Lingering Echoes (4 page)

“Uh—
I’m fine. Just fine.” I winced as I leaned forward, trying to get up on my own. The sudden sharpness returned and I sank back down, letting out a disgruntled huff. Succumbing to his aid, I leaned back against his steady arm, feeling his bicep tighten while he supported me to my feet.

“How do you feel?” he asked, keeping
his arm under my own, though I didn’t think it necessary.

“Like I just fell twelve
feet out of a tree and was stomped on by an elephant in the process,” I grumbled. I gave him a sideways glance and caught another small smile at his lips. “Oh, so this is funny now?” I snapped.

He paused, calculating the irritation on my face. “No, I would not dare think one bit of this wa
s funny. Now let’s get you home.” With a gentle push, he encouraged me to take a step.

“I c
an walk without your help.” I released myself from his grip and stooped in quiet pain to retrieve my flip-flops from the ground. Taking a tentative step, I silenced a groan, feeling my body resist. Fortunate for me, stubbornness runs in my family and I leaned on it to carry me forward, my right leg limping in protest. I managed a few quick, short steps, trying my best to walk with dignity, when I heard a low chuckle behind me.

Apparently,
I was failing in my efforts.

No sooner had I turned my head around, ready to battle him on his sense of humor, when I was swept up into the air by two strong arms.

“Hey! Put me down!”

With a full
smile, he exposed his white teeth lined up next to each other, as his dimples teased me again. “With the pace you were making, you’ll never make it back before sunrise.”

R
esisting the idea of being carried, I tried another tactic.

“You’re not supposed to move someone who’s fallen, you know. Everybody knows that. I could have a
broken back or a broken neck—”

He
cut me off. “Well, there’s obviously nothing wrong with your mouth.”

I fumed
in resigned humiliation, though not before cursing at him under my breath. Breaking the awkward silence, I asked, “Who are you, anyway?” It was a few moments before he responded.

“Damien
.”

Neither of us said anything more on our trek back to the cabins. M
y thoughts remained focused on the strange circumstance I found myself in. Had this Damien been the one watching me, or had he seen me fall and decided to play the “good Samaritan”?

Tall lampposts ahead of us signified our approach to the cabins. Looking to the shore, I noticed the stage was still surrounded with quite a few people, hip-hop carrying through the air. I wondered if Brooke was still out there. Recalling Aaron’s arms around her, I figured as much.
We reached my doorstep.

“Ok
, ok. Now put me down—please,” I added. My efforts to hurry back onto my feet were less than graceful, and I stepped on his foot in the process. He grunted but made no comment. I had my hand on the doorknob, ready to flee inside. But I managed to pause and turn around.

“So,
thanks, I guess, for helping me back to the cabin. I mean, it was sort of your fault I fell in the first place, with you spying on me and all. If that’s indeed what you were doing. Because to be honest, I’m great at climbing trees, so there was no reason for me to—”

“Allie,”
Damien interrupted, taking a step towards me and closing the gap between us. I stopped my rambling, somewhat grateful for the disruption in my nervous speech, yet uneasy at the closeness of his body with mine. He looked down at me from the five or six inches that he towered over me, blue-gray eyes staring back.

Moments of silence passed. I swallowed.

He leaned his face close to mine.

“Good night.”
He paused, a breath away. Then he straightened and turned his back, heading east along the cabins.

It was only after the shadows of the evening masked his silhouetted form that I realized two things: I had not told him
which cabin was mine, and I hadn’t mentioned my name.

“Allie! You have to tell me everything!”

Squinting awake, I felt someone plop down on my bed beside me, with a hand shaking my shoulder with earnestness. Brooke’s blue eyes were wide and alert with excitement. I grabbed my cell phone off the nightstand, flipping it open to discover the time was just past seven AM. I rubbed my sleepy eyes.

“Brooke, what are you talking about?” I tightened the covers around my shoulder, curling up on my side.

She beamed at me and leaned closer, her voice just another pitch higher than usual. “I saw you last night! I was walking with Aaron when I saw you all wrapped up in that guy’s arms. And wow, he’s got big arms! Where were you hanging out last night after you left the dance?” She frowned. “And why didn’t you invite me?”

Attempting to sit up, I let out a groan as every muscle in my back ac
hed like a thousand bruises. I massaged my stiff neck. “I wasn’t ‘wrapped up’ in his arms. At least, not how you’re implying. Can you move?”

I gave her a nudge with my
knee, and she bounced up off my bed. She crossed her arms across her chest, appearing skeptical while she studied my face. Flipping my comforter off me, I reached for my toes and exhaled in pain. I felt like a battered piñata.

