Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Henry
January 10th, 1997
It wasn’t my idea for Lucy to sneak out in the dead of winter. Not that winter means much more than a slight chill in the air around here, but still. Lying low in the holly bushes outside the parsonage, shrouded in darkness, I see a flash of golden hair reflecting the full moon’s light. She moves across the ground like a dancer, barely touching the earth. The sigh of her footsteps against the dead leaves could just as easily be the wind. Or the breath that escapes my lips when I see her creep past the last window at the edge of the house, then step fully into view.
Lucy Barlow isn’t just beautiful; she’s brave, too.
I heeded her dad’s warning. As much as I wanted Lucy for myself, more than anything I wanted her happy. And if leaving her alone kept Pastor Timothy off her back, then leave her alone I would.
That didn’t stop me from looking. And after that day at the piano, Lucy looked back.
Stolen glances at first. Eye contact that could’ve been mistaken as accidental had she not flushed red and glanced down at her toes the first dozen times it happened. Then one morning, while serenading the congregation with yet another of her father’s favorite old hymns, her gaze found mine and held it. By the end of the song, I was sure she’d meant it only for me.
Then came the notes. Slipped between the slats in my locker door at school, she addressed them to “The next Mozart” and signed each one “Love, your co-composer.”
I thumbed the word love so many times on that very first note that it became a blur of ink. It didn’t matter, though. By seventh period, the words were impressed upon my heart.
Most of the time we talked about music. Her secret love for TLC and my weird obsession with classical composers and Phil Collins, a combination she could never quite wrap her head around. Occasionally she’d ask about things I was doing on the weekends with my friends. She never seemed to have any plans with hers, a group of girls who were daughters of the deacons at church. Rarely did I mention my parents. Even more rarely did she mention hers.
I thought nothing of it when I wrote to her this morning letting her know we’d be going to the field tonight to hang out. All day I checked my locker between classes and found nothing. I tried to tamp down my disappointment, reassuring myself she was simply busy. The new semester was ramping up, and things were bound to get in the way. Still, sadness plagued me.
When the final bell rang, signaling the end of the day, I shoved my books into my locker without a second glance.
“You’ve been in a shitty mood all day, you know that?”
The glare I fired Derell’s way was enough to silence him but not to wipe the smirk off his face.
“Dude—”
“I don’t wanna hear it, Jed.” I elbowed our other friend, a heavyset brute with unfortunate teeth but a killer sense of humor. “Let’s just go. ”
“You might wanna listen to him.” Derell pointed over my shoulder. “Pastor’s daughter incoming.”
I followed my friends’ stares, and when I saw Lucy approaching, it was all I could do not to shove them into the opposing locker room just to get them away from her.
“Hi, Henry.” Lucy’s hair was braided into a single spindle down her back. Her gaze flickered from Jed on my one side to Derell on the other before settling on me, one delicate hand tugging that braid over her shoulder and twirling it around her fingers. “I was wondering, er, if I could come with you tonight. You know. To the bonfire.”
I’ve swallowed my own spit a million times in my life, but I swear to God in that moment I completely forgot how to do it. Instead a thick glob of it knotted my throat, rendering me speechless.
“He’d love that.” Derell’s arm came around my shoulder with a slap.
Her lashes, fair but long, dusted her cheeks as she blinked, waiting for me to be the one to answer. The one to say I would, in fact, love that.
“Will your dad let you?”
Jesus Christ. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. I wanted her there with every bone in my body, so why on earth was I saying anything to suggest otherwise?
Her lips, the perfect shade of pink, curved into a mischievous grin. “No, but that’s why we aren’t going to tell him.”
So no, sneaking out wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I’d do it all over again for the look on her face as she darts across her yard to me. Moonlight turns the blue-gray of her eyes to liquid silver, wide and unabashed. She’s all teeth with the way she smiles. I’ve never been one for art, but my fingertips itch to paint the flush of her skin, turned rosy in the cold.
She’s also wearing jeans that snap just below her navel, which is exposed by the sweater she’s tied up in a knot. The sight of her smooth abdomen sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the fact that it’s forty degrees out.
“Henry, are you there?” She wraps her denim jacket tight around her middle, hunching over to peer into the bush where I’m crouched.
“I’m here!”
I pop up a little too suddenly, and she startles, her hand flying to her heart. “Shit, you scared me!”
