Silence (24 page)

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t push me away. When I draw back, his eyes are wide with surprise. But he lets me see him. He doesn’t pull back.

“I don’t forgive her either,” I say. “And one more thing.”

He listens. Watches me.

“She can’t hurt you anymore.”

“She can’t?”

I shake my head. “I won’t let her.” A beat. And then I finish. “Ever. Again.”

That’s when the sun shines on me. Because for the first time that day, Hayden smiles. “I believe you.” One tear falls.

When Hayden leaves for work, I join Mom in her office. Offer to help with her work again. I need to immerse myself in mundane activities. My emotions need a respite. I spend the rest of my day assembling folders and stuffing envelopes. Making copies.

Mom doesn’t ask for details, and Hayden’s secrets aren’t mine to reveal. I tuck them into my heart where they will stay safe.

I do thank her, though. For breaking her own rules—or Dad’s rules, anyway. For letting me see Hayden. I tell her it meant a lot to him to be able to talk to me about it. “I was happy to be able to help him for once. He’s helped me so much.”

Mom nods and smiles. She writes me a note. “Hayden is lucky to have someone care about him the way you do. I think you’ve helped each other.”

I grin at her. She just might understand, just a little bit.

Emerson needs a ride to dance class. Today, I offer to go along with Mom. I want to watch my sister dance.

I sit in the waiting room with all the dance moms, glad I can’t listen to the gossip. My eyes are glued to the window between the studio and the waiting room. I proudly watch my sister leap and spin across the floor.

On the way home, we stop for pizza. The three of us share a pepperoni and olive jumbo. In the booth at the restaurant, I look at my mother as she smiles at Emerson. My mother, who has never blamed me for anything. Never raised a hand to me. Never abandoned me. Never done anything but love me.

She looks at me quizzically. I don’t usually stare at her this way.

I try to explain. “You’re a really wonderful mom. I love you.” I turn to Emerson. “I love you too, you know.”

Emerson leaps up, wraps her arms around us both. Kisses us on the cheeks. A wet pepperoni and olive kiss.

After we get home, I take up my favorite position on the sofa. Open up another Jane Austen favorite:
Sense and Sensibility.
I have finished the first twenty pages when I receive a text message.

All I knew this morning was that I needed you. I don’t even remember driving to your house. But when I saw you, I could breathe. I will always remember.

My stomach flutters at his last sentence. Will I ever get used to Hayden’s interest in me? Or will it always stir me this way?

A second message from him arrives.

My grandfather wants to invite you and your Mom and Emerson to be his guests at an art event tomorrow night. He’s displaying some of his new works. I’d especially love to see you. H

Hayden has figured out another way for us to be together. I can’t wait for tomorrow night. I run to tell my mom about the invitation. I know she will say yes. Now we just have to figure out what to wear.

Please thank your grandfather. We’ll be there. Send me the address and what time. I miss you. S

Wings to fly

— 
Hayden
 —

I miss her too, every minute of the day—more than I want to admit.

My fingers touch my chin, run over the bump of my scar, the visible memory of my past. My secrets. I can still feel Stella’s kiss there, her lips pressing against my skin, warming me, healing me.

Touching me.

Even after I told her everything—all of it—she didn’t run away.

She holds my secrets now.

As she holds my heart.

My feet pound a rhythm into the asphalt as I run. Faster and faster, I pump my legs, as if controlling my body will help me control my emotions. I run without music. The thoughts are loud in my ears, and I cannot escape them. No matter how far I run.

I can never tell Stella how much she means to me, because then she wouldn’t walk away. I can see that now. And I refuse to hold her back from all that she can become. I love her enough to let her go. I will never hold her back the way I held my mother back. I won’t ever be responsible for destroying someone else’s dreams. Not if I can help it.

In four days, she will hear again.

And I will tell her good-bye.

4

— 
Stella
 —

Emerson and I spend the day with our dad. He tries to invite us to his house to go swimming. But I have Emerson tell him I am afraid of pools now. So we need to do something else.

I’m not afraid of pools or swimming. I just don’t like to go to my dad’s house and see the First Family.

