Sylvie clasped my hand and pulled me outside. She dragged me toward the woods. I followed
like a child being led by a grown-up. I finally snapped out of my trance when she stopped a good
distance from the house.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked her. I was actually relieved to experience irritation. I’d
thought the only feeling I would ever be capable of was anguish.
“We’re going to the woods.”
“I can’t leave.”
“You can. Just for a little while. You need to.”
I let her lead the way until we came to the familiar place where a majestic oak had once stood
before a violent storm had ripped it out of the ground, leaving only a wide stump in its place. She
pushed my shoulders down until I sat on it.
“Are you crazy? I have to get back in there.”
She bent down so we were at eye level. She traced the silver chain around my neck until she
reached the medallion hidden under my shirt. “It was my father’s,” I explained. “It was supposed to
protect him, but he wasn’t wearing it that day. It’s supposed to be—”
“St Michael, patron saint of protectors. I didn’t think Methodists believed in patron saints.”
“My grandmother was Catholic before she converted. She gave it to him the day he entered the
Police Academy. My momma gave it to me. It’s pretty stupid.” I wasn’t too keen on wearing jewelry,
even if it was religious, but Momma had smiled when I put it on so I wore it.
Sylvie slipped it back under my shirt. “It’s not stupid.”
“No, I’m stupid because I’m sitting out here with you in the middle of the fucking woods while
my father’s wake is going on.” I moved to get up, but she gripped my shoulder.
“You haven’t cried, have you?”
“I don’t need to cry.”
“Yes, you do. You loved him very much. You can’t keep it inside or you’ll explode. You have to
let it out.” She stood up and placed her hands on her hips, but didn’t move away from me.
“I told you, I am fine. I need to be strong for Mandy and Momma. I’m not going to cry like some
candy-ass pussy.” I pushed her hand away. She responded by placing both her hands on my chest.
“Get the hell out of my way, Sylvie.”
“I won’t. You need to do this.”
“No, what I need is to kill that motherfucking bastard who shot my father.”
“Tex, I know how angry you are, but that won’t make you feel better. Crying will.”
“Who the fuck are you? You think because your mom died you’re an expert on grieving?”
She winced, but made no attempt to move away. I knew what I’d said was cruel and I instantly
regretted it. “I’m an expert when it comes to you, Cal Tanner.” Her voice was wavering. She’d done
nothing but help me through the worst days of my life, and here I was yelling at her.
“I told you. I need to be strong for them. Just leave me alone.”
I stared up at her face, which was looking down at mine. She ran her fingers through my hair.
“You don’t have to be strong for me. It’s just you and me. No one will hear you out here.”
That did it. I felt the first hot tear slide down my cheek. I grasped her waist and pulled her
toward me, burying my face in her stomach. My tears soaked through her dress, but she didn’t say
anything. She just let me hold her. She rubbed my shoulders and tousled my hair while I bawled like a
baby. In fact, I hadn’t cried since I was a baby. Not even when Nate clocked me in the head with his
fastball that time in Little League.
I pulled her down so she was on my lap. She let me. I cried against the soft skin at her neck and
she held me tightly. I cried for a long time, until I was physically exhausted, but she was right. It did
make me feel better.
When my arsenal of tears was spent, she took out a lace handkerchief from the cuff of her dress
and wiped my face. She didn’t say anything. I was appreciative of that. There were no words that
would have healed me like her touch did. Instead, she kissed my forehead, stood up and held out her
hand to me.
We walked back to that house together. It was better after that. I was able to be in my body. I
even managed to make Mandy smile. Sylvie had done that for me. She let me cry. She let me be
myself.
It all went to shit, though, when Mona Simms brought up that my father’s birthday was next
week, causing my mother to break out into fresh hysterics. What the hell was wrong with that bitch?
Why couldn’t she have kept her fat ass on the piano bench and played some more of those God-awful
hymns she’d been singing all day? I think she took up residence there just to make sure she’d have a
place to sit.
I started to comfort my mother, telling her it would be okay. I really had no deep profound words
for her. My words were hollow at best, and they did nothing to alleviate her pain. It was Sylvie who
did that. She walked over to the now-vacant piano bench and sat down. Mandy followed her as she
always did. Sylvie smiled at her. Then she started playing.
The tune was easily recognized. Don McLean’s
American Pie
was not the most appropriate song
for a wake, but it was definitely one my father would have appreciated. One of his favorites in fact.
He’d taught it to both Mandy and Sylvie. My mother calmed down like the music was a magical
medication for her ills. It worked on me too. I walked over and sat there on the bench with them.
Mandy was in between us. Sylvie smiled at me. I knew this was hard for her. She never let anyone
hear her sing or even talk really except for my family.
The thing was that particular song was infectious. Mandy and Sylvie were singing and I added
my less than harmonious voice to theirs. My mother joined us next, squeezing Sylvie’s shoulder in
appreciation. Then more people came, standing around the piano and lending their voices. Someone
took my father’s guitar off the hook and started strumming along. We misquoted some of McLean’s
poetic lyrics, and we were definitely no show choir, but in that moment, I totally got what my dad
always said about music having the ability to heal. I stared at the beautiful girl with the long cinnamon
hair and eyes so deep you could fall right into them.
She was more than my friend. She was my family.
I could admit it to myself finally, even if I didn’t have the courage to tell her.
I loved Sylvie Cranston with all my heart.
Chapter Eight
Excerpt from
Raven Girl
Age 15
“Cal, you are such an idiot!” Sylvie said for the twentieth time since we’d been walking home
from school.
“It’s not a big deal, Sylvie.”
“Not a big deal? Look at your face.”
