The Clearing (17 page)

Henry said, "Wel , maybe yes, maybe no."

Amy didn't say anything for a moment, and Henry wished he could take back his bold comment. He didn't know what right he thought he had to presume this was love, or if Amy would even love him back. And obviously, he'd made her uncomfortable. She wouldn't look at him.

"What if al this disappears with a change of your prayer? Then what good was it?" Amy said, final y breaking the torturous silence.

"Loving someone is never a waste, Amy." He reached for her hand.

"What if the truth makes this al go away?"

"What kind of truth could do that?" Henry pul ed Amy into his arms and final y said what he'd been holding back. "What did you come here to talk to me about, anyway? Are you going to tel me you're not coming back?"

"I don't want to tel you anything. I don't want any of this to end."

"Are you going to tel me something happened with Matt? Because I don't care about that. I don't care about whatever happened before; I just want to be with you."

"But if you can't cross over and be with me in my lifetime, then we can't be together, can we? I mean, you plan to go on living this way forever, and I have to move on. I have to go to school tomorrow, and grow up, and move away to somewhere eventual y. I can't come to the field forever, can I?"

Henry kissed her. Kissed her to shut her up because he couldn't take any more of the what ifs. Couldn't take any more thoughts of Amy's not being there with him.

"No," Amy said, pul ing away, her eyes fierce. "You can't just kiss me and think al of these questions and problems disappear."

"Why not?" he asked, reaching up to stroke her cheek. "You make me forget everything, and it's lovely," he said. "Being with you is the first different thing in my life. Before you, I didn't think about anything other than this summer. I didn't want anything else..."

"Henry. Seriously."

"You wrecked al this for me."

"Yeah, that's what I do best, wreck things," Amy said.

"I didn't mean it that way," he said. "I think you know that."

"Do I? And what if I knew something that would
really
wreck things—al of this? Do I just keep it to myself? 'Cause when I cross that clearing, when I go back to the super fabulous trailer on the other side, al I think about is
you.
That's the awful truth, Henry. That's more awful than anything."

Amy walked off toward the clearing, leaving Henry standing there stunned. He didn't—nearly couldn't—move. The prospect that Amy could be having the same feelings as he was weakened him.

"Amy!" Henry cal ed after her. In seconds he was beside her in the mist, pul ing her into his arms. "Don't say something like that and run off,"

he said, kissing her forehead. "Don't."

"It's going to be too hard." Amy looked up at him, and Henry saw she'd been crying again.

"No, no—none of that," Henry said, stroking the tears away with his fingers.

Her eyes were half closed and she was shaking her head slowly. "This is al going to go away and it's going to be real y hard for me to deal."

"Then don't make it go away," Henry said. He kissed her cheeks, then her lips. Amy kissed him back, and Henry felt such a swel in his heart. Strands of her wavy hair escaped her ponytail, tickling Henry's face as the kiss deepened, and then she let out the faintest of sighs.

Henry forced himself to pul back. He stood there, barely able to catch his breath, just looking at Amy in the darkness of the mist around them. She was pretty, even with the smudges of lipstick on her mouth, and her hair loose from the ponytail and mussed. As he studied her, memorizing her beauty, she moved to him and kissed him again.

Henry felt a deep stirring inside him. This girl. Amy. Her mouth on his. She was kissing him and he was trying to keep pace. They sank to the ground, until they were lying in the tal grass and Amy was on top of him.

Suddenly, for Henry this was more than some fumbling around at the school dance, or awkward necking at the movie house with some girl from school. He wanted Amy in a way he'd never wanted any girl. Wanted to possess her. Take her right there in the field, and he'd never done anything like that before, though he'd certainly thought about things like that alone in his room in the dark.

Thankful y, when Henry almost couldn't take it anymore, Amy broke away. Rol ing to one side, she locked gazes with him. "This isn't ... I mean, I shouldn't be doing this," she said, her breath ragged. "It's not right."

"I'm sorry. It's my fault," Henry said. He reached up to move a strand of Amy's hair from across her beautiful brown eyes. "But it doesn't feel wrong to me. Being with you could never feel wrong. But I'l try to be a gentleman."

