Flutter (20 page)

I was scared to answer. Completely truthfully, anyway. “Kicks my ass.”

I settled back down in front of the hearth across from him and watched the firelight dance in his eyes. I rubbed at my temples, my eyes. I was exhausted. I quickly set down my glass of water so Ash wouldn’t see my shaking hand.

“Well, it keeps oxygen from getting to my brain all the time. There’s damage to my brain, like lots of small strokes. And I have damage to my optic nerve. I get double vision a lot afterward, headaches.”

Ash rubbed his chin, took it all in. And he stared at me. “Emery, you have no idea how brave you are.” He took my hands in his.

I smiled. I rolled these words around in my head. Not a freak, but brave.

We sat in silence in front of the fire, and I marveled at the electric thrill that shot through my body simply from having his hands in mine, simply from feeling the rough scrape of his palm against my own.

I knew that my secrets were a lot to unload on him, and I was sure his mind was reeling, and I was tired. Yet I was thrilled that I had told him, thrilled that he had believed me. Thrilled that he was still here, with me, holding my hands in his.

“Emery.”

I turned and looked at him. He reached his hand out, cupping my cheek in his hand, his thumb stroking my cheek, and I found myself thinking,
So this is what it feels like
.

Neither of us broached the subject of Ash leaving for his tent. I didn’t want him to leave, and I hoped that he didn’t want to either. When the fire began to die, Ash got up, and I climbed into my bed. He tucked the red-and-white quilt snugly all around me. I did not expect anything more, because I knew there were still secrets between us. His confession was still coming, and it couldn’t be forced.

But he surprised me and lay down on top of the covers right next to me. I turned on my side, and we were face to
face. He stroked my hair. I fought sleep and studied the gorgeous planes of his face, the generous mouth, the deep hazel of his eyes, the perfect combination of chiseled jaw and dark stubble.

“Thank you, Ash, for believing me.” I was exhausted, barely able to keep my eyes open.

“Thank you for trusting me with the truth.” He leaned toward me, and the last thing I registered before I slipped off to sleep was the soft, gentle press of his lips against mine.

I woke deep in the night to hear Ash’s slow breathing, with almost a light snore. He wasn’t in the bed anymore, but sleeping on the floor in front of the fire, his coat pulled over him like a blanket. I turned my face into my pillow and breathed deeply. I could still smell him.

I sneaked out of my bed then and dragged the quilt with me. I curled up beside Ash on the floor, snuggling up next to him. For a while, I just wanted to lie there and look at him, feeling the warmth of the dying fire, smelling the scent of Ash’s soap-clean skin.

“I lied earlier,” I whispered. I heard him wake then, the rhythm of his breathing break.

“What is it?” he said.

“I lied.”

“About what?” he whispered.

“Well, I didn’t exactly lie, but when you asked me how this stuff affects me physically, I didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

“What is it?” he asked, and I could see his brow furrow, his eyes squint in that worried way.

“It’s killing me, Ash.”

“No, don’t say that,” he said, his voice raw.

“It’s true,” I continued. I wanted him to know everything. “I know it’s killing me. The doctors knew it.”

We lay there in silence for what seemed like a long while. “Don’t say it,” Ash said again. As if he could will it not to be true.

The look on his face was so pained, his mouth pinched, his brow dark. It moved me. The tears welled in my eyes, but I wiped them with the back of my hand. Ash cupped my face with his hand, pulling my chin to his face. He very slowly and deliberately kissed each of my eyes, my nose, his lips soft, warm, gentle. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling my body toward him, pressing me up against him. He kissed me again, and this was a new kiss. Different from before. This was a kiss that I could live in, retreat to for the rest of my life, measure all kisses against for all eternity. I responded with my lips, my whole body, desperate for more of him. It was like he had finally given in, let me have all of him.

But then he pulled back, looked me in the eye.

“I can’t,” he said, leaning his forehead onto mine. “I can’t let you be—”

“It’s okay,” I said, suddenly desperately afraid that he would leave this cabin and never return. I put a bit more
distance between our bodies, letting him know that I could resist, if I had to. “It’s okay,” I said. “This is enough.”

