Heart on a Chain (19 page)

One night we’re alone at his house. We’re sitting in the living room on the floor, doing math homework. This is my favorite place to be because of all of the holiday decorations. A mishmash of ornaments, made by the Jamison kids throughout the years, adorns their huge Christmas tree, along with store bought ones that have been picked by the kids. Each one is carefully marked with their name and the year the ornament was made or acquired. Somehow, Emma has made it look elegant and homey all at once.

Dr. Jamison told me I needed to wear the cast until the New Year, so I’m still unable to write. We aren’t getting much accomplished, though, since Henry keeps distracting me by kissing me since the swelling in my lip is gone and it no longer hurts. Also, I
way
preferred kissing him to math, so I’m not really protesting much.

“
I want to ask you a favor,” he says between kisses. He’s watching my mouth, long thick lashes hiding his eyes, so I’m having a particularly hard time thinking straight.

“
Anything,” I breathe, kissing him back. He smiles, then looks into my eyes, his gaze darkly intent.

“
I want you to tell me something,”

“
Okay,” I agree, ready to tell him anything.

He lifts his hand, brushing his thumb across the fading scar above my brow, following the movement with his eyes. The laceration had run along the line of my eyebrow, so it really isn’t very noticeable now that the stitches have been removed, and will eventually be almost unnoticeable.

His eyes come back to mine, and softly, sounding off-handed, he says, “I want you to tell me who did this to you.”

I freeze beneath his touch. His gaze doesn’t waver. I drop my eyes and sit up, moving away from him.

“
Don’t ask me that,” my own voice is low.

“
Don’t you trust me?” he asks. I turn to him, shocked. He’s looking down, drawing patterns on the floor.

“
Of
course
I trust you, Henry. I lo—” I catch myself, but his eyes come to mine, stillness settling over his body. I think about the words I’d almost said; words that can’t be spoken aloud. So I tell him the next truth.

I drop my eyes, take a breath then look at him steadily again. “I mean, you’re my best friend. I trust you more than anyone else. I’m asking
you
to trust
me
when I say I can’t tell you.”

He still hasn’t moved a muscle, watching me, waiting. When I don’t say anything else, he releases a breath, looking away. Finally he nods.

“
I can accept that.” He moves then, coming up onto his knees, pulling me up with him onto my own knees and into his arms. “I don’t like it, but I can accept it.” He keeps one arm about my waist, bringing his other hand up to rest alongside my neck, thumb tracing my jaw. “Can I ask you something else though?”

A little wary now, I nod.

“
Is that all we are? Friends?”

“
Uh…” my thoughts scatter again.

“
Because I thought we were more.” He tips his head down toward mine. When his eyes are just inches from my own, he asks, “How many friends do this?” Then his mouth is on mine.

Heat flows through me as it always does when we’re this close, as if I’m on fire. Tonight it’s more intense with the realization I’ve come to about my love for him. I’d been about to tell him I
loved
him before, and I think he knows it. As soon as I thought the words, I knew it was the truth—that it will always be true. I can’t tell him that though, knowing that what we have now is only for now, that as soon as we graduate he’ll be going away to school. By the time he comes back, his life will have moved on, probably with someone else. Jealousy shoots through me.

We hear the garage door open, and pull apart as the door flies open, spilling his family in. They all come running over to kiss Henry and hug me, even his parents. With them here, the atmosphere is lively and vivid, intimacy gone. But still, while we do our work, Henry keeps his hand entwined with mine, his thumb tracing across the pad of my hand, turning my thoughts to mush. It’s only when he glances up at me from under his lashes with a secret smile that I realize he knows exactly what it’s doing to me. I think of pulling my hand away to wipe the smugness from his face, but then I’ll be without his touch. I’m not dumb enough to torture myself just to prove a point.

Later, as we’re leaving for Henry to take me home, Emma walks with us to the door. “Did Henry tell you we are going to Florida for the holidays?” she asks.

My eyes fly to Henry’s. He’s leaving? My horror must show on my face, because he answers for me.

“
No, Mom, I haven’t told her yet.”

“
Oh,” Emma’s answer is casual, as if she hasn’t just told me I’ll be spending two weeks in misery. Henry squeezes my hand.

“
Well, actually, I know it’s Christmas, which is really a family holiday…”
Hah,
I think,
not where I come from—it’s just another day.
“…but we’d really like you to come with us, if you think it would be okay with your parents.”

I look at her, stunned. They want me to come with them on their family vacation?

“
Paul’s
parents live there, so we’re going down to spend some time with them.”

“
You want me to come with you?” I’m not sure I’ve heard her right.

“
Well, I know it’s a little odd, to ask your parents if you can go on a trip with your boyfriend’s family…”

I look at Henry at the word
boyfriend
, and he simply smiles back cockily, eyebrow raised, daring me to dispute her use of the word.

