PINELIGHTforkindle (3 page)

An uncontrollable shiver came over me. I thought back to the moment Erik’s palm lay against my skin. The surge of energy from his touch had felt like fire running through my veins. It had warmed my skin and heated the entire room. As much as I despised him, I was attracted to him. I knew it was wrong, but I wanted him to hold me again.

The knot in my stomach tightened, sending a warning to my brain. My emotions were battling the thin protective barrier of sound reasoning. I needed a diversion. It was time for a midnight snack.

Alice was downstairs eating a bowl of warmed-up potato stew and reading yesterday’s newspaper. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back loosely in a rubber band, leaving only a few strands to frame her heart-shaped face. My aunt was a nurse at the Coushatta Health Care Center, so midnight stew was a part of her nightly routine.

Unfortunately I looked nothing like my aunt. She had bold, almond-shaped eyes that were always a bright shade of sea blue. Her sun-kissed skin was flawless under any light—including the unforgiving fluorescents in our kitchen. She was a few inches shorter than me, but she had a body that grabbed the attention of every man she came in contact with in the entire parish. She was only a few years shy of forty, and she never tried to be beautiful—she just was. Naturally.

I cleared my throat as I scooted a kitchen chair away from the round edge of the table. “I didn’t hear you come in—been home long?”

Her pink lips curled up with a spoon still dangling from her mouth. “Just long enough to nuke the stew and catch up on some news.” Her eyes continued to skim the paper. “You didn’t tell me Fergus took over Swamp Tours. He didn’t leave the library, did he?”

Fergus was the town’s old, quirky librarian, but to us, he was a dear family friend—a grandfather figure. He had all but confirmed this role by celebrating every birthday, every holiday, and every special occasion with us. And every time I went to the library for one of his notorious book readings, he always made excuses to give me things. Journals. Crosses. Figurines. Thanks to him I had quite the collection on my dresser, but I liked it—I imagined that’s how a grandfather would be.

“Oh. I thought you knew. It was last week, I believe. Fergus bought Swamp Tours—boats and all—from old Marcel,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Why are you giving me that look?”

“He never mentioned he was interested in the tourism business.” She took another heaping spoonful of stew before continuing. “And I can’t believe Marcel sold out after all of these years.”

“Well, Marcel’s been complaining about business being slow for a while now. The last few weeks I’ve only had twelve hours scheduled—and I’m one of the lucky ones. Jean’s doing good to get one shift, and it’s usually Saturday, so she tries to trade it off,” I said.

“Huh. Seems I’ve fallen behind. Any other news I’ve missed?”

“You probably won’t see Erik around here anytime soon.” I had planned on keeping this news to myself, simply because my aunt really liked Erik, but the information slipped out before I could stop it.

“Oh, honey…what happened?”

“It’s pretty stupid,” I said. “I don’t feel up to talking about it yet. I just thought you should know that I won’t be riding to school with him anymore.”

“Well,” she said, “don’t you dare feel stupid about something like that. My momma used to say, ‘You ain’t the first to feel this way, and you certainly ain’t the last, so never let it get you down.’”

Alice smiled, taking in a moment from her distant memories. That’s one of the many things I loved about her—she was full of quotes.

“Things will be back to normal before you know it, hon.”

“Thanks.” I decided it would be a good idea to leave the conversation at that. “So—you think you might have some time off from the hospital this weekend?”

“Sorry, toots. They have me down for the evening shift all weekend,” she said as she scraped the last bit of stew from her bowl. “But, I’ll be home tomorrow night. I was hoping to make dinner for us. Figure you could use a break from those microwaveable dinners.” She carefully backed away from the table with her empty bowl and glass in hand and then softly placed them in the sink.

“That would be great, actually.”

“Perfect. I hate to leave good company, but I better get in bed. I’ve got to be back at work in about six hours. Don’t forget about our dinner date tomorrow, okay?”

“I won’t,” I replied. And with a swift hug, Alice made her way upstairs to her bedroom.

I heated a small mug of milk in the microwave and then trotted with it up the stairs. The sheets on my bed had already cooled when I rolled back into them, making the warm milk feel and even taste better rolling down my throat. I stared into the darkness of my room, sipping on the mug until all of the milk was gone, and then leaned back into my pillow to stare some more. I wasn’t sure what time it was when I finally drifted asleep—I just know that I did, because I fell into the dream that scared me the most.

Walls crumbled all around me. An undeniable force pulled at my core. I tried to fight it, I tried to deny it the power, but I was weak. I felt pain in my side, and I knew that this dark force was winning. My veins started to burn, and I screamed, but it didn’t stop. I was alone, but I didn’t feel alone. I could still hear his voice.

“
Clara, Clara. Stay with me, Clara.”
His voice embraced me even in death. He was part of me somehow, this nameless, faceless angel. His voice had flooded my soul, comforting me like a perfect song through the pain.

I screamed for him.
“
Angel
!”

He never heard me. I soared through a tunnel. A pale light became incredibly bright, taking all my pain and fear as it surrounded me. Then there was nothing. I loved him—that was my torment.

-3-

RRPH

That morning I woke up an hour early to call Jeanna Beaudet. Jeanna, who everyone called Jean for short, was voted friendliest girl two years in a row at school. Jean was the first person to talk to me mid-freshman year on my dreaded first day of high school, and we became fast friends after we managed to snag the same weekend job as tour guides for Swamp Tours .

The phone rang once, twice, three times, and then on the fourth ring, I heard the phone tumble off the hook.

“Hello?” Her voice was low and scratchy; I could tell that I’d woken her.

“Hey, can I get a ride this morning?”

The phone picked up the sound of sheets russling. “Where’s Erik? Everyone knows you ride with him.” The question was barely audible, but clear enough to make my stomach twist.