“You should have seen his,” I said with a cocky smile.
She stopped and shook her head at me. “Why did you get into a fight with Nate?”
“He deserved it.”
“Y’all are best friends.”
“Girl, you’re so cute when you try to sound Southern.”
She squared her shoulders in a stance I recognized as pissed-off Sylvie mode. “But you’re
wrong,” I said, tugging on one of her pigtails. “He’s not my best friend. You are.” She shook her head
at me, but I could see the smile curling at the edges of her beautiful mouth.
“Are they going to suspend you? Oh, my God, are you going to get kicked off the team for this?”
“Are you on crack? We’re in Texas and I’m the reason we’re in the state championships. They
are not going to kick me off the team. They care more about us winning than Nate’s busted nose.”
I hadn’t thought I could play football after my dad’s death. The whole town had rallied around
me, trying to persuade me, but it had been her encouragement that had made it possible. Everyone was
saying I had to play for my dad—it was too much pressure, until Sylvie told me that I should just play
for myself like I always did. My dad would be proud no matter what happened.
That was just what I did. I played for me. It also helped that she was at every game, cheering me
on next to Momma and Mandy. It was exactly what I needed for a confidence boost, but I was a little
too cocky to admit all that. I think she knew just the same.
“I can’t believe you didn’t get in trouble.”
“Principal Sherman said he’s not even going to tell Momma. Nate’s parents won’t either.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “I’m the kid who lost his dad. I’m getting a lot of free passes these days. Everyone
thinks I’m just acting out.”
“Is that why you hit him? Did he say something about your dad?”
I got quiet, not sure if I should tell her. I readjusted our backpacks, one on each shoulder. She
reached out for hers, but I took a step back. I always carried her backpack when we walked home
together. Today was no different. “No, we just had a disagreement,” I replied, hoping it was enough
to stop her interrogation. It wasn’t.
“What kind of disagreement would cause you to pummel another kid like that? You could have
gotten hurt. You risked injuring yourself before the championship game. What the hell was worth all
that?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, staring me up and down, as if she could find the truth by studying
my body language. Hell, she probably could. “He said something about me, didn’t he?”
Bingo. “It’s not a big deal.”
“What did he say, Tex? Spit it out and don’t lie.” She stood on her tippy toes as if trying to
intimidate me. It was funny because she only came up to my chest either way. She jabbed her fingers
into me as she asked every question. “Did he say I was a freak? Did he say I was a retarded mute?
Did he say I was a psycho anorexic? I’ve heard them all and they don’t bother me. They shouldn’t
bother you either.”
I grabbed her shoulders and brought her face close to mine. “They fucking bother the hell out of
me.” Her eyes widened and her breath quickened. I let go, realizing I was probably scaring her. “But
that’s not what he said.”
“Then what?”
I sighed, knowing she’d keep asking until I relinquished the information. “He said you had nice
tits and a fine ass.”
To my annoyance, she started laughing. “Hell, Tex, that’s kind of a compliment.”
“Not to me. He can’t check you out like that.” I was getting pissed. Not at her. She couldn’t help
it that she was hot. She had started wearing regular clothes and doing away with the powder crap.
She was wearing jeans and a simple T-shirt. She wasn’t trying to be appealing, and the clothes were
still loose on her, but her beauty was apparent. How could it not show through with those long, silky
curls that made a man’s hand twitch with desire to run his fingers through them? That perfect creamy
complexion that looked like the sun had blessed her with a perfect tan. Those pouty kissable lips with
the bottom one slightly plumper than the top, jutting out so invitingly. Guys noticed and I didn’t like it
one bit. I’d always known she was beautiful, but that was a fact I really wanted to keep to myself.
“Why not?”
Was she trying to piss me off? The thing that really sucked about it was that we weren’t together
in that way. Since I’d kissed her last year, we hadn’t done anything else. Well…except sleep together.
Not sexually, but ever since my father had died, I’d found it difficult to fall asleep alone. She needed
me too. I didn’t know if there was a limit to the number of nightmares someone could have, but this
girl was surely exceeding a quota.
I’d sneak over to her house at night and we’d fall asleep talking. We didn’t do anything except
sleep, although on more than one occasion I’d woken up with a serious boner. She’d just laugh and
push me away. I practically ran away from her when that happened. It was weird, because I’d gone
out with other girls in the last year. Nothing serious. Truthfully, I was just waiting for her to give me a
sign, a signal that she wanted me, but she seemed to be taking her damn sweet time. She didn’t even
seem jealous, which was weird, because I knew she had feelings for me. Yet I couldn’t even stand the
idea of Nate making comments about Sylvie’s body, let alone looking at her.
“It’s degrading to you,” I stammered.
“It doesn’t bother me.”
I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward me, “It bothers the hell out of me.”
“Don’t get yourself in trouble for me again. I mean it.”
“I can do whatever I want, Sylvie.”
“No, you can’t. Not if you care about me…please.”
“Why?”
“Because, I’ll never forgive myself if you get hurt.”
“I can take on Nate or any other guy that I need to. I won’t let anyone talk about you like that.”
“There are a lot tougher people than Nate Mitchell in the world.” Her voice sounded weary and
tired all of a sudden and I wondered what she was talking about…certainly not our world.
“I swear you are the weirdest girl, you know that?” I said, making a sad attempt at humor.
She smiled, “Yeah, I know. Come on,” she said, taking my hand. “I want to clean you up before
your momma sees your face and has a heart attack.”
We walked into her house. It was dark as it always was. Her father was snoring on the couch
with an empty Glenlivet bottle on the table. It wasn’t unusual. She stared at me, placing her fingers to