Glass Girl (A Young Adult Novel) (12 page)

“Come on,” she said. “Just like when you were little and I’d lie down with you until you fell asleep. Remember?”

“I remember.” I lay down on the other twin bed, and pulled the quilt up to my neck. That was close enough.

The smile she’d been trying to maintain faltered and then
the look
came back—the one that had settled on her face so many months ago and rarely left.

“I’m going back to Pittsburgh, Meg.”

I nodded. “I know.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I’ve already packed what I need. The house is there…Wyatt is there…it wasn’t right for us to leave him and go so far.” She rolled to her back and covered her face with her forearms. Her body shook gently. She was crying. I had one of those moments where I floated just above the scene and none of it affected me. I would feel it later. Right now, I just felt numb.

“And I want you to go with me,” she continued. “I need you, Meg, and I know you miss your friends and your school. This would fix everything. We’d be close to Catherine and David and the girls and we’d have support again. We have no support here. We don’t know these people.”

In a way, she was right. We had left our family—the ones who had been there for us. Catherine, Mom’s sister, and her husband David and their little girls lived in Canning Mills. They’d begged us not to leave. I missed my cousins, Audrey and Ana Kate. I missed my friends and my old school and I felt a tug to go back. But not on these terms.

“I want to stay,” I said under my breath. “I’m staying.”

Mom looked up, shock her only expression. “Why would you stay, Meg? Why would you choose a town in Wyoming over your home and your mother and your brother?”

I stared at the ceiling because it was safer than staring into her eyes. “My brother isn’t there. He’s here with me where he’ll always stay. And you…” I forced myself to calm down before I said something that would crush her more. “You’re already in Pittsburgh, Mom. You never left. I’ve needed you for months
,
but you haven’t noticed. You chose Wyatt.”

“That’s it?” she said. “All you want to say to me?”

“There’s more.” Warm tears tracked down my cheeks. “I want you to stay. I can help you get better. I could quit my job and spend all my free time with you.”

Desperation warbled my voice. I needed my mother to take this hand I was offering her. But she wasn’t reaching for me.

I turned and searched her eyes. She was calm, but closed down. She’d made a decision and I was suddenly terrified for her—for us.

“I planted some crocus bulbs next to my studio today. They should add a lot of color there when they bloom.”

“Maybe you can paint them,” I said. “Mom, are you still taking your medicine? Is it helping you feel better at all?”

Her anger was quick and burning. “I don’t want to feel better.” She said it like it was perfectly normal for hate and love to keep company in her relationship with me. “Why would I want to feel better when my son is lying in a grave two thousand miles from here, and the world is forgetting him? For God’s sake, even his own father is forgetting him.”

She threw the quilts off and sat up. Her anger turned to weeping. “I’m so tired of everyone thinking it’s time to get on with life. You’re no better than your dad, Meg. Don’t you see? God, you’ve moved on. Can’t we all just be silent about this? Don’t you see that words mess it up?”

Her words cut me so deeply that I couldn’t breathe for a full minute. Finally, I sucked air in loudly and shook with the violence of that act. I sat up, too, and faced her.

“You don’t own this grief, Mom. It’s mine, too. And it’s Dad’s. We struggle every day just to make it through without him. You’ve never considered what I went through. I was
there
.” Those words sent a ripping pain through me. “I know you wish it had been me! And you don’t even give Dad any credit for trying to be strong. You’re being ridiculous and selfish!”

We were both crying now. I refused to walk away, though. As much as this hurt, it was a relief to finally hear her say the words that have simmered under the surface for months. Maybe we’d turned a corner.

Her body relaxed slightly and she held one hand in the air toward me…like she wanted to comfort me, but she was unable to close the distance between us.

“I have
never
wished that it had been you. I’m sorry you’ve believed that for even one second. I don’t know how to do this. I’m just so cold here. You have to forgive me.” She stood and moved toward the door, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist like she felt sick and one arm cradling her head. “I can’t listen to your dad’s voice anymore, talking about everything except Wyatt. And, you, you have to be allowed to live and I’m just making that impossible. You need to stay here.”

She walked past me into her room and closed the door.

