Heart on a Chain (20 page)

“
I haven’t been much of a mother to you, have I?”

I’m sure my mouth falls open, but I’m not about to agree with her and set her off.

“
I’m sorry about that. I wish we could wind back time…” she looks away, dropping her hand. “What did you want to ask?”

I take a breath. “I have a friend,” I almost smile at the word, thinking of Henry’s face when I called him a
friend
, “and my friend’s family invited me to go on a trip with them during school vacation.”

“
You have school vacation coming up?”

“
Yeah, Mom, for Christmas.”

“
Oh.”

I hold my breath. She hasn’t said no yet, nor gotten angry.

“
You want to go away for Christmas?” She looks at me, stunned.

I nod.

She lets out a breath.

“
But what will I do without you here?”

“
It’s only two weeks. Then I’ll be home again.”

She shakes her head, and I feel a stinging disappointment.

“
Well, I suppose it’s the least I can give you now.”

I stare at her. Is she saying…? She looks at me.

“
I can go?” I dare ask.

“
I guess,” she sighs.

A wide grin splits my face. I feel like I’m soaring—higher than I’ve ever been able to get on my swing. I stand up, controlling my reaction so she won’t have reason to take it away. On a whim, I lean down and kiss her cheek.

“
Thank you,” I tell her. I hurry up the stairs to my room, closing myself in before falling on my bed in ecstasy, laughing at my good fortune. It’s so much more than I could have hoped for.

That night I dream.

The sky is gray and overcast. I hurry out to swing first thing in the morning, my first time after having it delivered and cemented in by the big delivery men. It’s the quiet time of day; there isn’t any yelling going on yet. I know there will be a lot of yelling today, because Dad had come home really late again last night, stumbling and cursing loudly as he banged against the walls.

The cursing and stumbling had started two days earlier when Dad had come home too early from work, announcing that he had lost his job. He smelled funny, and his words were slurred.

There’s never been any cursing in our house, and Dad had never been drunk before. I only knew he was drunk because Mom had called him that that first day. He had stormed out of the house, slamming the door and that was when her tears had started. That night when he came home the yelling had begun. It continued the next afternoon when he had finally stumbled out of bed, and was followed by another door-slamming-storm-out, then more yelling again that night when he came home drunk again.

I know it will be the same today because there’s a new pattern forming in our family.

Mom is crying a lot. She has a new, pinched look around her mouth that I’ve never seen before. I‘m scared. I don’t like it. It makes me feel vulnerable. So I stay in my room, hiding, only coming out when Mom comes to get me for lunch or dinner.

On this, the third day, I know the cement is dry, and I want to swing. So I do, without even asking for permission first. I grab the chains on both sides of the middle swing and hop up with a push of my feet. As I begin to swing, I feel my world right itself a little bit. Even though I’m a young girl, I can recognize the normalcy of the activity, a kid out on her swing with no yelling coming from her house.

As I push myself a little higher I feel a tightening in my abdomen with each drop back towards the earth. Soon, I’m going pretty high, almost high enough to see over into the neighbor’s backyard.

I don’t know how long I’ve been swinging when I hear my dad call for my mom. She answers, with a yell of her own, and then they both started arguing in earnest, their voices getting louder.

I swing higher.

The wind whistles past my ears, blurring the sound somewhat, so I push higher. I don’t get off the swing when Dad starts calling her names that I would definitely get my mouth washed out for saying. I don’t get off when she screams back. I don’t get off when I heard what sounds like someone getting smacked on the cheek, or when the pitiful crying starts, or when I hear Dad slam out of the front door, his tires squealing as he speeds away. I don’t even get off when the quiet returns, and time passes and my stomach growls with hunger.

I figure the swinging has to be a good thing—it dries the tears no one else will.

Then, the familiar dream—a memory really—changes. I’m still swinging, but I’m not alone. Henry sits next to me, holding my hand. Instead of the terrifying noises coming from my house, I hear laughter. Suddenly, the rest of Henry’s family comes out of the back door to join us. They are the source of the laughter. Most surprising of all, they are followed by my own parents—not as they are now, but as they had been before. Young and happy, smiling at each other and at me.

I jerk awake, feel the tears sliding down my cheeks. I smile at the new turn in my dream, but my smile fades as I realize the impossibility of it. My tears become a self-pitying torrent as I bury my face in my pillow, praying for a dreamless sleep to take me away.

I wait until I’m at Henry’s for dinner on Sunday to break the news. I tell all of them at dinner, and am pleasantly amazed at their response. Emma claps,
Christine
squeals, and Claire and Amy jump up in joy, rounding the table to hug me joyously. Dr. Jamison reaches across to squeeze my hand. The best reaction is from Henry. He doesn’t say anything, just leans his jaw against his fist. But his face is alight with happiness, the smile on his face and the look in his eyes just for me, satisfaction radiating from him.

Chapter Fourteen

I come home
from school the day before we’re scheduled to leave and find an old suitcase sitting on my bed. I open it and inside lays a one-hundred-dollar bill, tacked to a note that simply reads, “Merry Christmas.” I know what this cost them, and feel tears start at the kindness behind it.

