Swimming Through Clouds (A YA Contemporary Novel) (29 page)

“Wait! Wait! Put me down!”

“Never.” Lagan’s dimple returns, and I feel like I’m
falling. All over again.

“Come on. I just have to do one thing.” I wiggle enough that
Lagan lets me slide down to where my toes touch the pavement.

“I’ll LYG on one condition.” And the tables are turned on
me!
How does he do that?

“Yes.” I’ll agree to anything at this point.

“You’ll find me when the time is right. And not before.
You’ll put your safety above my need for you. Because, Talia, I need you like I
need...peppermint-flavored Trident. More. Much more. Promise me that. And I’ll
let you go.”

“That’s technically two promises.” For the record. “But,
yes, I get the sense that they won’t exactly let me just leave whenever I feel
like I want some fresh air. That’s the point of a shelter, after all. I promise
to stay put until the time is right. Now LMG!”

As my feet find firm footing on the ground, Lagan still
holds me close to him. So close. Too close. “The Post-it.” I fill the space
between our lips with a request. “I need it back.”

“Oh, that
ol
’
thang
.
I threw it away.”

“I was
gonna
rewrite it.” SUS for
See You Soon. Because any possibility of a possibility counts as soon in my
books.

“We will. You and I.” Lagan leans in and our noses touch.
“The future awaits. Bit by bit. We’ll write it together. Apart and then
together again. Okay?” As he nods, searching for my approval, his lips draw
dangerously close to mine.  

“Now?” Lagan asks, a word packed with possibility.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just...” And I’m
embarrassed to admit it. Deep breath. “I just always hoped my lips would be
perfectly healed before my first kiss.”

“You are. Perfect for me.” Lagan’s hands brush my hair back,
his fingertips swirling a trail to the back of my neck. I’m shaking my head no
when he stills me, closes the gap, and rests his lips on mine. “Now?” he
mumbles, exhaling the wish into me.

A giggle, a tiny nod, and we’re swimming through clouds to
our first kiss. So sweet, so sweet, I can hardly breathe—my heart wide
open, because I don’t want to miss a thing. The prickle of his goatee on my
skin, the scent of peppermint on his breath, the softness of his lips pressing
on mine.  

 
The cool breeze
of Jesse’s words, “Take nothing with you,” nudges me to slow down and step
back. Lagan steps back too, his hands finding mine.

Grinning, he asks, “Well?”

“Pretty perfect. Yeah.” We both chuckle, and I would love to
stay in this place.

“
Alrighty
, then. I guess we don’t
have to practice.” Lagan’s eyes dance with mischief. “Unless...well. There’ll
be plenty of time to practice.”

I laugh more, realizing I’m still out of breath from the
kiss. My first kiss. Wow.

“I’m
gonna
stop by the garden to
say my goodbyes.” Time to shift focus. Away from gush and mush to cards and
ducks. Have no choice but to get everything in order. “Then take the subway to
the shelter office. By then, you and Jess will have had enough time to talk,
I’m hoping. And Lagan...thanks. For everything.”
 

Nodding, his dimple-lit smile says
of
course
while his
worry-flooded eyes remind me we haven’t crossed the finish line.

“Oh, here’s my key.” I give him the front door key before I
change my mind. “You don’t have to break any doors down. If Jess doesn’t
agree... What if?” And I can’t breathe the words of failure. How will I live if
the two men I love fail to return to me?

“No
what if
’s. I’m just
gonna
pick up your
brother and roll outta there MJ-style.”

“I’m...”

“Scared.” Lagan finishes my sentence for me. “I’m scared,
too.”

“You should be.” I’m shivering. “Dad’s a
freakin
’
lunatic. What if he’s home already? I don’t know how I feel about him knowing
your face and meeting you for the first time. It’ll be the guillotine first,
questions later.”

 
“
Later
is not our problem. Look at
me.” Lagan waits for my eyes to meet his, urgency coating his every word. “I
can’t have it. There’s no more room in your eyes for more clouds. I won’t have
it.”  Lagan shakes his head and looks at the sidewalk.   

