Painted Boots (23 page)

44

KYLE GATHERS ME
up, wrapping himself around me like an emotional cocoon.  He holds me so carefully I wonder if he’s known the truth all along.

“Those words are mine, girl,” he whispers.

“But—”

“But
nothin’.  I’m taking on the burden.  Those words are mine.  Don’t you let them trouble you more.”

“
But I feel so guilty, like I should talk to the police.”

“
You think the cops don’t know?  They have your journal.  They know every step Em took against you.  When they found us that night, you were broken.  You were nearly dead.  In the ambulance the paramedics hardly knew where to start for the blood coverin’ your face and dryin’ in your hair and seepin’ up through your clothes.  Once they got us to the hospital they found gashes in your skin, damage everywhere.  They know, like I know, you fought for your life.  And mine.”

“It’s that I’m sure
Em knew she was going to fall.  I didn’t realize it then, but she was begging me to help her.”

“Help her with what? 
Back to solid ground so she could finish what she started?  I was there, girl.  Sittin’ in the truck, gulping down shards of rock cold air.  I heard Em screaming too.”

“
But what did you do?  Did you help her?”

“
Had I wanted to, I couldn’t.  Just the effort of opening my door left my head spinning between brown and black.  I fought to stay awake only because I knew you were in trouble.  But I can’t speak to what I might have done had I been whole.  I just don’t know.  Em chose violence and dragged us there with her.  We’d fought that day.  I’d had it.  Maybe she was out cruisin’, still mad and looking for me.  Maybe she was hell-bent on revenge.  All I know is when she saw my truck she turned around and came up alongside us.  I tried slowing.  I tried speeding up.  She side-swiped us, lost control, then went off the road into a ditch.  But by then I was going too fast.  Near the bridge we hit ice and spun.  The last thing I remember is the truck slidin’ up the guardrail like a skateboard.”

I stare at the ceiling,
watching it turn from black to fuzzy gray.  “I guess I hadn’t thought about the crash being Em’s fault.”

“
Everything was Em’s fault.”  Kyle cups my face in his hand and pulls until he can look into my eyes.  “I blame her for all of it and always will.  Maybe she was sorry at the end, yeah, but hers was the kind of sorry that comes from not having anything else to be.”

“It’s just. 
Hard to think about.”

“
Then don’t think on it.  I’m the one who set her death in motion.  I told the cops so.  Em and I went out shooting all the time.  I know how she looks, holding a gun.  I meant to hit her with the truck’s door, and I did.  But if anybody’s to blame for Em dyin’, it’s Em.”

I
drape my arm around Kyle’s waist.  The memory of that night floods over me.  “She had me,” I say.  “I thought I’d failed and that I was dead and then you were dead, too.  I fought so hard, and it meant nothing.  I couldn’t begin to stop her.  You saved us, and I don’t think I’ve even said as much as thanks.”

“
I saved you.  But it’s your dad who saved us, girl.  We both owe him, the way I see it.”

“What?”

“I never told you, but I called him that night as we neared Gillette.  I was trying to work things out.  We’d been talking a while when Em passed us on Garner.  Your dad knew she’d turned round.  He knew she was giving chase.  I was telling him the play-by-play right up until I lost control.  Your dad called the cops.  We would have froze to death, otherwise.”

“
But he’s never said a thing!”

“
You’ve got him on pins, ignoring him the way you do.  You won’t see how his choices favor you.  You won’t accept he’s always been on our side.  So he took you when he feared for your life.  I should have done the same.  He thought Em was out to get you and girl, he was right.”

“It’s just the way he did it.”

Kyle traces my eyebrows with his fingertip.  “He loves you, Aspen.  His aim was to protect you, nothing more.  He’s lost his family once.  You really want to put him there again?  I get how forgiving people close to you can be a complicated thing.  But your dad.  I’m hoping you still want his love.”

