4. What’s Wrong with Gideon Bell?
What’s Wrong with Gideon Bell?
My eyelids flutter open, my back pressed against the hot seat of the school bus as it rolls over the one-lane bridge, making all its passengers bounce in their seats.
When I look down, my thick beaded bracelet unsticks from my skin, leaving large red circles imprinted there.
Gideon moves around beside me, his woodsy, clean linen scent urging my eyelids to close again.
I wish the bus would start over so I could sleep for a few more minutes, the noisy ambiance and kids laughing managing to allow for better naps than my house.
“Come on,” he orders in his trademark stoic way, not flinching as I wipe the drool off my cheek and stumble out of the seat after him, barely awake.
I take a step forward before his large hand grips the chunky belt I’m wearing, halting me long enough to strap my backpack to my back.
One drowsy blink from sleepwalking as I head up the aisle, ignoring our classmates as they whisper and point.
The warmth of the bus not allowing the edge of sleep to be shaken off.
I even debate asking Gideon if I can crash in his room for a few hours until my absence at home would get me in trouble.
In a nanosecond, I seem to go from half asleep to wide awake.
My teeth clack together so hard I swear they’ll break as Jeremy jerks his leg out into the narrow walkway of the bus at the last second, making me trip.
My hands grip the sun-damaged leather seats, only barely halting my fall.
I’m halfway turned when Gideon’s shoving me into a nearby seat.
He’s there so fast, like he was primed and ready the whole time.
His hands jerk out, snatching Jeremy’s throat in a brutal hold. The whole bus devolves into chaos.
My eyes widen, my mouth gaping in shock for a few precious seconds before my mind catches up to his sudden and untethered rage.
His grip only tightens around Jeremy’s throat, squeezing so hard the skin bunches and ripples under his palms in ways I’ve never seen before.
Like he’s trying to squeeze right through the muscle and bone.
I’m out of the seat, off the sweaty bodies of the boys I’d landed on, my hands knotting in his T-shirt just as the bus driver surges up.
“Gideon, stop it!” I yell barely above the other shouts. He doesn’t budge, his laser focus on preventing Jeremy from breathing. Jeremy has made school hell for the past few months since my dad arrested his for possession.
“Enough!” I flinch as the bus driver, a substitute today, yells over the riotous bus.
My hands grip Gideon by the backpack and jerking with all my might until a tiny sliver of light filters back into his deep eyes. “We need to go now!”
He shoves off Jeremy before bending close to him, not so much as budging as the kid coughs and gasps inches from his face.
His lips nearly touching his ear as he says something so low I can’t make it out.
Nor do I think I want to. Whatever it is, pales the ruddy tone to Jeremy’s skin just as the bus driver wedges his cumbersome frame to us.
The man practically shoves into a seat, smashing whoever was seated there.
Both girls squeal, making the boys behind them erupt in laughter.
I barely pay them any mind because Gideon is jerking me into his arms and all but carrying me off the bus.
Sometimes I forget Gideon isn’t a grown-up, playing along with all my silly kid games.
He seems so much older than he is. I lie awake some nights wondering what happens to a kid to make them so…
cold at fourteen. If there’s ever been another as frigid and unwavering as him.
I don’t protest as he hauls me into the foyer of Bell Funeral Home, his chest heaving.
I’ve never seen anyone fight like that, not…
not with their bodies. I should be scared, scared of Gideon.
I’m shaken, sure. But scared? Not at all, if I’m honest.
“Hey… Gideon, it’s okay,” I choke out, still getting my bearings.
“No! No, it’s fucking not, Audrey. I’m not.”
I frown, my chest tightening as his eyes glaze over, losing their pretty light again.
I never really know what to do when he gets like this, so like usual I opt to hug him.
The smell of wet dirt and fabric softener fills my nose as his arms band around me, holding me back.
No, not holding, gripping. I know I shouldn’t smile, but Gideon is the best friend ever.
So, his hugs, by default, are also the best. It doesn't matter how silly or how late it is, he always plays whatever game I want. He doesn’t tell me I’m being too excited or goofy.
He listens to me and lets me cry when I want to.
Let’s me sneak into his room at night when Mom gets too loud and Dad finds any reason to stay at the station.
The least I can do is give him a hug when he needs one.
