Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) (7 page)

Now, four days after they'd broken up, she still hadn't the heart to tell her parents about their breakup. But everyone at school knew, that was for sure. Watching a smirking Danny walk down the hall with Lucy Walker on his arm, she wasn't even subtle the way she kissed his neck while staring daggers at Vanessa.
Bitch, she can have him. Probably already has done “it” with him.
That was why today found Vanessa sitting far from the school, immersed in her old self-wallowing. She watched as the kids got on the school buses or into their cars, speeding off like freed inmates for home. While she was still in solitary confinement.

Wait, correct that. Someone was heading her way.

“Oh shit,” she said aloud.

Gawky Adam Blackburn, hiking up his jeans like he'd left his belt at home.

That's when she realized, with dread, the horror of her current situation. She was sitting here because Jana and Tiffany had told her to go here, get away from prying eyes and just leave everything to them. They would make it right. Vanessa had insisted this morning that she wasn't going to the prom, no way would she put up with that kind of humiliation. Nor was she going to college as expected. Her entire life's course had been altered; she'd taken a detour. “I think I'll just run away to Europe and see the world, forget all about Danton Hill High and . . . boys. Find the real Vanessa Massey that lives inside me.”

“You do that later, Nessa,” Jana had said, “right now, you need to plan for the prom. It's our last big day together.”

“I thought graduation was.”

“That part's for the parents. Prom is for us.”

So, this was their brilliant idea for her to get back at Danny? Sending the clumsy kid with the pimples who'd sat in her homeroom all those years? The kid who was chosen last in gym class? The kid who was always assigned a lab partner because no one trusted his nervous hands with a beaker and chemicals. He was just too quiet, too introspective for her. She liked a guy with personality. She liked to laugh. Don't get her wrong, she knew Adam was sweet and kind, but he still looked like a kid, Doogie Howser, Graduate; she doubted a razor had even met his face yet. He probably still wore clothes his mother laid out for him. Still, considering the prom was just a few days from now, the beggar in her couldn't exactly become a chooser; most everyone had hooked up.
Please tell me it's a mistake, that's he's just headed through the fields on his way somewhere other than at her side.

Nope, wrong. He came straight for her.

“Hi, uh, hey, Vanessa.”

“Hi, Adam.”

“So, I guess you know why I'm here . . .”

Oh my God, was he really just going to lurch right in and ask her to the prom without any kind of . . . well, Danny would call it foreplay. Adam stood there as awkward as always, his hands in his pants pockets and his knapsack threatening to topple him. He was fidgeting too, and for a second she felt bad for him. Like he'd been sent to the lion's den where the lion was hungry, and angry. She pictured, briefly, Adam's head atop a dandelion.

“No, I don't, Adam. I couldn't possibly know.”

Why was she being a bitch? Where had that come from?

“Oh, really, sorry, it's because Jana and Tiffany—Rich, and that jerk Davey Sisto—they came by my locker and told me that . . .” Just then he closed his mouth. Vanessa saw him burn red beneath the collar of his shirt. He started to back away from her, wiping sweaty hands against his jeans. “Oh, I see, I get it now, this is just a setup—but not the good kind. Get me to humiliate myself, but you never intended to go through with it. Here, I thought you were different from the others . . . well, never mind . . . Vanessa,” he said, spitting out her name the way she wanted to do with Danny. Adam made a sudden retreat, starting down the hill, but then suddenly he stopped and turned back toward Vanessa. What he said struck right where Vanessa hurt the most.

“What Danny did to you, and in front of your friends, that was pretty rotten. You deserve better,” he said. “You always have.”

His words surprised her and she felt a sudden emptiness, like she didn't know who she was. Words failed her as she watched Adam set off, shuffling like a defeated man who'd seen his team lose to a walk-off homer. Vanessa felt a lump in her throat and was reminded of how crushed her feelings were the other night sitting on Danny's couch. When Danny had tossed her aside without any regard to their past, or their history. So she was stuck, instead, in the moment, as unsure of anything as she could remember. Her legs reacted before her mind, as Vanessa got up from the ground. She went running after Adam, calling his name.

She caught up with him in the long shadow of the water tower, the glare of the sun gone, the two of them temporarily lost to the rest of the world. The only heightened sense she felt was her sense of smell; she suddenly took in the brine of the lake, its crashing waves wafting over the wind. She thought of summer, of fun-filled days at the beach, Danny at her side . . .

