Glass Girl (A Young Adult Novel) (31 page)

We both have a faith that tells us that most of what we worry about in life is insignificant—the popularity we’ve achieved, the things we’ve accumulated, the races we’ve won. Nothing really matters except our relationships with our Maker, with the people we love and share our lives with, and with the people we’re able to help along the way.

The essay was long and beautiful. I read it twice, and then sat quietly, waiting for the sweetest boy I’d ever met to return.

***

“Wake up, Meg,” he whispered. “You have to stay up with me while I pack.” He rubbed my cheek until I focused on his face. “You didn’t think I’d let you sleep through our last couple of hours together, did you?”

I rolled over and held his cold hand to my cheek. “Did you just get home?”

He chuckled at my incoherence. “Yeah, just now. Dad’s still parking the trailer.” He tucked my wild hair behind my ear. Gesturing with his chin toward his room, he whispered, “Come with me.”

His room was dark until he switched on his desk lamp. I sat on the floor next to his bed and watched him counting clothes and considering boots. He seemed so boyish right then—like he wished his mom would just come in and pack for him. I couldn’t possibly love him any more than I did at that moment.

Every few minutes, Henry stopped what he was doing and looked at me. Each time a hint of sadness darkened his face. He folded the old blue t-shirt that he wore the day we rode Ben and Trouble in the mountains and I grabbed it from his hands. “Sorry, you can’t take that one,” I said. I put it to my face and breathed. He smiled and found another t-shirt to pack.

“I’m not supposed to kiss you in my room,” he said. “So stop looking at me like that.”

“Why can’t you kiss me in your room?”

A crooked grin tilted one side of his mouth. “Because my mama told me not to.”

“Oh.” I tilted my head so I could listen for noises in the hallway.

Finally, when he felt he’d done all he could, he dropped the large hiking backpack he’d filled next to the smaller duffel bag on the floor. The two bags slumped together like tired friends. He sat on the floor next to me. Touching my ankle lightly with his fingertips and then circling it with his hand, measuring it. He cleared his throat.

“We should talk,” he said.

W
e should talk! That’s never a good thing for a boyfriend to say before he leaves for an adventure in a foreign country!

I leaned forward, putting my face closer to his. “What about?” I whispered.

“You
,”
he whispered. “I’m not going to say goodbye.”

I touched his cheek, pulling his face closer until our foreheads rested together. “Please don’t make me cry.”

Gently disengaging himself, he pushed off the floor in one movement, disappeared into his bathroom, and returned with a tissue box for me. Then he dropped to the floor again, resting back onto his hands. He looked at me and it felt like the goodbye he’d promised not to say. The expression on his face, sad and wistful and yearning, told me how difficult this was for him.

How could we agree to part ways for a year when we were still getting to the good part?

“The minute you sat down in Mr. Landmann’s class that first day, you got in my head,” he said. He reached over and rubbed the heart on my bracelet with his thumb.

“I thought maybe it was when you almost ran over me the day before that.”

“Could’ve been.” He reached over and kissed my lips once. “You’re irresistible to me because you see the world without the stupid blinders that everyone else wears. And that night at the springs…”

For a second he looked stricken by something. “That night was the best night of my life, just getting to be next to you while you worked things out. Being able to talk to you like we shared a brain. I’ve never had that with anyone else.”

“Neither have I.”

“Not Wyatt?”

I looked down and shook my head. “Not exactly.”

“Not a best friend in Pittsburgh?”

“No,” I said. “Just you.”

He ran his hand from my wrist up to the crook of my elbow and then to my shoulder. “When I was a little kid, my dad would come to my room at night to say a prayer with me. He used to say, ‘Lord, we know there’s a little girl out there who’s meant for Henry. Please protect her and raise her up right.’” His voice changed to something slower and more country when he mimicked his dad. He smiled at the memory, and then he put his mouth near my ear and whispered, “You were that little girl.”

Ignoring the chills skating down my arms, I put my hands on his cheeks and made him look me in the eyes. “Don’t go,” I said. “What if this is how you disappear, like Wyatt and my mom?”