“Holy cow!
Look at the side of your leg!” Brooke, mouth open, was pointing to a four or five-inch splotchy surface that looked like spilled blue ink on my thigh. “And what’s with that scratch along the side of your face? Don’t worry,” she said, pulling out her purse. “I always carry concealer with me. It won’t even be noticeable.” She dabbed her finger and reached for my face.

I stepped back, putting my hands up. “No, no! I don’t need that. Can you just stop for a second?”

Brooke paused with a pout. She shrugged her small shoulders, returning the makeup to her purse. She crossed her arms again, rocking back on one heel, and stared at me with a frown.

“Ok,
look,” I said, pulling the chair around from the desk and sitting down. Brooke followed suite and plopped back down on my bed with her legs crossed under her. She leaned forward with a satisfied grin.

“So I went for a walk along the edge of the lake. You know, where the lake curves and there are all those trees on the hillside?”

She nodded, absorbing every detail.

“There’s this great tree for climbing. I
t’s a tree I’ve often sat in when I’ve needed to get away. But when I got there, I felt like someone was watching me, and I kind of got scared. So I started climbing the tree—”

Brooke’s eyes widened. “He was spying on you!” she concluded. “Oh
my gosh, that’s so creepy! But wait—why were you in his arms?”

I tried not to l
augh at her childish excitement and even felt a little of it rub off on me, remembering the solid outline of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes...I shook my head and continued with my story.

“I was climb
ing too fast and I fell.” I winced, just thinking about it. “And there he was, kneeling beside me...Then, even after I told him not to, he carried me home.”

Brooke clasped her hands together, staring up at the ceiling. “Wow. And he is incredibly good-looking! So, did he ask about me?”

“Huh?” Her question threw me off guard. “And why would he ask about you?”

“Because,” Brooke answered, running a manicured ha
nd through her layered tresses. “That’s him. That’s the same guy I was telling you about. He’s the one that I caught watching me at the festival. And since you were always with me, well, naturally he would go to you to find out more about me.”

I cleared my throat, unsure how to
proceed. “Well, uh, yeah. That—that makes some sense.” I stood up, pretending to organize the miscellaneous items on my desk in no particular order.

“So
...” she pressed, “What did you find out? What’d you tell him?” I was quiet for a moment before letting out a quick sigh.

“You know what, Brooke
? He actually didn’t ask anything about you. In fact, he didn’t say more than a few sentences to me. All I know is his name’s Damien.”

I watched her
reflection scowl in the mirror as I pulled my brunette hair into a high, messy ponytail as I often did. She hopped up, straightening her tank top.

“Well, he’
s probably just a weirdo anyway and not very interesting.” She swung her purse over her arm and headed for the door, then threw her head over her shoulder. “The festival is closing tonight. Want to go look around one last time?”

I nodded and
, without another word, she flounced out my door, long, blond hair swinging behind her.

***

The folk band was up on stage by late morning, filling the air with enthusiasm. A woman in blue jeans and tall, brown leather boots sang into the microphone, swaying her hips and tapping her foot to the rhythm. We came across a large, red tent, shadowed under the trees. In front of the tent, a table displayed itself with an array of silver and gold jewelry, each set with unique combinations of colorful gems and stones.

“These are beautiful!” Brooke cooed, holding up a v-cut bracelet with a
wide, silver band. One large, oval sapphire was embedded at its center, with more tiny, blue gems decorating the band. Brooke hooked it onto her left wrist, admiring it with her slender arm held out.

“These look pricey,” I murmured, scanning all the bracelets, necklaces, and rings. I held up a pair of silver, spiral earrings encrusted with green stones. Eying a mirror resti
ng flat on the table, I held it up to my face. I shrieked at my reflection, catching a glimpse of a dark figure behind me. I dropped the mirror and spun around, my back pressing against the table’s edge. Brooke jumped at my sudden movement, also twisting around in fright.

The Russian storyteller stood just a few feet from where we stood with racing hearts. She stepped towards us. “They are not so expensive,” she emphasized, her Russian accent combing through her words.
“Imitations. But very beautiful.”

She caught sight of the mirror, now lying
facedown at my feet. She frowned. I scrambled to pick it up. Turning it over, I caught my own reflection, split by the long crack down the center of the glass.

“I—
I’m sorry,” I stammered, offering her the broken mirror. “Uh, I can pay for it.” I held it away at arm’s length with trembling hands.

She put her hands up, shaking her head, not even looking at it. She turned her head to the left, and spat three times over her shoulder.

“Bad luck,” she murmured, walking around the table. She stepped inside the open slits of her tent and disappeared inside, leaving me still holding the mirror. I raised my eyebrows at Brooke, who still appeared confused and startled.

