Heart on a Chain (14 page)

“
I’m going now.” She looks up at me, eyes drifting lazily. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I tell her, rushing out the door before she can stop me. It’s far too early for Henry to be waiting for me, and I have no desire to stand on the street where anyone might see me. I decide that walking to his house is a better plan.

There’s an overgrown field that forms a shortcut between our houses. It has not been developed yet because it’s filled with large quaking aspens and pine trees, surrounding a little pond of water where the geese flock each summer. That makes the area protected, but also neglected. I’ve been in the grove many times before, because it’s a good hiding place.

I walk through, making my way to Henry’s street in less than fifteen minutes. I walk up toward his house; when I get to his driveway, I see that his car isn’t here. I stop, stymied in my intention. I’m unsure what to do. I suppose I could just go wait in the trees until I see his car turn up the street.

Claire makes the decision for me when she walks out the front door and sees me standing there.

“
Kate, hey!” she calls, jogging down the driveway and pulling me into a hug. I feel that same intimidation and wonder how I can be so unsettled by a thirteen year old.

“
Henry told me you’d be coming over. He said you needed a costume? I have all kinds. Plus, I can do your hair for you if you want. You guys are going to the corn maze, right? It might get cold. Did you bring a jacket? Never mind, we’ll just do a costume that will keep you warm.” This non-stop speech is going on as she links arms with me and practically drags me up to the house.

“
Henry’s not home yet?” I ask.

“
No, he went to find a costume. Didn’t he call you?”

“
We don’t have a phone,” I admit.

“
Bummer,” she says, as if it isn’t embarrassing at all. “Well, I’ll call him and tell him you’re here already. I’m not going to tell him what costume we’re putting you in. That’s going to be a surprise.”

When she calls him from her cell phone on the front steps, she’s silent while he talks, rolling her eyes at me. “Okay, fine,” she sighs, frustrated.

“
He says they’re doing this medieval theme thing at the corn maze, and he happens to know I have a costume that will work for that. Can’t wait to see what
he’s
wearing, probably some tights or something hideous like that, when I could have made him something
cool
,” she grumbles. Immediately, she brightens, “You will look so cool, though. And I can put beads in your hair.”

I try to picture myself with beads in my hair, imagining long rows of braids ending in brightly colored plastic orbs, and can picture how ridiculous that would be. There are girls who could probably pull that look off—I’m not one of them.

She leads me into the museum part of the house, passing through into the homey part that I prefer. Mrs. Jamison is sitting on the couch with
Christine
cuddled on her lap, watching Elmo talk about colors. I feel a pang of longing as I watch her absently smoothing
Christine’s
hair. She glances up when we enter and stands, picking
Christine
up with her.

“
Well, hi, Kate.” Her tone is warm and welcoming; she follows that with a hug that encompasses me and
Christine, who is still in her arms
. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that; how they all hug one another and me—a virtual stranger—as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“
Hi, Mrs. Jamison. Hi,
Christine
.”

Christine
waves shyly, tucking her head into her mom’s neck but keeping her eyes and smile on me. She’s such a cute little thing, with dark eyes that are the same as Henry’s.

“
Can I ask a favor, Kate? I’d like you to call me Emma. Mrs. Jamison is my mother-in-law.”

“
Sure, okay.”

“
Guess what, mom?” Claire’s excitement is palpable. “Kate’s going to borrow one of my costumes. And I get to do her hair.”

“
Oh yeah? And did Kate agree to let you do her hair, or did you just push that on her?” Emma looks at me with a smiling question.

“
Well….” Claire trails off.

“
It’s okay,” I jump to her defense, not wanting to get her into trouble. “I don’t mind.” That’s only another half-lie.

“
Alright, well you girls have fun. If she gets too pushy, Kate, you just tell her to back off,” She says gruffly, accompanying the words with an affectionate ruffle of Claire’s hair. “She means well; she just gets a little…enthusiastic.”

Claire rolls her eyes at me, then grabs my hand and hauls me up a second set of stairs in the family room. She’s talking animatedly the whole time we’re walking, which is good because I’m speechless. The second floor is more homey than formal, but it’s big. There are several rooms off a hallway that forms an L, but most of the doors are closed, so I don’t know what kind of rooms they are.

Claire’s bedroom is amazing. The floor has thick pink carpeting, the bed covered by a white and pink patch quilt, which is neatly made and covered with a variety of pillows in pink, white and green. A netted canopy sewn with pearl beads hang from the ceiling to surround part of the bed. It’s definitely a girly-girl room, but the most amazing thing is the walls.

Instead of posters of the latest bands or movie stars, it’s covered with fashion photos cut out of magazines, and hand drawn pictures that look like they could also have been pictures cut out of magazines—they are that well drawn. I look at a grouping of them, when the name in the bottom right corner catches my eye.

I turn to look at Claire, who is currently in her walk-in closet that’s almost as large as my whole room.

“
Did you draw these?” I ask.

She leans around the door jamb, looking at the drawings.

“
Yeah. Those are my originals. Someday they will be real clothes—I mean clothes that other people can wear.”