“
It’s not so much that,” I begin, every fiber of my being wanting to scream yes, “Christmas not being an especially big holiday at our house,”
understatement of the year,
“It’s more, um…” I’m embarrassed at having to tell her there’s no possible way I can afford it. She waits. “It’s not that I wouldn’t like to, I’d
love
to, but, uh….”

“
You think about it,” she says, noticing my discomfort and letting me off the hook. “Talk to your parents and let Henry know. We’d love to have you come.”

She has no idea how tortuous her words are. I’d give my good left arm to go—and the broken right one as well—but since I don’t think there’s a place to sell my arms, I know it’s only fantasy.

We ride home mostly in silence. When we stop in front of my house, he turns the car off and turns toward me.

“
I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were leaving,” I say.

“
Mom wanted to ask you to come herself, and it would have been torture for me to tell you I was going and not be able to ask you to come. If you can’t come, I’m going to stage a mutiny and stay home.”

“
And miss out on Grandpa Henry?” I’m teasing, but I can see the disappointment that passes across his face at the thought.

“
I can’t come, Henry.”

His jaw clenches, but his voice is resigned.

“
Parents wouldn’t let you, huh?”

I try to picture myself even asking my parents, but can’t even imagine it getting to that point. “No, it’s not that. It’s…well, look.” I sweep my hand towards my little dilapidated house in my rundown neighborhood. He looks, then looks back at me, brows furrowed in confusion.

“
So?”

“
Henry, look at my clothes.” He does. “If they could afford to send me to Florida for Christmas, they could afford to buy me at least one outfit that wasn’t secondhand,” I tell him, shamed at admitting this.

Henry’s face clears. “That’s the hold up? Money?”

“
Spoken like one who has plenty to spare,” I grumble.

“
Kate, when my mom asked you to come, she knew you couldn’t afford it.”

“
Then, why…” my thoughts immediately turn to wondering why she would do something so cruel, teasing me like that.

“
They intend to pay for you.”

“
No! Henry, no. I can’t accept that. I’m not a charity case,” I lie, knowing that’s exactly what I am.

“
Kate, sweetheart,” my heart skips a beat at the endearment, the first from his lips, “they wouldn’t offer if they didn’t want to. My whole family happens to be crazy about you. It’s embarrassing to admit but you
know
that they can afford it.”

“
That doesn’t mean I would feel right taking it.”

“
You would let your pride stop you from spending the holidays with me and my family?”

I know he’s trying any tact, even shame, to get me to change my mind. The problem is, it’s working a little.

“
Don’t do that.”

“
What?” He’s genuinely curious.

“
Don’t make it seem like it’s my pride keeping this from being a reality. It’s a matter of right and wrong. And it’s wrong to let someone spend so much on me.”

“
It’s not so much. It won’t change the cost of the place we’re staying at, or most of the meals that we’ll be eating there, since we’ll be eating mostly at the beach house we’re renting. It’s something they really want to do. You’ll break my mom’s heart if you say no.” It’s starting to sound like a painful possibility—painful because it
isn’t
possible—is it? Then he says the thing that makes me crack a little.

“
It’ll break
my
heart if you don’t come.”

I sigh. “I’m pretty sure
she
won’t let me come anyway,” I say, jerking my thumb toward my house.

His sudden smile is brilliant, victorious.

“
But you’ll ask?” He’s triumphant.

I can’t remain strong in the presence of his joy. I smile, “I’ll ask.”

“
Yes!” He shoots a fist up in the air like he’s just scored a touchdown. He kisses me enthusiastically. “When?”

“
When what?” I ask.

“
When will you ask?”

“
Oh. Uh, I don’t know. When the time is right, I guess.”

He’s only slightly deflated.

“
Okay. But don’t wait too long. It’s only two weeks away.”

The next Saturday I arise early and set to cleaning the house quietly but thoroughly. I’ve been taking advantage of my mom’s guilt and slacking in my servant duties. Today I need her nice because today I ask about Florida.

I clean and scrub and organize, and I make sure when I hear her get up that she has a nice lunch waiting. I’m quiet, staying out from underfoot but available if she needs me. By the time I have her dinner cooked, served and cleaned up, I’m exhausted. I really want to go be with Henry.

I walk into the living room, where she sits looking at an old magazine—probably pilfered from her last drug-searching doctor visit. I sit next to her, and she looks at me with a guarded expression.

“
Mom, I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

She sets her magazine to the side—a first—and turns her attention to me.

“
I have something to ask you.” I swallow nervously.

She reaches out toward me, and instinctively I flinch away. She stops abruptly, her hand frozen in the air between us. Something like sadness shadows her eyes. She holds her hand there until the panic leaves my face and I nervously sit up straight. She touches my cheek, with gentleness.