Nervous laughter bubbles up in my chest, escaping in low, choppy breaths. “Did you just curse?”
Her eyes widen, then dart to the ground. “Sorry, I just wanted to try it.”
Our breaths are merging into puffs of smoke in the air. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I reach for her arm and squeeze. “Hey, look at me.”
It takes a few seconds, but she obliges.
“You can try anything with me.” I use my other hand to cross my heart. “Promise.”
Her smile returns, and it’s like day breaking in the middle of the night. This close, I can hear the ragged pace of her breaths, but I don’t understand. Is she cold? Is she nervous? My hand slips down her arm to her wrist, taking in the rapid thrum of her pulse. Mine echoes hers, a resounding snare drum in my ears. “Lucy?—”
She shoves her hands into her pockets, huffing out another cloud. “So, are we going to this party or what?”
I nod, taking an unsteady step backward and then another until there’s enough space between us that I can inhale without the scent of honeysuckle accompanying the breath. “Right, yes. I parked up the street a ways so your dad couldn’t hear the truck. Are you okay to walk?”
Her lips form a thin smile, and she nods, gesturing for me to lead the way.
When we arrive at the field on the outskirts of town, there are already several trucks forming a semicircle around a bonfire housed in a cinder-block ring. I back in next to Derell’s beat-up Ford, several discarded beer cans crunching under my tires. Derell and Jed are leaning against his tailgate, ogling the object of Jed’s desire since third grade: Talia Winters.
She’s tall with a dark, slicked-back ponytail and a perpetual pout coated in her signature plum lipstick. She’s also a bit into herself for my taste, but she’s given a blow job to at least two guys in our grade, and Jed is desperate to be next. I roll my eyes, snickering as I shut off the engine.
“What’s so funny?” Lucy clicks the release on her seat belt, and as it retracts, her exposed midsection comes back into view.
My dick strains against the seam of my jeans. I shake my head. I have no room to judge my friends. Reaching for the door, all I can do is hope the dark is enough to hide my reaction to her. “Nothing. Come on, let’s go catch up with the guys.”
Jed whistles as we approach. “Well I’ll be damned. You actually made it!” He punches Lucy’s shoulder gently when she comes within reach. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
My stomach flips over. I open my mouth to jump to her defense and tell my friend to shut the fuck up, but then my gaze finds Lucy’s, and I’m speechless.
Her chest has puffed up with pride, another wide smile gracing her soft features. Her eyes reflect the firelight like a stone warmed by the sun. “I didn’t either. But I owe it all to my getaway driver.”
My answering smile only brightens hers more, and it sends a twinge of hope down my spine. Maybe she likes me, too.
“D’you want a beer?” Derell asks, leaning around Jed with a can in hand. He shakes it a little. “Got ’em from my dad’s stash. ”
“Oh, um.” She worries at her bottom lip, staring at the drink intently.
I step closer, touching my fingertips to her elbow. “You don’t have to, you know.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. When her tongue flicks out to soothe her own bite, every thought I’ve ever had empties from my useless head. The fire cracks and pops to my left, warming that side of my body. Our classmates laugh and shout and chatter, but all that falls away till there’s only Lucy. And her lips. And her tongue.
“I want to,” she says, breaking the spell. Derell plops the can into her outstretched hand, and it hisses to life beneath her fingers. When the first sip hits her tongue, she turns to me with her nose scrunched up. “Wow, that is disgusting. How do you drink that stuff?”
“He doesn’t,” Jed and Derell quip in sync.
I keep my eyes on her. “I don’t.”
“You don’t?” Another sip. The wince is bigger this time, and so cute my heart seizes. “Why not?”
I shrug. “Not my thing.”
This time when she takes a swig, it results in a whole-body shiver. She holds the beer out to Derell. “I don’t think it’s my thing either.”
He laughs, his white teeth flashing. “No judgment.” Jed offers his can for a toast, and Derell knocks the discarded beer against it. “More for us.”
“More for you,” Lucy chimes, and she doesn’t sound sad about it. When she looks up at me, several strands of blonde hair cling to her cheeks. “Thank you for bringing me.”
I decide for once in my life to be a little brave. With a gingerly brush of my hand, I sweep the tresses off her face, all the while committing the softness of her skin to memory. “Anytime.”
