He waved my words away. “The least I could do. So where are you going to go to snap your first pictures?”
“Go? Well, home, of course. My garden will have plenty of butterflies.”
Looking unimpressed, Harvey slouched against my car. “The same old spot with the same old butterflies? Why not go somewhere new?”
“I don’t need to. I like my yard.”
“Well, sure, it’s really nice. But somewhere new might be nice, too.”
He certainly liked trying to convince me of things. I almost told him he should go back inside the store and apply for a job, since he obviously had salesman blood in his veins.
“Come on, give the camera a chance to prove itself and break out of its comfort zone.”
Sensing his odd metaphor actually referred to me, I chose to ignore it. I touched the camera case. “I’ll take good care of it, don’t worry.”
“Oh, I won’t, and I’m sure you will.”
“Thanks again.” I opened my car door.
He straightened. “You know your way home?”
Well . . . there was that little glitch. I sank into my seat. Both relieved and distressed by his question, I wasn’t sure how to answer.
On the way here, my focus had been on him and his motorcycle, not the roads and landmarks. As a result, I wasn’t confident I could find my way home without some serious guesswork—but to admit I couldn’t would be like asking him for more help. Enough was enough.
“Um . . .” Harvey eyed me. “It was a pretty simple question.” Despite the sarcastic words, he said them so kindly that it didn’t sound rude.
His gaze prodded. “Should I take that as a no? It’s no problem, just follow me. I’ve gotta head that way anyhow.”
I pulled on my seat belt. “In that case, sure, that would be helpful. I-I don’t get out this way very often.”
And just like that, I found myself once again tailing him on his motorcycle, feeling as though the wind was actually rushing in my face and stealing my breath, despite my windshield.
I didn’t even realize our route was different than the one we’d taken earlier until we swooped up a hill and turned past broken remains of a barn, a splintered fence, and an overgrown field stretching endlessly in front of us.
This wasn’t my home. Where were we?
Other than the occasional car passing on a distant country road, we were alone. Isolated. My heart tripped over its own beat.
Why did he bring me here?
Chapter 6
I kept the engine running and sat with my foot heavy on the brake, not even shifting into park.
My gaze fluctuated from Harvey striding my way to the Bible on the seat beside me. Lord, what’s happening? The prayer, feeble as it was, burst from my mind, catching me off guard.
My hand jumped from the steering wheel to the lock, where my finger hovered nervously.
Harvey tapped on the window. “Surprise.” He smiled, but I didn’t return the expression.
He tapped again. “Aren’t you gonna get out?”
“Um, I don’t know.”
His knuckles rapped the glass. “What?”
I cracked the window a centimeter. “I said, ‘I don’t know.’ ”
“Why not?”
I shrugged, pretending my heart wasn’t hitting overdrive. “Where are we?” I spoke to my windshield, focusing on a particularly nasty bug-splatter. “I’m just not sure—” That’s when my eyes finally registered movement in the rolling field ahead. “Oh!”
Butterflies. Countless butterflies floating and flying, rising and settling in glorious abandon over hundreds of sunshine-bathed wildflowers. Purple, yellow, orange, and white petals bobbed over green leaves.
I could hardly tell where the flowers ended and the butterflies began. It was like one huge, living, intoxicating picture. More than a picture. It was real. The sight warmed my soul. I shut off the car and leaned closer to the windshield. “There’s—there’s so many of them!”
“A good place to try out that new camera, right?”
I scrambled for it, threw the strap over my neck, and unlocked the door. “I’ve never seen so many butterflies in one place. It’s incredible.”
Harvey laughed, then dodged my door as I swung it open. I heaved a lungful of flower-scented air and smiled as I hoisted the camera. “I’ve gotta go take some pictures.”
I strode, almost ran, into the field, immersing myself in the rustling grass, the swaying coneflowers, daisies, snapdragons, and prairie clovers. The perfect blend of colors and scents soothed me. The intricate beauty delighted me. I savored the challenge and wonder of the shots until I stood breathless and beaming.
