A Bird on a Windowsill (9 page)

Chapter Eleven

Salem 

(Sixteen Years Old)

Day 4,039

“Y
ou leave tomorrow.”

We’re at Hogan’s slab, just standing on the cool concrete, side by side, staring at that big moon.

“No,” she says.

“No what?”

“No, I don’t leave.”

I give her a confused look, but something inside me also springs to life.

“I’ve decided I’m going to stay here. I’m just going to disappear into the wind and stay here forever.”

My chest deflates, as I chuckle softly and take her hand.

The action throws her off, I can tell.

I just figure that if she can put her head on my chest, then I can hold her hand. And plus, I feel as if I’m losing her. I feel as if I’m losing control. And the more time I spend with her, the more I think the boundary between friends and
more
starts to blur.

Her head is lowered. Her focus is on her hand, now intertwined with mine. I like the way her hand feels, but mostly, I like the way it makes me feel—like I could float away if I weren’t tethered to her.

After a few heartbeats, she looks up. She’s breathtaking. I’ve never said that about someone...or even thought that about anyone. But that’s the only word that fits.
Breathtaking
.

Her eyes catch on mine. I study the greens, the golds, the browns that swirl around her thoughts. It’s as if they’re pulling me in.

She doesn’t move. She just keeps her wandering stare in mine. My breaths quicken. My heart beats faster and faster.

I move my face closer to hers. She doesn’t move away.

I move in even closer, and just like that, our lips are touching.

An electric shock zings through my body.

I move my mouth over hers. She doesn’t pull away. In fact, she does the same. Adrenaline shoots through my core and out to my limbs.

They’re just a few moments—a few, crazy moments of untamed emotion, and then our lips part. But those few moments just might have been the best few moments of my life.

She’s staring into my eyes. I’m too damn happy to be terrified, but my mind is telling me that maybe I should be...a little.

“What was that?” she asks.

She sounds nervous, maybe even a little panicked.

“A kiss,” I mumble, hoarsely.

My heart starts to race again. I don’t want her to run. She looks as if she’s going to run. A second goes by, then two, then three.

“Okay,” she whispers.

And the space between us grows silent. And then something changes in her eyes. It’s as if fear is replaced with desire. And I can’t help but be drawn to her.

I rest my hand on the back of her head and then pause before pulling her close.

Our lips touch, and it’s even better than the first time—if that’s possible. This time, her lips are hungry, as if this dance is something she had longed for—just as much as I had longed for her. It’s a slow burn, mixed with love and want and passion—eleven years in the making.

And then, it’s over. And she presses her forehead to mine.

“Vannah.” I take a quick breath. “I could really get used to this.”

She smiles softly.

“Don’t,” she whispers.

Her sad word brings me back down to earth.

“We’re just friends,” she says, shaking her head.

I pull away from her but keep my hands resting on her shoulders. There’s this uncertainty on her face. It makes me think she doesn’t even believe what she’s saying.

“And I leave tomorrow,” she adds.

She looks down at the concrete before finding my eyes again. I wish I could make her see what I see—that what we were and where we’ll be doesn’t matter.

I sigh inwardly and wrap my arms around her. My heart aches for her—for her time, for her kiss, for moments like this I might never get again. I think it’s all kind of just hitting me now.

Her head rests on my chest. I can hear her breathe in and then slowly breathe out, as the seconds fall away into the soft breeze.

It’s dark out. There’s a smell of honeysuckle in the air. I can hear the creek water softly moving through the big piece of concrete under our feet.

For a few, perfect seconds, her head presses against my heart. And I feel as if she’s mine—mine to hold, mine to love. Then, without warning, she steps back, forcing my arms from around her.

I watch her, as she walks backwards a couple steps, keeping her gaze on me. And if I’m not mistaken, there are tears in her eyes. Then suddenly, she stops and lowers herself to the edge of the slab.

“You coming?” She looks back at me but then turns before I can answer. And in her next move, she’s lying back against the chipped and weathered concrete.

My heart is still pounding, but somehow, I manage to convince my body to move toward her.

“Here,” I say, pulling off my tee shirt.

She looks up at me. It wasn’t really my intention, but her stare lingers on my midsection.

“It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“No, just take it. I’m hot anyway.”