Ash reached his hands out and grabbed mine. He held both of my hands between his large, roughened palms. “Go to sleep, Em,” he said. “I’m here.” Now that I was certain he was staying, my eyes gradually closed, and my breathing slowed and began to match his. Dala jumped down from the mantel then and curled up next to Ash’s head.

He sighed deeply, I curled our intertwined hands next to my heart, and we slept undisturbed, on the cabin floor.

When I woke up, Ash was already gone, and I surprised myself. The old me would have regretted telling him all my secrets, but I didn’t. I felt lighter because he believed me.

Ash had left for the Wingings’ before I even had the chance to make him breakfast. There was a sketch on the table, a gorgeous sketch of my hands. It had made me giggle and I held it to my heart. I pirouetted through the tiny cabin, knocking down one of the many Dala horses, making a mental note to pick up some Super Glue while I was in town that morning.

As I trekked my way out toward the square, I listened to the grinding crunch of snow beneath my boots. The snow had come last night, intermixed with rain and sleet, and the product was a glistening white forest with each surface
covered in a zillion tiny, sparkling snowflake crystals. It was beautiful and still as I headed into the forest, onto the path worn by Ash earlier that morning.

I wanted to get something good to cook for dinner. I wanted to get some flowers for the cabin. I wanted to go to the Broken Egg, use their Wi-Fi, and check my email. I had told Ash that I wanted to see what crazy messages I was getting from Dad. I had asked Ash if he thought they could trace my Internet connection on my laptop or my email usage. “Maybe I should just use the library again,” I said.

“Are they the FBI?” he had asked.

The look I gave him must’ve helped him understand that I was really in over my head. Dad was not the FBI, but I wouldn’t put it past him.

In this beautiful morning walk, in this gorgeous December wonderland unfolding in front of me as I emerged from the forest, turning myself toward the square, I thought of Ash, how he had reacted to my secret, how he had accepted it, accepted me. I refused to give in to that tiny voice of insecurity, that tiny voice of doubt, that told me Ash was simply feeling sorry for me.

Look at yourself, Emery. Why you?

Last night, it had all seemed so real. He seemed so purposefully with me in every sense of the word. Almost.

But I didn’t know. In the light of day, I caught a glimpse of my rumpled self in the diner’s windows as I walked past and had to wonder. Why me?

I pulled his sketch of my hands out of my coat pocket.
No, this was real
.

I had spent a lot of my time in this life trying to determine what was real and what was not, and I was pretty good at figuring it out. Ash was real; what was between us was indefinable, undeniable. He had yet to share his secrets with me, whatever they might be, but I knew it would come.

If, for so long, so many things had felt like they were coming to an end for me … if for so long, I felt like I was floating, unattached to much, without meaning and purpose … now it felt like a beginning, something to peg myself to. Someone.

I had truly given in. I couldn’t fight it anymore. What we were. What was happening between us.

I pulled open the door to Sam’s Broken Egg, my laptop under my arm.

Daisy came right over with a pot of coffee. “Hi, doll,” she said with a smile, smacking her gum. “You going to the Cranes’ golden?” she asked.

“I think so,” I told her. “I’m Emery.”

“I’ve heard. What can I get you?”

“The Country Sampler,” I answered.

I opened my laptop and clicked on my Internet icon. I had to see if they were onto me, if we needed to move on.

We. I had just thought in terms of the plural pronoun,
we
.

I smiled at that thought.

Daisy came back then with my order, and before I even realized it, I had eaten practically the whole thing, the biscuits, the grits, the bacon, and one of the two sausages. I hadn’t eaten so much in a really long time. If Gia was here, she would have been pleased. She was always on me to eat more.

I quit stalling then and opened up my email. Fifty-three messages. Most were from Dad. I quickly scanned each of the earliest ones. They began with short messages.
Where are you?
Or,
What is going on, Emery?
Then,
Please get in touch with us, Emery
. Next,
Your team is worried
.

Your team. Not your dad. Your team.

It figured.

