Leaving Tracks (7 page)

W
hen the alarm
went off at five a.m., I could have cried if I hadn’t been concerned with one of my brothers finding out. I might have to mention the ridiculousness of the hour to Hadley.

I
had spent a majority of the night worrying over my routines. The music was set, and I knew, for the most part, what I was going to do. I’d stick to the stuff my mother taught me. I knew that was solid and would probably earn more points with her.

I
rolled out of bed, listened at the door for a moment for my brothers, before dashing across the hall to the bathroom I shared with Rhett. Wesley’s room was at the end of the hall and after our parents died, upon agreement from the others, Thierry had moved his things to the master suite downstairs.

I
wasn’t concerned with Rhett. Rhett had been asleep when I had gotten back from Hadley’s and had only awaken long enough to do his evening chores before going back to sleep. Travel wore hard on my little brother.

Wesley was another matter. He could
, on a whim, be awake whenever he wanted. Often it was early enough for Thierry to eat decently before starting on the work, but sometimes he slept in. Wesley was a wild card I could never predict.

Thierry
, by design, should already be out feeding and checking the other animals before he started with the dairy cows. Getting by Thierry as I crossed the yard would be tricky. But I had a semi-plan and a decent excuse if I got caught.

I
didn’t linger in my shower. I didn’t really have time to if I wanted to be at the rink on time. Since I figured the audition to be the same as an interview, I dressed for my short program and then to ward off the cold threw an additional sweater over it. Stuffing what I needed into a pocket and carrying my shoes, I listened at the door again before, as quietly as possible, exiting the bathroom and heading for the stairs.

The outside
wall of Wesley’s bedroom was shared with the staircase. If my brother were in bed, he would instantly wake and listen. If he wasn’t then I might slip by him by using the French doors in the great room instead of going through the mudroom.

I
didn’t hear or see Wesley anywhere. It put my back up and put me on high alert. My brother could be sneaky.

I
crossed the backyard to my little pottery studio–I really shouldn’t call the space little. It was the size of a four-car garage. My brother had been slightly generous in his bribery gift.

The space was broken into three rooms. The main door opened into the packing, storage
, and shipping space. Across from the main door, a bay door graced the wall allowing for easy unloading and loading of stock and materials. An archway adjacent to both doors led into the production space. I had that space divided with clay working. Storage and molding on one side and all my glazes and drying racks for the glazes on the other side. An airtight door directly across from the archway led into the room with my kilns.

My
normal habit would be to check the kiln first, and then my molds and glazes but I forced the habit back. I had other things to do this morning first. After dinner last night, I’d packed the set I wanted to give to Hadley. In the same box with the set, I stashed my skates and some papers I was sure she would want. When I turned to leave, I crashed into Wesley and nearly, very nearly, screamed like a girl.

“What the hell
, man!” I caught, barely, the box I bobbled and glared at my brother.

“You’re up awfully early on a Sunday.” Wesley commented
slowly looking around.

“Hadley needs a dish set. I picked one out and she asked me to deliver before she starts her day. She starts ungodly early like the rest of you yahoos.”
I used my excuse on Wesley and walked around him for the door.

“Didn’t see your skates in the mudroom
,” Wesley commented casually.

“I don’t always leave them there.”
I retorted as I shoved the door open with a shoulder. “As it is Sunday and my only day of the week completely free to myself, I’ll be in here when I get back. I’ve got some stuff I want to do.”

“Sure. I’ll leave your paperwork on
the verifying desk.” Wesley walked out with me and I could feel his eyes follow me until I was out of his line of sight.

I
wasn’t overly worried about Wesley. My brother could be slightly overbearing at times but he wouldn’t invade my privacy. I worried about Thierry.

At the edge of the trees, before
I climbed over the sheep fence, I took a quick look around for my older brother. When I couldn’t immediately see him, I set the box over the fence before I climbed it and hurriedly continued on my way with my load.

Instead of crossing the frozen lake
, I followed its edge towards the Knifeblade family cemetery that rested close to the northern most banks. There were trees here too, but it was a bit tamer than what surrounded our house. Once I reached the cemetery, I could see the rink a handful of acres in the distance. Worried about the time I picked up my pace.

There was a door on this side of the rink
I hadn’t noticed before, and when I tested it, it opened with ease. I realized it was the door opposite the one we had used to haul Hadley’s stuff in through, once I looked around. And with my glance around, I didn’t see Hadley. I thought she would have met me down here, but apparently not.

Shrugging
, I crossed the width of the space and climbed Hadley’s stairs. I knocked once, waited, and then knocked again. Worry crept in when I heard no movement on the other side of the door. Juggling the box with one hand, I tried the door, and when I realized it wasn’t locked, I pushed it open slightly.

“Hadley?”
I called out but still got no answer. I pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped through before I could chide myself on the breach of privacy.

I
set the box on the kitchen bar, saw the coffee pot already brewed but no coffee apparently poured. I heard the alarm clock, faintly, as I turned towards the living space but paused before I crossed through the living room into the tiny hallway. Panic hadn’t set in yet, she probably just hadn’t heard me.