He buries his head in my hair, inhaling deeply. “I think there’s something wrong with me, Audrey. I think I need help. I’m-I’m going to do something bad. It’s all I think about,” he says it into my hair, muffled but desperate like a secret he’s been dying to tell.
“Miss Audrey, I know you have a science project due tomorrow.”
I tug away from Gideon, ignoring the way he clings to me, refusing to let go despite his dad’s warm face down turned into a concerned frown at the top of the stairs.
“Better get back home,” he adds. His eyes, a dark deep mahogany like his hair, dip to his son’s white-knuckled hands as I finally untangle from them. Only barely wincing from the sudden release of a punishing grip.
“I finished it last night, thank you very much!” I state proudly, crossing my arms. Hoping to defuse the situation, cover for Gideon maybe. Also, technically Mom finished it for me, but I’m not going to tell him that.
He smiles, breaking the undercurrent of tension, shaking his head. “Even so, Gideon needs to help me with a new client.”
I groan. “Can I at least—"
“Not today, Audrey.”
My heart stills when I turn to say goodbye to Gideon. His dark black hair is sticking to the sweat on his brow; he looks so… upset. Will he tell his dad? The school will be calling tonight surely… “Gideon?”
I smile at him as his fingers clasp a strand of my hair, running it between them before giving it a sharp tug as he leans in, whispering to me softly. “Our place tonight?”
I almost fail to suppress my nod and eager grin before I wave bye to his dad, bounding out the door.
When midnight hits, I’m already halfway through my upstairs window, clambering down the lattice on the side of the house, careful not to upset Mom’s ivy.
The dry grass crunching beneath my feet might as well be drums, as loud as it sounds in the stillness of the night.
Not even the crickets and frogs keeping up their songs to help disguise my sneaking around.
It’s been a dry summer, unseasonably hot; Mom's tomato plants are one missed watering from death. Even in mid-August, fall looming ahead and in the dead of night, it’s at least every bit of eighty degrees outside.
I dash for the wood line, Krissy in my arms. Even after all these years, the woods still scare me, like I’m starring in my own horror flick unless Gideon is with me.
Our grove can’t come soon enough, and the second I hit it, a squeal rips from my lungs as strong arms band around me. My head goes light as he spins me, laughing.
Gideon… laughing.
I decide it’s my favorite sound as it carries through the dark woods again. “Audrey!”
We spin until the woods wobble around us and we collapse on the ground, my smaller frame slamming into his as he cushions my fall, finally cutting off my laughter. It’s only then I notice how sweaty he is. “Ew! You’re gross!” I squeal, trying to shove away, but only barely.
He laughs again, and for a second, I pause over him, again shaken by the sound.
The look of his empty ocean eyes filled with light.
Not the fleeting sliver I’m used to but overflowing.
Like something deep inside him has finally come to life.
The strands of my hair dance over his flushed cheeks.
His chest heaves, brushing mine and suddenly I’m aware of our closeness in a way I’ve never been before.
Aware of how warm he feels, how nice it is.
How right it feels. Like when I sneak into the bed with Mom and Dad during thunderstorms. It’s a warm safety you feel from the top of your head and spreads down to your toes. But different… sharper, softer.
Gideon looks at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever seen as he reaches up, tugging his fingers through my hair. I don’t miss the slight tremble to them. “I just… I think everything will be okay now.”
I blink dumbly, his words breaking me out of my staring. He slams air into his lungs like he can’t get enough of it, sitting up so abruptly I'm forced to retreat so that our heads don’t knock together, making me fall back onto my butt between his bent legs. “Well, what happened?”
“I got to work with my dad, like really work with him!”
I frown, our flashlights barely illuminating where Krissy had landed as I reach for her, dry grass crunching underneath, narrating each tiny movement. “You’re this excited over embalming people?”
He shakes his head, his moppy black hair shifting wildly. The action seeming to directly conflict with his words. “Yes! Well, I mean not quite, it's just… you wouldn’t understand, Audrey.”
My frown deepens, the light feeling stripped from my chest so quickly I wonder if I’d imagined it. That’s his go to, you wouldn’t understand. “I want to understand. If you’d just—”
“No,” he snaps, making me flinch. All the humor gone from his eyes, snuffed out like someone slammed a lid on a candle. I suppose that someone is me; it only makes the bitterness rise in my chest. Gideon is firmly back in place, removing any ounce of whoever he was moments ago.