The Beginning of Always (11 page)

Once I did, everything would change. Status quo was fine for now.

We walked on for almost ten minutes, plunging deeper into the depths. The cool night air bit the back of my neck, sending shivers across my limbs. But still we moved on.

I spotted them before Florence. In front of us, just beyond a bank of trees, one or two blinking yellow dots flickered. I watched them, barely daring to even blink, as I pulled Florence’s hand backwards to stop her.

“What?” she said. “Do you see them?”

“Shhh.” I reached over and pressed her flashlight down to point to the ground. “Quiet. Turn off the light.”

We were plunged into sudden darkness with a click of the off button. My breath was coming out in quiet puffs and Florence’s breathing was slightly labored.

“Where are they?” Florence whispered, taking a step closer to me until our shoulders touched.

I ignored the flip my stomach made. “Right behind those trees in front of us.”

We both waited with bated breath, neither of us moving. Then, just when I thought I had been mistaken, there they were again.

Blink.

Blink.

A sputter of several dots of light emerged, fluttering around in random spirals.

Fireflies.

Florence’s breath caught and her hand tightened around mine. The sensation caused my whole body to jerk slightly and I frowned. I forgot we were still holding hands.

“They’re there. Fairies.” Her voice quivered slightly.

“They’re not fairies. They’re just bugs with lightbulbs on their butts,” I said.

“Tscht!” Florence slapped my shoulder with her free hand. “Shut up! Don’t ruin this for me.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Come on, you big sour jerk. Don’t crush them this time, there aren’t that many left.”

“Christ, that was like one time. Let it go.” The first time we’d gone firefly hunting as kids, I had crushed one in between my thumb and index finger to see where the light came from. The immediate screech and the subsequent flow of tears that had poured from Florence wasn’t something I wanted to experience again.

I followed Florence, allowing her to lead me slowly through the tall grass that gently swished about our knees. The blinking lights turned on and turned off, multiplying and fading. Soon we stood right by the tree, and in front of us, series of sparks went off all around the clearing.

Florence let go of my hand and crouched down, inching forward until she was just below the fireflies.

“They’re like stars. Like shooting stars,” she whispered.

They were. The fireflies flicked around, catching up with each other, in no hurry to arrive at any destination or do anything except to find their mate.

“Make a wish, Alistair,” Florence said, still looking up with wonder spread across her expression.

“You don’t make wishes on fireflies.”

Florence lowered her gaze to me. “Well, then, let’s pretend we caught a shooting star.”

“You just can’t make these things up,” I protested. “It doesn’t work like that. You just can’t be making wishes on random things just because you feel like it.”

Florence grinned at me. “Tonight, you can. Fairies can be anything.”

“These aren’t fairies,” I insisted, but my protestations were lost. She brushed them aside with a shake of her head and an exhale. Then, she slowly unraveled her body, standing up breath by breath until her head peeked up into the crowd of lights buzzing above us. The fireflies swam around her hair, illuminating her features.

I stared. Florence was ethereal. She inched her arms up until her hands were in the cloud of stars, gently cupping a firefly in between her hands, the light leaking from between her fingers. She gave me a secret smile and slowly lowered herself down again to bring her clasped hands before me.

The light of the fireflies fluttering above radiated off her skin and she glowed. She glowed like something unearthly, a forest nymph or something so beautiful, she couldn’t possibly be of this world. The shimmer colored her pale skin with glitter and shadows, her eyes swimming with joy and wonder.

My heart seized, enveloping itself in a moment so unfamiliar, yet filled with so much longing, all at the same time.

“I caught one.” she whispered, so close that her breath puffed against my skin, spreading its heat tenderly across my cheeks. A caress.

Goose bumps texturized my arms, and my fingers, palm pressed deep into the earth, clenched.

“Make a wish, Alistair,” she said, the movements of her lips enthralling me with their beautiful angles and curves.

Florence slid her eyelids closed, and inhaled deeply. She lifted her arms up and opened her palms. For a split second, a fear lingered in the air that the light had been extinguished, but then the freed firefly burst into a ray of yellow-white light, spiraling away.

And despite myself, I made my wish.

An honest wish, a wish that sprung from that indecipherable whisper that fluttered in my soul, circling and spiraling in haphazard paths.

I wish … that you will always be with me
.

I wish we could always be together.

That no matter what happens, we’ll always find each other,
I finished in my head.

Florence faced me and smiled, her lips curling softly in secret understanding, in this beautifully shared moment. Exclusive to us, exclusive to now.

“Thank you.”

I nodded stupidly, not trusting my mouth.

Florence gazed up again. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Wishes are for idiots,” I said.
Stupid
, I silently cursed myself.
Why did you say that?

Florence brushed her hair off her face and said gently, “That’s why you make wishes.”

“Why bother? They never come true.”

“Well, you never know, unless you try.”

The moment was shattered by my idiocy, and that rankled me. I snapped, “You’re stupid.”

Florence shrugged, giving a small grin. “I’m okay with that.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” I asked. Then I changed my mind. “Never mind, dumb question. You’re nice to everyone.”

Florence tilted her head and considered me. “We’re friends.”

“Uh-huh,” I said in a bored tone.

I wasn’t even sure why I was saying this, why I’d bothered to bring it up. Ever since she’d first trailed behind me down that road, I’d seen her almost every day. She came over whether she was invited or not. A couple months after meeting her, I’d stopped telling her to go away. She was a boomerang that kept returning no matter how hard I threw it.

But we were getting older. She had a lot more friends, and I … well, I was just me. Kevin and his little pack were company, not friends.

Florence inched closer until our knees practically touched, both of us sinking slightly into the damp ground. “I like you, Alistair. You’re funny.”