I catch my breath
, not knowing what to say.  I’ve pushed Dad aside for a long time now, and not just over the stuff with Em.  I’ve second-guessed him. I wouldn’t trust.  I didn’t believe he knew my heart.  I wanted on with my life, demanding my terms while denying Dad his own—especially when it came to Jesse.  And through it all, Dad’s been patient.  Understanding, even.  “I’m an idiot,” I say.

Kyle holds me tight, stroking my hair.  When he
kisses my forehead he lingers there in a way that reminds me of sealing wax, warm and sure.  “What you are is deep.  You’re an anchor, girl, a bonding soul.  You’re that for lots of people—your dad and me, too.  I need your love in my life.  I need you.  That you had to fight the way you did, and on my account, breaks me some.  But I’m glad the fight took its toll.  Had you been clear enough to help Em, you would have.”

“No
, I wouldn’t—”

Kyle
shakes his head.  “She was begging, Aspen.  She was begging for your help.  I was half-conscious, the pain in my leg searing me from inside out.  My thoughts drifted to the day you hugged Evvie.  You forgave her when anybody else would have left her drowning in her tears.  It was sweet of you, then.  But listening to Em beg, knowing you were hurt and I was hurt, the memory scared me.  Evvie, she respected your forgiveness.  But Em wasn’t the forgivin’ type.  Had you helped her, we’d both be dead.”

I
nod, swallowing at my tears.  Kyle rests on his elbow.  His eyes shine like sapphires in the early morning light.  He kisses my cheek as I say, “I need to tell you one more thing.”

“What’s that
, girl?” he whispers.  His lips brush my nose.  He kisses near my mouth.

“W
hen you dropped out of your truck, I could have sworn you were Devil’s Tower.  Your shadow had its shape.”

Kyle
starts to shake.

“W
hat—wait.  You’re laughing?”

“
Sorry,” he says, and rolls to his back.  He wipes at his eyes.

“What’s so funny?”

“You just solved a little mystery that’s been plaguing me.  I crawled to you and held you while we waited on the cops.  You were cold as ice and delirious, humming five notes, over and over.  The theme tag from ‘Close Encounters.’”

I
smile, then.  I can’t help it.  “My mom loved that movie,” I say.

Kyle
takes my hand and laces our fingers together.  “Maybe she was with you that night.”

Maybe.
  Mom was in my heart that night.  She was in my thoughts.  But Dad?  He was there.

45

EVERY NOW AND
then I glance to where my classmates wait, fixing their caps and gowns, laughing and teasing each other as they get ready to march onto the field.  The Tower County colors are everywhere: blue and gold streamers, balloons and endless yards of bunting.  Someone has lined the stage with hundreds of potted pansies.  I love the sight of so many rugged little flowers all arcing for the sun.  And I’ll admit from here, part-way up the bleachers, Mom would say
It’s not enough!
But I don’t care.  It’s my graduation!

The band
begins to warm up.  A thrill of panic races through me.  If I’m going to talk to Dad, I’ll need to hurry.

I spot
Jesse, walking across the grass alone.  She’s scouting the bleachers as she goes, her hand held like a visor against the sun, her hair a tumble of shining bronze.  I run down the stairs two at a time and meet her just before she starts to climb.  “Where’s?  I mean, hey, Jesse.  Is my dad here, too?”

Jesse smiles.
  “’Course he’s here,” she says.  “He’s waiting on Angie and Ray, back by the goal posts.  I’m supposed to save us seats.”

I turn and run
.  I almost forget to shout, “Thanks, Jesse!”

Tower County’s football field
is rimmed by an eight-lane track the color of a red rubber band.  I stay in the center, my elbows pumping.  It feels so good to run that I barely feel the ground beneath my feet.  The sound of my boots is sure; they know where they’re going.  My gold gown flows around me like a silky flag.  It tangles between my legs, slowing me down.  I toss my cap and yank the gown over my head and let it fly.

I see Dad now.  I see him!  He
looks great—his hair more honey-colored than it ever was in Portland, his shirt bright yellow and freshly pressed, his faded jeans brushing the tops of new cowboy boots.  He waves and I wave, too.  He calls out, “Hey baby.”