“I thought that was an American superstition,” she said.

I shrugged. “Well, we
are
in America...or maybe it’s a Russian thing, too.” I jumped when a blond head popped out of the tent’s opening.

“Come inside,” the woman ordered, disappearing
again behind the flaps.

Brooke and I exchanged a nervous glance.

“Quickly,” her low voice called from within. I placed the broken mirror against the base of a tree. Brooke grabbed my hand and then pushed my shoulder, so that I led the way inside the red flaps.

The first thing I noticed was an overwhelming fragrance. The aroma burned the back of my throat as it traveled into my lungs. The suffocating smell made me cough several times. Soft music floated from the back of the room. It sounded like two guitars, one strumming at a quickened pace, while the other
plucked away at a slow melody—a melody reminding me of carnival music, peculiar and intriguing.

Along the sides of the tent were a few short tabletops holding scented candles of varying sizes and colors.
Deep reds, yellows, and orange. They all glowed, offering hallows of dim light to the remaining darkness. Next to the candles, bundles of dark-colored incense burned from within tall, porcelain vases. The combined fumes already made me dizzy.

In
front of us, Alina hovered over a low, square table. “Sit down,” she commanded, lowering herself to the ground and sitting cross-legged. Brooke and I obeyed. We watched her shuffle a black deck of cards, the backsides decorated with tiny, gold flecks and thin lines.

“We were just admiring your jewelry,” I said, uneasy in the presence of this woman.

No response. Her long dress was dark today, a blackened-green cascading the length of her body, including her long arms. A faded yellow shawl hung across her shoulders, blending with her pale hair.

“I’m sorry I broke your mirror,” I apologized again.

The woman met my eyes. “That is your problem. Not mine,” she stated. She handed me the stack of cards. “Shuffle these seven times. Focus your mind.”

Brooke’s voice broke the silence, high and innocent. “We di
dn’t actually come here for a—”

Alina
jerked her head up at Brooke, silencing her with one look. Brooke closed her mouth, hunching her shoulders and leaning into me.

“Focus
,” Alina said again, her words directed at me. “Think about your life as it is right now.”

The cards moved almost involuntarily in my hands, bending and mixing. Without even meaning to, my last year flew through my mind: Last summer here
at the lake. Dad’s remarriage. Nick and Clara. My life in Portland, running, always running. My mom’s concerned face flashed through my mind. Here, at the cabin again. Resistance, reluctance. New friendships...

Alina
removed the cards from my hands. I must have finished. She flipped the cards face up onto the red silk that covered the table’s surface, placing them one at a time.

I counted the colorful cards that she laid out in five r
ows. Small and square, they totaled twenty-five. In silence, Alina observed the pictured cards in front of her. I bent down for a closer look. Every card had four different images, with each image aligned along one edge. But the images were cut in half, so that only part of the image was visible. There were half-suns, half-trees, half-mountains, a half-clover...

“We must see which pictures we can make whole,”
Alina said, rotating the cards without moving them from their place. She turned the cards in a clockwise motion, seeing if she could align one image with a matching image of an adjacent card.

Minutes passed. Five pai
rs matched, forming five separate rectangles. In the center of each rectangle was now one solid, completed picture.

“Look here,”
Alina said, pointing to the first match. The completed picture was of a gray mountain with a blue backdrop, nestled on top of greenery. However, it was lying sideways from my point of view. “You must be careful,” she explained. “The mountain in this position is a warning of physical harm or accident, but one that can be avoided if you take precaution.”

Skeptical, I began to relax, deciding to play along with her game for now.

Next, she pointed to an old-fashioned scale with two gold baskets hanging from the post. The image was lying horizontal. “You are weighed down. You must find balance within yourself. Only then will you succeed in your life’s pursuits.”

I rolled my
eyes at the generic statement. But I said nothing, deciding to suffer through the fortune-telling hoax in silence.

Third: A closed
, black book with a gold binding facing my direction. “A secret. Something of importance is being hidden from you. Be wary of who you trust,” Alina warned.

I caught Brooke watching
me from the corner of my eye, but I suppressed the urge to look her way. My head starting to spin with the incense seeping into every pore of my body. Regardless, I followed the long, pointy, red fingernail that scraped across the cards.

A fourth
match: A green, four-leaf clover with a short stem curling upwards.

At last, s
omething positive.

Alina
shook her head, staring at the picture longer than the others. “An upside-down clover...bad luck. Despair and unhappiness are likely to fall your way.”

I frowned at the deceitful clover in front of me. The music in the background continued to play its eerie melody while I waited to hear my fate connected with the final card. I had to turn my head
sideways again to grasp the image before me.