Pieces of a Mending Heart (13 page)

             
He smirks, shoving his hands into the pockets o
f his jeans. “Anytime, Katie
. I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you want a ride to school?” he asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

             
Stomach teeming with butterflies, I have to physically force myself to not jump up and down. Crossing my ankles, I lean against the doorframe. “Sure,” is all I can say without squealing like a five year old.

             
Tristan nods, winking a blue eye at me. “Pick you up at
quarter after seven
, ok?” I  nod, letting my smile widen. “Well, until then, sweet dreams, Katherine,” he says, and then he turns on his heel and walks off towards the road. I didn’t realize he hadn’t brought a car here.

             
Spinning around in the doorway, I walk inside and shut the door just as the last ray of sun disappears from the sky, following Tristan down the road. I place a hand over my mouth, feeling my quickened breaths beat against my palm.

             
I’m emotionally exhausted, but the idea of closing my eyes seems crazy. There is too much to process that I haven’t even begun to think ab
out. The fact that everything i
s falling into place so perfect
ly doesn’t seem real. My life i
sn’t like this; fairytales don’t happen to sinners like me. They happen to the pretty cheerleaders
who are Mother Teresa’s great-great-granddaughters
who haven’t been deemed mentally unstable.

             
Yet it is happening; my fairytale is coming true. Tristan i
s
so much more than what he seems
, and he seemed pretty great before I even really knew him. The fact that he and I were interconnected so deeply that God himself fashioned our souls into one entity was unfathomab
le. A happiness and peace soars so high in my heart that I feel like I will float away if a good wind sweeps
in. I haven’t felt happiness like this in all my life, never before have I felt so light.

             
It’s as though my world has stopped its orbit in the solar system, bypassing the sun and every other planet in its path, making its way to its tru
e destination. My world revolves
around a new sun, a sun sent to me
from the Lord himself to coat
my world, not in darkness, but
in
light.

             
The tall, wooden grandfather
clock in the dining room chimes seven times. I didn’t realize
how much time Tristan and I spent on the hil
l today, but now that my mind i
s beginning to comprehend th
e situation, my human body begins
to fail me once
ag
ain. A wave of exhaustion rolls
ove
r me just as headlights streak
through the window, painting the interior walls with a
rtificial brightness. I squint
before running down the hall and into the bathroom.

Not in the mood to talk any mo
re, I rush
to jump in
the shower so Aunt Rachel ca
n’t badger me with questions about my day. I wasn’t going to tell anybody about it, so she could just keep her questions to herself.

             
I
stop
scrubbing my hair, stunned with a sudden revelation. All day, I hadn’t felt anything out of place. Anything meaning… feelings. I felt nothing I wasn’t supposed to; no guilt, no je
alousy, no overwhelming sadness. N
othing but pure cont
entment. My eyes widen slightly
and I wonder why my punishment was revoked for the day. Usually, an errant thought would send me into a tizzy of knots and give me a stomach ache that would make the world go fuzzy.

It’s Tristan
, I think. When he and I are together, our punishments balance the others; he feels my every feeling, but can make them go away by simply touching my hand. When he takes it away I
’m free to feel happiness again,
and that feeling seeps into him. That explains why he was so eager to touch me; he wanted to make himself feel better. Sure, I bet he wanted to make me more comfortable too, but now that I had a reason to doubt his kindness, I felt the familiar pangs of greed and sadness.

Greed is a funny thing; it tastes
like a penn
y, if you were to lick it. It i
sn’t just a word to describe a self-centered person, either… No, it was a word to describe a person who wanted what they didn’t or couldn’t have. I wanted Tristan; I knew he w
as rightfully mine, in some way, but that didn’t mean I could just swoop in and take him.

A peculiar sensation washes through me, running over my skin like the hot water of my shower. It feels almost like… foam. I feel the need to close my eyes, and once I do, I see three words sprawled across my closed eyelids.

Love,

Betrayal,

Peace.

Call it intuition, inspiration, or wishful thinking, but I know these words will be somehow connected with Tristan. It makes sense; he floated into my life like a dandelion s
eed, planting rays of hope and
promise
s
of new beginnings. Two out of the three words I just saw made sense, but what was betrayal doing in there? Like a black sheep in a Shepard’s herd, it stood out to me the most, leaving a feeling of dread behind.

A
fist pounding on the door jars
my attention back to where I am and what I’m
doing; aimlessly standing in the shower,
daydreaming. Briefly, a flashback plays across my vision, and I can see my father’s fist pounding against the wall.

“Katherine, what in the hell are you doing in there? I got home an hour ago, girl! Come on out so
we can chat,” Aunt Rachel yells
so I could hear her over the roar of the running water.

“Okay!” I shout
bac
k, surprising myself. I’m not
one to give unnecessary replies, and I could feel a smile creeping up on my face as I turned off the water and began to towel dry my curly locks.

Yes, things were changing. Quicker than I would’ve thought possible, I could feel the broken
heart in my chest begin to mend.

* * *

Standing in front of my pathetic excuse for a closet, I wrack my brains for any reason as to why my uniform skirt would not be on its proper hanger. No, I’m not an obsessive-compulsive person, but if my skirt was missing, I would be forced to wear the horrible black dress-slacks as a Plan-B.

