Authors: Ruth Houston
I was anticipating that she was going to shove the vile stuff into my mouth, so I was surprised when she gently slid the fork into my mouth. Somehow my lips had betrayed me and opened of their own accord. When she pulled the plastic utensil back out, my eyes locked on hers, and neither of us looked away as I chewed as slowly as I could and swallowed (as best as I could, considering I was lying down).
"Good?" she asked softly, her warm breath dancing across my neck.
I suppressed the odd impulse to shiver just in time and nodded. It actually wasn't as bad I remembered. Cinnamon-y. I was stunned that I actually…
liked
it?
"I… like it," I said, trying out the words.
"Good," she said again, this time smiling. She got off me and I sat up, rubbing the back of my head.
"You're pretty strong," I commented.
"Thanks," she said, scooting closer to me. "No plates, so we have to share."
It was oddly comforting, sitting there by the duck pond and stabbing my fork into the pie box with Winter. When we had eaten as much as we could, there was still about a third of it left, and we tossed bits of the flaky crusts into the mini-lake for the mallards to eat.
We ended up sitting close next to each other beneath that willow tree, watching the sunset over that little piece of water. We were both quiet well until after the last colors had disappeared, and the sky had turned a water-washed, translucent dark blue.
"Ready to go?" I whispered in Winter's ear. She was still looking dreamily out over the horizon.
"Mm? Yeah," she said blinking and turning her pretty eyes on me. "You know, Eva should be back by now. Do you want to go say hi to her?"
Eva. The thought of her weighed down my heart. Would she have a verdict for me? Had the weekend away from Branner City given her the insight she needed to decide if she wanted to stay with me… or leave?
Today had been the most fun I'd had in a while, I could admit to myself. I pushed any thoughts of Eva out of my head for now. Suddenly, something occurred to me, and I just
had
to ask.
"Winter?"
"Hmm?"
"Are we… friends?"
She looked at me. "Of course we are," she whispered. Then she paused. "Unless you don't want to be." She bit her lip and looked away.
"No," I said. "I want to be." It was a peculiar feeling, sitting there next to her and realizing she was actually my friend. I was finally able to grasp something that had been gnawing away at the back corners of my mind for a while – I trusted her. No matter how much I sometimes went out of my way to annoy her, just for fun, or anything else, here I was, sharing my whole Sunday with her, right?
I guess there's something to be said when I actually found it in my heart to be friends with Winter Bruin. I suppose she had earned my trust.
Chapter Twelve: Phone Calls
Zack
"Take this?" Winter requested.
"Wha – ?" She handed me a brown rubber band. The rubber band that had held together the little pack of plastic utensils from Mr. Pickles.
"Put it on," she said.
I complied without asking – she would explain when she felt like it. The rubber band hung perfectly from my left wrist, just loose enough to be comfortable. I tilted my head a little, silently asking for her to give an explanation.
"Just wear it, okay?" she said.
I understood it to mean it was a token showing that she had found me equally as acceptable. I snapped it gently on the inside of my wrist; it stung just a little, but in an oddly pleasant and satisfying way. "Alright," I agreed. "It'll never come off."
She smiled, and seemed about to say something when my cell phone rang. I gave her an apologetic grin. I seldom used my cell phone, but always kept it on, so it surprised me that someone would be calling me now. I had caller ID, but the number was not a familiar one.
"Hello?" My eyes traveled around the park; the sky was gradually darkening. The sunset had been over for a long time already.
"Zackary?"
I froze. My mind was immobilized too, ridiculously stuck in place and unable to move either forward or back. My mouth gaped open, and I'm pretty sure my eyes widened before I managed to choke out, "
Dad
?" My brain whirred back to life with that word.
Winter looked at me curiously, her head cocked to one side.
I cursed silently, a hundred questions, angry words, and demands all struggling to escape my lips. I couldn't think of what to say first. Finally I managed to contain my silent anger and held back the words, re-constructing that carefully built dam that had been perfected over the years. "I'm kind of busy right now, Dad," I said before he could say whatever it was that happened to be on his mind. "Can you call me back some other time?"
"No, Zackary," he said in that clipped voice of his that I despised so much.
So
much. "If I do, I know you won't answer my calls. This will only take a second."
"Fine," I bit out. "Say it, then."
"Your mother and I are coming back," my father said, that stranger that I never really knew. "There's been a lull in business here, and –" He paused, evidently listening to someone else talk over there, then yelled something in perfect Italian. "Sorry," he said, back on the line and not sounding apologetic in the least. "Anyway, there's been a quiet period in business, and I think we've milked the industry here quite a bit, so we're taking a vacation and coming home. How's Victoria?"
"She's fine," I said through clenched teeth.
"Still making good food?"
"I'm still alive, aren't I," I said angrily. It wasn't a question.