She gives me a playful smile, and then she takes the shirt. I watch her fold it into threes and then position it under her head.

“Here,” she says, patting one side of the tee shirt, “there’s enough room for two.”

I look at the little piece of cloth next to her head, and without hesitation, I press my back against the hard concrete and lay my head next to hers.

“Eben?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I take a breath and then force it out.

“Well, my dad’s hell-bent on handing down the lumberyard to me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her head bob.

“Are you hell-bent on taking it?”

I laugh. “Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I wouldn’t mind taking it over someday. It’s been in the family for years.”

She breathes out a smile.

“Maybe I’ll work for the
Times
.”

“
The New York Times
?”

“Yeah.”

“All the way in New York?”

“Maybe,” she says.

We both sit there then, listening to the water soothingly make its way from one side of the slab to the other.

“I’m gonna call you...after you’re gone,” I say, breaking the sweet silence.

“I know,” she says.

I reach for her hand, and she lets me hold it.

And I just smile. My heart’s breaking, but I smile anyway because despite what tomorrow brings, I still have her tonight.

And I don’t know how much time goes by before we both drift off to sleep, our sides touching, her hand in mine—maybe for one, last time.

V
annah:
You get home okay?

Eben:
Safe and sound.

Vannah:
:) Good.

Eben:
I had fun tonight.

Vannah:
Me too.

Eben:
When do you leave?

Vannah:
In about 5 hours.

Eben:
:(

Vannah:
You still haven’t finished the story.

Eben:
Oh, yeah

Vannah:
What does the boy wish for? My bet’s on the x-ray vision.

Eben:
Haha!

Eben:
His wish is for the girl.

Vannah:
So he can have all the wishes he wants?

Eben:
Yeah. Something like that. ;)

Vannah:
Eben

Eben:
Yeah

Vannah:
I’d stay if I could.

Eben:
I know

Eben:
I’m going to miss you.

Vannah:
I already miss you.

Eben:
You should get some sleep.

Vannah:
Probably

Eben:
Don’t stay away forever.

Vannah:
I won’t.

Eben:
Promise?

Vannah:
Promise

Eben:
Good night, V

Vannah:
Sweet dreams, E

Chapter Twelve

Salem 

(Sixteen Years Old)

Day 4,041

I
t’s the 2nd of October, and it’s the first day that Savannah isn’t at her usual spot in the hallway before school.

I look around to make sure no one is looking, and I open her locker door, just to see if she’s really gone.

Inside, the shelves are empty—no books, no pictures of her or her friends or Rusty, no bag, no sign of Vannah. But then I see a little folded up piece of paper sitting on the shelf, and I quickly snatch it up.

I start to unfold it, guessing it’s probably just some old note to a friend or a schedule of some kind or something like that, when I stop.

I see my name, and my heart jumps. And my eyes immediately go to reading the rest:

I knew you’d go snooping around my locker after I was gone. I should have left some sort of booby trap!

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I already miss you. This last month was the best month of my life. It stinks it had to end.

You’re my favorite person.

Love,

Vannah

P.S. You better tell me when you find my star tower.

P.P.S. The gift is for Rusty. And by Rusty, I mean you. I needed a new one anyway.
:)

Gift?

The locker is empty.

I furrow my brow and close the door. Then I carefully fold the note, stick it deep into my pocket and open the locker right next to hers.

And then I see it.

Stuffed at the very bottom of my locker is a bed comforter—one with little purple cats all over it.

W
e talked on the phone that whole semester after that. We talked about our days, about Rusty, about her new life in South Carolina and our old life we used to have back here. And then as the winter drew on, we talked less and less. She got a job babysitting for a wealthy couple on some place called Rainbow Row down there, and it snowed here just enough to keep me knee-deep in the snow-removal business—the winter business in the grass business. And then one day, I don’t know how or why I noticed it just then, but in the middle of a basketball practice the next year, it just hit me: I hadn’t really talked to Vannah for months.

I remember feeling lost in that moment, like someone had just punched me in the gut and left me in some strange place.

I figured she was living her life. The occasional
How are you?
text was nice, but it wasn’t quite the same as hearing her voice.

I missed her voice. In fact, I vowed I’d never forget her voice. Every day, I’d replay her saying my name in my head. I think I figured that if I always had her voice, I always had her.

I wish that were true.