The pictures now sat like treasure in my camera, and I anticipated sifting through them for days. I finally let the Nikon hang from my neck and stood still in the waving sea of colors until my patience paid off and an exquisite swallowtail landed on my shoulder. Its wings fanned open and shut.
Harvey approached, and I felt a swell of delight that he could share this moment. “I hope you weren’t bored,” I said softly, grateful for his patience.
He shook his head, hair glinting in the late-afternoon sun. “Not at all.” He waded through the long grass till he stood near enough to touch. The butterfly remained. As if it didn’t know enough to be scared. Or maybe . . . it knew enough not to be. Strange emotions rippled through me.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” I whispered. “It’s wonderful. Magical.”
He shrugged and smiled, almost sheepishly. “I knew you’d like it.”
“I do.” The butterfly crept to my neck, tickling my skin. Before I knew it, it was climbing my hair. I giggled, and it took flight.
Turning, I watched it sail away. “This place, it’s like a . . . a paradise. A . . .”
“A butterfly heaven?”
I pulled in a sharp breath. “Exactly.” But I wouldn’t have expected him to come up with that.
His hands rose defensively. “That’s Sally’s name for it, not mine.”
“Sally, as in Sally the bride-to-be?”
“Yep, my sister.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She loves butterflies.”
“Right.” Thus the desire for a butterfly release. He had a sister, and he seemed to know how special that was. The thought touched me. “Sally showed you this place?”
He nodded.
Confusion crept through me, along with something more complicated. “Then why . . . I don’t understand. Then why did you think you needed me to provide butterflies? You could just come here and catch all you want.” Not that I was condoning that. Although I was beginning to feel that the butterflies might understand, even forgive him . . .
He pushed his hands in his pockets and looked around, then down. Avoiding my eyes? “I think we both know I’m no good at catching butterflies.”
“Well, sure. Without a net, no one is.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I just wanted to do this the right way, that’s all. And I thought you—that Sally would like it that way. That you would have butterflies you raised, ones that are ready for their first flight. These ones . . . well, they’re already free.”
He wasn’t making a lot of sense. What wasn’t he telling me?
He cleared his throat and looked past me. “Have you always been interested in butterflies?”
I shifted my thoughts, yanking them away from Harvey, away from Sally, away from freedom and weddings, and in doing so, I opened a door in my mind that had been shut and sealed for a very long time.
“Lila?”
What was his question? Have you always been interested in butterflies?
“No.”
“So what got you started?”
Not what, who. “My little sister. She loved them first.” Oh, Mags. She was like a butterfly herself. My eyelids weakened, lowered slightly, and my gaze turned inward, into my mind, into the distance, into the past . . .
“Do you think there are butterflies in heaven, Lila?”
&nb
sp; “I don’t know, Mags. How should I know?” I tapped my pencil tip against my math paper, irritated, before erasing the X in my equation.
“You should know because you’re older.” Mags hovered at my desk. “And you’re super smart.”
“If only,” I muttered, then began recalculating. “Don’t bother me right now. Can’t you see I’m studying?” The ACT test loomed larger every day, along with college entrance exams and my desire to prove myself. A failed homeschooler would be the worst kind of label.
I couldn’t let my parents down. I couldn’t let myself down. My whole future depended on this.
Mags crawled under my desk, bumping my work, and I bit back a complaint as she continued chattering. “I think there have to be butterflies in heaven. They’re too beautiful not to be. And I wouldn’t want to go there otherwise . . .”
“I should have said yes,” I whispered now through my oddly compressed throat. “I should have—”
A hand touched my arm. “Lila? What’s wrong? I’m sorry, I must have said something—”
I shook my head and swallowed a lump, then batted my damp eyes, opening them to my surroundings. Realizing where I stood.
Butterfly heaven.
