Austen Box Set

by Hart, Staci

  I smirked, feeling way more badass than I should for something as stupid as stopping. “With years of practice, you too can jump off a skateboard without getting road burn.” I pulled off my backpack and laid it down, pack up, to strap my board into the buckles. “I’m not late, am I?”

  “No, I’m just early. I was so excited, I woke up at six in the morning like a crazy person.” She chuffed a laugh.

  I hitched on my backpack. “You hungry?”

  “Starved. I’ve been sitting here, smelling those hot dogs, for twenty minutes.”

  “That’s some serious willpower.”

  “What can I say? I’m determined. Plus, I couldn’t possibly eat one without you.”

  “Good. I need a picture of your face the first time you eat a real dog. Come on,” I said, starting off in the direction of Phyllis’s stand. “Know what you want?”

  She shook her head. “How do you like yours?”

  “Chili and cheese, nice and simple.”

  “Well, I have a lot of faith in your sandwich choices, so I think I’ll have what you’re having.”

  I laughed as we approached the counter and ordered jumbo dogs from Phyllis herself, who incidentally had no idea who I was. And with dogs and a couple of water bottles in hand, we headed back to the steps.

  Annie’s eyes were locked on the dog, her tongue slipping out to wet her lips as she sat down. “I’m salivating.”

  “Wait, where’s your camera?” I asked, setting my dogs down before taking off my backpack.

  “Oh! Here.” She rummaged around in her bag, extending the instant camera once she had it in hand.

  “All right, open wide.”

  Annie laughed, and I snapped a photo—it was too real of a moment not to.

  She made a face. “I wasn’t ready.”

  I shrugged. “That’s the danger of handing me the camera.” I slipped the photo into my back pocket and raised the camera again. “Go for it.”

  And she did. I snapped it just as her eyes closed, her face softening with pleasure.

  I set the camera next to her—she already had chili all over her hands—and took a seat next to her, reaching for my hot dogs, my mouth watering once it was in hand.

  When I took a bite, a soft moan rumbled through me. “There is nothin’ like this in the whole world.”

  “There really isn’t,” she agreed. “I had a hot dog at a baseball game once, but it had nothing on this. Like, this is what I imagined that would taste like, but it was just a cheap imitation.” She took another bite, humming her appreciation again.

  “My brother and I used to come here all the time. We’d come to the park to skate and eat at Phyllis’s cart for lunch.”

  “Huh. I didn’t realize she’d been here since the Clinton administration.”

  “Hyuck, hyuck, baby. Laugh it up,” I teased. “Not my fault you weren’t even alive when Kurt Cobain was.”

  She gave me a look. “And what were you? Seven?”

  “Five,” I corrected.

  She laughed. “And who got you into Nirvana at the ripe old age of five? Aren’t you the oldest?”

  “My dad loves grunge. I knew all the words to Alice in Chains’ ‘Rooster’ by the time I was ten, and my younger brother, Tim, and I used to have air-guitar competitions. He preferred Soundgarden.”

  “Please, tell me you got that on tape,” she said, still smiling.

  “Our little sister, Sarah, was the camera girl.”

  Annie laughed. “My older sister, Elle, would have been the camera girl in our family band. She’s…well, she’s shy and quiet, and she would much rather let me have the attention than to have it thrust on her. We’re polar opposites, which is why we’re so close, I think. She complements me, tempers me, and I complement her. My little sister, Meg, is a lot like me though, maybe even more gregarious. She would have taken home all the air-guitar medals.”

  “Maybe we should set up a concert.”

  Her smile widened. “Maybe we should. I can’t wait for you to meet Meg. She has a knack for remembering almost everything she reads, which mostly consists of National Geographic books, and wants to be an archaeologist.” She took a bite of her dog.

  “How about you? What do you want to do?”

  She thought while she chewed and swallowed. “Something in music. I’d love to play piano professionally, but there aren’t a lot of jobs for concert pianists, if I was even good enough to get hired.”