I moved to my bed, knowing there’d be no sleeping tonight. I had to listen for my dad to get home and for my mom to drive away. I’d never been more scared for her and a devastating thought was trying to work its way through my mind.
If I stay here, she might hurt herself and it would be on me.
And the even more disturbing one—
Wyatt had it easier.

I held my phone in my hand. Was there even one person I could call? One person who would listen and not judge me or tell me it would get better. I wanted to tell a friend that I’d had the most perfect night of my life with Henry and then tell her that my life was imploding.

My phone buzzed in my hand and I nearly came out of my skin.

Pittsburgh
…
I’m glad I got to see you tonight. Are you working tomorrow while school’s out?

I stared at Henry’s message, marveling at how simple it was. He had no idea how dark the world had gone. His sweet words made me imagine his world of possibility.

Henry!! Thx again for your help. I had a great time with you. I’m not scheduled to work. Why?

Haha
…
because I really want to see you again and I thought we could ride horses???

Every moment of our lives we make choices. Most we don’t even know we’re making, they’re so dull or routine or automatic. Some are beyond explanation—like my mom choosing Wyatt’s memory over Dad and me. This moment called me to choose between moving back to Pittsburgh with her to make sure she survived or riding horses with Henry in Wyoming. Seemed straightforward on the surface. But what lurked under the surface could trip me up.

I closed my eyes and focused on breathing for a moment. In that moment, I heard two important things. My dad came in the front door, closed it softly behind him, and called to my mom, “I talked to Catherine and she said she’ll help out while you’re there, so if you need this time, I’ll support you.” And my mom answered, “Would you load my suitcases?” Their voices were calm but resigned. Dad had made his choice. Mom had made hers. It was past time that I made one, too.

I’d love to ride horses with you, Buffalo Bill. What time?

Dear Wyatt—

Mom is going home. She’ll drive straight through until she’s falling asleep on the shoulder of I70. Stay with her. I’ll stay with Dad.

I’m tucking some paper around in the hole you left. The wind still whistles in, but I’m not as cold. And I’m going to spend the day with Henry. He makes me feel safe.

Love,

Meg

I
f I were Tennyson, what would I wear to ride horses in the mountains? If I were Calamity Jane? Belle Star? If I were Meg Kavanagh, what would I wear to ride horses in the mountains with the hottest guy I’d ever met?

Here’s what I would wear—faded jeans, a brown tank under a fuzzy brown sweater, and the boots my parents bought me for the rodeo we hit on vacation three years ago. Hair in a ponytail, a tiny bit of bronzer, and lip gloss.

I paced in the kitchen before dawn. Henry had texted that I should get there as early as possible and he’d sent convoluted directions to the stables twenty miles south of town. I kept passing by the window to see if last night had been a nightmare.
If I can fit twenty steps between the door and the window, Mom’s car will still be in the drive.
If I can say the alphabet backwards without pausing, Mom will be asleep in the next room.

I hadn’t slept much last night. The few times I dozed, I awoke with a jerk reminding myself that things had changed again. I can’t explain how badly I wanted to wake up and find that all of the sad stuff in my life wasn’t true. That I’d gone to sleep one night and had the mother of all bad dreams. The cruelty was unbearable.

The old wood floor of the house creaked and groaned as Dad walked circles in his room most of the night. Early this morning, his cell phone rang. He answered and then got quiet. Finally he’d said, “You worked that out with her?” After a deep sob slipped through Dad’s defenses, he’d choked on his final words. “Thanks, Catherine, for everything. If she can’t be with me, I’m glad she’ll be with you.”

After that, the springs on his mattress squeaked and he sighed and fell asleep, snoring like a bear. I couldn’t bring myself to wake him before I left, so I propped up a note on the kitchen table—“I’m okay. Trail riding with a friend. I’ll be careful. Love, me.”

The riding stables were close to the part of Henry’s ranch where we’d camped. I took a left onto the ranch property and stopped in a field where trucks were parked. Half a dozen guys worked on horses and a couple of others carried hay bales around. All of them quit what they were doing when I stepped out of the Jeep.

