His Eyes (8 page)

He laughed, letting the reins fall against the horse’s neck, and said, “No,
you
.”

“Oh.”

I grabbed his hand and was amazed when he lifted me off the ground...that is, until I panicked. How was I supposed to get the rest of the way up?! I began to flail, but he caught me around the waist with his other arm and pulled me on. I awkwardly swung my leg over the horse’s side and, sighing, leaned back against Tristan’s chest. I stayed there, catching my breath, until I heard Tristan clear his throat. I quickly sat up straight, my cheeks bright red.

Tristan reached around me to take the reins. “Okay, tell me where to go.” I guided Tristan out the stables and onto the fields. We moved through the grass at a gentle canter.

Even though I bounced roughly with every step, I found the ride enjoyable. The air blew through my hair and I breathed in the fresh scent. Relaxing, I closed my eyes. A few moments later, I heard Tristan whisper in my ear, “Are we getting close to the fence?”

I shrugged and lazily opened my eyes. My heart skipped a beat. The fence was barely five yards away.

I screamed, “
Turn
!”

“How close are we?” he asked calmly.

“
It’s right here
!” I yelled and I turned my head, like we were about to get into a car accident. As we began to rise off of the ground, I felt Tristan press his chest against my back until I was bent over the horse’s neck. With a nearly hysterical laugh, I felt a rush like being on a roller coaster while we soared through the air. The moment was brief and the horse’s front hooves quickly hit the ground.

Tristan pulled me up and I could hear his smile as he scolded, “Amy, are your eyes open,
now
?” At first, all I could do was laugh. When Tristan brought Aeris to a halt, I managed to sputter, “I-I’m sorry.

That was
amazing
! I take it you’ve done that before?” He brushed a hand against Aeris’s shoulder and said in a dark voice that made me forget my laughter,

“I used to do show-jumping. I was at a competition when, well....” His voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry,” I replied softly.

“Hey, you don’t cause genetic retinal weakness.”

“I know....” I was overwhelmed with emotion and I couldn’t say why. I just felt for
him
and things he’d miss seeing. I spun around and threw my arms around his neck. Tristan let go of the reins and we were suddenly hugging each other with a kind of fierceness, like we never wanted to let go. I wondered if he knew why, because my mind reeled to think of it. The blood pounding in my ears made a very nice distraction.

When we pulled apart, he asked, “Have you had enough riding for today?” I watched his face, wondering what he was thinking. I suddenly wished that I could see him without his glasses but, even more, I wanted to see him happy again. I offered, “From the road, I saw a trail that we could go on.”

Tristan paused for a moment and then a dizzyingly bright smile filled his face. “Yeah, sure.” Feeling warmed, I turned back around. I tugged on Aeris’s reins, so he began to canter in the direction of the path. “So, Secret Music Fan—”

“I never said that I didn’t like music,” he interjected.

“True,” I conceded. “Do you have a favorite book, too?”

“
Catcher in the Rye
.”

“Going for the classic.” I smirked. “You’re deeper than you look.” I immediately bit down on my tongue.

What was I saying? Just because he looked like a model—

“Most people at Clarence would probably disagree with you,” he said bitterly.

Relieved that he wasn’t offended, I added too quickly, “But, you’re different than you were. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I think so. Before, I thought I was happy living party-to-party, but I wasn’t.”

“How do you feel now?”

He was silent a moment, before replying quietly, “Becoming blind wasn’t something I planned... I’m still trying to figure things out.”

“Like, the future?” I offered.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “You know, you can lean back if you want to.” I blushed as I relaxed against him. “Thanks.”

Aeris slowed to a comfortable walk while we followed the gentle path. Tristan and I were silent, peacefully silent. I felt the slow rise and fall of his chest, just like our dance. I watched the flowing landscape around us and finally felt so relaxed, that I spoke the question on my mind. “Do you think you’ll ever compete, again?”

I felt Tristan’s heart begin to pound at the thought. “I don’t know. I-I don’t think anyone blind has ever show-jumped....” I waited while he considered the idea. “It would be almost impossible.”

“But, think about it! It would be you and Aeris! You already have a bond!” I enthused.