I
don’t bother with hello.  I crash into him and wrap my arms around his waist.  It’s been one year since Mom died—one year yesterday!  All that time I believed Dad didn’t understand me.  All that time I figured I was on my own to sort things out.  I’d convinced myself he couldn’t help.  But I was wrong.  He’s been with me every step of the way.

I feel like such a jerk.

I hug him and hug him, trying hard to make up for all the hugs I know I’ve held back.  My tears well up as Dad strokes my hair.  He kisses the crown of my head.  He says, “Aspen.  Hey.  I didn’t expect to see you until after.  What—”

“I love you, Dad.”  I look up
.  I need to see his eyes.  Dad brushes at my tears and I smile while I cry a little more.  “I love you, Daddy!  I haven’t told you once, not since we moved here, not since . . . not since Portland.  I’m so sorry!  I love you and I always will and now I’m going away until September and I can’t go without telling you how much I love you.  I want us to always be family.  I feel so stupid!  I’ve been so selfish!  You’ve always been there and I didn’t see it and I don’t know why and will you forgive me?  I need you!”

Dad
presses his finger to my lips.  “You nut,” he says, but his eyes are bright.  “You’re my little girl.  I’ll love you forever, no matter what.  I love you when times are good.  I love you when things are rough.  Nothing could tear my heart from you, baby.  I’ll always, always love you.”

I hug Dad close.  “
It’s just.  I’ve been so rotten to you this year.”

“
Aspen, honey.  We’re programmed to fight for independence.  I’ve been there.  I know.  Your fight just coincided with a lot of life-changing loss.  It coincided with danger.  I love you so much, baby.  I thought I’d lost you, that I made too many mistakes.”

“You’ll never lose me!” I say.

“And you’ll never lose me.”  Dad presses a kiss to the side of my head.  He wraps his arms around my shoulders and rocks me side to side, like he used to do when I was younger and I’d stand on top of his feet.  “Let’s look forward, ‘kay?  We’ve had a tough year, but it hasn’t all been bad.  Let’s only remember the good stuff.”

“It’s a deal,” I say.

Dad holds me close.  He says, “Well now.  You caught me huggin’ your girl.”

With my
cheek still pressed against his shirt, I ask, “What?”

From somewhere behind me, Kyle laughs.  “It’s an honor
Graydon, to hear you say that.”

Dad smiles
—I feel it in the way his face moves against the side of my head.  He squeezes me tight and whispers in my ear, “Do you remember how your mom always spoke for me?”

I nod. 
“Yeah.”

“
This time, I’ll speak for her.  Aspen, sweet, it thrills your mother, and me as well, to know you’ve found your other half.”

We enter the field just like we practiced, marching in alphabetical order while the school band plays the standard fare.  I take my seat in the second row, right between Madison Borrow and Celia Bunt.

The vice-principal gives the welcome.  Two teachers
follow—Mrs. Martin and Mr. Goldberg.  Listening to them talk about the joys of teaching the senior class, it’s easy to imagine how they might give the same speech every year.  Like they keep it on file, or something.

But when it’s time for the valedictorian to speak I sit up
straight, craning to see.  Kyle stands from his place near the back then walks the center aisle, the limp from his broken leg so slight I’m sure I’m the only one to notice.  At the front of the seating he turns right, taking the stairs up to the stage.  He looks different in his blue graduation gown and mortarboard, red honor sashes and tasseled gold cords—until I glance toward his feet.  Black cowboy boots poke from beneath the frayed hem of his indigo jeans.

He
spreads two sheets of paper across the podium’s surface then taps the microphone.  He scans the class, finds me, and says, “Hey, girl.”  After that, he stares at his notes.

When he looks up again his eyes are darker than they were before.  He
shrugs, gathers up his speech and crumples it into a tight ball.  “This here’s the usual crap,” he says.  The crowd laughs.  “It’s the usual here we go out into the great yonder stuff I figured everybody talks about at graduation.” Kyle takes off his mortarboard and finger combs his hair.  He lifts the honor sashes from around his neck then removes his gown.  “That’s better,” he says, piling everything at his feet.