This situation was crazy, how had her life gone from everything to nothing so quickly? How was it she and Adam Blackburn had been thrust together by circumstances orchestrated by others? She struggled to find the right words, any words, to soothe his hurt feelings. Why was she suddenly so concerned about him when it was she who had been dumped? Still, she felt a pang of sadness envelop her, knowing she would be more miserable staying home and trying to explain to her mother why Danny was dating Lucy Walker. Better company than loneliness, right? Oh hell, might as well just give in, blurt it out. Like her legs earlier, her mouth acted before her brain. That's when she spoke a simple phrase.

“I'd be happy to go to the prom with you.”

Adam, facing her with wounded eyes, swallowed hard, blanching at the abrupt nature of her acceptance. “But . . . but I didn't even get a chance to ask you.”

“Well, then I guess I'm asking you, what do you think about that? Adam Blackburn—will you go the Danton Hill High School Senior Ball with me?”

He smiled an unexpected wide grin. “Maybe the prom's theme has something to it after all. It's called the ‘Forever Yours' Ball.”

“Kid,” Vanessa said, her use of the word ironic, not meant to be an insult, “that kind of sappy sentiment doesn't exist in real life. I outta know. So let's forget any sort of talk of destiny or forever or any kind of foolishness like that, okay? Friends, you and me, at least for one night. Oh, and so you know, I'm wearing a gown and heels, so I'm going to be taller than you.”

“Everyone is taller than me.”

She scrunched her nose at him. “That's a curious thing to say.”

“Why? It's true, has been all my life,” he said, “and besides, it's a case of perfect symmetry. All through school I've looked up to you, while you've done nothing but look down at me. Sounds like we're a perfect match.”

“That's not fair . . .”

“It's okay, Vanessa, I know it's just high school. There are always cooler kids than even you, less popular kids than me. I don't hold it against you, it's just the way things are.”

She smiled at him. “Why didn't I notice you freshman year?”

“Maybe you couldn't see me.”

She laughed, perhaps the first honest laugh she'd had all during this miserable week. It felt good, better than good.

And then the two new friends linked arms as they walked back toward the school and the waiting yellow buses to take them back to their respective homes. They shared a conspiratorial smirk, followed by a laugh of solidarity. Despite the differences between them that went beyond issues of height, they knew all would be fine for just one night. They were just two people lucky enough to find friendship on the dance floor, and then there would be nothing more beyond that night. Their lives would never again intersect, nor would they need to. Forever yours only held true for a few hours. Forever never lasted for as long as people thought it should.

D
espite the mid-August humidity, a noticeable chill pervaded the creaky steps and peeling walls of the house, accompanied by a certain dampness perhaps created by the rain and intensified by cracks in the walls of the old farmhouse. As Vanessa showered, Adam set about finding kindling that would help him get a fire started in the brick-fronted fireplace located in the living room. First he checked to make sure the vent was open; last thing he wanted to do was fill the house with smoke, forcing them back out into the nasty outdoors. In a side cabinet he located a bundle of dried logs and discarded newspapers. They were dated from the previous year, most from the daily
Rochester Democrat and Chronicle
. Whoever lived here, certain clues suggested they were planning on coming back at some point. Maybe they were off visiting relatives today and were planning to arrive home later this night, or perhaps tomorrow. But then why would they have covered the furniture with white sheets? No, they'd been gone longer, but could return at any moment, right? Would he and Vanessa still be trapped together, and if so, wouldn't that be a hell of a surprise to come back to?

Back in the kitchen, he found a box of stick matches. He returned to the fireplace, where he'd built the wood and kindling into a pyre lacking only flame. That all changed with the strike of a match and the fiery crinkle of newspaper. Orange flame flared up and sweet, cedar-smelling smoke began to drift its way through the old house. Adam immediately felt a heated change of temperature in the room. How about that, he got the fire going on the first attempt, not bad for a city slicker such as himself. Now, one last touch remained and all would be perfect for when Vanessa came back down the stairs. He wanted to set up the food and drink, a makeshift picnic set before a roaring fire. Damn, but if not for the accident and the small piece of glass embedded in his head wound and the gimpy ankle and the sliced skin on his side, this scene could be interpreted as a premeditated seduction. Except for the fact that he wasn't as clever as all that, nor would he have endured such excruciating pain, not voluntarily, in order to secure the romantic setting. It was just happenstance.

A few minutes later, steaming bowls of tomato soup were positioned on place mats before the crackling fire. The wine followed, with two jelly glasses having to suffice for fancy, stemless stemware. The folks who lived here didn't appear to have any crystal. Lastly, he brought the tinned sausages over, spread out on a plate with crackers that were probably stale. Only one way to find out and frankly, he could wait.