I bounced against Tristan’s chest as he laughed. “Amy, you’re crazy.”

“Fine.” I grumbled. “But, I have one more suggestion.”

“What’s that?” he asked teasingly.

“We should go get some ice cream.”

“
That
I can handle.”

* * *

With my plastic spoon, I traced a pattern in the top of my bowl of Maple Walnut. To me, Ice Cream World was one of the very best features of Grayfield. It was retro, but not to the point of being annoying.

Sure, outside there was a red and white awning and inside the walls were lined with shelves holding syrups and toppings in glass jars. The point was that they let their employees wear jeans and t-shirts with only
tiny
Ice Cream World logos. That’s progress.

I eyed Tristan as he dug into his Mint Chocolate Chip. “How long did you say it’s been since you’ve come here?”

He shrugged. “Ten years?”

“Ugh!” I gestured with my spoon. “
You
are crazy! A summer isn’t complete without Ice Cream World ice cream!”

I tried not to stare while Tristan licked a drip of ice cream from his lips. “I was busy doing other things.”

“Nothing quite as tasty.”

“True,” he laughed.

I carved out a spoonful of Maple Walnut before asking, “So, how long have you ridden?”

“Since I was six.” Tristan swallowed and his face grew still as he remembered. “My father got me started riding ponies and I was jumping them when I was about nine. By the time I turned eleven, I was bored with jumping ponies, so my father bought me Aeris. Once I was trained in equestrian show-jumping, I really started competing.”

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and asked carefully, “Did your dad ride, too?” Tristan lowered his head and prodded at his ice cream. He said slowly, “When he was younger, but then he got too busy.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought. “My father was a neurosurgeon—one of the best in the country. He was always driving to Chicago to consult or flying out to speak at conferences.”

“Was he around at all?”

“Enough,” Tristan said shortly and his mouth formed a hard line. For several minutes, he fell silent and slowly ate his ice cream. I jumped when he unexpectedly spoke. “What about you—what’s your passion?”

“My ‘passion’?” I laughed. “Music. I love it! My dream job is being a journalist for the
Rolling Stone
. I don’t know what the odds of that happening are....”

“You’ll do it,” he said, smiling, and again caught me off guard.

“Why do you say that?”

His answer came confidently. “Because you’ve got it all down; you know what’s important.” I blushed, amazed that he would say such a thing to me. I squeaked out a “Thanks.” Tristan took another bite of ice cream. “What’s next? college?” I licked my spoon and tried my best to calm myself. “Yeah, but it’s not as simple as it sounds...
Rolling
Stone
only takes twelve interns a year, so I really need to wow them. I’m sure I’d learn stuff if I went to Ill inois U. But if I went to Evanston, I’d be ready.”

He frowned, looking confused. “So, where are you going? Evanston?”

“I don’t know!” I cried. “That’s the problem! I’ve been accepted to both schools, but Evanston’s
so
much money—”

“And that’s why you’re working for my mother.” Tristan set down his spoon.

I bit my lip and nodded. “Yeah.”

He turned his head toward me. “The job. I almost forgot.”

“Me too,” I whispered and looked down at my empty ice cream bowl. “Do you want to head back?”

“No. Not yet.”

I looked up, blinking dumbly.
H e
wanted to spend more time with me? I fumbled awkwardly, “Oh!

Well...there’s a record store around the corner. If you like Coldplay, you should really listen to Jon Buckley. He was popular in the 90s, but I think you’ll like him.” Tristan’s smile flashed as he said “Sounds good,” and I melted.

Chapter 8

Driving home that afternoon, I was giddy. We’d had a great time, actually hanging out like...friends. And he loved Jon Buckley so much that we listened to almost the whole CD in the store before the manager told us we’d better buy something or leave. So, I bought it for him. It was just a gift, a
friend
ly gift. I wanted him to be able to listen to it whenever he wanted to...and maybe to think of me when he heard it. Was that so wrong? I didn’t want to know.

I was still smiling while I pulled into my driveway. I noticed a different car sitting in front of my house, but I didn’t think much of it as I walked inside. A man was standing in the kitchen with my parents. He was wearing a polo shirt, khakis, and a wedding ring; I pegged him as some client of my dad’s who was dropping off paperwork. I swung the front door shut behind me, just when he turned to face me.

