Continuance (5 page)

As she tried to think of
something else to occupy her attention, the tinny, muffled sound of music
emanated from her purse, her cell phone blaring a classic rock tune.

I’m a cowboy. On
a steel horse I ride.

I’m wanted,
wanted, dead or alive.

 Thankful for the chance to look
socially engaged, she took her time digging the phone out. She let it ring a
few seconds, then answered without bothering to check the ID.

“Am I interrupting anything
good?” To someone who wasn’t used to it, the slow drawl of the alto voice on
the other end might have suggested some degree of pharmaceutical influence.
Michelle could tell the difference, though, and knew that wasn’t the case. Not at
the moment.

“Hmm. Let me check, Rachael,”
Michelle answered, her tone dry. “Nope. Not unless you count watching the grass
grow with my cello for company while I wait for the stupid bus to show up.”

“Oh. Right. So you’ve got a
concert today?”

“This afternoon. But it’s a two-hour
bus ride, so pretty much an all-day thing.”

“So.” Rachael loaded the word
with insinuation, causing Michelle to tense. “Is he there too?”

“Who?”

“You know, Mr.
Please-join-the-orchestra-with-me-so-we-can-be-together? Mr.
Now-that-you’ve-joined-the-orchestra-I’m-going-to-dump--”

“Yes.” Michelle cut her off. Did
she have to be so obtuse? “Yes, he’s here. It’s no big deal.”

“Wow. Stuck being around
him
for the whole day?” To Michelle’s horror, the pity sounded sincere. She did
not
want pity. “You know how to torture yourself, don’t you?”

“You’re not helping, Rachael. And,
like I said, it’s no big deal.”

Going through with her decision
to join the orchestra even after the breakup had seemed like the right choice. She’d
promised herself she wouldn’t allow Keith to control her life, wouldn’t give
him the satisfaction of slinking away just because he happened to lose interest
for reasons he’d never bothered to make clear to her. She reminded herself she
had plenty of reasons to be here apart from him – her own interest in music,
the chance to meet new people, the opportunity to travel. And if her presence
also happened to be something of a thorn in his side? Well, that had more than
a little merit, too.

But now, faced with the reality
of spending the entire day in a group where she knew no one
but
Keith,
she found her resolve fraying a little around the edges.

“Sorry. Right.” Rachael said,
pausing between each word as if the meaning were sinking in. Michelle pictured
her head nodding in thought as she spoke. “Maybe I
can
help. Some of us
are going out to The Collegiate tonight. Should be plenty of guys and rum there
to take your mind off certain
other
people. Wanna come?”

“Assuming I don’t manage to
torture myself to death first.” The thought of having something to look forward
to tonight already made the prospect of the day ahead less gloomy. “See you
tonight.”

Michelle disconnected, checking
the time. The bus should have arrived ten minutes before. A few more orchestra
members stood loitering by the parking lot with the others, swelling the group
to six or seven. They all formed a single circle of conversation, so she still
couldn’t slip over and join them without having to acknowledge Keith.

Cursing herself for not having the
foresight to show up either earlier or later, she tried to tell herself no one
cared or noticed that she sat alone. Still, she couldn’t shake the exposed
feeling that grew stronger as she waited. Keith still hadn’t glanced in her
direction.

But just then, he did. Then he
smiled. And waved.

Michelle felt so surprised she
sat frozen for an instant, unable to respond. If her heart had been a Bible character,
right then she’d have cast it in the role of Judas. It skipped a beat,
betraying her with a surge of simultaneous longing and relief.
Damn!

She recovered herself quickly,
though, and raised her hand for a wave in return. As she opened her mouth to
call out a casual hello, she bit the words back with sickening abruptness. Her
arm jerked mid-motion from waving to a hasty smoothing of her hair as a male
voice called out from behind her.

“What’s up, Keith!”

Mortified, she watched as a young
man walked by not two feet from where she sat. Tall, with straight, dark hair
just a little too long in the front, she recognized him from rehearsals. His name
was Matt. Or Pete. She wasn’t sure which. He glanced at her as he passed,
making brief eye contact, his face unreadable.

“Hey, Patrick,” Keith replied as
the newcomer approached.

Whatever.
Patrick then
.
He and Keith greeted each other with a smile and a high five. They launched
into what appeared to be casual banter, and she noticed Patrick steal a furtive
glance in her direction. It was almost too quick to notice, but she didn’t need
to check behind herself this time to know he was really looking at her.

This is getting
out of hand.
Things were bad enough being marooned on her own private island of humiliation,
but if they were going to be talking about her now, matters had escalated from
unpleasant to intolerable. She snatched up her cello with an unceremonious yank
and marched toward the group, intending to pull any one of them aside and
strike up a conversation. She’d never been comfortable around groups, but she
always felt in her element one-on-one.

The roar of a diesel engine
swelled from the parking lot beyond, spoiling – or rescuing her from – her
hasty plan. All eyes turned toward a blue and gray charter bus as it pulled to
a stop by the curb with the sharp hiss of air brakes.
Impeccable timing
.
Without breaking stride, Michelle strode to the side of the bus, opened a
luggage compartment and jammed her cello inside. She was through the doors and
into the cabin before anyone else. Without hesitating, she made her way down
the aisle and took a seat near the back.

By the time the bus pulled out of
the parking lot twenty minutes later, the cabin hummed with a chaotic energy a
little at odds with the formal attire of its passengers. Cell phones materialized
in every other pair of hands, voices growing louder to compete with the din.
Safe beneath the blanket of anonymizing noise, for the first time that morning,
Michelle relaxed.

