The Clearing (24 page)

Gone. He was gone.

The rain mixed with my tears. I buckled over onto the porch, crying for me then and me now. Crying it al out. Crying it al away.

And then arms were around me. Wet, warm arms were pul ing me up to my feet and holding me. "I'm here," Henry said, rocking me against the rain. "I'm here, sweetheart."

"I told you to leave." I sobbed into his already-wet shirt.

"I wasn't about to leave you alone with him."

"I had to tel him," I said, sucking in my breath. "I had to tel him on my own."

Henry kissed my forehead. "You did so wel ." He stroked my hair and held me tighter. "Everything's going to be al right."

And I felt so strong. And I felt so loved.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"It's not much, but..."

"It's fine." Henry glanced around the trailer. It was cozy enough, and it was dry. He hadn't expected anything grandiose.

"Be right back," Amy said.

Henry tried to contain his dripping to the few squares of tiling near the wood stove and couldn't help but gawk at the contents of the room. A big, rounded sofa was positioned under the front windows, and a wood cabinet at the end of the room held several things that looked electric. Little lights decorated their black fronts, including a bright green 12:00 that flashed repeatedly. Beneath those machines, he saw his reflection in the glass screen of what had to be a television. He'd only read about those in science magazines; he didn't know anyone who'd seen one in real life.

Shaking his head, he gave the German shepherd another pat and then added sticks to the fire. Soon he had the blaze stoked up and crackling away.

Amy returned in pajamas a moment later, carrying a stack of towels.

"Thank you. I haven't felt a good rain since I don't know when," Henry said, taking the towel Amy held out to him. "Mighty refreshing," he said with a nervous laugh.

Amy stood by the couch, watching him. "You're soaked. Do you want a bathrobe or something?"

"That'd be swel ." A minute later, Henry was returning from the bathroom, dressed in the thick, white robe, which smel ed of Amy's flowery soap, and hanging up his wet clothes near the wood stove to dry. The fire was warming up the room at last, and Amy had fixed them both mugs of tea. The lights were low, and it was about as cozy as Henry could have imagined the future to be.

"Better?" Amy asked.

"Yes," he said, taking a seat beside her on the sofa.

"It's been a terrible evening," she said.

"Yes, I know."

"No, it's not just Matt. My aunt's real y il . I'm so scared." Amy leaned her head on him, and he wrapped an arm around her thin shoulders.

"I'm with you now. Don't worry," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"How did you know Matt was here?" Amy picked up her mug and took a sip.

"I didn't. I came here tonight for something else," Henry said. "I'm so sorry about the other night. You were right to tel me about Robert. You were right about everything. I need to go on. I need to see what happens."

Amy set her tea down. "So, this is it? You're moving on?"

He nodded. "I couldn't leave without seeing you. Without tel ing you..."

"Without tel ing me what?"

"I think you know." He held her chin up and planted the lightest kiss on her lips. When he pul ed back, Amy's eyes were closed, her long eyelashes stil rain logged, makeup smeared around them—but so beautiful.

"Tel me, Henry. Tel me and mean it." It was a demand and a prayer al in one.

"I love you," he said, kissing the bridge of her nose. "I've loved you since I met you. And I'l love you forever." He gazed into Amy's brown eyes, wanting her to know everything that was inside him, everything that he'd been holding at a distance. "I know you can't come with me, but I'l take you wherever I go. I'l remember you always."

Tears trailed down Amy's cheeks. "Me, too," she said. And she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

He kissed the top of her damp head. "Tel me, Amy. Tel me and mean it," he whispered.

"I love you, Henry Briggs," she said. "And I mean it."

He had to kiss her then. And Amy kissed him back. And the kiss deepened into more than a kiss. Henry pul ed Amy on top of him, and for the moment there were only the two of them and the kiss taking a shape of its own.

A kiss that would have to last him a lifetime.

***

Minutes later, Henry was nearly trembling as Amy led him to her bedroom. "Stay with me for a little while longer," she said.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I want to fal sleep with you holding me," Amy said. "I promise I'l be a perfect gentlewoman."

