Before Wings (16 page)

“Adrien—”

“Paul, did you
make
Leanne do it?”

“No!” he exploded.

“Then maybe
she
was the one who made the mistake,”
said Adrien. “Maybe she didn’t know enough to say no.”

“Maybe. I think I knew that, though. I just had my head in some fucked-up place.”

“Okay, so you both fucked up,” she said. “It didn’t kill you. Or her.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said quietly.

“And—” She thought of the girls again and swallowed. “Well, I’m here
now
.”

“Yeah.” He was smiling, she could hear it. “You sure are.”

“Will you kiss me back?” she asked hoarsely. “I’ve never kissed anyone. I don’t know how to do it.”

He gave a quiet laugh. “You catch on quick. Don’t worry.”

A soft easy breath lifted through her. “I won’t then,” she said. “Worry.”

“This is going to be one long sweaty night,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “See you tomorrow.”

She hung up the phone and stood in the booth’s white light, listening to her heart beat. It was a promise repeating itself, becoming truer each time it spoke.

twelve

The master cabin was a one-bedroom apartment, equipped with a kitchenette and a washroom. The main room held a sofa, stereo and bookshelf at one end, the tiny kitchen, a card table and several stacking chairs at the other. There was no TV in sight. Telling Adrien to sit down, Aunt Erin got some cold meatloaf, mustard and milk out of the fridge and fixed her a sandwich.

“Drink the milk,” she said. “Good for you.”

As Adrien ate, her aunt sat across the table, toying with a piece of bread. Adrien waited for a barrage of questions about missing supper and wandering the woods all evening, but there was no interrogation, no advice. Maybe her aunt felt she had none to give.

“Paul and I,” Adrien said into the silence, “had a sort
of not-fight fight, but I guess we’re okay now.”

“Weren’t at flag lowering tonight.” Aunt Erin watched her own fingers tear at the bread. Her shoulders were slumped and her breathing seemed labored. Adrien hesitated, then decided to open a door.

“Aunt Erin, have you ever been in love?”

Her aunt’s eyes widened. She dropped her face into her hands and rubbed it. “Yes,” she said quietly.

Adrien watched her carefully. “It’s confusing, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” her aunt said again, not looking up.

“But I think I like it.”

“Paul’s a boy of honor,” said her aunt. “Couldn’t find a better young man. Just remember your whole life’s ahead of you.”

Like you did?
Adrien thought, but asked, “Could I use your toilet?”

The washroom was tiny, just a shower stall, toilet and sink. The walls seemed thin, and she wondered how cold the room got in winter. Aunt Erin was a true Spartan. While the toilet flushed, Adrien opened the medicine cabinet. While she was sick, she had seen a biographer explain to a TV talk show host that whenever he interviewed Hollywood stars in their homes, he always checked their medicine cabinets because that was where people kept their secrets. Immediately, Adrien found what she was looking for—two prescription bottles, one for sleeping pills and the other for Prozac. Aunt Erin was on anti-depressants. If she was mixing it with sleeping medication, it was no wonder she hadn’t heard her niece yelling from the Petting Zoo. Closing the medicine cabinet, Adrien scanned the washroom
for more details. A bottle of blond hair dye stood in the shower stall. So, her aunt was keeping the gray out of her hair, pretending to stay young. Living in the past. When Adrien came out of the washroom, Aunt Erin was still at the table, picking at the piece of bread.

“Aunt Erin,” Adrien said. “Those girls in the photograph—who were they?”

“Just a cabin of girls I counseled.”

“But why d’you keep their picture where you can always see it?”

“Something I need to do.”

Adrien didn’t know what to tell her—the girls had been more alive than anyone she knew? They had been happy, their bodies had hummed with a music most people never heard? Her aunt already knew that.

“I’m glad you asked me here this summer,” she said slowly. “I’m learning.”

Her aunt looked up, a quick gladness in her face. “Good. Now, time for bed. Your mother’d be having a fit.”

The knock came around 1
AM
, waking them both. “Whaaaaaaat?” Darcie moaned into her pillow. “I thought I was going to get some sleeeeeeep.”

The door opened and hall light shone into the cabin bedroom. Adrien squinted at the dark shape leaning in the brightly lit doorway. “Darcie, you coming?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I want to sleeeeeeep.”