So the scene was set. All that was missing was Vanessa. Standing at the base of the stairs, he called up to her. “Be right down,” she said from one of the rooms upstairs. Her voice carried on the wind.

It took another five more minutes before she reappeared, but from Adam's point of view the wait sure was worth it. Refreshed, showered, pampered even, Vanessa's raven hair was thick and fluffy again, just like he remembered, and she was dressed in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a blue dress shirt she'd left untucked.

“I didn't like anything the lady of the house had to offer,” she said with a throaty laugh, explaining her wardrobe choice. “All frumpy stuff, pale colors. So I went with the lazy guy look.”

“No, frumpy definitely would not suit you, and you're the prettiest guy here,” he stated, embarrassed to have spoken such a corny line. She waved it off and accepted his proffered hand. She came off the last step and followed him toward the living room. “If you'll follow me, miss, our three-course reunion dinner awaits us.”

“Three course?”

“Well, that's what we paid for. I checked off the chicken plate, that's always a safe dish at reunions and conventions, right? You probably ordered the salmon and rice, and yes . . . no doubt the fresh corn, and the chocolate dessert. Sorry, but this feast of ours will have to do. You did all the hard work anyway, cooking with such limitations. But I added the crowning touch.”

That's when Vanessa saw the fire blazing, and she sighed with pleasure while cozying up to its inviting warmth. “Can I be honest with you, Adam? I was hoping you'd think to light a fire. I mean, I know this is August and we're in Danton Hill—or as close as we're going to get to our old town tonight—but I just can't seem to shake this chill I've felt all afternoon. Not even the shower was able to remove it entirely. So . . . thank you. I like the heat.”

He let that last comment slip by. “No need to thank me. It's to our mutual survival; least I can do is contribute to the cause. Grrr. Man make fire, woman cook,” he said, testing out his best caveman voice.

She laughed. Guess it was pretty good.

“So, how about that long-awaited glass of wine? I waited for you.”

“From caveman to prince,” she said.

“Evolution is a wonderful thing,” he said. “Like us, to not-quite-friends to pretty-awful-dance-partners to . . . now.”

“Adam?”

“Uh-oh. What'd I say?”

“No, that's not it, you're fine. Just . . . no strolls down memory lane, please. At least, not yet,” she said, pointing to the wine. “Just pour.”

He did as she commanded, handing over one of the round jelly glasses to Vanessa before pouring some wine for himself. Raising their glasses to the air, they paused, wondering just what they were drinking to. Neither said a word for a moment, letting the silence fill the room and shorten the distance between them. Suddenly too much time had elapsed and they still hadn't toasted and they hadn't taken a sip either. That's when Adam cleared his throat and said simply, “Let's toast to tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? That's a strange thing to toast to, Adam Blackburn, considering you and I only have the past in common. What do you think tomorrow is going to bring?”

“People, life, civilization? Who knows what else,” he said with an aimless, uncertain shrug. “That's why I think it's the perfect toast. Look at us, we already know what happened yesterday, and we already know what happened today, at least the today that has already happened. Seems like forever since I left home, driving for hours to get . . . here. But I have a feeling that for the next few hours it's just you and me and nothing but you and me. Well, and the fire and the wine are nice contributors. Tomorrow, the dawn will rise and the sun will shine and wash away the storm clouds. We'll be able to see more clearly where next life takes us.”

“Wow, that's quite a toast,” Vanessa said. “Have you secretly taken poetry lessons?”

“Ha, a financial genius like me. I'd never hear the end of it.”

“Oh right, you're in finance,” she said.

“Was.”

“Was?”

“Long story.”

“I guess we have time.”

“Hey, Vanessa?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“You still haven't clinked my glass.” His glass hung in the air, waiting expectantly.

“Oh. Right. Well, then, to . . . tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

And finally the rim of her glass reached out, touching against his, where a gentle clink echoed in the cloistered room. They drank, each of them keeping their eyes on the other, waiting to see if the wine was good, bad, or worse, spoiled. Adam's mouth puckered, but Vanessa handled her first taste like a poker player. Setting down their glasses at the same moment, Adam pointed to the blanket and invited her to sit down and be comfortable. For support, he'd placed some throw pillows he'd found underneath the sheet that covered the sofa.

“You've thought of everything,” she said, settling down.

“Just enough to stay warm and dry,” he offered.

“You're not good with compliments, are you?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I just gave you a compliment, thanking you for thinking of everything. You sheepishly looked down, embarrassed. All you needed to say was thank you.”

“Oh, right. Uh, thank you.”

“Five words, Adam.”

“Excuse me?”

“It took you five words to say the simplest two.”

“Should I move to the sofa? You going to psychoanalyze me?”