  “Why don’t you try?”

  Annie thought for a second, rearranging her hot dog in her hands. “You have to get a degree in music and need credentials to apply. I don’t have either. And my grades in high school were good, but…I don’t know. It just didn’t seem possible to leave home. Maybe once I have my surgery, I’ll feel better about taking the leap.”

  “After hearing you sing, I’m not at all surprised to learn you want to do something with music. I say go on and jump.”

  She smiled. “One thing Mama and Daddy always saved for were my piano lessons. I think Daddy must have had a deal with my piano teacher, Mrs. Schlitzer. She always seemed to get his best work.”

  I must have looked confused because she added, “He was a carpenter. They owned a shop on Main Street, packed with furniture and these little statues he used to whittle. He was always whittling something.” She laughed. “I swear, he never went anywhere without a block of wood and his pocket knife. And he could carve anything. He used to make me unicorns and ponies and princesses and knights. I still have them, but they’re not all here yet. The rest of our stuff is supposed to get here next week.”

  “My dad worked with his hands too, but nothing so cool as a carpenter,” I said. “He was a plumber before his arthritis got bad. When my mom died, he just…he sort of fell apart. We had all moved back home to help out, but after that, we couldn’t leave him.”

  Annie’s hands cradled her mostly eaten hot dog in her lap as she watched me with earnest eyes. “How did she die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Lupus. It was long and cruel. And Pop couldn’t afford the medical bills, even after their insurance. Their savings disappeared right along with his ability to grip a wrench.”

  “I’m sorry, Greg.”

  I forced a smile. “It’s all right. I didn’t really have anything else going on. I have no passion that I can monetize. I figured out somewhere around sixteen that I was never going to be a pro skateboarder. I have a bachelor’s degree, but I don’t want to sit in some cube all day, pushing paper. I mean, maybe I will someday, but for now, I’m happy enough. And I make good money running the bar—really good money, considering. We’re taking care of Pop, and I’d never admit it to my brother and sister, but I actually like living with all of them. There’s something safe about it. That’s one place in the world I know I can go and will be loved without condition. Plus, they get it, you know? We’ve all felt the same loss, and some days, it feels like they’re the only people who will ever understand.”

  “I know what you mean,” she said gently. “I feel the same way about my family.”

  “When did you start playing piano?” I asked, anxious to change the subject. I polished off my first dog and moved on to the second.

  “When I was six. They said I was a natural, but I think they were just trying to fluff me up. More than anything, I just loved it. It was almost like another language, one made of feelings.” She chuckled to herself. “I know how stupid that sounds, but that’s how it feels. Oh!” she started, reaching into her bag. “That reminds me; I’ve got the drawing for my tattoo. My sister did it for me. Mama isn’t happy about me getting a tattoo, but she didn’t put up much of a fight, just made a fuss about me taking antibiotics.”

  “Antibiotics?”

  She sighed. “A heart thing. I’m more prone to infections. I have to take them before going to the dentist too. Ah! Here it is.”

  When her hand reappeared, it was holding a thick sheet of watercolor paper. As she angled it toward me, I saw a drawing
of a music staff, but rather than notes, the lines bounced in jagged spikes, like heartbeats on tempo.

  “Do you like it?” she asked with uncertainty.

  “I…I love it. Where are you going to put it?”

  “I was thinking here.” She turned to display her back and reached over her shoulder to tap between her shoulder blades.

  “It’s gonna be perfect,” I said a little too softly and took a bite to stop myself from saying more. It cleared a third of the dog.

  When she turned again, the sunbursts in her green eyes flaring with joy. “Oh, good. I feel like such a poser. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “I think you’re doing great.”

  She blushed. “Thanks.”

  “So what’s next on the itinerary?” I asked, working on polishing off lunch.

  “Let’s see.” Annie swapped the illustration for her schedule of the day. “We’re renting a bike, and you have been tasked with teaching me something I should have learned when I was six.”