He had jade eyes—my
mom’s
eyes—and his face! It was
Charlie
! He was no longer the skinny eighteen-year-old of my memory, but a thirty-year-old adult. I immediately ran forward and threw my arms around his neck. “Oh my God!” I smiled over his shoulder and saw my dad’s eyes: angry, worried eyes.

“Where were you?” Dad asked the obvious trick question.

I let go of my brother and told the truth, “Sitting Tristan.”

“I thought you said you weren’t dating him. Charlie said that he saw the two of you walking, arm-in-arm, into Ice Cream World.”

“That doesn’t
mean
anything.” I shrugged, but my blushing cheeks gave me away. “We’re not dating.”

“Well, I have to meet this guy,” my brother said firmly.

“What?” I gaped at him.

“Charlie’s right. I don’t know if I like the idea of you getting paid to spend time with a boy you have a crush on.” Dad added with a tone of finality, “If you want to keep this job, then we have to meet him.” I huffed, “You don’t understand. I’m making good money, good enough to pay for Evanston.” I hadn’t realized what I’d said until I saw the flash in Dad’s eyes. “What?! Evanston college?”

“Uh, shouldn’t we be talking about Charlie?” I stalled, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly.

“Hey, I’m good, sis,” said Charlie with a quick smile.

With little choice, I blurted, “I-I was accepted to Evanston college. I
really
want to go there—it’s such an amazing school—but I know that it’s way too expensive. So, I sent in money to hold my spot and then, when I got this job, I realized that it was actually a possibility—” Dad frowned. “What money?”

“My savings,” I answered sheepishly.

“Your savings?” Dad shook his head, slowly walked over to a kitchen chair, and sat down heavily. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us.”

Seeing the hurt look on his face, a sickening feeling of guilt washed over me. I said quietly, “I’m sorry.” Dad rubbed his hands over his face and then looked up at me. “You know, Amy, your mother and I want you to be happy. But, have you really thought about this? I’m sure Evanston is a great school, but by the time you graduate you’ll be at least $120,000 in debt—no matter
where
you work in the summer.” I swallowed hard. “I know.”

Charlie put a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Dad, she deserves to go to any college she wants. Don’t squash her dreams.”

“I’m not.” He stood and, checking my mom’s face for approval, said, “Amy, if you want to go to Evanston, you can. It’s your choice.”

“Really?” I smiled shakily, overwhelmed with relief.

“Of course,” said Mom. “I just wish you would’ve told us sooner.” I ran forward, hugging each of them. Then, stepping back, I fixed on Charlie; there was no excuse for the fact that I hadn’t gotten a letter from him in weeks. “So, what have
you
been up to?” Charlie’s eyes, which had drifted toward the window, snapped back onto mine. “Some stuff.” I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah, I bet.”

Dad moved between us. “Come on. Let’s go some place more comfortable.” He led us into the living room and I plopped onto a large purple pillow. My mom preferred sitting on the ground—hence the lack of a couch—and we would’ve probably eaten dinner on the floor, too, if it wasn’t for Dad. Dozens of pillows in all sizes, shapes, and colors filled the room. Charlie muttered, “Nothing’s changed,” before taking a seat.

Mom, who was looking traumatized, settled into the corner and wrapped her arms around her favorite pillow. Her eyes focused on Charlie as she asked, “Why did you leave?” My brother began to flail his arms. “I didn’t want to be part of the Grayfield cycle anymore. Those Clarencites grow up in their million dollar houses, learn to drive in Audis, go to Princeton. And we’ll never make more than $30,000 a year, living in fifty-year-old houses, driving used Buicks! It’s disgusting.” He turned on me. “Aim, why would you want to date someone from that?”

“I’m not dating him!” I growled.

“Okay, okay!” yelled Dad. “Charlie, you can’t hate someone for being rich and you know it; that’s not how we raised you.”

“Right, ‘raised me,’” snapped Charlie, “with Miss Flower Child always living outside in that jungle.” Dad’s eyes burned. “You will
not
talk about your mother like that!”