That didn’t make me feel any better. “Great. I’m a clown.”

Florence gave a short burst of laughter, but then her voice went low and quiet, all serious business. “No. You make me laugh, but you’re not a clown. You’re so mean, but you just pretend.” She reached up and pinched my cheek. “You’re not so bad.”

I swatted her hand away with a scowl and she grinned in return.

“Renee says you’re weird.”

My mood soured at the name of her pissy little hyena friend. Renee laughed the loudest whenever I was around, her overly large teeth on display. “I am weird,” I snapped.

Florence regarded me for a moment, her smile faltering, the corners dipping down by intervals. Her eyes were so blue, they sparkled even in the dark light.

Those eyes always confused me. They made me feel things I never knew I could feel.

As if they held the secrets to everything.

As if hope was possible and maybe, just maybe, happiness could be guaranteed.

Florence blinked and our connection broke. Then, she fell backwards onto the grass, staring upwards at the fireflies flitting above.

I watched her watch them, and it was a while before she spoke.

“Then I’m weird too. I’m weirder,” she said aloft to the heavens.

I furrowed my brow.
Florence? Weird? Don’t make me laugh.

“You’re really freaking normal.”

At my words, disappointment etched her features. “No,” she whispered. “I’m not. I’m the same as you, you know that. I’m just better at pretending.”

Florence threw an arm over her forehead and continued in a hushed tone. “You know, that’s why I think you’re so great. You don’t care about other people, you just act like yourself. I can’t do that, so I act how everyone thinks I should.” Her voice dipped so low I had to strain to hear her. “I’m a liar. And a fake. I’m nothing like what people think I am.”

Words escaped me for a moment and we both remained silent. Then I answered, “Those are deep words for a little girl.”

Florence gave a sad laugh that sent freezing pain into my soul. She was tortured. Anguished. Older than her years.

“I lie to everyone. I lie to myself that I’m happy, that everything is okay, that I can go through life being nice. I’m not. But I can be honest with you. You don’t judge me for being me.” Florence sighed softly. “If only we were still babies. When you were still in New Orleans, and I didn’t know anything about how messed up people could be.”

At her words, anger began to boil inside me. “Did something happen?” If anyone had messed with her, if someone had hurt her, I swore to God …

Florence propped herself up on her elbows and shrugged, shoulders slumped forward.

“Just my mom being … you know.” She stared ahead at nothing, expression dead. She sniffed a couple times and shrugged again. “It just really sucks. She barely talks to us anymore. She’s totally withdrawn. Nic is all confused.”

Florence’s face was uncharacteristically impassive and blank. Her eyes were two hollow blue pools.

“I hate her,” Florence suddenly announced to the darkness.

I jerked back slightly. “Whoa. Hey, don’t say that. She’s still your mom.”

Florence swung angry eyes at me, the emotion running so deep and hard that I twitched in shock at the sight of them. “So what? She doesn’t act like one. Just because she’s my mom doesn’t mean I should love her. I’m sick of dealing with her. She doesn’t take care of us, any of us. We’re invisible to her, we’re nothing.”

Florence shook her head. “Just yesterday Nic went to her with something, I don’t know even know what or why, but he was crying. And she just ignored him, like totally ignored him. Didn’t answer, didn’t acknowledge him. I was so mad I wanted to scream. But I didn’t. I just grabbed Nic and we went outside into the yard. When Dad got back home, he asked what was wrong. And I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t bring myself to explain how I felt. So I just smiled and said we were happy he was home.”

She paused. “Like I said, I’m weird.”

At a loss for words, all I could do was nod slowly. “Yeah. You weirdo.”

Florence rolled over to her side until she was almost laying in my lap. She buried her face against my knee. I fought all the conflicting reflexes that assailed me—to push her away, to pull her closer, to jump up and run away, to fall down with her and never let go.

I stared blankly into the darkness spotted with moving lights, every part of me in contention. In agony. I struggled to control my physical response, that side of me that made me sick to think of.

I was so preoccupied with my own struggles that I barely caught her next words.

“You like me regardless of whether I’m nice or mean, right? Even if I’m a jerk to people.” Her voice was laced with hope and an undercurrent of self-doubt.

“Florence.” I licked my lips nervously. I allowed myself a moment of honesty, a crack in my defenses. “How I feel about you will never change, no matter what.”

Florence peeked up. Her eyes softened and her expression opened. She snaked her fingers through the grass and lightly touched the back of my left palm resting against the cool damp dirt.

“Always?” Her question was breathy.

Our fingers intertwined. “Always,” I replied, the sound of my heart thudding in my ears.

“We’re not liars, not with each other.” Florence gripped my hand and squeezed it tight, needing a sign, a symbol of confirmation. “But we can be weirdos together, right?”

I laughed and raised my right hand, using the back of my fingers to stroke her cheek. I brushed the edge of my thumb to lightly rub the dirt off her cheekbone.

“Yeah. Okay,” I answered softly.

And she smiled.

Chapter 7

“D
eep breaths,” I muttered to myself while tugging my pencil skirt down. “Deep breaths, Reynolds. That’s right.” I shifted my messenger bag and fiddled with my watch.

If I was a liar, I’d say I wasn’t nervous. But after Saturday’s display at the fundraiser and the subsequent Sunday’s barrage of questions from Tracy and Nicholas (mostly Tracy), this morning I was a loosely bundled pack of nerves. Somehow, talking it over made it worse, and now that I was standing in front of Blair Properties’ offices, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to throw up or take my butt back to the Metro and away from here.

The doorman gave me a strange look, and I took that as my cue to make a decision. “Deep breaths,” I reminded myself quietly, and walked forward to almost certain doom.