There was a pause. “The rest of us want to sleeeeeeep too.”

“Then go to bed.”

“They’ll get us,” said a second dark shape, “if we’re alone in our own rooms.”

The doorway was now crowded with girls. Darcie sighed and sat up. “Geeeeeeez,” she groaned. “Bring your mattresses in and put them on the floor.”

“We’ll have to sleep double,” said someone.

“C’mon, Grouch,” said Darcie. “If I have to sleep with someone, it’s going to be you.”

Adrien scooted across and climbed into Darcie’s bed. As the other girls brought in their mattresses, she plumped her pillow, then snuggled and burrowed until she was comfortably warm and happy, surrounded by the scent of Darcie’s perfume.

“Hey,” complained her roommate. “I didn’t say I wanted to play teddy bears. And do you mind? I’m plastered against the wall.”

“I like your bed.” Adrien had the giggles.

“Well, you can like my bed facing the other way. Then there’ll be
some
room for me.”

Adrien obligingly turned to face the room, and Darcie got comfortable behind her. The other girls were doing the same, shifting and sighing in their beds. “What d’you think they’ll do to us?” asked someone nervously.

“What can they do to eight girls in one room?” Darcie was scornful.

“Well, you know all those school shootings—”

“Connor doesn’t have a gun,” Darcie said emphatically.
“Besides, he’s not the loner type. Mass murderers are loners. Ever see him alone? He’s a wild partier.”

“Anyway,” said Adrien, “we’ve got Robin Hood.”

“Hey, Darcie!” said someone. “Tomorrow, bring your bow and arrow to bed.”

“You’re not sleeping in here tomorrow!” exclaimed Darcie.

“Oh yes we are,” chorused the other girls.

Darcie muttered into her pillow. Gradually the girls’ breathing evened out until it seemed an extension of the night sighing through the trees.

“Spart, you awake?”

Darcie’s arm lifted and came around her, patting her shoulder. “See what you started? Freedom. A revolution.”

“One of the guy counselors talked to me this morning. He said a lot of staff are mad about the cage thing.”

“I think Connor’s going to fizzle like a popped balloon.”

“Weird, eh? Sure didn’t feel like it a couple of days ago.” Darcie patted her shoulder again. “People just need an example, Grouch. You’re a hero.”

Adrien was getting happier and happier. “I like all of us sleeping in one room.”

“I sure hope no one snores.”

“Y’know, Spart, I could die in this bed before morning,” Adrien teased sleepily.

“You’re giving me the willies.”

“If I did, I’d shit my pants.”

“Honest, Grouch. How’m I supposed to sleep, thinking—”

Adrien fell asleep.

At flag raising, Connor stood poker-stiff, staring straight ahead. When Bunter spoke to him in the breakfast line, he gave terse replies, then fell back into his thoughts. Whispers traveled as stories were traded about last night. It sounded as if more than half the staff had opted for sleep, and the campfire had been a desultory affair. Initially cautious, staff standing close to Connor began to relax. Their invisible leashes were falling off. When jokes were told, the laughter came out differently, less like a chorus. By lunch, everyone had stopped shooting glances in his direction, as if asking for permission to act like individuals. Darcie’s prediction was coming true—Connor was fizzling like a popped balloon.

Adrien felt like an over-pumped balloon. She had seen Paul briefly at 8:30, and they had agreed to meet at four. All day, she thought about the expression on his face. Was she being stupid, or had he smiled enough? Had he really touched her hand, or had she just imagined it? Last night on the phone, his voice had been so raw, and this morning when he first saw her, he had taken one quick breath as if he had suddenly run short of air.

Finally, the last cabin came through Tuck’n Tack and she was free. Paul helped her close, then waited while she took in the till. As they walked into the woods, he took her good hand. Heat pulsed between their palms. One of the last mayflies sat in his hair, catching the light in its wings, but she left it there.

“What did you dream about last night?” she asked.

“You,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“Did I die?”

“No,” was all he said, and a warm flush crept up both their faces. He stopped in the clearing he had taken her to for their first smoke, and started to pull out his pack of cigarettes. She shook her head.

“You quit?”

“I don’t feel like it right now.”