"I don't want you to be," Amy said, breathlessly. "That's what I can't handle."

Henry smoothed another strand of Amy's hair. "As much as I want you, I wouldn't be pushy or try anything untoward in a field. You deserve a white wedding."

Amy let out a deep breath. "Won't be having one of those, anyway," she said softly.

Henry tried to remain calm, but his blood was racing. He shut out the mental image of Amy with anyone else—anyone but himself—and reached for her hand. "Sorry, I didn't know. That Matt character?"

Amy nodded. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

"It doesn't matter to me," he said, kissing her softly on the cheek. "Nothing you could say would make me change the way I feel about you."

"I didn't love him. I mean, I thought I did, but I don't think that's what it was." Her voice was smal . "And so, white weddings aren't real y—wel it's not, you know, such a big deal in my time to uh, hook up with a guy."

"Hmm," Henry said. "I don't know if that's a good or bad thing."

"I wanted my first time to be special. It wasn't. Not at al ," she said quietly. "So you, uh, never did it?"

"
It?
" Henry shook his head. "No."

"It's not that great," Amy said.

"If you don't love the person, I don't see how it could be," Henry said, squeezing her hand. "When you care deeply, truly, about someone, I imagine it would be wonderful." He leaned back in the grass, looking up at the whiteness that drifted across the night sky overhead.

"Yeah, I guess so," Amy said, sounding far away.

They were both quiet for a moment. Then Henry said, "If we could see the stars better, I'd look for a shooting one and make a wish."

"I don't think you need to be doing any more of that," Amy said with a smal laugh.

"A wish and a prayer are like apples and oranges," Henry said. "They aren't the same thing at al ."

"Yeah," Amy murmured. "Man, it real y is dark. Crap." She sat up, fixing her ponytail and smoothing her dress.

"Sure, it's probably late," Henry said, raising himself to his elbows.

Amy stood up, brushing stray grass from her clothes. "I gotta go."

"When can I see you again? Promise me you'l return, Amy."

"Of course. I have a homecoming meeting after school tomorrow. So later that night, 'kay?" Amy bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

And then she was gone, a distant figure vanishing in the mist.

"'Kay," Henry echoed, trying out Amy's slang, and then he lay back in the grass for a minute more, contemplating what had just happened.

Amy's not saving herself for marriage didn't real y bother him as much as it could have, he guessed. In her time, things were obviously different, though he did have a friend or two who'd had some experience with girls who weren't afraid of a boy making love to them. What bothered him was that Amy's first time had been with someone who didn't care about her, obviously. He would never have done that to her.

He let himself imagine Amy in his arms again, reliving each moment so he knew it had actual y happened. He'd never expected to experience that kind of feeling. Love. Was that what this was? Or was it the most wonderful dream? In that case, he might as wel be in heaven. And now he had to wait a whole day before he could see her again. That seemed like a lifetime.

"You've got it bad, chump," he said, shaking his head. He got up, dusted off his trousers and shirt, and walked slowly back toward the house.

As the house came into view, Henry could see his grandfather stil on the porch, rocking slowly in his chair. Henry mounted the stairs, and his grandfather lifted his pipe in salute, then went back to rocking. But his gaze was on Henry.

They sat there in silence and together watched the ghostly pipe smoke twirl its way toward what Henry was beginning to see as the big, fake summer moon.

It didn't feel real anymore—nothing did without Amy.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I crossed the clearing and nearly skipped down the dark path through the woodlot. My heart was stil pounding and my lips were warm. Henry. His name echoed in my brain, and I could smel the faintest smel of his soap on the col ar of my dress. I bounded through the trees, not caring about the drizzle fal ing through the canopy of branches.

There was magic humming in my body—a tingling I was sure had everything to do with how I felt about Henry. My cheeks heated up when I thought about how much I'd wanted him to kiss me, how I rol ed him onto the grass. I hadn't done that before—I mean, I hadn't been the one doing the rol ing. It terrified and thril ed me.

I shivered in the cool night air and slowed my run as I neared the trailer. Things with Henry hadn't exactly gone as planned. There was the problem of me chickening out.
The things I hadn't said to Henry.
It wasn't exactly a mission accomplished. But I sensed he wasn't ready to hear the truth about what happened to Robert. He wasn't ready to hear that al of his efforts were for nothing. Was it so selfish to want someone to stay where they were? To stay with you forever?