  I laughed around my last bite and dusted off my hands. “Yeah, how did that happen—or not happen?”

  “I dunno. I think Mama was worried about my heart, and I have a suspicion she banned Daddy from teaching me.”

  I frowned.

  “If it makes you feel better, he didn’t teach my sisters either. Out of solidarity, I guess.”

  “Are you sure it’s okay for your heart?” I asked for maybe the fifteenth time over the last few days.

  “Yes, I’m sure. And I’m sure all the walking will be fine, as long as you don’t mind me needing to stop to rest.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You say that now,” she said lightly, “but let me know how you feel after we’ve hit every bench in Central Park.”

  “Well, lucky for me, I’ve got great company. You scared? About the bike?”

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “The good news is, once you learn, you’re apparently set for life.”

  And with a laugh, she stood, hands in her pockets and sun on her face, blonde hair caught in the wind and her cheeks alight with untarnished joy.

  The moment made an impression on me that wasn’t likely to be forgotten.

  We chatted as we walked down Fifth to the bike rental station and unlocked one of the blue bicycles. And a little while and one park bench later, we were walking through the park in search of a grassy stretch off the beaten path.

  We found what we had been looking for—a space lined with trees, somewhat shielded from the rolling, open knoll by boulders jutting up out of the grass.

  “This looks good,” I said, lowering the kickstand before taking off my backpack.

  She pulled off her bag, looking nervously at the bike as she took a seat in the grass. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her cheeks and forehead, her face a little pale.

  “You sure you’re okay?” I asked, eyeing her.

  She smiled—her favorite way to answer. “It looks worse than it is. Promise.”

  I frowned. “Really, maybe the bike is too much. Maybe we can do this after your surgery.”

  “Greg, I’m fine. Come sit by me for a minute.”

  I kept my arguments to myself and sat next to her.

  “The cool air feels so nice,” she said, gathering up her hair and pulling it over one shoulder, exposing her neck.

  “When they fix your heart, will you still feel like this?”

  “No. I should be able to do anything physical I want within a few weeks of the surgery.”

  My brows drew together. “Really? After open-heart surgery?”

  “Really. It’s not like a heart transplant or anything. The hardest part of my recovery will be the incision and the fusing of my sternum back together.”

  A shudder tickled its way down my spine at the thought of a bone saw opening her rib cage. “What all will they do to your heart?”

  “Close the hole, repair my valve. I’ve had open-heart surgery before, but I was too little to remember anything about it. The scar is the only proof that it happened. Well, that and my mother’s stories. But this shouldn’t be too hard on the muscle itself, just some sutures when it’s all said and done. My body will work a lot more efficiently once the surgery is complete—like, immediately. I just have to get through the whole split-ribs thing,” she said with a little smirk. “All right, I feel better. Are you ready?”

  She looked better. Her cheeks and lips were tinged with color, and the waxy quality her skin had taken on was gone.

  “Ready when you are.”

  We got to our feet, and I stepped to the bike to lower the seat. Once it was down, I waved her over.

  “Come here and see if this works.”

  She climbed on cautiously, her feet on the ground and her hands gripping the handlebars. The seat was probably too low, but I figured it’d be better for her center of gravity—plus she could stop herself easier if she tipped.

  “Okay,” I started, one hand on the back seat and my other on the handlebar next to her hand, “I’m gonna hang on and hold you steady while you pedal.”

  She shot me a worried glance. “And if I fall?”

  “You get up and try again.”

  She laughed, not looking convinced.

  “Don’t worry; you’re not going to hurt yourself on the grass, but I’m not going to let you fall. I’ve got you, okay?”

  With a deep breath, she nodded once. “Okay.”

  “All right. Put your feet on the pedals.” My grip tightened when the balance was all on me. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” she echoed with determination.

  “Now, pedal.”