When he leaned in to kiss me, I closed my eyes and tried to lose myself in it. He poured every bit of hope and reassurance and promise into that kiss. “I’m not disappearing,” he whispered with his lips still on mine.

We leaned back against his bed side by side. “I noticed my mom gave you my application materials to look at.”

“I’ve already read them. The essays are beautiful. What you said about Thanet…”

He shook his head. “You know him. You know how rare he is.”

I swallowed and nodded. “But it was beautiful.”

“Will you promise me something?”

“Yes.” I smiled at the softness in his voice.

“Please talk to the counselor about the creative writing program at UW. I know you’ve looked into it because Mr. Landmann said you asked him about it. You are an amazing writer, Meg, and if we can be in Laramie together…”

I touched his hand. “I downloaded the application last week.”

He blew a breath out that was part relief and part joy. “Good. That’s good.” His shoulders relaxed and I felt myself mirroring his easy posture.

“I’m not planning on staying in Nicaragua any longer than is absolutely necessary,” he said. “We’ll be together for the holidays and after that I’ll be home before you know it.”

I sat forward and pushed firmly on his chest. “Wait here.” Then I went in search of my bags so I could give him my gift. I was so excited for him to see it that I’d nearly shown it to him a hundred times already.

I got the wrapped package and rejoined Henry. He took it and pulled the paper off with one firm tug. He studied it and his eyes flickered with something unrecognizable.

“When did she do this?”

“A few weeks ago. I emailed her the picture and told her it would mean a lot to me. I think it was a good thing for her. It made her feel connected to us again.”

I leaned against his shoulder and looked at the framed painting of the two of us. My mom had used a picture that James took of us next to the red door of the horse stables earlier in the spring. Henry was leaning back against the door in the faded red shirt that all his wranglers wore, and frayed jeans. He had one leg bent and his muddy boot rested against the barn door as he held me. I was looking into his face, laughing. My mom captured the moment so precisely that my heart ached to look at it—it was better than the photograph because it was alive with our energy. I loved the way he looked at me.

Henry cleared his throat and spoke softly. “Meg, this is the best gift anyone has ever given me. I’m honored that she would do this for me. I can’t wait to meet her.”

I laid my head on his shoulder. “I’m really glad you like it. You don’t have to take it with you, if it won’t fit in your suitcase.”

He stopped my words with another kiss. “I’m taking it. I’ll carry it on the plane with me.”

***

Early the next morning we drove Henry to Casper to put him on the plane that would take him thousands of miles away. We watched it until it disappeared over the horizon. Miriam cried and Clayton held her tenderly. They made me promise to come to their house every week so we could compare emails and letters from him.

When I finally got back home, I unpacked and sat on the porch, too restless to be inside. Darkness fell and I wondered where the day had gone. Dad came out to check on me several times and finally said he was turning in. I was still sitting in the same place an hour later when headlights flashed into our driveway. A Whitmire ranch truck bounced over the ruts in the drive and I stood to see who was driving. Dylan climbed out of the cab, grinning and holding a ball of fur.

“Hey, Meg. Did your boy leave?”

“Early this morning. What do you have there?”

“Oh, just a little something to keep you company, I think.” He climbed the steps and sat down. He gently placed a wiggling black and white puppy in my lap. “She’s all yours, darlin’. I’ve got her food and supplies in the back of the truck.”

She had a huge pink bow tied around her little pink collar. A heart tag hung from the collar and it was engraved with her name—Mercy. A card was tied to the heart that said, “
So you’ll always have Mercy
.
Love, Henry.
”

She climbed on me and licked my face and, when she got close enough, I saw her little eyes. One was deep brown and the other—brilliant blue.

