A Breath of Eyre (15 page)

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Authors: Eve Marie Mont

BOOK: A Breath of Eyre
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Everyone was laughing when the bell rang, and no one even complained when Gallagher assigned us the first hundred pages of
Frankenstein
to read for next week.
“Gallagher seemed pretty fond of your response about reanimation,” Michelle said as we walked out of the classroom.
“What do you mean?”
“I saw him winking at you.”
I blushed. “Oh, don’t be stupid.”
“Weird that he didn’t ask me about it, seeing as
Frankenstein
is my research topic. But I guess
I
didn’t get struck by lightning.”
I glared at her, incredulous. “What’s with you lately?” I said, quickly losing my temper. “Do you think I enjoyed getting struck by lightning and being in a coma for three weeks?”
She glared back at me, and we walked the rest of the way in silence. When we came to the path that led to the stables, I remembered Owen was supposed to be working.
“Do you want to go see if Owen’s at the barn?” I asked. I didn’t really feel like going back to the dorm alone with Michelle.
“I guess,” she muttered, like she was doing me a favor.
When we got to the barn, Owen was just finishing cleaning the stalls. “Owen!” I said, galloping over to him. I threw my arms around him while my crutches fell to the ground. Hugging him felt like coming home.
When he pulled away he said, “Wow, you look great.”
“Thanks. I wish I could say the same for you.” His hair was sticking up all over the place, and his clothes were filthy as usual. He looked so very ... Owen.
“You really have the most terrible taste in T-shirts,” Michelle said. Today’s said,
Never turn your back on a cactus
and had an image of three menacing-looking cacti.
“Nice to see you, too, Michelle,” he said.
Since I was on crutches, we couldn’t very well go up to the loft to hang out, so Owen and I sat down on some hay bales while Michelle went to say hi to Curry. I had never seen Curry so excited to see anyone. His ears perked up at the sound of her voice, and his tail swished against his pen. He nickered as she climbed up to pat his nose, then dropped his head and closed his eyes as she stroked him, looking like he was in some kind of heavenly horse trance.
Owen asked how my physical therapy was going, and I told him my doctor thought I only had another few weeks on crutches. “And how about the amnesia?” he said. “Are you remembering anything?”
“Actually, can I tell you guys something weird?”
“Sure,” Owen said. “I love weird.”
I told them both about the rush of memories I’d just experienced on the path with Gallagher and filled them in on the details of my
Jane Eyre
dream. They listened with rapt expressions. It felt so good to finally tell someone who wasn’t getting paid to listen.
“Cool!” Owen said when I finished my story.
“But that’s not the weirdest part. You know how French used to be my worst subject? Well, it turns out I’m fluent now.”
“What do you mean,
fluent?
” Michelle said.
“Je peux parler français aussi bien que tu peux,” I said with the perfect accent.
I can speak French as well as you can
.
Michelle’s jaw dropped. “No. Way.”
“Oui.”
“Actually,” Owen said, “I’ve heard about stuff like this.”
“Instantaneous language acquisition?”
“No, lightning strike survivors. They can get special powers after their accident—photographic memory, telekinesis, the ability to communicate with the dead.”
“Oooh, spooky,” Michelle said in a melodramatic voice.
“Nothing about jumping into the plot of the book they’re reading and becoming the main character?” I said.
“No. But if you really believe you lived Jane’s life, reading and speaking French every day, it’s not outlandish to think you’d come back fluent, is it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s pretty out there.”
“It’s awesome! You’re, like, a superhero.”
“Did you say Mr. Gallagher was your Rochester?” Michelle asked.
“Yeah, and Madame Favier was Mrs. Fairfax. And, ugh, Elise Fairchild was Blanche Ingram.” My stomach sank at the sound of Elise’s name because I’d just remembered Gray was taking her to the Snow Ball.
“Hey,” I said. “Not to change the subject, but what do you guys think about the Snow Ball?”
Michelle groaned. “That it’s a stupid tradition, and I wouldn’t be caught dead going.”
“I think,” Owen countered, “that despite its uninspired name, it could be fun. I went my freshman year and had a blast.”
“You went your freshman year?” Michelle said. “With who?”
“Bree Harmon. She graduated two years ago.”
“You went with a senior when you were a freshman?” Michelle said. She sounded a little jealous.
“Yeah, Emma’s not the only one who falls for the older type.” He punched me playfully in the arm. “You know what we could do?” he said, as if reading my mind. “Go together, the three of us?”