"Good," my father said, either oblivious to my tone of voice or ignoring it. Probably the latter, I thought bitterly, and he probably wasn't glad at all that I was still alive – disappointed would be a more accurate adjective, I think.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why have you suddenly decided to come back?" I shouted, hating him and reveling in the fury that the sound of his voice had brought on. "We don't need you here! Victoria and I are
fine
, just
dandy
without you and mother! Don't come back, I don't care!"
"We're coming back to see you," my father said evenly. "Please make this easier for all of us and take it calmly, Zackary."
"It's Zack," I spat. "And I am taking it calmly. You don't need to come back to see me. I'm more grown up than you think, and I've been grown up for a long time,
Father
, much longer than I've wanted to be." I felt someone's hand on the crook of my arm, and looked down to see Winter watching me with worried eyes. In all honesty, I had forgotten she was there, but for an instant, I was in the eye of the hurricane – seeing her beautiful eyes, just watching me, was enough to quell my anger for the briefest of moments. Time stood still, and I reached out and unconsciously brushed the back of my hand on her cheek. Her skin was so incredibly soft. 'Perfect.' The word drifted into my mind.
"We're coming back no matter what you say, Zackary," my dad said coldly, and the storm was back in full force, the fury reappeared, flaming up, hot and malevolent, encompassing every part of me. "So you'd better not put up a fuss. We'll be back on November 21st, in a week, and we expect to see you at the airport at 2:30pm, sharp."
"You all better not come back with presents," I sneered, just as unpleasantly. I thought about adding on an "I hate you", but decided it was too childish for the situation. It had worked when I was younger though. I hung up angrily, tossing the cell phone to the ground with disgust. I suddenly realized I was standing up – huh, must have gotten caught up in the fiery rage. It was not slowing down at all. In fact, it must have been picking up speed, gaining strength, ripping and burning through every hope I had had, re-igniting old arguments and new loathing. The anger clouded my thoughts as I paced restlessly on the banks of the duck pond.
"Damn you!" I yelled out across the water, my voice startling most of the birds and forcing them to fly up in a wave of feathers and wings. A young mother looked at me disapprovingly, got up from a bench, and rolled away her baby in its stroller.
"Shit," I muttered, not referring to the mother.
I jumped when I felt a hand on my back. "Zack?" Her voice was small.
"Winter," I sighed. She pulled me down slowly until we were lying down next to each other on the grass, I on my back, Winter on her stomach. I was left to look up into the empty sky, while she watched the water contemplatively.
We stayed there for a long time. She didn't say anything, but once when I shifted moodily, anger stirred up again, she turned over on her back and took my hand with both of hers. She held my hand, and it almost seemed she was examining it. She turned it over once in a while, now tracing patterns on the inside of my hand and palm, now on the back with the tips of her fingers, now tugging gently on my fingers, and now running her thumb over my knuckles gently. It was actually… soothing.
When complete darkness had descended on the park, I muttered an apology and said that perhaps we should be leaving.
She shook her head. "Don't apologize," she said softly. "You have nothing to be sorry about, especially not to me. But yes, let's go."
I got up first and pulled her up. She whispered a quick "Thanks," and we made our way back to my car. When we were buckling up and pulling out of our parking space, Winter said, "Don't answer if you don't want to, but who's Victoria?"
"She lives with me," I exhaled quietly. "Victoria Sanders. She's a forty-five year old widow. Her husband drowned out on his yacht during a storm when she was in her late twenties or so, a couple years after they got married. They never had children. She's been with us since before I was born, and she's always taken care of me and stuff. She cooks, cleans, and does other handy work around the house – almost like a maid, except she's a pretty close family friend. She's been with us a long time. Would you like to meet her sometime?" I don't know what had prompted that invitation; it was out of my mouth before I could pull it back.
"Sure, that would be lovely," Winter said. "Where are we going now?"
"I don't know," I said honestly, blinking. I hadn't thought about it. We were just driving. "Back to your house?"
"Not yet, maybe later," Winter said. She took my right hand again. "Will you tell me about it all?" she then asked gently.
"Yes," the word spilled out of my mouth, and I didn't regret it. "But it will be easier to show you than to tell you."
~
Winter
~
Neither of us said anything as we drove. Gradually, the neighborhoods we were passing grew nicer and more expensive. It wasn't until we had reached Galvest Street, in the most expensive neighborhood in Branner City, did he make a turn into the cul-de-sac. Zack pulled up in front of a huge house. I was awe struck. His family must have been extremely rich to afford this kind of home.
"This is my house," he said in a low voice as we stood in the driveway, looking up at the many windows and gently sloping roof. "Come inside."
The front door opened to a huge foyer that was roomy and had a high ceiling – I'm pretty sure the hall coat closet was bigger than my bedroom. The house was rather chilly, and eerily empty. For such a large house, it was decidedly unfilled and looked almost unlived in; it was unnaturally clean.