exact day, the exact hour, the exact minute to walk through this field on a bright, sunny morning when the flowers opened.
That was it.
Alex was watching him with an indecipherable expression.
Art pushed her sunglasses up on her nose. “You’re right,” she said. “It really is something.”
And not for the first time, in a field of flowers, Nate wondered if any of this was real.