“As in a threesome?” Michelle said. “Your schoolboy fantasy?”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean, go as friends.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It might be fun to get dressed up.”
“Come on, Michelle. You’ll get to see me in a tux,” Owen said, waggling his eyebrows. “This could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. What do you say?”
We both looked at her hopefully. “But I don’t have a dress.”
“So we’ll go shopping,” I said.
“I have no money.”
“I’ll buy you a dress,” Owen said.
“No!” She spat out the word, and Owen recoiled. “If I agree to go, I’ll buy my own dress.”
“Maybe we can take the train to Boston next weekend and go shopping at some of those consignment stores in Back Bay,” I offered. She shrugged, like I was twisting her arm.
“Excellent,” Owen said. “It’s a date. A double date.” He grinned, revealing his dimples.
“I’m going to take Curry out for a ride,” Michelle said abruptly.
We both stared at her. “Right now?” I asked.
But she was already inside Curry’s pen, saddling him up. Moments later, she led Curry out of the barn and trotted him out to the riding ring, running him through some exercises—circles and serpentines and small jumps. After months of training together, they made it look effortless.
“What’s with her lately?” I asked Owen once she was out of earshot. “She seems so angry all the time.”
“I don’t know. I guess she’s dealing with a lot. The training’s been rough on her, and she’s been working with all these single mothers at the homeless shelter. I think it’s dredged up some old feelings. She’s been talking about finding her father.”
“Really?” I felt crushed that I didn’t know this.
“She needs something right now. Something I can’t give her.”
I stuck my lip out in sympathy and put an arm around him. He sighed and let his head drop momentarily onto my shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, she hasn’t been very nice to me either,” I said.
“She’s just jealous.”
“Jealous? Of what?”
Owen twisted his mouth like he was trying to understand it himself. “Probably all the attention you’ve been getting since the accident.”
“Believe me, I don’t want any of it.”
“I know. But sometimes I think Michelle wouldn’t mind trading places with you.”
I scrunched my face and turned my attention to the riding ring, watching Michelle and Curry glide over a fence like they were flying. I glanced down at my own legs that couldn’t even remember how to walk. “Why on earth would Michelle want to trade places with me? She’s brilliant, gorgeous—”
“So are you,” he said unexpectedly. I thought I saw the faintest flush in his cheeks. He bit his lip and stared down at the ground.
I cocked my head and looked at him again, seeing Owen in a very different light. Since I’d come out of the coma, I’d had this nagging feeling I’d been trying to ignore, but now it felt so obvious. And if my hunch was true, it explained the tension I’d been feeling from Michelle.
I peered across the riding ring and watched Michelle bring Curry to a sudden halt, yanking on his reins harder than usual, yanking like someone who feared she might be losing her grip.
C
HAPTER
16
“T
hat color would look great on you,” I said, pointing to a cranberry red strapless gown with a knee-length skirt. We had taken the commuter train into Boston, where we found a consignment shop that sold cocktail and prom dresses, all for under fifty dollars. “Try it on.”
“What about you?” she said, scanning the aisles. “I’m picturing Audrey Hepburn in
Roman Holiday
. Sweet and innocent.” She rummaged through the racks, choosing an off-white satin dress with an empire waist and a chiffon skirt. I held up a black velvet dress with a matching scarf. “Uh-uh,” she said, shaking her head at my selection. “This one. Trust me.”
We went into the dressing room, which had large unflattering mirrors and no drapes or doors. I leaned my crutches against the wall and changed carefully, somehow managing to get the Audrey Hepburn dress over my head. Michelle secured the row of fifteen tiny buttons on the back, then moved me so I was in the center of the mirror. She drew my hair behind me and wound it into a bun, then held it there while I studied myself in the mirror. It was a strange transformation. I looked like a ballerina or a Russian princess.
I sighed, thinking of Gray’s broad swimmer’s body and what it might look like straining against a tuxedo jacket. I was so angry with myself. On Halloween, he had almost kissed me. And I had fled, like I always did when things got too real for me. I preferred my love at a distance—a crush on a teacher or, better yet, on a fictional character. And now it was too late. I’d pushed Gray right into Elise’s arms.
Michelle and I made our purchases, then took the Red Line to Aunt Darlene’s. When we emerged from the subway and onto the street, the neighborhood seemed right in the middle of a Mardi Gras celebration. Most of the restaurants had colorful signs boasting food and festivities, and the famous Mardi Gras beads dangled from bare tree branches everywhere. As we passed a Caribbean restaurant, the scents of citrus and grilled meats wafted out the door. My stomach grumbled.
