Amber Eyes (33 page)

It hurt. I wanted to yell, “Ouch!” It would have been wonderful if he could have been my boyfriend. Then it hit me. I’d already had a girlfriend. I already had somebody whom I could kiss and whom could hold me: Jenny. She had also protected me even though under different circumstances. All I needed was to ask for a cell phone and call her. By this time, she should have come back to town.

No. I had no girlfriend. The girl in the mirror had been right, I was not gay. Jenny was my best friend, but nothing beyond that. I’d thought I loved her, and I’d thought I was into girls because I didn’t want to be like my mother. I didn’t want to be a total failure dating guy after guy, gorilla after gorilla. That was why I’d decided to look tomboyish and fall for another girl, because in the end, what I wanted was to be a boy so I couldn’t fail like Laura had.

Now I knew what it meant to be a girl. Now I knew I enjoyed being one. Edward had been attracted to me, even when he thought I was a boy. Edward was not gay. He proved it when Daniel approached him. Edward had been attracted to me even under a disguise, even under a most tomboyish appearance that had deceived everybody. Why had he? One answer came to my mind: because I was a girl capable of attracting guys not matter what. Because I was striking. Because I smelled like a girl, behaved like a girl, thought like a girl, and quacked like a girl. Even the jock at the celebration had been attracted to me.

I was not like Laura. I was no loser but a winner. The sheriff said there was a chance I was not Edward’s brother. I hoped not because it feels wrong that he would be.

A cop appeared at the ambulance’s door. “Sheriff, sir, we have a problem.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Daniel Canfield. We’ve just received a 911 report from his parents. The kid—” The cop glanced at me.

“What’s going on?” the sheriff barked. All his patience seemed to have drained out.

“The kid hanged himself at home. I’m afraid he’s dead.”

Omigod! I closed my eyes. Daniel. He did as he’d promised and had killed himself. Abbeville was cursed. Would it ever end?

God, please, save Edward. Too many people have died in this place. It’s been enough.

Epilogue July 5, Now

Before the 4 of July, I couldn’t be sure if I was a teenage lesbian. Yes. I was a girl who dreamed of other girls—or at least of one in particular. Not anymore, though. I learned what it means to fall in love with a boy because I’m really attracted to him, rather than falling in love with a girl only because she protected me. Jenny is a wonderful friend, and I love her, but in the way in which you love your sister, not in the way in which you love your boyfriend.

I’ll call Jenny and I’ll ask her to come her to visit me. Once she’s here, I’ll talk to her. It won’t be an easy conversation, but I won’t lie to her. She needs to know I won’t be her girlfriend. Her lips were hot, and she smelled awesome, but passion is not love. Nice is different than good.

I have strong feelings for Edward, but there’s a good chance he might my half-brother, so common sense dictates I have to forget him. It hurts. Too much. More than I can stand. I’ll fight for him. I’ll stick to the chance that we might not be siblings.

I’m now in a hospital, but there’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine. It’s just a damned broken leg and a coupla bruises. They put me a cast, which I’ll need to wear for five weeks. The uncomfortable part is that I’m only wearing one of those hospital white gowns that you tie on you back so everybody can see your butt each time you go to the restroom. Edward’s in this hospital too. He was shot and lost a lot of blood, but he made it and they say he’ll be okay.

I don’t know what time is it. Midmorning, I guess. Sheriff Torrent visited me earlier—he may be my father and he may not, I’m hoping he’s not but love that he’s acting like one. He looked like crap, like he hadn’t sleep in three days and had the worst hangover in his whole life. He’s the one who told me Edward will be okay, which stole him a smile. He contacted my grandmother in Cancun last night. According to the sheriff, she seemed thrilled that I came to live with her. She promised to board the first available flight and to be back in Abbeville by tomorrow the latest. Nobody can tell if she’s really my grandmother, because nobody can tell if Aaron Zimmerman was really my father. I bet nobody told her this little fact, so I won’t either. Sheriff Torrent told me she’s been trying to adopt me for years, but Laura always prevented it. Grandma loved me. Now I remember all the time she and I spent together in Magnolia Hall, walking the woods, playing and sharing. She told me stories, put me to bed and sang me songs. I know she still loves me and that’s what counts.

Daniel is dead. The sheriff explained me that too. He hanged himself last night. Nobody had a clue why he did it—save for Edward and me. Daniel should have known Edward would never have told he was gay and neither would I. Moreover, Daniel should have accepted himself, even if it meant facing bullying. It’s better than not—I now know how dangerous it is not to accept yourself. I’m very sad about him. At first, I hated him, but I ended up liking him after I understood what he was going through. I would have offered him a hand, but he never allowed me to be his friend. I dunno what else to say about him, only that I’m terribly sad…

The sheriff talked about contacting Laura, but I asked him not to. I want to live with my grandmother. I want to live with someone who loves me, not with someone for whom I’ve always been a burden. I don’t hate Laura, though. I’d be like her if I don’t forgive her, so I’ve forgiven her. Besides… last night, her ghost said, ‘I can’t. Not anymore. Hope you can ever forgive me.’ Had she meant that she was mom’s actual ghost because she had died? I couldn’t be sure, but I didn’t want to find it out either.

I’m not sure if somebody had told Edward about Daniel. Poor Edward. He’ll feel it was his fault, but I’ll be by his side to show him he had nothing to do with it. Edward is a wonderful person and he went through too many things this week, only because he cared too much about the people in his life. He saved my life last night so it’ll be my turn to return the favor. I’m a Boy Scout, and a scout is loyal, friendly, brave, and does his best to do his duty.

Duty come first, self goes second.

Besides, I said I’m actually in love with him, and my girl intuition says we’re not siblings.

THE END

A note to the reader

First, thanks for taking a crack at this book. I really hope you enjoyed it.

Second, I’d like to ask you a favour. I’d really appreciate a review in Amazon. I’m not looking for a quick-click five stars; I’m asking for your honest opinion of the book. Tell everybody what you liked about it and—more importantly—please tell what you didn’t. Both are helpful, but the latter will make me a better writer.

Third, if, by chance, you really loved it, can you mention Amber Eyes on whatever social media you use?

Thanks for reading, for reviewing, and for passing the word.

Best Regards,

Mariana Reuter

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Acknowledgements

Many thanks to all the people who encouraged me to write since I was kid. Special thanks to those who read my first detective stories, duly typed, marketed, and distributed by my wonderful mother: my cousin Yolanda, my cousin Silvia, my aunt Beatriz, my late aunt Estela, and a large list of uncles and aunts whom I’m sure received a copy. Do you still have those copies? Keep them, they will be worth a fortune in eBay soon. LOL!

This story wouldn’t be what it is without the support of my fellow writers at The Next Big Writer (
www.thenextbigwriter.com
). It’s a fantastic site where both pros and amateurs can workshop their stories and receive candid, albeit critical, feedback. Out of all the people who helped me, I wish to highlight the valuable help received from:

K Hippolite, mon cher ami canadien.

R. M. Keegan, a wonderful editor.

Nathan B. Childs, who claims to be grandfather but owns a youngster’s spirit and vitality.

Don Chambers and Sheriff Norm, two wonderful friends.

Lucy Crowe, my favourite firefighter.

Andreas Wiesemann, the most sensible soul I’ve ever met.

And John Hamler, quite a character.

Finally, Laura Kingsley, my editor and friend, spent many hours teaching me how to become a better writer. She’s tough; believe me when I say I had some very hard times working with her, rewriting chapter after chapter. I’m totally grateful for her huge support and patience.