Dear Henry—

I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you. You’re my hero, my sweet boy, my lifeline, my favorite book, the voice in my head, the spark in my eyes, the name I say, the face I see, my birthday wish, my protector, my friend, my memory, my jealous heart, my straight and narrow, my oldest jeans, my rose shampoo, my hammock that swings, the wind in my hair, the treasure in my box, the taker of breath, the stealer of resistance, the whisperer of forever, the one who got to me, the dream I dream, the thought I have, the more I want, the holder of secrets, the one I wait for, my first kiss, my campfire, my anchor, my midnight swim, the smile that melts, the lips that free, the arms that hold, my summer night, my snowy day, my no place like home, my only need, my there’s nowhere else I want to be, my future.

Come home soon.

Love, Meg

I set my laptop aside when I heard the front door opening. Mercy whined and raised her eyes to mine, wondering if we’d be getting up. “Come on, girl,” I whispered. “There’s someone I want you to meet. You’re going to love her.”

My lungs twitched like they weren’t sure if I wanted to breathe in or cry out. I opened my bedroom and walked directly into warm, familiar arms.

“Meg,” she said, squeezing me and running her hands over my back and through my hair. “Meg.”

“I’m so glad you’re home, Mom.”

Dear Pittsburgh—

You’ve never climbed a mountain. I realized that last night. When I was thirteen, Kate and John had just started dating and John got it in his head that he would get to know Kate’s baby brother by taking me mountain climbing. They took me to Wind River Peak—it’s a little over 13,000 feet high.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I couldn’t breathe right. I couldn’t see right. My legs hurt. In fact, there was not a darn thing that felt good on my body but there was no way to turn around.

Finally, we made it to the summit and it took everything I had to hold my skinny self upright in the wind at the top. I looked around me…at the trail I’d just come up…at the other peaks…at the sunlight bouncing off boulders…at the blue sky curving down.

I was so proud of myself and so convinced that I was supposed to learn something from the whole experience.

It wasn’t until I met you that I finally understood. I’ve been watching you climb, Meg, since I met you. Every part of you has hurt. There’s been nothing pleasant about all the work you’ve had to do to get to the summit. But, by God, you made it.

It’s that view of where you’ve been. That’s what it’s about isn’t it? Where you’ve been and where you’re going.

Is it any wonder I love you?

I miss you, Meg. I hung the painting on the wall next to my pillow so you’re the last thing I see at night and the first thing I see in the morning. Someday I’ll have the real thing.

Always Yours, Henry

###

Keep reading for a sneak preview of
Perfect Glass
, the sequel to
Glass Girl.

I couldn’t live without my husband, Alan, who ran away with my heart nineteen years ago. Our beautiful daughter, Amelia, and handsome son, Anderson, make my life perfect. I thank my parents,
Denny and Nancy Anderson
, because they show me every day what love looks like. I adore my brother,
Stan Anderson
, and his daughter,
Nancy
, because they inspire me to live bigger. I’m crazy about
Rosanne Catalano
, my editor, because she understood this book and she understands my heart. I dig my awesome agent,
Amanda Luedeke
, for finding and loving good stories. I’m thankful for my critique partner,
Kathrese McKee
, for her patience, good humor, and remarkable eye for detail. And,
Marilyn Bennett Jobe
, I miss you. I wish I could see what you see.

Friends who have helped me with this book—
Natalie Diehl
,
Allie Mullins
,
Sydney Gass
, and
Victoria Roth
. I love you.

My Playlist Fiction writing sisters—
Stephanie Morrill
,
Jennifer Murgia
,

Rajdeep Paulus
, and
Laura L. Smith
—I’m thankful for you! Our
Playlist Fiction Street Team
—a group of literature-loving, social media experts! Thank you for all your help!

Laura Anderson Kurk is one of those lucky souls who gets to live in a college town. In fact, it’s her college town—College Station, Texas, where she drove in under cover of darkness when she was way too young and proceeded to set the place on fire. (Actually, she stayed in the library stacks for the majority of her tenure as a student at Texas A&M University, but, in her imagination, she was stirring things up.) She majored in English for the love of stories and due to a massive crush on F. Scott Fitzgerald. She continued on to receive an advanced degree in literature and literary criticism.