I stopped at the foot of the porch stairs, feeling my exhilaration crash down to earth. Henry wasn't mine. He couldn't be. We couldn't be.

There was no forever that included me. I had to tel him—tomorrow night I'd tel him.

Katie-dog was sleeping near the door, ears cocked my way as I approached.

"Hey, girl, locked out?"

She eased herself up to a standing position and wagged her tail, whining. I reached down to pet her and she was al over me, sniffing and snorting.

"Easy," I said, pushing her down.

She whined but stayed off me, and I let us into the house. I heard light snoring coming from Mae's room, which was a relief. As I got a glass of water, I glimpsed myself in the oven door's reflection—hair messed up, red lipstick smeared on my mouth. I grabbed a paper towel, dampened it in the sink, and rubbed the scarlet stain off my lips. I changed out of the dress, careful y hanging it in the closet. And then, clad in pajamas and listening to Radiohead through my earbuds, I tried to sleep.

But nothing could force Henry from my mind. Nothing.

***

"We real y need to meet again next week?" I asked, as Jackson, Lori, and I left Mr. Planter's room the next day. "It seems like al that's left is to make the punch."

Lori gave me a pitying look. "There's so much more to it than that. I mean, no offense, Amy, but thank goodness you're not in charge." She playful y shoved my shoulder, nearly knocking me into Jackson.

"Easy," Jackson said, reaching out both hands to steady me. "Who's in for Hal's? I think we need to ponder our plan over fries."

"Yeah, my mom's making some kind of gross chili-mac casserole, so count me in," Lori said.

We reached Jackson's truck. "Amy?"

"Um, I guess," I said, glancing down at my watch.

"You guess about french fries?" Lori said as she climbed into Jackson's truck and slid over to the middle seat.

"Wel , it's just that I have something later."
Something
was right. Al day, I'd been thinking about Henry, about getting back out to the clearing like I'd promised.

"That's cool if you don't want to come with," Jackson said. "Want me to run you home first?"

I hesitated long enough to see the disappointed look on Lori's face. "No," I said. Forget it. It's fine. Let's go have some fries."

"And talk about the outfits," Lori said. "This is a working dinner."

"Oh, brother," Jackson said. He threw the truck in reverse and backed out of the parking spot.

"I don't get it—are they giving out a prize for best dressed, or something? Did I miss that part of the meeting?" I said.

"No," Lori said with a sigh. "I just, wel , it's stupid. Never mind."

"Okay, we wil ," Jackson said, winking over at me, before he pul ed out of the lot and onto the road to town.

"No, we won't. C'mon, what's the deal?" I reached over and pinched Jackson.

"Ouch! Yeah, Lori, I'm sorry—I was just playing. What's so important about having the best costumes?" Jackson added.

Lori crossed her arms over her chest. "I know it probably sounds dumb, but every year, we walk into the dance and it's like we're total dorks or something. Quinn and Melanie and those people make me feel so lame."

"Um..." Jackson said.

"Don't make fun of me, Jackson. You total y know what I'm talking about," Lori said, her voice smal .

"Wel , that sucks," I said.

"Sure they're jerks, but you don't have to take it personal y," Jackson said.

"Yeah, thanks. It helps to remember that when I'm crying in the bathroom stal because Melanie and her cronies laughed about my stupid dress."

"Real y?" Jackson said.

Lori nodded.

After that, nobody said anything until Jackson parked the truck in an open spot at the drive-in. "I didn't know that happened," he said. "Why didn't you tel me?"

Lori sniffled and shook her head. "It was last year. I got over it."

Right.
I patted Lori on the arm. "Listen, that won't happen this year. We're gonna look awesome."

"Yeah. I promise to take it more seriously," Jackson said. "Maybe we can figure out how I could get a real soldier's uniform or something."

Lori brightened. "Real y?"

"Yes, real y," Jackson said. He got out of the truck and waited for us to grab our stuff. Then, as Lori came around the front, he gave her a big hug.