From The Wreckage (12 page)

She lays awake in bed for a long time after that, and her mind keeps playing tricks with her heart. Every time she tries to think of Stuart and what he’s doing, she is reminded of West, and she begins to long for him.
How was he taking all of this?
she wonders. Is she the only one lingering over every minute of their time together? They had been trapped and were lucky to be alive…it's not as if it was a romantic vacation, so why is she envisioning his lips on hers every time she closes her eyes? Why did she suddenly remember their 'rain check' conversation? And more importantly, why is she dying to tell him he should cash in that rain check?

Eleven

Jules fans herself and takes another quick sip of her tea. Memories of those early days and her strong feelings for West always make her blush. Telling them to a video camera for people to watch some day? That makes her downright hot with embarrassment.

"The next day we had the first two funerals. They were both for students from Hillsdale whom I knew casually, and although they were extremely hard, it's what happened on Thursday that really changed things.”

* * *

Jules is only mildly surprised when he comes up behind her at yet another memorial service for one more student lost. She stands on the outskirts of the burial site within a crowd of Hillsdale students who made it a point to attend the funerals of each Hillsdale student.

It is their way of honoring those who wouldn't be able to enjoy a full life. There are eight in all; eight bodies recovered. Four from the group at the Ice Shack, two from their own homes and two more from local establishments hit by the storm. Today's funeral is for sophomore Quinton Marks; a promising academic who dreamed of becoming an engineer and going to MIT.
One more dream lost
, Jules thinks, as she listens to the eulogy during the service.

Quinton's parents are huddled together as they sit in the front row at the grave site. Their heads are bowed and his mother holds a white handkerchief to her mouth as she rocks herself. The older woman to her left clutches her heart and cries openly. Jules feels tears rise as she watches their grief. Her emotions swirl in confusion as she once again thanks God for her life while questioning why so many had to die.

She diverts her gaze from the Marks, no longer able to bear their grief, and is startled to feel a warm hand slide into hers. It is a simple movement; soft fingers rubbing against hers as they fit around her palm and squeeze reassuringly. Today she squeezes back without bothering to look behind her to verify who it is. The same hand found hers at two other funerals this week; silent touches of understanding at the pain they are all going through. Silent infusions of his strength.

Today however, when the crowd begins to disperse his hand remains in hers. Instead of taking his leave as he did yesterday, he stands quietly behind her. As the students around them begin to leave, several acquaintances note her arm stretched behind her. With sad eyes and curious glances they smile, but nobody bothers to do more than nod and say a low goodbye.

"Jules," Katie calls softly and weaves her way through the throng of mourners with Jeff at her side. "Sorry we lost you in the crowd on the way to the site."

They hug, although Jules only uses one arm since her other is still being held, and Katie's eyes widen in shock. She gives Katie's arm a gentle squeeze of warning, worried what her friend might say.

"Hey West," Katie says softly, acknowledging his presence and then surprising both Jules and West by wrapping him in a hug.

Jeff follows suit with a warm embrace for Jules and a 'guy hug' for West. With the ice broken, Jules looks at West when he steps forward. Their bodies are so close they are touching down the length of their arms from shoulder to clutched hands.

He wears his signature black combat boots with dark slacks and a dark blue dress shirt. Although he tried to tame his thick, wild hair by slicking it back and to the side, a few black strands manage to fall loose. He lifts his hand to push the hair back as the four of them stand there in an awkward silence, looking at one another.

"You ready to go? Jeff's parents invited me and mom over for dinner, but we can drop you off at home on our way," Katie informs Jules as she wraps her arm around her no longer 'off-and-on' boyfriend. They are totally on now, and totally all over each other. Katie told Jules they decided they didn't want to waste any more time being stupid. When your life is spared, when you get a second chance, you plan to make the most of it. Jeff and Katie had certainly stared mortality in the face and they were ready to
live
. She gets it.

West stares at Jules, waiting for her to answer, and she falters. She looks down at their hands without moving her head. She doesn’t want to leave yet. She wants to talk to him, to stand in his shadow, to take in his presence.

"Ummm."