“This is why I never came back before.” Charlie stood up, but Dad blocked him.

“We are
not done
!”

My dad and brother faced off for a tense moment and then Charlie reluctantly returned to his seat. Dad took a deep breath and nodded. “All right. We can’t change what’s happened in the past, but we can do something about the future. I don’t want to someday find out that I have a ten-year-old grandchild who I didn’t know about.”

Charlie eyed the floor. “Actually...” The room fell eerily silent. “You will have one in August.” He raised his eyes and held up his left hand. “I got married a couple months ago. Her name’s Sandy. We live on her parents’ farm in California. I work there. It was Sandy’s idea that I come back. She found one of Amy’s letters—”

I winced when Mom gasped, “
What
?”

“How long has this been going on?” Dad asked sternly.

Looking surprised, Charlie said, “Since I left.”

Mom turned to me, tears running down her cheeks. Sure, they weren’t surprised about him getting marrying some girl without saying anything, but
I
was evil? She sputtered, “How could you not tell us? How much have you been hiding?”

“This is it! I swear!” I glared at my brother. “
He
didn’t want me to tell!” Charlie shrugged. “But you were just a kid. I figured you would.”

“Well, I didn’t, okay?”

“All right.” My dad sighed. “Again, what’s done is done. Right, Lucy?” He eyed my mom, who nodded slowly. “Now, I think it’s best if your mother and I talk to Charlie alone. Don’t you have some finals to be studying for?”

I frowned, hating to be left out of the loop. “They’re Monday, but they’re not a big deal.” Dad raised his eyebrows. “Graduating isn’t a big deal?”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t mean
that
....”

“Make sure you tell your boyfriend you have to study tomorrow,” Mom said in a scratchy voice, “but he can come to dinner.”

I threw my hands into the air. “He’s not my boyfriend! And you
seriously
want me to invite him over?” Three faces stared at me as if
I
was being crazy. I shook my head. “Fine.” I stomped all of the way into my bedroom. I hated feeling like I was being treated like a child. I picked up the phone and roughly punched numbers into the receiver. The phone rang and then I heard Mrs.

Edmund’s voice. “hello?”

“Hi, this is Amy.”

“Amy!” she cried. “Oh, I’m so embarrassed about the other night!”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said and grimaced at the memory of her calling me Tristan’s babysitter. “Listen, I just wanted to tell you that I’m not going to be over for a couple of days, ‘cause I have finals Monday.”

“Oh, you’re graduating, too! Of course. That’s wonderful!”

“Thanks. Yeah, Tuesday’s the big day!” I said with false cheer.

“Well, in that case, why don’t you take Wednesday off before you start full time?” she offered.

I gulped. I’d almost forgotten that I was going to be working full time. Forty hours a week, alone with Tristan... My mind began to drift off, when I heard her ask, “Does that sound okay, dear?”

“Yeah, great,” I said dreamily.

“All right.” I could almost hear her smiling. “I’ll tell Tristan to expect you Thursday.” I said quickly, “Oh, uh, can I talk to him?”

She paused and then replied, “Sure.” The phone went quiet while, I imagine, she carried it up to his bedroom. There was some scratching as her hand covered the speaker, then I heard his voice. “Amy?”

“Yeah, hi.” I felt myself blushing. I couldn’t ask him—I couldn’t! “How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” he said, sounding confused. “Remember, you were with me about an hour ago?” Oh no. He thought I was a stalker! I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and tried to laugh. “Yeah, I know. See, my parents know I’m, uh, helping you....”

“Okay?” he prompted.

I sighed and said in a rush, “So, they want to have you over for dinner tomorrow.” There was complete and utter silence on the other end of the phone; I couldn’t even hear him breathing.

Finally, he said, “And if I remember right, your mom’s crazy?” I mumbled, “Well, kind of....”

He laughed. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll come. It’s not like I have anything else going on. Mom’ll be thrilled with my ‘progress.’”

“Thanks, Tristan. My address is on the résumé I e-mailed her. Could you come around six?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Great! Bye!” I turned off the phone and tried to not think about how Tristan was perfect boyfriend material because it didn’t matter. Right?

