The Smell of Other People's Hou - Bonnie-Sue Hitchcock Page 0,52
you come near me.”
I’m pretty certain she doesn’t have a knife.
“I won’t come near you,” I say.
“Come out of the woods. Now!” she shouts.
“I don’t think you really want me to do that.”
“I’m going to call Mother Superior.” She is backing slowly toward the abbey.
“No, please. I’ll come out if you throw me the sheet.”
“Are you some kind of pervert?” She’s still trying to untangle herself.
I am definitely getting off on the wrong foot here.
“No, I was just swimming in the river and I—uh—well, my clothes are on the other side.”
“You know what—forget Mother Superior, I’m going to get Sister Agnes and you’re really going to be sorry.”
“Okay, don’t call anyone. I’ll come out.” I don’t know who this Sister Agnes is, but if she’s scarier than a Mother Superior, it can’t be good. “And I really hope you were joking about that knife.”
This is definitely the most embarrassing moment of my life, I think as I manage to grab a bouquet of wild bluebells and hold them in front of myself, edging slowly out of the trees.
“Can you throw me the sheet?” I plead.
She stares at me in disbelief. The good news is that people are far less likely to call for help if you look ridiculous. That’s what I’m banking on, and thank God, she giggles.
“Oscar?” she says, her eyes sparking with recognition. She is beautiful when she smiles, I can’t help noticing, despite the situation.
“Actually, that’s not really my name,” I say. “If you give me the sheet, I’ll tell you what it is.”
She thinks about this but takes one more long look at me, bluebells and all, as if committing the image to memory. Then she finally tosses me the sheet.
“You still can’t come up here,” she says as I wrap it around myself and she glances over her shoulder at the abbey. “Sister Agnes will have my head on a platter if there’s a boy here. Especially one, well, obviously…” She trails off. “You have to get out of here.”
I think about giving her the bluebells, but I’m afraid this might not be the right time, so I toss them aside.
“You dropped your ribbon,” I say, holding out my hand so she can see it. What idiot would forge a river buck naked just to return a dirty ribbon? I can name only one.
“And I was wondering if you were okay,” I add, lamely.
She looks back at the abbey, then gestures toward the trees.
“So, your real name?” she asks, once we get in a few yards.
“It’s Hank,” I tell her. “My brother is Jack.” It seems important that she know our names. Even though I doubt I’ll ever see this girl again.
I hold her hand to help her down the steep incline, trying not to trip on the sheet. The tiny beat of her pulse against my fingers surprises me. I wonder who touched her last, then feel like a jerk for thinking it.
“Want to sit?” I ask.
I can tell she’s hesitant, but then she relents, “Okay, but just for a few minutes.”
We plop down in the middle of a low-bush cranberry patch without saying anything. The red berries are staining the white sheet, and I wonder if she’ll get in trouble for that, too. She picks some berries but doesn’t talk at all. I’m sure the few minutes are already up.
“I’m just dealing with a lot,” she says finally, glancing at her belly. “I’m sorry you had to see me…you know, lose it like that.”
“It’s fine.”
But she doesn’t say any more about what caused her to “lose it.”
“Um—it’s just that—you were looking over at us and then you sort of…you know…fell apart.” I must sound nosy, or maybe vain, like I wanted it to be about me. But she doesn’t answer anyway. Instead she changes the subject. “I’m from Fairbanks, the place you’re headed. I heard your brother mention that yesterday.”
She says it the way someone would say, “Lovely weather we’re having.”
“Is it nice there?” I ask.
God, I am making awkward small talk.
She shrugs.
I don’t ask her why she is here, or if she is married, or what she is planning to do with her baby. For a second I wish I were Jack, who always sees the gossamer threads floating invisibly between people. They are so translucent, it’s no wonder most people don’t see them—or they bumble along and end up destroying them without ever knowing they existed.
“It was your brother,” she says, cutting into my thoughts.