It doesn’t take me long to pack, since I really don’t own many clothes, throwing my personal items into grocery bags and putting those in the suitcase. I have an old swimsuit because it had been required the year before for gym class, so I throw that in, not knowing if I’ll need it or not. Lastly, I throw in my tattered pajamas, hoping Henry will not have occasion to ever see me in them.

I tell Henry I should probably stay home tonight, since I’ll be gone for so long. It terrifies me, though, that
she
might come in and take this away from me at the last minute. I know his family will have preparation themselves and probably don’t need me underfoot, so no matter how much I want to be with him, I stay home.

I look at the money as I slip it into my pocket, and suddenly, decide to do something. I need help though. I call Henry and ask him if he can help me. I take the money that had been left in the suitcase, and hurry downstairs, out the front door.

He drives me first to the mall. I make him promise to wait for me where he won’t be able to see what I’m doing. I go to one of the kiosks that sell knick-knacks and pick out a sterling silver ornament for my parents. I pick up a few other things for Henry and his family, and a roll of Christmas wrapping paper. I buy a small tabletop pre-decorated plastic Christmas tree from a discount store. It isn’t anything like Emma’s large pine tree covered with beautiful things, but it’s more than we currently have—which is no tree at all.

I wait until I know my parents are in bed before going back downstairs to set the tree up, placing the wrapped gift underneath. I go back to bed and sleep fitfully until my alarm sounds at five a.m. Hurrying to get dressed, I grab my suitcase and run down the stairs to find Henry already waiting for me there in the pre-dawn darkness.

He drives me back to his house, where we transfer my suitcase into their already packed family SUV. We drive to the airport, butterflies in my stomach at the thought of my first flight.
Christine
is tired, having been dragged out of bed so early and not really caring about the excitement of a trip. She insists that Henry carry her and won’t let anyone else touch her. So he carries her in one arm, and keeps the other around me.

The flight is amazing. How many times have I been on my swing, pushing myself higher to try to get the sensation of flying? Now here I am, really doing it. Henry lets me have the window seat so I can look out. I keep my hand clamped to Henry’s, but my eyes outside, watching the sun begin to rise as we take off, amazed at the sight of clouds
below
me. Even if we had landed, turned around and went back home, I would have been happy.

We’re staying in a small, white house not far from the airport. We pull into the garage, and unload our baggage from the rental van. There’s a smell in the air that I can’t quite place, but I like it. It smells clean and kind of salty.

We walk into the house, coming down a short hallway into a large living area. My feet skid to a halt and my suitcase drops from my hand, thudding loudly on the floor. Henry drops his own bag and sets
Christine
down, hurrying back to my side, a look of alarm on his face.

“
Kate, what’s wrong?”

He follows my gaze. I’m staring out the back of the house, which is made up entirely of glass windows that go ceiling to floor. But it isn’t those extraordinary windows that have caused my reaction. It’s the sight beyond it.

“
Is that the ocean?” I ask, awed.

“
Well, yeah. Haven’t you ever seen it before?”

“
No.”

“
Take her out and let her see it up close, Henry,” Emma calls from another room.

Henry smiles at me, taking my hand and leading me out through the glass door. There’s a deck attached to the back of the house, with three steps down to the sand.

“
Wait,” he says, kneeling down to roll my pant legs up and tug my shoes off. “You’ve gotta take your shoes off to get the full experience.” Standing on the deck I realize that what I had smelled a little in the garage was stronger out here, and accompanied by the rhythmic sounds of the waves hitting shore and birds squawking overhead.

After Henry removes his own shoes, and rolls his pant legs up, we walk down to the shoreline, sand squishing between our toes, warm on the top, cool underneath. The blue water comes rushing up with a wave, washing over my feet. I squeal as the cold water hits me, leaping away from Henry and running up above the watermark. I turn back to see him standing in water up to his ankles. He’s grinning ear to ear. The ocean makes a wide, beautiful, writhing backdrop behind him.

“
Come on,” he calls.

“
It’s cold!” I exclaim.

“
Come on, wimp,” he taunts.

The water is already back down the shore, his feet half-buried in the sand now. I walk back toward him, poised to run when it comes back. He grabs my hand and urges me closer to the water.

“
No!” I laugh, standing firm as he pulls me toward the sea. He laughs and scoops me up into his arms, walking purposefully as the water again rushes at us.

“
Put me down,” I cry, still laughing.

Instead of answering, he pulls me closer to him, planting his mouth firmly on mine. All of my protests are forgotten in the warmth of his lips. Slowly he releases my legs, letting me slide down the length of his body as the water swirls around his ankles. My feet touch the water, and I start to pull away, but he holds me tight, deepening the kiss.

It’s an amazing sensation, heat flooding through my body, icy coldness at my feet—ice colliding with fire. My eyes pop open in surprise and I see him watching me intently. That look alone is enough to douse the ice with the flames and I give my struggle up, rather enjoying myself even as the ocean recedes.