And feel like a second-class daughter.

And pretend it’s all okay.

When it’s really not.

So we go to play tennis instead. Which is fine by me. Emerson is pretty good. So is Dad. Me, not so much.

The sun is shining on the court as we run back and forth, chasing the fuzzy highlighter ball. Dad hits every shot perfectly. Emerson leaps and dives, making some stellar points. I hit more balls over the fence than over the net. But at least we aren’t fighting.

Afterward, we go to get smoothies. I am happy to ride in the backseat and leave Emerson riding shotgun. I look out the window and dream of tonight. Of seeing Hayden. Holding his hand. Just being near him. I can’t seem to wipe the goofy smile off my face.

The smoothie place is crowded. We wait in line for a while. I know better than to try to bring up what’s on my mind until Dad has eaten. Plus, he hates lines. I order a blueberry and strawberry smoothie. Emerson gets peach and banana, her favorite.

We find a table outside. Dad sips his veggie smoothie. Full of antioxidants, with three servings of vegetables. He offers a sip to me and Emerson, but we both decline.

If I am going to plead my case, now is the time. I meet Emerson’s eyes, beg her to help me. She squeezes my knee under the table. And I begin.

“Dad, you said for a few days, no Hayden. Then we would talk.” I face him directly. “Let’s talk.”

Dad raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. He sips his smoothie.

I’m waiting. I take a deep breath and lean forward. “You and Mom agreed I could date when I turned sixteen. My birthday is a month away. I’m only asking you to bend the rules for a few weeks. That’s all. Hayden means a lot to me. I think if you would get to know him, you’d like him a lot. I know Mom does.”

I cheated a bit invoking the name of my mother. But I’m not trying to pit my parents against each other; I’m just being honest. She does like Hayden.

I expect a lot of things from Dad. A stoic response. A non-response. A repeat of the other day. Frustration. Maybe anger.

I don’t expect laughter. But that’s exactly what he does.

He laughs. Then he pulls out his phone. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

You surprised me. I didn’t think you could do that anymore. You are so much like me, you know that? You plead a great case. I hadn’t even thought of the birthday argument—and it’s a good one, I have to admit. But you’re wrong thinking I don’t like Hayden. I do. He saved your life, so he’s not only brave but selfless. I saw him in the hospital, waiting for hours to make sure you were okay. I knew he had feelings for you then. I just think you’re too young to be this serious about someone.

Dad surprises me too. In a good way. He reminded me for a moment that there is something I like about him. I had forgotten that.

But he still hasn’t given me the answer I want.

“Are you still saying no?” I venture, tilting my head and wishing I could hear him instead of reading his answer. So much rides on this one word. Yes or no.

If he says no, I have already decided what to do. For the first time in my life, I will lie to my parents. I
won’t
give up the last few days of Hayden’s promise. I am counting down the days to my doctor’s appointment, but I am also counting down the days to the end of our seventeen-day journey together. Because I have this foreboding sense that on that last day, something is going to change. And I don’t want to give up any more time with Hayden before that.

Dad writes his answer. He sets the phone on the table. Spins it to face me.

Ok

I leap up from the table. Throw my arms around my dad.

And he hugs me back.

A few hours later, Mom, Emerson and I walk into the Picasso Gallery. It is located in the center of downtown. A red carpet is laid out on the sidewalk. Photographers snap photos. Glamorous people mingle.

I wear a navy dress with thin straps at the top and an inlay of navy lace. There are small ruffles of the same lace around the hem. It’s the nicest dress I own. My hair is loose, with a small braid around the crown of my head, trailing into my curls. My shoes are gold strappy sandals. I wear the daisy around my neck.

Mom wears a fitted black dress with camel pumps and a camel scarf around her neck. Her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She looks stunning. Emerson wears a soft mauve dress that is shirred on the sides and ends in a flowing, uneven hem. She wears little brown and gold flats that tie around her ankles. I think she looks like a fairy.

The whole front of the gallery is open, as though the walls can be removed. We step into a wonderland of paintings and sculptures. My eyes dash from wall to wall. Not sure where to begin.