I inhaled and absorbed a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer air or sun. And I felt a closeness to Mags.
It’s okay. She knows now. She knows . . .
Harvey stared at me with confusion and concern, his hand still on my arm, as if it belonged there.
Weakening, I sank to my knees in the deep grass, the green leafy walls swishing on all sides. If only they’d swallow me up.
Harvey sank beside me. “I’m sorry I brought it up, whatever it was.”
I shook my head and smiled through the ache. “My little sister, she would have loved this place.” I pulled in another breath, my nerves responding to the caress of the air. “I feel her here. I feel them all, my whole family.”
I sensed Harvey’s worried gaze on me, as if he realized what I hadn’t yet said. I ran my palm lightly over the grass. “My mom, my dad, my little brother and sister—we were all really close.” I pulled my hand back and hugged my knees. “They were my whole world.”
Was I really doing this? Was I really talking about them? It terrified me, yet it made them feel real in a way they hadn’t in years.
“My dad was a neurosurgeon. My mom homeschooled us. When my dad was home, it was special. One day, about five years ago, they wanted to take us all on a field trip.”
Harvey gave a slight nod, still looking troubled.
“They were spontaneous and fun that way, but I—I had tunnel vision. I was focused on acing my ACT and college entrance exams. Always studying. Like it was all that mattered. Wouldn’t even take a break to go with them.”
I paused, drawing my hands together and tracing my knuckles, remembering the feel of the bitten pencil in my hand. Turning it. Matt’s voice echoing Maggie’s. “Come on, Lila. Come with us. It’ll be fun! We’re gonna ride the zoo train.”
My eyes misted. “They really wanted me to come. I should have said yes. It was supposed to be family time. But I didn’t want to, so they left without me and . . . I figured there’d always be more family time.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I figured wrong.”
A heartbeat of silence pulsed between us before Harvey touched my back. “I’m sorry, Lila.”
“They didn’t even make it to the zoo. They swerved to avoid a—a motorcyclist who wiped out on the road.” I swallowed, and when I spoke again, my voice rasped. “He died anyway, and their van was totaled.” I willed the moisture to suck itself back into my eyes and nose, but no luck.
More silence.
“I should have been with them.”
Harvey’s hand left my back. He gripped my upper arms just shy of too tight, then looked me in the eyes, his expression somber. “No, don’t say that. It’s a good thing you weren’t. A real good thing.”
A good thing with no joy. “But I—I miss them. So much.”
Harvey’s brow twisted and knotted in a way that was difficult to watch. “Of course you do, Lila. Of course you do.”
“And sometimes . . .” I paused as I felt our breath mingle, and it both delighted and frightened me, but I couldn’t avoid it, his face was so near. How did it get so near? I looked at my lap and whispered, “I get tired of being alone.”
His grip loosened, and I knew I shouldn’t have let that slip out. What was I doing here, with him? I pulled myself from his grasp—easy to do. He didn’t hold on.
I drank a breath of air to cool my burning chest and stood up. “At least I’ve got my butterflies.” The silly statement and my chipper tone rang false.
Harvey’s reaction resembled a grimace, producing lines near his mouth that didn’t belong. “Lila, you have more than that. You don’t have to be alone.”
But I do. It’s the only thing I know how to do. “Monarchs are in danger of going extinct. Did you know that? The population’s gone down ninety percent in the last twenty years.”
I popped the lens cap on my camera, then squinted up at the sky. “I think we should get going. I still have a lot of things to take care of at home, and I’m sure you”—my imagination fumbled in a million directions—“have things to do, too.”
I hurried to my car and sealed myself in, scared by all the emotions I’d unleashed, the words I’d said. The weakness I’d revealed. The past I’d resurrected.
My gaze stayed down in my lap until I heard Harvey start his motorcycle, then I followed him onto the road.