Aunt Rachel had gone to the barn about an hour
ago to take care of the horses and I still haven’t
told her of my day with Tristan. She had been to the barn last night and commented on the saddle being moved, but I simply shrugged it off and continued to
eat. Knowing that she somehow knew Tristan bothered me, but simply because I hated unsolved mysteries.

Taking one
final glance in my closet, I see
the skirt buried beneath a sweatshirt, wrinkled and unwashed. I cuss under my breath, resigning myself to wearing t
hose awful dress-pants. At seven fifteen, I run
a brush through my hair, which is wavier than curly today. My green eyes stand out the most on my plain face, which is quite unremarkable if you ask me. I sigh, wondering what made me special enough to warrant a visit from God. Wondering what made me special enough to deserve a second chance… to deserve Tristan.

Three knocks signaled on the front door, making
me run
down the hall, feet barely touching the floor. I force myself to take a deep breath before opening the door, but I can’t wait another second to see his face.

I am not disappointed. His
light
blonde hair seems to be growing precariously longer as the day’s pass
;
I usually notice little details like this about people. Blue eyes sparkling, wearing his worn leather jacket over his school uniform, he looks like a dark, dangerous angel as the sun casts its rays upon his handsome face. Butterflies form in my stomach as I realize that he is, truly, an angel in
a bad boy
disguise.

“Good morning,” he drawls, breaking my stare with his charming smile.

“Hi,” I say lamely, a blush creeping up on my cheeks. “Um, let me grab my backpack and then we can go.”

Tristan nods and I run across the room to get my bag, turning on my heel and walking back to the door. He hasn’t moved from his spot on the porc
h, and as we descend the stairs
he holds his hand out to me. His beautiful face is silhouetted against the sun, making his strong, square jaw look even more appealing. Instead of taking his hand, I find myself cocking my head and simply staring at him.

He laughs nervously, obviously confused at my current fixation. Unable to avert my eyes, I hear God’s words ring through my head once more; “
Keep your eyes open, Katherine, because he is not an angel in your sense of the word.”

“Tristan, there’s something you’re not telling me,” I say as he opens the passenger door to his black Che
vy. He offers me his hand again
and this time I take it, but realize it’s just there to help me climb into the tall, rusty truck.

I watch as he walks leisurely around the
front of the vehicle and
climbs into the drivers’ side and starts the engine. We make it halfway down my long driveway before he speaks again.

“And what makes you think that?” he says, patiently, but not denying my statement.

“Besides the fact that you told me?” I say, and he smirks, casting a sarcastic glance at me. “I was told my angel wouldn’t look like an angel; that I wouldn’t expect him to be who I was looking for,” I say, trailing off, unable to form coherent thoughts with his smile momentarily dazing me.

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Tristan jokes, “But maybe He didn’t mean physically, Katie. To anybody else, I’m no angel.”

“You’re mine,” I say, interrupting him without thinking. I just couldn’t stop myself; if he was an angel for anybody else, I would go insane with jealousy.

He chuckles and leans over to plant a quick, sweet kiss on my cheek, making my heart beat furiously and cheeks burn bright with satisfaction.

“That I am. Thank you for that,” he says, holding my hand on his lap. “But what I
meant was, to everyone else, I’m
bad news. I’m glad you got to see me before you heard everyone else’s opinions; that’s a blessing in itself.”

I squeeze his hand. No one has said anything to me about Tristan, but mostly
more than half the school left the day I arrived here. Gone for the past two weeks
on a class trip to Germany, I
was left with only a few peers who were either deadbeats who didn’t even try conversing with me, or on academic suspension and
we’re allowed on the trip. I
hadn’t felt the need to make friend
s with those left behind. Scott
and the girls who originally
tormented Tristan in the garden
were
touring the streets of Berlin, out of sight and out of mind
. That is, until today.

We pull
into the student parking lot to find it jam packed with fancy looking cars; all colors, all makes and models, but most of them very swanky looking. I thought I heard Tristan cuss under his breath, but he remained as stoic as ever.

“Looks like the trip is over,” I say, looking out the windows at the swarm of people milling about, all dressed in similar shades of gray and maroon.

Tristan just looks straight ahead, the corner of his mouth twitching. He pulls into the parking space closest to the door, and I’m surprised it’s not taken already.

“No matter what you hear, please don’t listen,” he says, voice so desperate I’m forced to look at him. His blue eyes are pained, but his face doesn’t hint at any emotion at all. Again, I feel a brief moment of happiness that I don’t need to feel such obtrusive things when I’m with him.

I touch his tanned cheek with my free hand, feeling his smooth, unblemished skin under my fingertips. He visibly relaxes; his shoulders slump forward and upper-back releases its tension.
He turns his face and kisses my palm, sending an embarrassing shiver through my body.

“I won’t have a chance to listen if I’m with you all day,” I say, winking, reaching for my backpack at my feet. I catch Tristan smiling to himself with a faint flush on his cheeks, which is so adorable I release a giggle.

“I think I could deal with that. Don’t even think about opening that door,” he says, pointing to my hand on the door handle.

I give him a confused look, to which he just laughs. In the next moment, he’s opening it for me and helping me down. I look up at him through my eyelashes, weakly making an attempt at looking flirtatious, which is pathetic. Instead of laughing at my stupidity, he
smirks
, causing my stomach to flip.