He’s
beyond gorgeous, dressed in a crisp white western-style shirt and the obsidian bolo tie he still won’t let me wear.  His KDT tie, he calls it.  The sky above him is brilliant blue, dotted with whipped-cream clouds.  The crowd quiets as he rolls his shirt sleeves until they rest below his elbows.

“Thing is,
” he says, “This hasn’t been a usual year.  This year’s brought stuff for me most people don’t face in a full life of living.  And Dad, I hope you’ll understand my need to talk about my brother.  Because what happened this year took root three years back, when Evan died.

“
It’s strange to say now, but I didn’t know a thing about myself back then.  I thought I did, but I was wrong.  I knew where I came from, sure.  I knew the Thacker way.  But my life was easy.  On a platter.  Evan parted the waters and I followed in his wake.”

Kyle
pauses.  He glances at me.  “I didn’t know that one big change changes everything.  With Evan gone and my parents eaten up by grief, I found myself alone for the first time, ever.  I didn’t know how to do that, to be alone.  It split me in half.  The part of me aching for my brother turned to music.  The part of me aching for comfort turned to Em.  One good choice.  One bad.”

Behind me, someone catches their breath. 
Celia Bunt whispers, “Oh.  My.  God.”

Kyle
gazes upward, his eyes at one with the sky.  “I don’t know how many of you have been lost,” he says.  “But I can tell you, from experience, there are things in this world that in an instant bring you to your knees.”

He waves his hand toward the school.  “
This place seemed like everything, right?  This place felt like our universe.  That’s an illusion.  This place doesn’t even qualify as practice for what waits for us out there.  It’s obvious this place came easy for me—I mean, I’m standin’ here, the owner of a shiny four-point-oh.  But what’s that mean, really?  You miss a test, your grade goes down.  Big deal.  You stumble in your life, you build your choices in the wrong direction and before you know it, you’re staring up from the bottom of something deep and dark, with no thought to how you might crawl out.  That’s how it was, for me.”

Tears glisten in Kyle’s eyes
.  I feel the warm sting of tears in my own.  It’s a moment before he’s able to continue.  “When I took up with Em I had all this hope that somehow, she’d ease me through my grief.  I wasn’t seeing how I was runnin’ from the responsibility of working through Evan’s loss.  Things went bad fast with Em and I’m embarrassed to say I stayed on, from fear, mostly.  My world turned unrecognizable, made of feelings I couldn’t navigate and pain I didn’t understand and behavior I’d never been taught to confront.  You could say I let go of my own reins and I’ll tell you, it’s been tough to get them back.  I didn’t know how to change my course.  I was too numb, too shell-shocked, over Evan’s death.”

Kyle grips the podium with both hands.  He leans toward the
mic.  “But I’ve since learned each of us has a resilient side, some inner spark that doesn’t want to let us die.  Mine created haven.  It sheltered me, and in a talent I’d never thought to develop.  It took till the start of my senior year before I found the courage to step out and try for change.  And I won’t lie—the first move I made toward a different life came with a lot of hurt.  For me, for my family, for Aspen, my girl.  Things went wrong.  Things spiraled from bad to worse.  But I discovered if you aim for what you want and stay fierce about it, the change you’re hopin’ for will come.”  From behind the podium, Kyle grabs his black felt hat.  He holds it in his hands, smoothing the crease and rim.  A smile blossoms in his eyes.  He fits the hat on his head.

A girl sitting
four rows back jumps to her feet.  “You’re KDT!” She spins around, her graduation gown electric gold in the sunlight.  “Bethie!  I knew it!  It’s like I told you.  He’s KDT!”

Other people know, too; I see it on their faces.

Kyle grins, revealing the dimple that still makes me want to squeal.  “Quiet down now,” he says.  “Give me a moment to get things set.  I’ve got a point to make, but it’ll be best made if I sing it.”

Through the cheers and clapping
, and above the chatter of “Who’s KDT,” Kyle holds my gaze.  He says into the mic, loud and clear, “Time to come on up here, girl.”