“Yeah, well, he can’t take me today. Do you think you could swing by? I could meet you at the end of the road.”

Jean had just gotten a shiny red MINI Cooper for her birthday. It was a nice car with a lot of pep, but the dirt road that wound to my house was spotted with dozens of deep potholes that stayed filled with muddy water. And since it had been raining for days, I knew that she would never agree to pick me up if she had to force her car down that road.

“All right, if you meet me at the end of the road. I’ll be out there in a little over an hour. You owe me, though—say, this Saturday, shift trade?”

“Umm, yeah, that’s fine.”

“Perfect. See ya in a little, Clara Bear.”

“See ya.”

Click.

I took a very long shower. I stayed under the hot, steady flow of water, until it began to turn cold. My fingers and toes had become prune-like from the over-hydration, but every second in the shower relaxed my tense muscles. My whole body felt tight—uncomfortable, from my lack of sleep that night. I wasn’t ready to face the world—a world filled with noisy, spiteful classmates who would be prying for new gossip. News traveled fast in our town, and since Erik and I had both missed school yesterday, a red flag would already be up—probably waving on the silver flagpole in the courtyard of our school. Not literally, but it might as well be there.

All I wanted to do was crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my face, and then go into hibernation. Too bad that wasn’t an option.

I stepped out of the shower to towel-dry my hair. Wet curls cascaded down from my head and fell against my back. Even my hair felt heavier than usual. The mirror reflected the same sad stranger from yesterday. Same puffy eyes, same dull skin—just free of mud this time.

I grabbed a powder compact from the small plastic basket of beauty supplies on my marbled vanity. I swirled a sponge into the compact and then applied the ivory powder to my skin, making sure to double-coat the areas around my eyes. The dark purple circles eventually faded, but the powder didn’t camouflage my swollen lids. I grabbed a small brush and the lightest shimmery eye shadow I owned and then dabbed the light-reflecting pigment into the corners of my eyes. It was a trick Jean had taught me—a trick to brighten tired eyes. It seemed to help. After a couple coats of mascara, I noticed I didn’t look half bad.

The walk to my closet was a chilly one, but it only took a minute to find clothes that would work—a casual purple dress with plain black tights. When I first moved to Coushatta, the weather had stayed sunny and bright, with an occasional evening shower or thunderstorm. But in the last few months, there had been a noticeable increase in rain. My wardrobe was proof of that change.

I trotted downstairs with a bag full of books to my side. I had plenty of time for breakfast. I never was big on eating in the morning—I liked breakfast food, just not a fan of eating that early in the day. But since I had skipped eating altogether yesterday, my stomach was insisting that breakfast was a good idea. Particularly, toast and bacon sounded good.

I dug around in the refrigerator until I found my aunt’s turkey bacon. I grabbed the bacon, butter, and a jar of grape jam from the fridge, and then the loaf of wheat bread that was rolled up on the counter. In minutes I had the two slices of bread buttered and toasted—with a few slices of bacon sizzling in the microwave.

Ding
. Breakfast was served.

I cleaned and stored the dishes before locking up the house. I had ample time to walk down the curvy road to meet with Jean—could have stayed in the house another half hour actually, but I felt like I had to get out. There was nothing else I could do in there to keep my mind off of him or the dreaded day ahead of me. I had to keep moving. At least, that was the only thing I knew I could do.

The dirt road appeared hidden in the haze of the morning. Dew still glistened on the ferns that separated the road from the woods, while rain puddles attempted to soak into the damp green earth. I dodged muddy potholes and tuned in to the sound of the tree frogs singing to the crickets. I caught a small breeze in my hair as I turned the corner of the first curve in the road. The strong fragrance of wet pine hit me like a ton of bricks. Even the woodsy smell reminded me of Erik.           

Jean was grinning with a mouthful of food as soon as I opened the car door. Her white teeth shined against her creamy brown skin like a Cheshire cat. She had obviously had a good start to her morning—at least she had a good breakfast from what I could see. The smell of hot caramel coffee filled the small car, and a few crumbs of coffee cake remained on her shirt. She was still chewing when she spoke.

“Mornin’, sunshine!” A few more crumbs fell to her shirt. If it were anyone else talking with a hunk of cake stuffing her mouth, it might seem disgusting, but with Jean, it was almost cute.

“Hey, thanks for picking me up. How’s the cake?” I forced a quick grin while closing the door behind me.

Delicious,” she said. I watched as more crumbs flew in the air. She chewed for a few seconds before quickly swallowing what was left of her breakfast. “But I didn’t pick you up to talk about cake.” She shifted the car into drive, eased onto the highway, and then slowly accelerated toward the Coushatta city limits sign. “You gonna tell me what’s going on between you and Erik—or do I need to interrogate you?”

“Ummm…” The sound came from my lips before I had even realized my lips were parted. I turned to the window, looking to the trees as if they might save me from the conversation. But nothing happened.

“He really got to you, didn’t he?”

I felt awkward thinking about the question.

He had gotten to me—that was the problem. He had managed to gain my trust, and then he threw me to the wolves. Even though Jean knew the answer, I wasn’t ready to say it out loud. I looked over to her and could see the sincerity in her eyes. I supposed my face said it all.

“What a jerk—don’t you worry about him, Clara. Not one bit. He’s not worth your time.” Her dark, curly hair bounced while she shook her head. “Besides, he always looks like he’s on something. I bet he’s a pothead.” She kept talking as if she were trying to solve a mystery. “Yeah, that would explain it all. His dilated pupils, his weird behaviors. He’s always wearing those stupid dark sunglasses, and—and—that would definitely explain why he hurt you. I hear drugs make you irrational or crazy or something.”