  She did, moving us both forward, the bike only wobbling a little bit under her.

  “Good, let’s go to that tree. Just keep it slow like this.”

  Her tongue poked out of her lips, her hands white-knuckled on the handlebars until she got to the tree. And when she smiled, it was with more confidence.

  “I did it!”

  I laughed. “You did. Come on, let’s go back. Ready?”

  She nodded, and we took off again. This time, she wobbled a little less, speeding up until I had to trot next to her to keep up.

  When we stopped at our backpacks, she cheered. “Again!”

  “All right,” I said on a chuckle. “I’m just gonna hang on to the back this time. And…go.”

  I did just that, my hands on the back of the seat, the handlebars swerving a little but nothing she couldn’t correct. And then I let go.

  She didn’t notice, wholly focused on staying upright, and I kept jogging, pulling up beside her. When she glanced over, I held my hands up in the air and wiggled my fingers.

  Her face opened up with joy, and a whoop passed her lips—just before she swerved into me.

  A string of expletives hissed out of me as I tried to grab her, but it was too late. She tumbled into me, bike and all, taking us down to the cold grass.

  Annie was lying on top of me, her hair tossed across her face. The ground was cold and damp under me, and the handlebar of the bike was jammed into my ribs, but I barely even noticed. Not with Annie sprawled out across my body, her green eyes sparkling and her laughter ringing in my ears.

  My own laughter met hers like an old friend.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, sweeping her hair out of her face to tuck it behind her ear.

  She flushed but made no move to pull away from me. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

  “I’ll live.”

  We watched each other for a moment through the rise and fall of my chest, the movement carrying her like a rocking ship. And then she giggled again, climbing off me before reaching for the bike.

  It was then that I began to fully comprehend the depth of the trouble I’d found myself in.

  A few more rounds had her riding on her own, and we practiced starting and stopping without falling. Within fifteen minutes, she’d graduated to the walkway where she could practice on a smooth surface. It wasn’t long before we were s
hooed off by a quartet of elderly men on their way to the Chess and Checkers House, judging by the cases they were carrying. They made sure to properly chastise us with wagging knobby fingers and low, overgrown eyebrows, unyielding, even when we explained our plight. So we hung our heads and tried not to smile at our shoes.

  Before we checked the bike back in, Annie retrieved her instant camera from her backpack, kneeling next to the bike to snap a picture. I had her get on the bike, so I could take another. She kicked her legs out to the sides and opened her mouth in a blinding smile. And then we took a selfie. Well, I took it, since my arms were longer.

  When it developed, I wished we’d taken two.

  Back into the park we went with Annie’s itinerary in hand, and as we talked and laughed, I found myself lost in the wonder of her.

  It wasn’t the statue of Alice in Wonderland that struck me; it was the smile on her face when she gazed on it, so completely in that moment that nothing seemed to exist before or after it. It wasn’t the Bethesda Fountain; it was the way she dipped her fingers in the cold water like it would anoint her. It wasn’t the beauty of the tiled terrace, shining like gold; it was the way she experienced it, eyes wide, lips parted, like she wanted to swallow the world.

  I was right to be hesitant about spending the day with Annie. Before today, I could tell myself it was attraction, pheromones, science. I could tell myself she was too young, that we were too different. But the truth was that none of those things mattered. There were roots—I could feel them working their way through me. They weren’t superficial, spreading out under the surface; they were the kind of roots you could never excavate, the kind that became a part of all they touched in the most permanent way.

  We walked toward the Mall, a wide lane lined with elm trees so old and tall, their branches touched far above the heads of people below in an arch like a gothic chapel. And I listened to her, watched her, unable to deny the allure of her lust for life, the optimism of her soul, the lightness of her heart, a heart that had been broken from the start.

  I was high from the contact, hungry for the feeling, desperate for more.

  As we approached the entrance of the grand walkway lined with those dignified trees, Annie gasped.

  “Greg, there’s a piano.”