We walked up to Darlene’s second-flood apartment, and she greeted us warmly with hugs and repeated pleas for us to sit down and relax. We took off our coats and settled in the living room, the smell of fresh baked bread in the air.
Darlene had made us nonalcoholic Cremas, which tasted like coconut milk shakes. She also brought out some pumpkin fritters and fried plantains as appetizers. I scarfed down two fritters and three plantains while Darlene asked us about school, boys, everything. Michelle and I could barely answer one question before she’d ask another.
“Aunt Dar, slow down,” Michelle said. “It’s only been a month since you’ve seen me.”
“And you,” she said, looking at me. “You still on those crutches?”
“I can’t seem to get my balance back.”
“Well, you had quite a spell, sleeping away all that time. You need to let your waking self catch up with your dreaming self.” I liked Darlene’s way with words—it was almost like poetry.
“Why don’t you tell Darlene about that dream you had?” Michelle said.
“What dream?” I said, giving Michelle the evil eye.
“You know, the one when you were in the coma.”
Darlene fixed her eyes on me, obviously curious; there was no escaping it. “It’s silly,” I said. “I dreamed that I became the main character of the book I was reading,
Jane Eyre
. I was staying in this huge mansion, working for an older man and teaching his little girl English. And there was this strange woman who worked there—she had this evil laugh—and she tried to burn the house down. It sounds crazy, but it felt so real at the time. It felt like more than a dream.”
Darlene leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Dreams are very powerful. The loa come to you in your dreams.”
“The loa. Spirits of the dead, right?”
She nodded. “Sometimes they need to speak to you. Tell you something from the other side.”
“It’s weird that you say that, because I’ve been thinking there was something I was supposed to learn there, but I came back too soon.”
“Oh, so you want to go back now?” she said.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I do.”
Darlene watched me intensely. “Emma, I’m gonna give you a way to invite that dream back.”
“Aunt Dar,” Michelle said. “The last time she had the dream, she was in a coma for three weeks. I don’t think she should try to go back.”
“If the girl has unfinished business, she needs to go,” Darlene said, smiling. “I’m just going to give her a way to open the door again.” She went to a set of drawers in the dining room and extracted a small card and handed it to me. “This is Papa Legba’s calling card. You call on him, and he’ll show you the way.”
I flipped the card over in my hands. On one side was Papa Legba’s symbol; on the other, an incantation. The words were in French, but I translated them easily:
Father Legba, open the door for me. Father Legba, open the door to let me pass through. To pass truly, loa, I give thanks to you.
“Is it dangerous?” I said. “To pass back through the door?”
“It depends what’s on the other side,” Darlene said, laughing. “You keep Papa Legba happy, and you’ll be safe.” She touched my necklace and shook her head. “He likes rum and Coke and a good cigar after dinner. And you bring a toy for his dog. He’ll take care of you.” She laughed again, then moved on as if she’d forgotten all about this otherworldly talk. “You hungry?” she said. “I’m gonna fix dinner.”
She walked out to the kitchen, and Michelle moved next to me. “Emma, don’t mess with this stuff. You don’t understand it.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in it.”
“I don’t, but it’s kind of like God. I don’t believe in him either, but he still scares me.” The fear in her eyes made me wary. But I dismissed her concerns. I was certain I’d never go back to Thornfield.
After a feast of Haitian dishes, we watched some revelers outside on the streets forming a makeshift parade, playing rhythmic music with lots of chanting and drums. While we walked back to the T stop that night, the neighborhood seemed alive with color and music. I was sad to leave. Lockwood was a lonely place. I suddenly remembered how happy I’d been at Thornfield, how Mrs. Fairfax and Adèle had treated me like family, how Mr. Rochester had shown me such kindness and introduced me to the promise of love. I missed them all so much.
What if Thornfield was the place I truly belonged? What if Lockwood was the real dungeon, a place where I would never thrive, would never stop being a shy, helpless creature trapped by her own insecurities, hopping about on crutches instead of soaring?
We got back to school at nearly eleven o’clock and crawled into our beds without talking or watching TV. I felt the psychic pull of the dream drawing me in, so seductive that I couldn’t wait to fall asleep in the hopes that I might return to it. I tucked Papa Legba’s card under my pillow, too scared to recite its verses just yet, but reassured to know it was there if I ever needed it.

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