Shoving the pack nervously into his pocket, he removed his lumber jacket and dropped it under a tree. “Okay, um, let’s see,” he said, looking around. “Usually, before you get to the, uh, kissing part, you do something else—bowling, biking, dancing. I thought maybe we could dance.”

“Dance?” Adrien hadn’t been to a school dance since grade eight. She couldn’t remember a thing about dancing.

“It’s easy.” Now that she looked petrified, he looked a little less so. “C’mere,” he grinned. When she didn’t move, he stepped close, slid one arm around her waist and took her hand. Hesitantly, she put her other hand on his shoulder. All over, her skin was coming alive with new feelings. Paul spoke into her ear.

“I’ll be the music. All we have to do is shuffle.” He started to hum low in his throat. “Got any favorites?”

She was getting the giggles again. “The bullfrog one. Jeremiah with the wine.”

“That’s an oldie. I don’t know all the words, but I know the tune.” His voice wavered huskily, and it helped that he couldn’t sing well. With Paul, things were raw-edged and honest—nothing had to be perfect. She could feel the vibrations of his voice in his throat and chest and his breath ruffled her hair. Gradually, her tension slid away, she closed her eyes and let her body follow his. When he
finished singing about Jeremiah, he started another oldie, one she recognized but couldn’t name. Opening her eyes, she watched his mouth. It was so close. When was it going to happen? When were they finally going to kiss?

He opened his eyes. “Okay, enough dancing.” He looked around again. “I want this to be the best first kiss in the history of mankind.”

“Paul, the suspense is killing me.”

“You’ll live.” He pulled her to a tree and they sat with their backs to it. Carefully he took her damaged hand and traced Darcie’s bandage. Her heart began to thud.

“So, uh, what d’you think camels look like when they’re kissing?” he asked casually.

She saw it, and a shout of laughter burst out of her. “Snakes?” he added.

Giggles bounced around her insides. “Walruses,” she snorted.

Paul grinned. “Anteaters with their snaky little tongues.” He plucked a stem of seed grass. “Hold still.”

The laughter had changed her whole body. She felt like water, fluid and sparkling, and smiled as he touched the grass tip to her lower lip. He drifted it across and a sweet tickle sent itself everywhere through her. He did it again.

“Oh,” she whispered. “That’s incredible.”

He traced the grass across her cheek, her throat. Then he leaned closer and kissed her chin. “Hey,” he said. “I thought you were going to kiss me.”

She had never imagined it could be like this—talking, laughing,
playing
—as if the entire purpose was just to make each other happy. Taking the seed grass, she traced it gently
across his mouth. Eyes closed, Paul sat leaning against the tree, his body giving the tiniest shudder each time she tickled his lips with the grass. Her skin seemed to be humming, as if her body had become a kind of music, and she felt as if she could spend the rest of her life touching his mouth. His lips were the color of a ripe peach. Dropping the grass, she brushed her lips across his once, like a whisper. Paul moaned, and she touched her mouth full to his. His lips were soft and moved in small ripples, so they were kissing endless tiny kisses, her body full of soft bursting questions:
How will this feel? How will this make him feel?
Each question asked the next. She wanted to know so much. She felt as if she was discovering the reason her body lived. Finally Paul pulled her face into his neck and they sat together, hearts pounding, letting their breathing slow.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For thinking about it first.”

“I’ve been thinking about it from the first minute I saw you.” He tugged on her hair. “But, uh, Adrien? I’m real close to splitting my jeans, okay?”

Realizing what he meant, she sat up. His face was flushed, his eyes almost closed. A heavy heat blew through her, heat that was almost pain, heat she wasn’t yet ready for. Reluctantly, she got to her feet. The clearing was dusty with late-afternoon light. She stretched her arms and drifted in a slow circle.

“Adrien.”

She stopped and looked at him. The world still spun slightly, and at its center stood Paul, staring past her. She
turned. The green-gold air was full of slight vibrations. There was an opening, she was sure she could feel an opening to some other place pulsing mid-air in front of her. She stretched out a hand to touch it. The pulsing felt like music. She wanted to hear it.

“No!” Paul pulled her back, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She felt dazed, distant, her head full of strange light. The violence of his heartbeats thudded through them both.

“Never do that,” he whispered. “They were reaching for you.”