* * *

For me, the next day passed terribly slowly. My dad kept telling me that I needed to be studying, but I hardly saw the point because all I really had to do was show up and I’d be able to graduate. And, of course, there was the whole issue of Charlie. Things were still tense between him and my parents and, whenever he walked into a room with me, we ended up making small talk. What could I say when I hadn’t seen him since the age when I thought Power Rangers were cool?

I sat at the kitchen table, curled over my Biology book. I stared blankly at a picture of a dissected flower while my mind drifted on thoughts of exploring fingertips. I jumped in surprise when Charlie pulled out a chair and sat down. He smiled at my reaction and asked, “Hard at work?”

“Oh yeah.” I straightened up and pushed my hair from my face.

“Looking forward to seeing your boyfriend?”

“No,” I lied. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“I thought we could try a face-to-face for once, instead of the letters.” I glared. “The letters don’t work so well when you leave out major details.”

“About that,” Charlie scratched the back of his neck, “did I say that I’m sorry?”

“No.”

“Well, I am,” he said. “You didn’t miss much; we just went to a Justice of the Peace.” I said with a frown, “If I’m going to forgive you, it’s not going to be because of excuses.” Charlie shook his head. “Wow, sis, when did you get so old?”

“Me?” Despite myself, I laughed. “Mr. Polo Shirt, you should be talking!” He plucked at his shirt. “Hey, I’m going to be a father!”

“That poor kid.” I folded my arms. “So, what’s she like?”

“Who?”

“Your wife!”

Charlie shrugged. “She...I don’t know. She’s great. She makes the best blueberry pancakes you’ve ever eaten “

“And she got you to come here, which is amazing,” I added.

“Once Sandy has the baby, she wants to come meet you.”

“Definitely.” I shook my head at him. “You, a dad—I still can’t believe it.”

“Well,” Charlie pushed back from the table, “I should probably let you get back to work.”

“I guess. Hey...you
are
going to be nice tonight, right?” My brother’s face glowed with feigned innocence. “Of course, Aim. Don’t worry.” I tried to smile, but by the time dinner rolled around, I was nervous. My mom had been rushing back and forth between the kitchen and her garden for the past hour. She said that she was creating something

“special,” which I wasn’t so sure was a good thing. One of her last “special” meals had required a visit from the Grayfield fire department. I kept my fingers crossed while I pretended to look over my notes.

At ten to six, the doorbel rang. My stomach gave a lurch when I answered the door. Tristan was standing on the front stoop and Mrs. Edmund waved as she walked back to her BMW. I took Tristan’s arm to lead him inside and managed to get in a “Thanks for coming,” before Charlie assaulted us. My brother blocked our path and drew himself up to his full height, not that Tristan could actually tell the difference.

“So, you’re Tristan?”

“Yes,” Tristan shifted his weight uncertainly, “Mr. Turner?”

“Actually, this is my older brother, Charlie,” I explained.

“The one who ran away?” Tristan asked, inclining his head toward mine.

“Jeez, he makes it sound like I was a little kid,” said Charlie, while waving a hand in front of Tristan’s face. I reached out and kicked him. “Ouch!”

Tristan frowned. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I replied, while glaring at my brother. “I think dinner’s ready.” We walked into the house and sat at the kitchen table. Mom appeared with the first plates of food. My eyes widened when I looked down at my plate. It was an organic meal, all right; she had prepared flowers.

More specifically, she had made a pasta salad with a dandelion vinaigrette and petals of carnations, cornflowers, and roses.

Dad appeared with the other plates. “hello, Tristan.”

“Hi.” Tristan nodded in his direction.

Charlie looked down at his plate. With a sarcastic tone, he said, “You’ve outdone yourself, Mother.”

“Really?” My mom looked hopeful as she took her seat.

Dad patted her hand. “Yes, it looks beautiful.”

I was sitting next to Tristan and he bent close, whispering, “Uh, what is it?”

“Well...” My brother, who had overheard, was looking amused. “It’s a pasta salad.” Charlie raised his eyebrows and mouthed at me, “With flowers!”

“Shut up!” I mouthed back. “Don’t offend Mom.”