I shouldn’t have dumped my issues on him. I pulled in deep, rhythmic breaths, with equal exhales, all the way home, then jumped out before Harvey could reach my door.
I gave him a plastic smile, dismayed to see his anxious eyes rimmed with seriousness.
“Lila, listen—”
I shook my head. I was the one who’d gotten us into this emotional mess. Getting him out of it was the least I could do.
But before I found my voice, he was talking again. “What happened to you—to your family—that’s a huge tragedy. You can’t expect to deal with that all on your own. Have you tried counseling?”
Talk to a stranger about my personal issues? The mere thought brought my muscles to a gridlock. “That’s not—that’s not for me.”
“How can you know that? Have you tried? My mom lost her best friend in a car crash, and she said talking to a counselor helped a lot—gave her a way to process and deal with it all.”
I swallowed, my thoughts swarming and protesting. “I’m not your mom.”
“Obviously.” Sadness clouded his face. “I was only giving you an example.”
I nodded. He meant well. I made myself focus on a too-long length of his hair that stood at an odd angle. “I’m sorry if I ruined your afternoon, but please don’t worry about me.” I eyed my door. Only a few more yards to go. “I’m good.”
He hurried to stay near my side. “You’re not, and I don’t expect you to be.”
Pretending he hadn’t spoken, I knew what I needed to say, and I just had to get it out. “Thanks for the camera, and for listening to me, but please—please go.” I turned and strode up my path.
“Lila, wait.”
But I didn’t. I opened my door, slipped inside, and closed it. “Goodbye, Harvey.”
Chapter 7
Other than when my family had died, my loneliness and loss had never felt so fresh, so acute.
I’d dealt with that by selling our family home, moving to a new town, hiding away and raising butterflies, immersing myself in my studies. I’d become relatively content.
But now . . . my simple pattern of existence had been disrupted, thrown off-kilter. Something had surfaced, demanding to be dealt with.
But I didn’t know how.
I slipped into the sunroom, where there was no sun left. The butterflies hardly stirred, and the hidden pupas went through their slow metamorphoses inside cozy chrysalises. If only there was a chrysalis big enough for me
to tuck myself into.
The silent room held a slight odor of molted leaves, potted earth, and perhaps a few caterpillar droppings. The butterfly-bath water needed changing. So did the fruit-juice sponges.
But instead of tackling chores or studying, I lay down on the area rug, willing at least one butterfly to care. To brush me and comfort me with a soft touch of wing. Just one.
But each insect continued hanging from the screen or resting on a plant, oblivious to me.
I closed my eyes and lay in the loneliness.
~
So what the heck, Lila? Where were you? Jess wrote hours later when I finally connected with her online. Not so much because I wanted to—goodness knows I didn’t want to face her questions—but I didn’t know what to do besides fall back into my old routines. It was the only comfort I could find.
After all, she was the only one who could truly relate. She’d lost her parents around the same time I had. Sadly, that was the main reason we’d connected so well all those years ago.
So today I’d dragged myself to my computer chair and found Jess waiting to unleash her concern.
Must’ve been some cataclysmic event to keep you from meeting me at our regularly scheduled time, she continued, unknowingly rekindling my pain.
How to respond?
It wasn’t. It was just a little thing, really . . .
Yet my hands flew as I poured the day out through my fingertips, all of it: Harvey, my camera, the beautiful field, how I’d broken down and spilled my painful past.
I turned into such a mess, I finished.
Man, she replied, that guy should just leave you alone.
That was what she got out of this? He didn’t do anything wrong, Jess.
He brought you to that place, made you talk about that stuff.
It was nice that he brought me there. He certainly didn’t make me bring up my past. And maybe . . . maybe I need to talk about that, at least a little bit. Sometimes.
You know I’m here for you any time, Lila. Talk to me.
So I did. We typed back and forth till my wrists ached. Sharing was supposed to make me feel better, I thought, but it didn’t.
The Butterfly Recluse Page 4