“What are you saying?”

He inhales and speaks slowly. “What I need is for you to
wait for me at the shelter.”

“What! Why?” Only Jesse and I truly know the playing field,
and I’m more confused than ever.

“I can’t explain it clearly, but something in my gut tells
me you need to get far away from your house. Somewhere your dad can’t find you.
He’s hurt you enough. For once, let me fight for you.”

Time is ticking.
I’ve never had someone fight for me.
“How will I know you’re okay?”

“Let’s just face this, one battle at a time. We agree that
the number one priority is to get both you and Jesse away from your dad.
Somewhere safe.” Lagan releases a big sigh and takes my hands again. “God, I’m
just glad you told me everything. You did, right? Tell me everything?”

Lagan squeezes my hands, and when I don’t answer, he says,
“Look, if your Dad tries to hurt—”

“Not try.” I correct him. “He will.”

“Fine. If your dad happens to be there or he tries to hurt
Jesse or me, how do you know his rage won’t spill over to you for keeping
Jess’s legs a secret? No matter what happens, I want you nowhere near the
house. I need to know you’re safe.”

“I don’t know anything for sure. I just know that somehow we
always got through it.” There it is again. That word.
Through
.

I wonder if Lagan is thinking what I’m thinking? What if
this storm turns into a hurricane that leaves no survivors? Lagan knows enough
now to suspect correctly. If Dad could find a way to kill Mom without a gun...

“Well, then it’s settled.” Lagan breaks my train of thought.
“If anything goes down, I’ll have a text message reporting gunshots and
violence already set to send to 911 with one press of a button.” Lagan punches
in the drafted text with his head down for a moment.

“Speaking of gunshots…,” I swallow a picture of the shiny
weapon in Dad’s drawer. “Lagan, my dad owns a gun.”

 
Defeat seems
inevitable if Jesse doesn’t get out before Dad comes home. We hurry to the
subway station and step over the gap into the “L” just as the conductor closes
the doors. Fairly empty save a few passengers with their heads buried behind
newspapers, the afternoon rush hour won’t happen for several hours. Sitting on
the bench nearest an exit, I silently read the
Zipcar
ads that stretch across the top border, my right leg bouncing involuntarily.
One arm around my shoulders, Lagan’s free hand tops my kneecap, stilling my
leg. My heart races on.

Can’t believe I’ve waited this long to try again. When Dad
foiled our escape with Mom, for years, Jesse and I were too young and scared to
try again. Lagan’s right. Why go home to misery for one more night? Why not run
away now? While we all still have our legs.

Lagan tries calling the house from his cell again to let
Jesse know he’s on the way. But he still doesn’t pick up. Why isn’t Jesse
answering the phone?

“Should I call my parents?” Lagan asks after the train picks
up speed. “Ask them if I can borrow the car.”

I lower my voice even if no one sits near enough to us to
hear. “If some neighbor sees your car in the driveway, the plates will make Dad
think you helped us get away. And that could help him trace our whereabouts.”
Plus how will Lagan quickly explain all this to his parents? “Just talk to
Jesse. I’m pretty sure he’ll listen to you.”

Lagan’s hand feels like a wet ice cube in mine. I stare at
our hands when Lagan pulls me to my feet. The stop closest to the house remains
two away. I’ll stay on the train and backtrack to the city, transfer trains,
and head out to the garden.

Lagan takes a step toward the doors, moving me with him.
Perhaps edging toward the exit helps him to assume the battle position. I
imagine his armor full of bullet holes. Strange how I’ve never felt more safe
than in this place. His arms wrapped around me.

“I’ll see you at the shelter, okay? The office. You know
what I mean. Wait for me,” he says.

It’s my turn
to W4U.
I see that now.

“For us.” Lagan corrects himself. “I’ll bring Jesse. And
we’ll get through this. I love you, okay? Don’t forget that.” Lagan’s lips rest
on my forehead till the train comes to a jarring halt. A tight squeeze. A slip
of a Post-it note into my palm with a whispered, “Read it later.” A
peppermint-filled kiss, and it’s my turn. To let him go.