Hayden steps forward. Appears magically out of the crowd. I breathe in. Frozen at the sight of him.

For I have never seen him like this. He wears a navy pin-striped suit with a light blue shirt. No tie. His hair is pulled back off his face. The blue shirt makes his eyes as bright as the sky on a spring morning. His skin glows.

And his smile is just for me.

“My grandfather is so happy you could make it,” he says.

My mother gives him a warm hug. Emerson hugs him as well, though shyly. Hayden doesn’t hug me. He simply reaches out and takes my hand.

“I’ll show you his latest work,” he tells us.

He turns us toward the sculptures. We have to wait for the crowd in front of us to finish looking. While we wait, Hayden leans in close. “You take my breath away.” His expression is filled with admiration, appreciation. And something else. Sadness? Then it is gone, replaced with a dazzling smile.

I return his smile with one of my own. “I stopped breathing weeks ago.”

Hayden understands my meaning; I know because his eyes deepen in color for a moment, turning a brilliant indigo. His gaze is more powerful than words. I forget where I am. I forget to breathe. I am completely his.

Mom touches my arm. And I remember where I am. The room is out of focus. I am dizzy. I blink, trying to clear my thoughts. Be present.

I breathe in and out. Look around. Mom catches my glance. Gives me a half-smile of understanding. I squeeze her hand. She squeezes mine back.

Finally, the group in front of us moves on. Hayden steps forward and gestures to the pieces in front of us.

We can only stare in awe. Humbled. Three white pedestals stand in a line. Each holds a precious animal casted entirely in metal.

The first is a horse. Peaceful. Serene. Wide, calm eyes look at us as though they see us. The horse’s mane flows in the wind, as smooth as if we could touch it. The muscles of the horse ripple. One hoof is raised, as though he is about to break into movement any second. He is majestic. The plaque underneath reads “‘Freedom to Fly’—John Rivers.”

The second is a bear. A rounded back with tufted hair rises in the air. The snout is long and curved. The nose smells the air, testing it. Claws grip the stones underneath his paws. He is so real, he makes my blood rush. “‘Greeting Spring’—John Rivers.”

The last is a mountain lion. Teeth bared. Front paws in the air. Hind legs bent as though ready to pounce. She is ferocious. Behind her are two cubs. Each has its own position and attitude. Each a different expression. One imitates Mama, posing just like her. The other is distracted, using a paw to bat something just out of reach. They are charming and wild at the same time. A family of three. “‘Unbroken Chain’—John Rivers.”

Mom is especially taken with the horse. I watch her move around the piece, looking at it from all sides. She had horses growing up. She’s told stories about how she used to ride with my grandfather. Those are her favorite memories. If she could, she’d have a horse now. So it warms me to watch her face. The happiness there.

Hayden’s grandfather joins us then. It’s only the second time I have seen him, so I marvel again at his strong resemblance to Hayden.

Hayden introduces his grandfather to Mom and Emerson. Gramps holds out his hand to Mom, but she surprises him by embracing him instead. Then Emerson does the same. Mom begins talking animatedly about the pieces—she points and gestures. Hayden’s grandfather basks in her praise. Smiles as he talks to her.

Hayden translates for me. “He works in a method that is thousands of years old called lost wax casting. It is the same method they used in ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome. He makes the figure out of clay first, then he takes the sculpture through many steps of creating different molds before the metal can be poured. The process itself is a traditional art.”

I had no idea that Hayden’s grandfather was such an artist, but it doesn’t surprise me to know that Hayden is related to someone with extraordinary gifts. I look again at the horse. Marvel at the commitment it takes to make one piece.

Hayden turns to me. “Hi.” But his eyes say so much more. He leans slightly into me. Nudging me with his shoulder.

Tingles like snowflakes dust my arm. “Hi, yourself,” I return. Then I laugh. For the sheer joy of this moment.

We are interrupted by Hayden’s grandfather. He has taken my mother by one arm and Emerson by the other. He weaves through the crowd. Heads for the other side of the room. Hayden grasps my hand in his, twisting his fingers through mine like a woven tapestry. We move together as one. We follow behind, relishing the time together.