I skipped down to the last email from Dad, and it was longer, explaining that he was sorry he’d driven me to this, explaining that he would listen to me, blah, blah, blah. But it was like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and when I got to the end of the email, I realized I was right.

We have a new theory, Emery, one that needs to be protected. Don’t make me involve the authorities. Dad
.

A new theory. It needed to be protected.
I
didn’t need protection.
It
. And then, of course, a threat.

And I knew he meant it, and I knew he didn’t mean just the Greater Ann Arbor Area Police Department. He meant more than that. He had connections, and I felt scared.

I felt dark and unsure. And damn my father for his ominous emails and secrets and his inability to see beyond the science.

I never should have come here and checked my email.

“You looking for Ash?” Daisy had come back to refill my coffee.

“Um.” I was still staring at my computer screen and didn’t know how to answer. “Sam said he just saw Ash up at Crane Hardware.” Daisy smiled a knowing smile.

I smiled back. I shut my laptop then and decided I would go surprise Ash before I continued on with the rest of my errands.

I found him in the back of the hardware store near the stacked bins of nuts and bolts, different-sized nails and screws. They were still in wooden bins; it felt very authentic, a bit of ordinary time travel.

His cowboy hat was bent over two bolts in his hand, scrutinizing the size. He was deep in thought over it, and I watched him for a beat, the beautiful span of his shoulders, tight against his work coat, his jaw locked in an expression of concentration. He turned then, saw me staring at him.

I recoiled for a second, embarrassed. And I saw the faintest hesitation in his body language, but then he smiled his crooked grin.

“Hey, Emery.”

He came over to me, and we looked at each other. Ash grabbed my mittened hand for a moment and gave it a squeeze.

It settled me. “Just me, your everyday, ordinary, time-traveling cabin stealer.”

“You want to come see something with me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

We paid at the counter, a handsome older gentleman manning the cash register who knew Ash by name and obviously liked him. “See you, son,” he said as we walked out.

I noticed Ash wince at this, ever so slightly. But I didn’t ask.

Ash led us out of the store, holding the door for me, of course. He headed back to Winging Stables. We walked silently. Halfway there, he grabbed my hand again, and I felt the warmth of his touch through my mitten, and right into the center of my being.

He walked us behind the oldest barn, gray paint peeling, old tractor parts thrown here and there around the edges of the building. But behind the building was a used blue-and-gray minivan, with what looked like a wheelchair lift visible in the open side door.

“I have to adjust the lift a bit. It wasn’t made for an electric wheelchair like this boy has, so it’s a bit narrow, and I’m going to widen it. But it will do.”

He stepped back and crossed his arms on his chest. I was unsure what this was exactly. But I sensed it was something he was extremely proud of.

There was a certain line in how he stood, chest out, shoulders squared. He felt good about this.

It made me love him more.

“Are you doing this for someone? Helping them out?”

“Yes, a waitress down at the diner. Daisy. She has a handicapped son, no money.”

“Ash—”

“It’s just part of my penance, Emery.”

I was getting closer. He was going to let me in.

He stepped closer to me, face to face, and I could feel his warm breath. “I want to tell you about it, Emery, so you will understand about … me.”

We stood there for a long moment, behind the barn, in the freezing cold, but I was not aware of any of this. I was only aware of him, so close to me, hovering above me, me looking up, his head bent toward me. His breath was sweet, smelled like peppermint, and it drew me to him, hypnotized me, pulled me closer.

“I want to tell you everything. Later, Emery. Tonight. At night …” He was dangerously close now; the brim of his cowboy hat grazed my hair. “At night …” He closed his eyes then and continued. “At night, it’s harder to talk yourself out of the truth. It’s harder to run.”

“Okay,” I said breathlessly.

He broke the spell then, by clearing his throat, taking several steps back.

He walked me toward the square again. We said our goodbyes, and I hurried on to my other errands. In the back of my mind, I knew that I would spend the rest of the day at the cabin, trying to decipher what it was that he was going to tell me.

Would it help me solve my mystery? Help me figure out what I should be gleaning from the loops?

Once I returned to Dala Cabin, the magical security blanket that was Ash had worn off. I was back to my old self, dissecting every last thing that he had said.