Hadley slept like the dead on the
fainting couch. There was a book on the floor in front of her that appeared to have slipped and fallen. A throw blanket, not really meant for sleeping with, was pulled up around her, as if she got cold while reading and wanted to be comfortable. Her braid was seriously coming loose, strands framed her face, and surprisingly a pair of reading glasses perched stubbornly on her nose.

She’d fallen asleep reading before,
I surmised. Otherwise, those glasses would be broken. She looked almost too peaceful to bother. I should just pick her up and tuck her into that floating bed of hers. I’d let her decide if she wanted to reschedule the audition.

Before
I could decide on how to pick her up without waking her, her eyes blinked open. I watched her brows draw together in confusion as she studied me blearily.

“Sorry,”
I said quietly. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Wake me? You’re not supposed to be here until…” she trailed off looking over
my shoulder at the clock on the mantle. “Well, shit.”

With surprising speed and agility for someone with her ailment
, she flung off the blanket and pushed to her feet. “Give me twenty minutes.” She jogged to the bedroom, where, I would swear; I heard an alarm clock die.

I’d
never lived with women other than my mother, but I knew enough from that experience that twenty minutes probably meant forty. And then considering Hadley was who she was, I figured I’d probably not be on the ice until closer to seven.

I
took it philosophically and unpacked her dishes. It wasn’t a hardship to be in her company. There was a sweetness about her, hidden by pain and sorrow but it was there. I liked seeing it.

When
I opened the cupboard to put the dishes away I frowned at the dishes already placed there. Curious, I pulled one out and studied it.

I
had to agree with Hadley. The yellow and green plaid rim with the daisy bouquet in the center was ugly. It could have, maybe in the seventies, been considered pretty, in a seventies disco kind of way.

Shaking
my head, I began to switch out the dishes. Any friend wouldn’t allow her to be forced to use such horrible dishes. It was bound to be bad on the digestion system. I was just being a friend.

Hadley came out of the bedroom in fifteen minutes rubbing a towel over her hair. She was still a little rosy from the shower
I hadn’t heard her take. I gave her an absent once over then took a second survey a lot slower.

She was wearing a
long sleeve black tee shirt that showcased her slim build and rock solid abdomen. My stomach tightened as my eyes fell over the flat abdomen; I could even see a slight cut of ab muscles. It was easy to see her body had been well toned.

Her shorts were, I
supposed, a type of cargo just long enough to accommodate the pockets in the front. The shorts revealed her legs–both were slim, muscular, tan, and smooth to the knee. The left leg held that strength down to her toes. I had a sudden craving to kiss those toes, one by one. Then kiss up her leg. My eyes shifted to the other leg before my brain could complete that thought.

The
right leg from just below the knee to the floor looked like carbon fiber and titanium. She didn’t have a fake foot; instead, it was some kind of duckbill metal wedge.

I didn’t expect the reaction I had to her. She was pretty, I knew that from the first time I saw her,
but I hadn’t expected her flushed from the shower to cause my mind to lose its civility. I hadn’t expected her slim body and hard abs to be an instant turn on. It took a moment to snap a leash on the unexpected lust, and I kept my eyes down until I was sure I had it under control.

I
swallowed nervously before raising my eyes to meet hers. I hoped, none of it showed. I didn’t want to scare her, or for her to think I was some crazy, horny boy not really serious about skating.

I didn’t think she’d want that kind of relationship with me
anyway. She’d never given me any reason to believe she was attracted. At least I didn’t think she was attracted. What I felt didn’t necessarily have to be reciprocated though it was always nice if it was. I didn’t really know her well enough to even make a judgment call on it. For now, I’d ignore it and deal with the task at hand.

“I didn’t know how you take your coffee,”
I said when I realize she just stood and waited for some comment. She probably thought I pitied her, or worse, judged her. “So I didn’t pour it.”

She didn’t frown, but whatever tension had been in her eased.
I saw her shoulders relax. “Just black.”

“I brought over your new dishes too. If you’d like I can make these ones vanish to never be seen again.”
I told her as I poured the cup and handed it to her.

“I would love that,” Hadley said as she took the cup and blew before gulping, “but I’d have to check to see if that’s okay first.” She studied the pretty matte
white mug with the cheerful poppy inside. “You made this?” She moved closer to me to study the plates I was putting away. The outside matched the cup but the inside of all the plates and bowls were a different color and they were octagon shaped instead of round. There were no hard lines to it so the octagon was soft and somehow delicate. It was cheerful and very simply elegant too. It reminded me of her. Blank on the outside but vibrant on the inside.

“Yeah. I brought you a serving set of six in case you have your sisters and guest over. I also brought a serving platter and a pair of serving bowls. They go with the set. I thought they suited you.
If you don’t like them I have others.”
“I love them. They’re beautiful. Do you go to college for ceramics?” Hadley sipped her coffee again.

I
paused slightly stunned a moment. I could, couldn’t I? And it was something I loved to do. I studied a plate before putting it away. I would, I decided. It would certainly please Thierry. “I haven’t thought about it.”