And Henry knew he didn't want her to be that way. He wanted her to need him as badly as he did her. But he climbed into the clean, crisp sheets next to Amy and let her cuddle up next to him. Her hair was dry now and held that maddening smel of flowers. He tried not to think about her in her thin pajamas, of the feel of her shape curled against him.

"Hold me tighter," Amy said, her lips moving closer to his neck, so that he could almost feel them on his skin. "I want to remember this."

There was pain in her voice, a pain Henry recognized.

"Don't think about tomorrow," he said.

"How can I not?"

He found her lips in the dark and kissed her again. And then she was kissing him back and crying at the same time.

"None of that," Henry said, kissing her chin, then her nose, then her cheeks and forehead.

"Henry ... would you, um, do you want to..." Amy had stopped crying, and her voice was soft across the pil ows.

At first he didn't know what to say. Of course he wanted Amy, wanted her more than anything. "We don't have to..." he said. "I'm not expecting anything."

"I want to. I want to pretend my first time was with you," Amy said.

And Henry closed his eyes and for the first time in his endless summer, let everything just happen as it would.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I woke up and found Henry sitting on the edge of my bed. He was framed in shadows, but I could see he'd put on his dried clothes and abandoned my robe on the hamper in the corner. I thought about how safe I'd felt with Henry, how comfortable it had been with his arms around me. How different it had been from what I'd experienced with Matt. Henry had been right—when you truly loved someone, it made everything better.

"What's going on?" I said, moving up onto my elbows.

He smiled. "Just watching you sleep."

I glanced toward the windows. It was dark, but I didn't hear rain pounding on the roof anymore. I was sleepy, and al I wanted was for Henry to climb back into the sheets with me. "What time is it?"

"It's late."

A silence fel between us. It wasn't only late outside; it was late for Henry. I knew what was coming next. "I don't want you to go," I said.

Henry nodded. "I don't want to, either, but it's the only way this ends."

I gathered the sheets and blankets in my fists, pul ing them up around me. I tried to take deep breaths, but only shal ow ones came and I started to feel dizzy. Henry reached for my hands, forcing them to relax as he pul ed me up to a sitting position.

"You need to be strong," he said. "And from what I saw earlier tonight, that comes easy for you."

"What, are you just going to walk out the door and be gone forever? You're just going to leave me here in the dark?"

"Amy, don't."

"I'm going with you. I'm going with you into the mist." I scrambled out of bed and rummaged in the closet for clothes, throwing on jeans and a sweatshirt.

Henry sat on the bed, watching me. "Amy," he whispered, his voice breaking, "this is hard for me, too."

I stopped in the midst of looking for socks and sneakers.

"You know you can't go, any more than I can stay." He moved to the window and stared out at the back field, at the stretch of trees before the mist. When he turned back to me, his voice was low. "I love you. I meant it when I said it before, and I mean it now. Nothing that happened between us tonight changes that. The distance and time between us doesn't change it. The fact that we can't be together doesn't change it, either."

I dropped the shoe in my hand and went to hug him at the window. "I love you, too."

"Then walk me to the clearing one last time."

***

The path through the woodlot had never seemed so short. Every step I took brought me closer to losing Henry forever. And every step seemed to make me angrier. It wasn't fair that now that I'd final y learned what true love was, it was going to disappear. But maybe that's the price of love—that you don't know how long it's going to last. And you don't know how bad it's going to hurt when it goes away.

"What's the plan?" I asked.

Henry paused to pat Katie-dog where we stood at the edge of the mist. "I'm going to change my prayer tonight, and if it works, then the rest of my life begins."

"And Robert wil come home," I said.

"Hopeful y, Mother wil be around to see that. I don't know what's going to happen. To me, to any of us."

"You're going to do great things."

"I don't know about that," Henry said.

"No, that was a very important time in our history," I said. "I just mean that whatever you and Robert end up doing in the war, you're making a big difference."

A flicker of fear shone in Henry's eyes. "Is it—"

"Yeah, it's almost over, Henry." I reached for his hand.

"Thank you, Amy," he said. "I wouldn't be at this crossroads if you hadn't come along."