We don’t stay long at the party. It’s late, and the cold gets more unbearable the longer you’re in it. There’s also an underlying frenetic energy zapping my nerves as time stretches on, putting us at more and more risk of Lucy’s parents discovering her absence. After ensuring Jed’s good enough to drive (he stopped after two beers) and that Derell is keeping an eye on our lovestruck friend (he blearily assures me he is), I usher Lucy to the passenger door of my truck. She takes my hand as she climbs in, and I commit the feeling to memory.
My tires crunch back over those discarded cans, announcing my exit. I follow the well-worn path through the tall grass back to the highway, glancing both ways before turning left toward town.
“Thank you again for tonight,” Lucy says, her normally melodic voice raspy from the cold. She shifts in her seat, hugging herself tighter. “I never thought I’d get to go to a real party.”
Sadness pings in my heart. Sure, no parent loves the idea of their kid getting drunk somewhere in a field. But mine have always given me the freedom to go out and make those choices for myself, trusting that I’d do right by them when the time came. And I have. I always have.
But Lucy has never even had the chance. She dutifully serves at church, gets better grades than most of our class, and spends her weekends taking care of her younger siblings. And yet, in all that, she still dreams. In our notes she tells me about the places she’d like to visit when she’s finally able to move out. She says she’ll come to Nashville and watch me play. Maybe even sing along to my music.
Suddenly my throat is thick with yearning, though I don’t have that word for it yet. Instead, in some corner of my mind, I file it away under Lucy’s name, because it’s an emotion I’ll always associate with her.
“Can you pull over real quick?”
“Huh?” I ask, startled from my reverie.
Lucy points to the shoulder. “Pull over there, by those trees. ”
I do as she asks, shifting into park as soon as we’re stopped. “Are you okay?” My hand finds hers in the dark, and our gazes do the same. “You’re not gonna be sick, are you?”
Her head shakes. Slowly my eyes adjust, and I see that her bottom lip is trembling. The air around us grows heavy and electric, pricking my skin in a thousand places. She’s looking at me—I mean really looking —the way I did that day in the sanctuary when I realized just how much she was capable of. My spine straightens and I swallow, unsure if my voice will be there when I reach for it to speak.
“What’s wrong, Lucy?”
She wets her lips, leaving them glistening in the moonlight. “You know how you said I could try anything with you?”
My dick twitches. In what I hope is a subtle movement, I rest one hand on my lap as a shield. “Yes.”
“Could we…I mean could I…”
A car passes by outside, rocking the truck gently in its wake. Her cheek hollows like she’s biting it. Hesitantly she turns over our hands in the seat between us, using her other to trace the lines in my palm as best she can.
“Could we what, Lucy?” Because suddenly I need to know. Have to know.
“I’ve never been kissed.” Her voice cracks and she swallows. Licks her lips again. “And I was wondering if you could change that.”
My heart pounds so loudly in my chest I’m convinced she can hear it. The moment I nod, all the oxygen leaves the cab of the truck. It’s now a vacuum, a black hole, and the middle seat is the center point drawing us in. I unclip my seat belt at the same time she does, and we move toward one another in sync, our hips, thighs, knees meeting in one deliciously warm greeting.
It’s second only to the feeling when our lips collide.
Lacing one hand through the silken threads of her hair, I move my mouth over hers. Gently at first, then with more courage. Her lips part, one gasping breath coating my cheeks, and then I’m right there, brushing my tongue in tandem with hers. A soft whimper escapes the kiss, barely audible over my racing pulse, but I’ll remember it for the rest of my life, that sound. I know it. I just do.
I’m not sure how much time passes before we part, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. It could be seconds or hours. All I know is my whole life begins and ends with that kiss. With Lucy and her soft skin, and her beautiful eyes with pupils so blown I can barely make out her irises. But they’re there. Miraculous and striking as always.
“Does it always feel like that?” she whispers. Two fingers find her bottom lip, and she traces that swollen skin like she too can’t believe the sensations originating there.
I don’t tell her that unless you count the peck on the lips Rebecca Hornstead gave me in kindergarten, then this is my first kiss, too.
I shake my head. I don’t have to kiss other girls to know this was special. “No, no it doesn’t.”
Our foreheads meet. Her scent envelops me like a blanket against the cold. She laughs and I feel it down in my core.
Her gaze drops to my lips. “Can we do it again?”
I have every intention of obliging, but the second I try to, the cab is lit up with red and blue.