“Looking for somebody?” A tall cowboy who looked like he hadn’t showered in a while walked my way. He was covered in dust so when he smiled, his teeth looked like chalk.

“Do you know if Henry’s here yet?”

“You must be Meg. I’m James. I’m glad you finally made an appearance so Henry can quit bellyaching like a sick calf about it.”

“Oh,” I said. “Is he busy?”

“Funny.” His rich chuckle proved he was probably holding back. Most guys can’t wait to zing a friend in front of a girl. “Come on, little bit, I’ll take you to him.”

The guys were halfway through mucking the stables and James led me around piles every five feet. Inside the barn, five or six other guys cleaned stalls and spread fresh hay. I recognized Dylan and stopped to say hi.

“Hey, Whitmire,” James shouted. “Your girl’s here!”

At the other end of the barn, Henry jumped down from a loft. He grinned at me as he covered the ground between us. He glared at a few of the guys who stared at him with goofy smiles on their faces.

“Sorry about the audience,” he said under his breath to me, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “They’re not used to pretty visitors who smell good.”

James laughed quietly. “Loverboy done got tender on us,” he said. Then he turned to walk back outside, calling over his shoulder, “Nice to finally meet you, Meg.”

“So, wow, you’re here,” Henry said, ignoring James. “How long have you got?”

“I’ve got all day. But I don’t want to keep you from anything so just kick me out when you need to.”

“Yeah, right.” He smiled and reached for my hand. “First, a tour.” He walked fast down the middle of the barn between two rows of stalls and I struggled to keep up. “So, this is the main stable. We’ve got thirty-five horses in here. Most of them are at least ten years old. They’ve been riding trails for years.”

“This is so much bigger than I’d pictured.” I turned a full circle looking at the size of the place.

He stopped at a stall where he held out a handful of oats to a huge horse. “It’s kind of out of hand. My parents talk about that every day. This was the one thing my mom wanted when she agreed to be a rancher’s wife in Wyoming.” The horse nuzzled Henry’s hand, looking for more. Henry turned his hand over and patted the horse on its neck. “She wanted to share this place with people who grew up in cities like she did.”

He took my hand and lifted it toward the horse’s neck, pressing my palm into the warmth. “Like this,” he said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

The horse’s skin twitched and made me jump, but I relaxed enough to continue stroking him. “Do you spend most of your time here?”

“I started working at the stable when I was ten. It was a way for my dad to get me comfortable with livestock and teach me some responsibility. By the time I was fourteen, I was reviewing the applications for wranglers and telling Dad who to hire. When I turned sixteen, he put me in charge of the place. I kind of oversee from a distant field, though, while I’m running the harvester or working cattle.”

It kind of hurt to look at Henry in his world—where nothing was out of place—because I’d just come from a house where nothing and no one had a place. I found I could only glance at him for tiny moments and then I had to look away. He was perfect enough to hurt my feelings for a long time and I wanted to let him.

“Who’s this guy?” I touched the horse’s face.

“His name’s Ben. He’s an Appaloosa.” He brought another handful of oats up to Ben’s mouth. “He’s the fastest horse I’ve ever owned.”

“Am I going to ride him?”

Henry laughed, his eyes catching the light coming through Ben’s stall. “No, Pittsburgh, you’re not ready for Ben yet. You’ll ride my old friend Trouble.”

I felt the butterflies in my stomach kick up a notch, but I’d learned to fake bravado. “I was born to ride Trouble,” I said. “Let’s go.”

He grinned and clapped his hands together once. “It’s on! You don’t move. I’ll tack your horse and be right back.”

He started to walk away, then he turned and walked backwards so he was facing me. “I’m really glad you came out.” He took a faded blue baseball cap out of his back pocket, slapped it against his thigh to shake some dust out, and put it on.

He worked on a horse in the first stall, cinching the saddle and whispering to him. I walked closer.

“Come here and meet Trouble,” he said. “He’s the gentlest horse in the West.”

After he led Trouble out of his stall, he handed me the reins, telling me he’d be right back. He slung gear on Ben’s back and led him out, cinched up and ready to go. Then Henry took a coat and some leather gloves out of an old wooden cabinet next to the barn door. He brought them to me.