“
You made these up? They aren’t copies?”

She steps all the way into the room, carrying a pile of dark red material.

“
No. I’m going to be a fashion designer some day. I just play around right now. I draw them and my mom buys me the material and helps me make a pattern and sew some of them. Sometimes she wears them herself.”

I look at them. As unaware as I am of fashion I can tell they are good.

“
These are really great. I think you’re a fashion designer
now
.”

Claire beams at the compliment.

“
Thanks, but I still have a lot to learn. I’m going to go to college to learn more about fashion, but also to learn how to be a business woman because I want to run my own place.”

I wonder what it would be like to be so young and so sure of your future, with not only a plan in place, but also the talent to back it up. I’m about to graduate and have no idea what I’m going to do. How depressing.

“
Anyway, I’m glad you like them, because this is one I made,” she says, holding up the pile of material by the hanger, which reveals it to be an elaborate dress. “This is the costume I was telling you about. It will work good, I think, because it kind of looks medieval and it’s heavy so it will keep you warm. And, oh!” She throws the dress across her bed and runs back into the closet. She comes back out carrying a pile of black material. “This cape will look really cool with it, in case it’s too cold without a jacket.”

“
This is really nice of you,” I tell her. I walk over to the bed, running my hand across the rich ruby velvet. “I don’t think I should wear this to the corn maze though. It will probably get dirty and might get torn or something.”

She waves her hand, “No biggie. I can fix it. Here, come sit,” she indicates a chair in front of a beautiful vanity with a tri-fold mirror. The back edge of the vanity is neatly organized and holds a dizzying array of makeup and hair products. I sit obediently and she begins brushing my hair.

“
What I wouldn’t give to have your hair. You’re so lucky.”

I look in the mirror, trying to see what she sees that I don’t. My hair grows so straight that I only wash and comb it and let it air dry. I don’t even own a hair dryer or curling iron. Maybe all those years of having done nothing harsh to my hair helps it to seem healthy. To me it only looks plain, blonde and straight, hanging halfway down my back.

“
I have an idea. If you don’t like it we can take it out and do something different, okay?”

It actually feels good to have someone brushing my hair. Even the gentle tugging as she starts pulling pieces up feels good. I close my eyes and pretend that I’m a normal girl, sitting at her vanity, her mother or sister doing her hair.

I try to remember if my mother has ever done my hair. She must have when I was a little girl, but I can’t call up a single remembrance of it. Instead of feeling sad like I usually do, I felt a little spark of anger.

“
There, how’s that?” Claire asks. I open my eyes and can only stare. She’s wrapped the front of my hair into a sort of natural head band, interlaced with strings of red beads that look striking against my light hair. The back falls in soft ringlets. Fear sinks through me—I can’t go out like this. I feel exposed with my shield pulled away. I can’t disappoint Claire, though. She looks pretty pleased with herself.

“
It looks good,” I tell her, my voice wavering. But in her youth she doesn’t notice.

“
Cool. You want some makeup on?” Before I can gather my horrified thoughts to tell her no, she answers herself. “No, I think you’re really pretty without it. You don’t need it.”

Pretty? I don’t think so.

“
Okay, let’s get the dress on and see how it all looks.” She glances at the clock on her bed stand. “Right about on time, too.”

She steps out while I undress and pull the dress on, but it has a long row of hooks on the back that I can’t reach, so she has to help me do those. I’m self-conscious about having her do that since no one has ever seen me in any state of undress. She’s so matter-of-fact about it that I can’t feel too embarrassed. Once those are hooked, she adjusts the ties on the lace-up front, pulling the velvet around the white silk beneath, leaving just a hint showing, to make it fit just right.

“
Perfect!” she announces. “Look.” She turns me toward a full length cheval mirror that stands in the corner. I have to admit, I look different, like someone who has stepped out of a time past. The dress also has lace-up sleeves, which expose the white silk panel she has sewn beneath. The bodice is tight and the skirt is full, the silk panel theme repeated down the front of the skirt. It’s an amazing dress—it would transform anyone who wore it.

“
This is great,” I tell her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. It’s only half-a-hug, but it’s more than I might have thought I was capable of a few weeks ago. She smiles at me.

“
You
look great. Now, wait here. I want to see if Henry is home yet so you can make an entrance.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, hurrying out of the room and closing the door behind her. I sit nervously waiting, until I hear her footsteps coming back down the hallway.

“
Okay, he’s here, but we just have to wait a minute while Mom gets her camera.”

“
Camera?” I squeak.

“
Oh, yeah, get used to it. If you’re gonna be Henry’s girlfriend, plan on having your picture taken for, like, every event imaginable. My mom’s the queen of picture taking.”

I barely hear the last part because my mind is stuck on the other word she said—the same one Jessica used.

“
You think I’m Henry’s girlfriend?” I ask.

“
Well, duh! I saw you guys kissing, remember?”

The shock on my face slowly gives way to a smile.
Girlfriend.
I’m someone’s girlfriend! Not just someone—
Henry’s
girlfriend. At least, that’s what his sister thinks. She probably knows more about these things than I do.