I stuff the Sticky Note into my jeans pocket and watch the
subway doors open. Then start to close. As the love of my life moves forward
and walks through, I rush to the window, wanting to hold on to the sight of
Lagan as long as I can. He turns and looks for me. Finding my gaze, he raises
his hand. I think he’s waving, at first. As the train rolls forward, he lifts
four fingers. And then points to me. I nod as my palm kisses the window. With
four fingers up, my thumb curled under.

For what? For
you...? Forever.

CHAPTER
THIRTY

As the
afternoon hustle and bustle of commuters bumps me to and fro in the Metra train
car headed uptown, the crowd cushions my resurging breakdowns. I’ve
second-guessed my decision to let Lagan get Jesse a million times before I exit
at my stop in
Glenco
. Walking the last mile to the
garden entrance always clears my head, but today I jog the entire route like a
fugitive escaping the police. I almost laugh out loud at the absurd suspense
story my life has turned out to be. Once contained in the walls of what some
call “home,” my simple life has moved from a girl’s quest to endure her abusive
father to a group effort to feign death and escape this monster once and for
all.  

Shivers race down my sweaty neck as the image of the silver
gun in Dad’s desk drawer returns to the forefront of my thoughts.
Oh,
how I hope Dad moved it!
Really
praying Jesse doesn’t try and take it with him when he shuts the prison doors
behind him, once and for all.

I haven’t even begun to think about what it will take to
remove Dad’s invisible handcuffs. As I rub my wrists instinctively, I imagine
the cuffs transforming into a charm bracelet with miniature clocks, tea
kettles, and hair clippers on it. The bracelet melts into my skin, burning a
tattoo around my flesh. Because the truth is, visible or not, I will never
forget.

I wonder if I’ll ever know what true freedom feels like. I
do know that I’m not done wanting. And I will wait for the hands that held mine
only hours ago to hold me once more. I need to empty my locker, say my goodbyes
and head to the shelter office. Start up the interview process before I chicken
out. And wait it out.

The garden office is empty. Everyone must be on break or on
the grounds right now. Perfect. As I turn the dial on the combination lock, I
think about those first days when I first met Lagan, and how he used to leave
me Sticky Notes on my school locker. Seems like forever ago. I never saved them
for fear of Dad using them as ammunition. Additional ammo, that is.

When Jason first showed me my locker, I never put anything
in it. For months I took everything with me and kept it under the willow where
I spent most of my time. Then one day it rained while I was on the job.
Everything got muddy.

“You do have a locker,” Jason reminded me that evening when
I walked past him wearing my mud-splattered coat and backpack.

That was the first time I realized Jason was in cahoots with
Lagan. Because I would often open up my locker and find something fun on work
days that didn’t fall on the seventeenth. Usually something to eat. Something
untraceable. Lemon-flavored cough drops. An apple. A
ziplock
with cucumber slices. Once I found an empty water bottle with a Post-it that
read, “Fill it up with your dreams today.” I tossed the note and refilled it at
the water fountain before I started digging that day.

The locker should be empty, save one book and my most prized
possession—Mom’s strand of beautiful hair. I left Lagan’s book in here
weeks ago when winter slowed down the work day. I retrieve
The Beautiful Fight
from the
top shelf and slip it into my backpack.

I’m also here to leave a small note. A small Post-it note
telling Jason goodbye. Thanks, really. I write only one word on it:
Thanks
. Because I’m afraid if I say it to his
face, I might start crying.

He’s been the big brother I never had, giving me my space
but showing me the ropes and giving me the freedom I needed by the willow to
find my way. I’m sure he knew I was lost. But he also seemed to know there were
some answers I had to find on my own. Lessons learned from a waterfall willow,
once weeping. Thoughts of my own personal tree of life remind me that I have
one last goodbye to say before I leave.