“It was just an observation. I didn't mean to touch a nerve.”

Adam waved it off, as though it didn't matter. “How's the wine?”

“It's as good as you are about changing the subject.”

“Ouch. That bad?”

“Relax, Adam, I'm not here to interrogate you,” she said. “Trust me, the last thing I want is for you to turn the tables on me. 'Cause that ain't happening.”

“Ain't? Mrs. Miller wouldn't be very happy to hear you mangle the English language.”

“Thank God we're not in third grade anymore,” Vanessa said.

“School, what a weird concept. Because it's the accepted thing to do, parents send their kids off to perfect strangers for the day, trusting them to educate them.”

Vanessa nodded. “Less responsibility for them, which in my house was a perfect recipe for success. Independence was practically the first word I learned.”

“It's amazing to think it's been twenty years since we graduated from Danton Hill High. I don't feel like that much time has passed, do you?”

“Time is both a stranger and a friend. I still feel like a teenager some days . . . well, not feel, but probably I act like one. Like, oh my God, you know?”

He laughed at her valley-speak. “That was never you back then.”

“No. Some of my friends were, but I knew they sounded like idiots.”

“I think we were all idiots in some way . . . back then.”

“Things change,” she said.

“People change.”

“You certainly have,” Vanessa said with surprising conviction.

“How do you mean?”

“Do you remember a short, skinny kid with an occasional pimple who wore clothes that had gone out of style three years long before he wore them, who always had a book in his hand and his head buried in it? Do you remember an awkward boy in gym class who didn't have the muscle strength to properly dismount off the uneven bars?”

Adam turned red at that forgotten memory. “Well, come on, they were uneven . . .”

Vanessa just laughed at him.

“So, okay, yeah, I grew up. God, I hope I did. Guess I was one of those late bloomers in life, not filling out until I went to college, but of course that doesn't help when you're sixteen and gangly,” he said. “Once I went away to college, or maybe it was getting away from Danton Hill, it was like my hormones finally caught up to me. I'll never forget orientation at college, they handed us guys a box of toiletries we would need. Razors, shaving cream; I barely needed such items. My roommate already had a thick beard; I swear whenever we hung out it was like I was his younger brother tailing after him, some kid desperate for acceptance. But the world eventually balanced out. Like you said, I grew up.” Adam paused, shaking his head at the images flashing in his mind, the boy from high school and the man-boy from college. He'd been dumb then, innocent and naïve. “Tucker, that was my roommate, I'll never forget that first night when the RA was giving us a speech, all about safety on campus and safe sex and all that stuff. Tony was the RA's name, total Long Island Italian who thought he was God's gift to women, and I can still see him pulling out a condom package and saying, ‘You wanna play, make sure you don't pay.' And then Tucker speaks up and says, ‘Hey, what if that thing won't fit?' And you know what Tony did? He unwrapped the condom and rolled it over his forearm, all the way up to his elbow. Man, you should have seen Tucker wilt back into the shadows.”

Adam was laughing, taking a drink of his wine, almost like he was back in college again reliving the experience. The bendable laws of time, suddenly transporting him back to halcyon days. He realized, though, he was the only one grinning. Vanessa had set her glass down and was staring with glazed eyes into the fire, lost in her own private thoughts. He could barely read the expression on her face; she was impenetrable.

“Hey, Vanessa, did I say something wrong?”

“Oh, oh no. Adam, I'm sorry. It's just . . . will you excuse me?”

As she rose from the blanket, she tripped over the uneaten bowl of soup, didn't even notice that it spilled onto Adam's checkered pant leg. She ran from the room and hastily made her way toward the front door, throwing it open with fierce determination. A strong gust of wind howled through the house, as though it had come to claim them. He watched as she struggled to draw deep breaths into her lungs. Running to her side, he placed his hands upon her shoulders, but she wrenched free and stormed out onto the porch.

He didn't know what to do. Should he follow her?

Adam decided best to give her a moment alone. Which was a good thing, it gave him a chance to review what they'd been talking about and what might have possibly set her off. But he came up empty, just dumb, nonsense talk about high school and college. He went back to the fire, shaking his head with confusion. Taking a sip of wine, he stared at the room, at the white sheets that covered the furniture, wondering about the folks who lived here and of the ghosts that floated in the halls and the rooms and in the nooks and crannies of the old walls. These were the ghosts that caught memories, only to remind you of them when you least expected. Who lived here, what was the story behind this house and its original owner? Who had built it, and what had his life been like? Adam felt that same chill Vanessa had spoken about earlier, like he'd just walked over someone's grave.