The seat beside her was empty,
and Michelle put her back to the window, stretching her legs across both seats.
She’d brought a book to pass the time, and as she leaned down to dig it out of
her bag, a voice from the seat behind her rose above the rest.

“Hey, Patrick. Got any new music in
your phone?”

“A few things,” came the reply
from somewhere across the aisle.

“Anything cool?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Michelle found the book and
pulled it from her bag. She sat up in her seat just in time to see a small,
rectangular object flying through the air. By the time she realized it was
going to make an impact somewhere in the general vicinity of her face, she had
no time to react. The thing bounced off her forehead with a muted thud.

The blow smarted, more than she
expected from something so small, and she felt her eye tearing up. Grimacing,
she used one hand to retrieve the phone from her lap, and the other to rub the
spot above her eye that had stopped it.

She looked up to see the same
Patrick from earlier – the one who’d been talking about her with Keith. His eyes
were as wide as they would go, mouth hanging half open. His outstretched hand
hung mid-air in front of him in a futile effort to take back the errant throw,
or maybe as proof of a good follow-through. His face took on the hue of a
tomato, and he sat so still she wasn’t sure he was breathing.

Taken all together – her stress
while waiting for the bus, getting hit by flying electronics, the ridiculous expression
on Patrick’s face – in that instant it all struck her as comical. A heartfelt
laugh escaped her lips, taking her remaining tension with it.

 “Relax,” she told him, still
laughing. “I don’t think it’s a concussion. Good thing you don’t carry one of
the full-size versions, though. So how does it look?”

She craned her head so he could
size up the damage. He leaned across the aisle for a closer look, brushing her
bangs aside for a better view. She pulled back, surprised by a quick flutter of
butterflies as the touch sent a chill along her skin.

Patrick was too absorbed in his
assessment to notice. “Doesn’t look like you’re in any mortal danger. You might
have a small bump, but nothing too obvious.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll know if
you do.” Michelle raised a warning eyebrow – regretting it immediately. The
bump above her eye already qualified as something more than “small.”

Patrick had the good grace to
look busted. “Okay, it’s a goose egg. I’m really sorry. Hang on.” He made his
way up front, returning a few seconds later. He took the seat next to her,
handing her an ice pack retrieved from the first aid kit. The cold felt good
against her head.

“So what were you reading before
the phone attack?” Patrick pointed at the book in her lap. “Entomology?”

 “This?” She glanced at the book
in her lap – one of those coffee table books you could get for five bucks at
the local Barnes & Noble. This one was about butterflies. “It’s just a
personal interest. I guess I’ve picked up a fascination.”

Patrick nodded. “Cool. So when
did that happen?”

Of all the things he could have
chosen to chat about, this was the last she’d have wanted to open with.
Butterflies were fanciful and pretty – the domain of little girls obsessed
unicorns and fairies. Her interest was more personal.

“I guess it was when I was a
kid.” Michelle smiled, remembering. “Back when I was twelve, my Dad took me
down to Mexico to a little village called Angangueo. We hiked up the mountain
from there to this butterfly sanctuary – El Rosario. Millions and millions of
them come down from the north to overwinter there. Seeing so many together was
incredible. I’ve never experienced anything like it.” She wanted to stop, but
found herself saying more. “That’s my favorite memory of my dad. He died of
cancer not long after that.”

Patrick’s face filled with
concern. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

She shook her head. “It’s not
your fault. How would you know? I’m happy I got that time with him. I’d love to
go back some day.”

He nodded. “Sounds like it was
amazing.” Whether he meant the Monarchs or the time with her dad was hard to
say. Both, she suspected.

“Well, they’re amazing creatures.
Think about it. They start life as a lowly, ugly worm. Then they go through
this radical change, and when it’s done, they’re reborn as something elegant
and beautiful. When I look at them, I don’t see a bug, or even something pretty
to look at. I see potential and growth. Change. A reminder nothing stays the
same forever.”

“Sure,” Patrick said. “But don’t
you think when the butterfly comes out of that chrysalis, there’s still a
little of the caterpillar in there? More than a little, maybe? Like it’s the
same bug, just…better?”

“Who knows?” She realized Patrick
was smiling as he sat beside her. She looked back down at the book, letting her
hair hang down to hide the flush in her cheeks. “So what was Keith saying about
me this morning while we waited for the bus?” She should have let it be, but
now that she seemed to have some rapport with one of his friends, she couldn’t
resist the chance to find out.

“What do you mean? You know
Keith?”

She studied him for a hint of
sarcasm, but found none. “We were kind of dating.”

“Oh. He never said anything about
an…anyone special in the group.”

An ex
, he’d been about
to say. “So if you guys weren’t talking about me, what was with the looks?”

He met her eyes, seeming to
consider something. “We weren’t talking about you.
I
just noticed you
sitting there and wondered why you were off by yourself. Not that that’s a big
deal.”

Replaying this morning’s scene in
her mind, Patrick’s glance in her direction took on new meaning. She gave him
an appraising look. “I was trying to establish a cool, loner vibe. Which you’ve
now ruined, thank you very much.”

Patrick gave a short laugh. “So
I’m not worthy to sit next to you, is that it?”

“The jury’s still out, but feel
free to make your case. After all, we’ve got time.”

2033

Michelle heard a voice.

“Ma’am? Can you hear me, ma’am?” The
voice came from nearby. With an effort, she lifted her head, somehow knowing Patrick
wouldn’t be there – that she was inside a car, not a bus. She saw a young man
in uniform peering through the gaping windshield, the color of his face
strobing between blue and red in the wash of emergency lights. For no reason,
she found herself staring at the freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks.