If You Find Me (15 page)

Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack’d from side to side; “The curse has come upon me,” cried The Lady of Shalott.

Ryan reaches out a tentative hand and catches a tear as it glides off my chin.
I’ll always be different. I tried to tell him, that day in the courtyard. That picnic in the woods.
“I’m sorry for upsetting you or scaring you or what ever I did that day, CC. But don’t you know I’d know what a big deal it is? I can’t begin to imagine what you and your sister must’ve gone through. You could’ve trusted me, you know. I’d look out for you.”
For me? Or the girl in the woods? I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
“I get it, Ceec. I mean, literally, I get it.”
I wait, listening. I reckon it’s the biggest gift a human being can give to another. It’s what I should’ve done all along.
“I live with my mom. She’s a single mom . . .” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “My father went to prison on domestic- abuse charges. He knocked out my mom’s front teeth and broke my arm one night when I was seven. My mom was in the hospital for a week. All because we were out of beer.”
I listen with all I have.
“No one knows. Well, except for you, now.”
The color green. Bright green. Then it’s gone.
“I can’t believe you’re telling me this.”
I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it’s too late. I said it.
He reddens. “Why? You don’t want to hear about it?”
“No, of course I do.”
“What, then?”
“I’m just surprised, I guess. I thought—I mean, Delaney said—”
“What?”
I blush. “Delaney said you only liked me”—I fumble for the words—“because of my face.”
We look at each other, but I look harder. I need to know the truth.
“It’ll do, I guess,” he says, smiling— a real smile—for the first time tonight. “But I wouldn’t listen to everything Delaney says. Don’t you feel it, too?”
“Feel what?”
“The affinity.”
“ ‘Affinity’?”
“Kinship. Like parallel roads. A history. You and me.”
More pieces fall into place, thudding down soft as snow on snow, the memories resurrecting familiar bruises barely visible but still there.
“Ryan? Tell me.”
“You sure you want to know?”
I’m not. I nod anyway.
“I don’t know if I should.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know if it’s my place. My mother said—”
“Your mother? Ryan, please.”
“Okay, then. My mom and your mom were friends. You and I used to play together in my backyard. You really don’t remember? Not even the swings?”
Not until now. The cogs and wheels turn, and I swing into the past. I see a golden-haired boy, older than me, hanging on to the swing next to me. Looking back is like looking into the sun.
“I remember,” I croak. “It’s in flashes, but I remember.”
“Your mom went off her meds. She said it made the music sound furry. That’s what she told me, out in our backyard.”
“She meant her violin,” I offer.
“My mom said she’d gone off her meds before, but this time, she wouldn’t go back on them. My mom tried to help, but she couldn’t.”
“You come here this instant, Carey Violet Benskin!”
I jump from the swing, landing sideways on my ankle.
“What, Mama?”
I limp toward her. She meets me halfway, holding up a gold tube of lipstick, rolling up the tube until, broken in half, the color spills to the grass.
“Makeup is expensive. It’s not a toy. What did I tell you?”
Her hand wraps around my upper arm, yanking me through the air. She spanks me, open-handed, so hard that my skin burns right through my shorts.
“Joelle! She’s only four!”
My eyes catch the eyes of the golden boy. Tears slide down his cheeks.
“Old enough to know right from wrong, Clarey.”
“You mom is Clarey,” I say, dumbfounded.
“Clare. She saw the bruises on you. She said it was all the time, toward the end.”
“I remember you.” I squint at him in amazement. “I remember her.”
“I remember the day she took you. I’ll never forget that day. My mom had no idea. She said it was like any other day. Your mom picked you up from our house, but then you both disappeared. My mom followed your story through the newspaper, and your dad even went on the news a few times.”
“Ryan! Joelle and Carey are here!”
Climbing trees, becoming the leaves.
Offering me half of a perfectly split cherry Popsicle.
Wrapped in the sun like a giant blanket, my golden friendship.
Swinging to the moon. Gone too soon.
“And you thought I was some random nice guy who liked your face,” he says with a shoulder bump.
I just stare at him.

He rode between the barley-sheaves The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot.

“ ‘The Lady of Shalott.’ It’s by Tennyson,” I say. Only, I’d thought it was mine.
He smiles, and it’s the boy smiling, the boy from before the woods.
“Right. It used to scare the bejeezus out of me.”
“Because she dies.”
“Right.” He stares at me, relief softening his features. “I thought you’d died. When no one could find you.”
“And then you found me. That first day at school.”
“Guilty as charged,” he says. “I saw your transfer rec ords in the office one morning. At first, I couldn’t figure out why you had your mom’s last name, and not your dad’s. But then I figured out you didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I wanted to, but when you didn’t remember me . . . I don’t know. I thought for sure you’d remember me.”
I want to give him a gift, too. So he knows I understand.
“You are nothing like your father, Ryan. I remember him, too.”
I think of Mama. I know how much that matters.
“Thankfully. But the point is, everyone has a past, CC. Everyone has skeletons in the closet.”
“ ‘Skeletons in the closet’?”
“Things they want to forget. Things they’d rather keep hidden.”
He pulls me close and I let him, his body as sheltering as the hundred-year hickory that shaded our picnic table.
“Does Delaney know what happened to you? That it was a kidnapping?”
“Melissa says she grew up dealing with the fallout.”
“It doesn’t seem like she’s ever told anyone.”
“She’s has her reasons, I reckon.”
I follow his gaze to the ceiling, the middle carved out and replaced with a large glass dome. Stars in the house.
If I try real hard, I can imagine the sky is the Obed sky, virgin- pure and safe as a baby’s suck. The stars chirp in Morse code dots and dashes, just enough to keep me lookin’, and Jenessa, sleepin’.
“So, you’re supposed to forgive me now, and peck me one right here,” he says, pointing at his cheek.
He leans down as I stretch toward him, but before he turns his head, I kiss his lips. I, The Carey I Already Am. When I don’t reconsider, he kisses me back, his lips soft as gosling fuzz. I press my body closer in the places that count, and he puts his other arm around me. I lean into him as the music crashes and roils. I find his tongue, and set us both on fire.
And then he pulls back. Like he knows about the white-star night and the men in the woods, and doesn’t want me anymore.
Looking through the throng, I see Pixie eyeing me, her mouth round and her eyes dancing.
“No breakin’ and enterin’,” Mama says, cockin’ her head toward my crotch and winkin’.
This man is thinner. Twitchy. I don’t like his hands. His nails are dirty. I watch as he crosses Mama’s palm with gold: a fifty-dollar bill.
As if it’s already pourin’ down my throat, I retch, then swallow it back down.
“Mama, please. I don’t want to do this.”
“Do you want me to wake up Jenessa, then?”
I tremble, my legs wobbly. “No, Mama.”
“Then get goin’, girl.”
“Carey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Ryan steps back, only a few steps, but it feels like miles. My eyes fill with tears despite my best efforts.
“Why? Because of my past? Because I’m fourteen? I’m not a little girl, Ryan.”
He pants, working on slowing down his breathing.
“You’re definitely not a little girl. But you have a lot going on. It might not be the best time for us to be—”
I reach out, take his hand, and put it between my legs.
“Carey!” He pulls away, fast, like he’s touched a hot coal. I stare him down. That’s what men like. But what I see is shock. Disgust.
I make my way down the wall, heading in the direction I’d been going before he found me.
“Carey!”
I keep going, ignoring him.
Caribou, of the Rangifer genus, related to the old-world reindeers. Both males and females grow large, branched antlers. Name derived from the Algonquianmaka-lipi—snow shoveler—due to their habit of using their front hooves to push aside snow in their search for winter food.
“Carey, wait!”
He grabs my upper arm, and I tear it away.
“Carey. Please.”
I shake my head, my cheeks burning, and take a step away. But he takes a step closer.
“Look at me.”
This time, I do.
“Right now, I’m more interested in touching this.”
He places his hand on my heart. Barely an inch to the left or right, and he’d be just like the men in the woods. But his hand doesn’t move. I put my hand over his, and he pulls me to him, enfolding me in his arms. He holds me, my body racked with sobs.
“Hey. It’s okay, Ceec. It’s okay. Just slow down. Okay?”
I nod, the material of his coat crinkling in my ear.
He kisses the top of my head. “I’m sorry about our picnic, about tonight, all of it.”
He gives me a squeeze. I study his feet. He wears boots like my father’s, but fancier.
“I’ve wanted to tell you ever since that afternoon.” I fight for the words, fight for the sake of this new life. “I reckon I’m so used to being private and all, it’s hard to get the feelings into words. But I’m sorry, too.”
“Prove it,” he whispers.
This time, I kiss his cheek like he wanted me to, smiling through the middle of it.
“Good girl. Let’s get out of here.” He takes my hand and weaves us through the crowd. I catch Pixie’s eye again, and she motions at the girls she’s with, waving for me to go with him.
“She’ll be okay,” Ryan says, following my gaze. “That’s Sarah and Ainsley. I’ve known them since kindergarten.”
He snakes us through the dancers, knuckle-bumping people I don’t know and shouting above the music. I crane my neck for one last look at Pixie, but the icy blue eyes that grab mine aren’t Courtney’s.
Delaney looks like she could strangle me right here, right now. Our eyes stay locked until Ryan pulls me through the doorway into another room, shutting the door behind us.
A redbrick fireplace pops and crackles, the flames dancing in crazy shadows against the walls, and smack in the middle of an Oriental rug sits a grand piano, the mahogany polished to a mirrored shine. Outside, nosy snowflakes press against the sliding glass doors before flitting off into the night.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he whispers, sinking onto a crushed-velvet bench and lifting the lid to display the piano keys. “A secret for a secret.”
My jaw drops as he plays the same piece I played for him in the courtyard, Vivaldi’s “Spring.” His fingers fly over the keys and the emotion builds, the notes delicate as a necklace of raindrops, ferocious as a wild boar protecting her young.
Ryan ends it with two notes. His rendition.
Fee-bee. feeeeee-bee.
I laugh through my tears. It’s perfect.
“My mom started me on lessons when I was four. She thought she’d have to superglue me to the bench to get me to practice. Instead, I loved it. There were times she had to drag me away for meals, or out into the sunshine because she said I’d become pale as a ghost.”
“Your music is beautiful,” I gush.
I smile at him, the softer, civilized version of myself. The girl from his backyard. The girl from before the woods. All it takes is one thought.
I’m not alone.
Ryan starts to play a piece I’ve never heard before. I close my eyes and ride the notes to their breathless end, my heart free-falling, like during my first elevator ride, then rising up, soaring like the eaglets with all the supporting branches gone, the only thing left being that leap of faith into the vast unknown.
I keep my eyes shut until the room goes silent. When I open my eyes, he’s watching me.
Ryan lowers the lid and pops to his feet.
“I have an idea,” he says.
He reaches into my coat pocket and pulls out my hat.
“I do appreciate a girl who chooses warmth over hairstyle.”
He plays with the tassel for a moment before handing it back to me.
“Put your mittens on, too.”
I regard him quizzically.
He reaches out and zips my coat to my chin, then does the same with his. We walk through the sliding glass doors and into the night. I’m glad for the horse boots, woods-glad. The snowflakes coat us in powdered sugar, and my breath rises like the smoke from my father’s cigarettes, clouding, then disappearing.
“Can I show you something?”
I nod.
“Like this,” Ryan says, falling backward into the snow. I copy him, falling into a spot next to him, my arms and legs outstretched, my head lifted so I can see his movements. He makes long, sweeping arcs with his arms and legs, open and closed, over and over, his boots thudding against each other.
I do as he does, grinning like a fool. Maybe he’s crazy, but this kind of crazy is fun.
“Now, stand up like this.”
I watch him extricate himself by first sitting up, careful not to mar the form. He gets to his feet and leaps to the side. I do the same.
He meets me where I stand, reaching for my mitten with his puffy glove.
“See?”
I stare at the markings.
“Snow angels,” he says.
And they are. “Ooooo. They’re beautiful.”
He squeezes my hand, and I look at my mitten cradled in his glove. Before tonight, the only hand I’d ever held was Nessa’s. I wish he’d never let go.

All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle- leather, The helmet and the helmet- feather Burn’d like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot.

I turn back to the angels, marveling. Just like the china angel on the mantel at home. The sweeping robes. The arc of wings.
“My sister would love this. I’ll have to show her how to do it.”
And I have something to show him, too.
“See up there, in the east? Those three stars in a row?”
I point, and he nods.
“That’s the bridge. See those two stars above, and two below? That’s the body. Those weaker stars beneath? They make up the neck. It’s my constellation. The violin constellation.”
Ryan laughs. “I’ll be damned. It does look like a violin!”
“I used to tell my sister when she was younger, ‘If we ever got separated, meet me beneath the big violin.’ ”
Hand in hand, we walk around the house, where he deposits me on the porch. I want to go back to our angels, to the soothing pressure of my hand in his.
“Do you want to know what us less visionary folk call it?”
I nod.
“Orion. Orion the hunter.”
“Orion,” I repeat. I can’t wait to look it up on Melissa’s laptop.
“They do have one thing in common, though.”
“What?”
“They both use bows.”
We grin at each other.
“Will you be okay?”
He motions with his head toward the door and the sound of laughter, music, and nonlethal screams. I’ll never understand why teenage girls like to scream, minus strange men or bears approaching.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ll find Pixie,” I tell him, my voice ringing out with a confidence I wish I felt. I glance at my watch. “It’s almost time for Mrs. Macleod to pick us up anyway.”
“Then I’ll see you in school Monday. No hiding, you hear?”
He leans down and kisses my forehead, cocooning me for a moment in his puffer arms before stepping back.
“I almost forgot. I have something for you. Close your eyes.” He unzips my coat partway, then stuffs something flimsy into the inside pocket before zipping me back up. “Don’t look until you get home.”
I watch him walk backward, holding me in his eyes, until he trips on something—a rock, a slick of ice—and his arms flail. I chuckle.
Once he’s in his car, we stare at each other through the window as the car warms up. I smile when he traces CC into the condensation on the window, and when he pulls out, I wave until the taillights disappear, like stars plunging over the horizon.