I shrugged. "Maybe."

"No maybes." Henry kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you for showing me how life could be."

I started crying then, because it al felt so final. Henry wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me tight. I inhaled the scent of his skin and soap and touched his sandy blond hair, wil ing my fingers to remember the way it felt. I didn't want to forget any of this. I didn't want this moment to end.

Henry kissed my lips softly and then pul ed back to look at me. "Amy, you deserve so much more than you've been given. I know you'l find someone, someday, who's worthy of your love. Don't settle for anything less. Promise me."

I nodded because I couldn't speak. I couldn't tel him that I didn't want to believe what he was saying, that I'd never love anyone the way I loved him. I couldn't tel him my heart was breaking in so many more ways than I ever knew it could.

Henry's eyes wel ed with tears he refused to acknowledge. He reached out one more time to smooth my hair away from my eyes. "Goodbye, love."

And then he let me go and walked into the mist alone.

After he faded away into the clearing, I walked back to Mae's. I pul ed off my clothes and got into bed. Sobbing, I scrunched the covers over my head. I breathed in the faint smel of Henry's soap stil left on the pil ows. I listened to the rain starting up again and Katie snoring at my side.

And I wished myself far, far away. Only I stayed there in my bed missing him. And then at last, merciful y, the dark took me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I blink awake to sunlight. A big German shepherd is sleeping at the foot of my bed. I sit up because I hear someone whistling a happy tune. And then my door opens and a graying old woman stands there smiling at me.

"Amy, sweetie! Up and at 'em! Uncle Joe's making pancakes."

"Great-Aunt Mae?"

"Wel , who else would it be? Let's go!"

The dog fol ows Mae out of the room. I look around, but everything seems strange. There's an oak dresser and a desk with a shiny laptop on it. The curtains are a cheerful yel ow, and the room is large and bright. I slip out of the bed and go to the window. I'm on the second story and from here I can see a garden of winter vegetables, and a large apple tree that's lost its leaves. The view seems familiar, yet alien.

I realize I'm in underwear, so I open the closet and take out a white robe. Tying the belt, I walk out into the hal way. Pictures line the wal s. I recognize Aunt Mae, along with a man who must be Uncle Joe. Military pictures of the man in uniform. There are my baby pictures. Pictures of me and my mom. Pictures of me with a familiar-looking boy my age. I sit down on the step, feeling strange and trying to figure out why things seem so fuzzy.

"You al right, sweetie?" Mae says, fol owing me down the stairs.

"Mae, where'd al the pictures come from?"

She laughs. "They've only been here every summer you've spent up here in the val ey with us! And that's been since you were, what, eleven?"

"Who's this?" I say, pointing at the picture of me with a mystery boy.

"Oh, I get it—this is some kind of a senility test? Fine, I'l play," she says. "That, my dear, is your first and only boyfriend, Jackson. You've been spending time with him each summer since you were thirteen. Such a nice boy."

"Who's this?" I point at the pictures of her with the man.

"Uncle Joe."

"And here?" I say, pointing at a military photo.

"That's your uncle when he was in the Marines during the war. That boy there next to him, Henry Briggs, saved Joe at Iwo Jima."

My skin pricks with goose bumps, but I'm not sure why. "Briggs?"

Mae nods. "Henry befriended Joe from the first minute he met him. Seemed to always be watching over my Joe. Good man. After the war, Henry's brother, Robert, ended up sel ing this house to my daddy. Robert and his family moved into town."

"This house?"

"We almost lost it in a kitchen fire years ago, but Joe was able to extinguish the flames."

I have to ask, and I'm not sure why, "What happened to Henry?"

"Missing in action. Never came back from the war. His family was quite sad, especial y his mother. But they were also proud that Henry saved my Joe."

"Your Joe?"

Mae taps a wedding photograph farther down the wal . "Married forever now," she says with a giggle. "Come on—did I pass the test? Yes?

Then let's go eat some breakfast."

We go down the stairs, passing through a formal parlor with a piano, and enter a sunlit kitchen. An old guy places a stack of pancakes in front of us.