West angles his body towards her, bends his head lower and pulls her gaze to his. "I was actually hoping we could talk. I'll take you home, if you want."

She feels her lips form a breathless 'Oh,' and gives a small nod. Katie tilts her head in that special way she has, curiosity written all over her face.

Snapping out of her daze, Jules looks up at West. "Yeah, sure. I can hang around." She turns to Katie and asks, "You good with that?"

Katie laughs under her breath and then slaps a hand over her mouth. Her eyes shift around nervously to make sure no one heard her. Jules understands. Any moment of happiness is one more moment than the forty-five deceased have. It is a guilty feeling.

"You don't need our permission," Katie mumbles in Jules' ear, and then pulls her in close for another hug. "You
so
better call me later," she orders; putting her face within inches of Jules and staring at her.

"Yes ma'am."

Katie stretches up to press a kiss to West's cheek, which makes his cheeks turn a deep red as he looks completely taken aback.

"I still haven't thanked you for that night," she whispers against his cheek; her voice cracking. "I don't know how."

Jules' eyes prick with tears when West pulls his hand from hers and hugs Katie tightly, although his eyes are fastened on Jules’ face when he replies to Katie's comment.

"You don't need to. Ever." He pulls back, but keeps his hands on her shoulders resembling a parent reassuring a scared child. He bends forward so they are at eye level. "Okay?"

"’Kay," she agrees, and a small tear drips from her lashes.

He hands her back to Jeff, who mouths a voiceless, 'Thanks man' before they leave for their car.

West and Jules stand together silently and watch Katie and Jeff leave. He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh before slipping his hands into his pockets. Jules feels his gaze on her and tugs at her dress, suddenly unsure of what to say now.

"How are you?" he asks finally. With the toe of his boot he kicks at a weed that is growing faster than the rest of the well manicured grass at the cemetery.

"I'm good," she lies, and gives a quick wave to some girls passing by. "I mean...well, you know."

"Yeah."

A million things to say fly through her mind.
'Thank you again for saving me.'
'I
can't sleep at night without thinking about it all
.'
'I can't stop thinking about you
’. She wants to say it all and yet she can’t…or can she?
Live
, Jules. Be Katie and Jeff. Don't waste a day wondering
what if
.

She turns to speak at the same time as West.

"You ready to leave this place?"

Her heart sinks. They haven’t had a chance to talk yet! "You mean, go home?"

West smiles the same sly grin she remembers from the night of the storm, and her heart does a somersault.

"No, I'm not taking you home. I said I wanted to talk, didn't I?" He looks around. The crowd, with the exception of the family, has all but disappeared. The Marks kneel silently over the coffin, taking their last moments. "I'd just like to get away from all this...this death for a bit. You game, Buffy?" He reaches out his hand for hers and she looks at it.

"Absolutely," she agrees, and touches her fingers to his.

They walk hand in hand towards the street running through the cemetery. There is another funeral going on across the way, and Jules wonders who it is for. What happened to them?

"Uh, I didn't really plan this," he admits awkwardly, pulling her from her morbid thoughts.

Looking up, she understands why he said it. Sitting in front of her is the black motorcycle she's seen West drive to school from time to time, and she immediately backs up with a firm shake of her head.

"Oh, no. I can't ride that."

"Sure you can. Come on. I promise I'll go slow."

"West?" She gives him her best 'Are you flippin’ crazy?' look. "I'm wearing a dress. Freaking A... You're serious, huh?"

He grins and wordlessly hands her a black helmet before he slides on the bike; twisting around to pat the seat behind him in a silent 'Let's go' motion.

Reluctantly, she pushes her hair back and secures the helmet tightly under her chin as she steps up closer.

"You really
are
Spike," she mutters, and does her best to climb on without flashing her lady bits to the world. Once situated, she tucks her dress between her legs and West shows her the pegs for her feet. Thank goodness her strappy sandals are secured with a buckle around the ankle.

"Hold on tight, cheerleader."

"Where?" she shouts as the motor revs and vibrates against her bare thighs. West doesn’t reply. Instead, he moves her hands from his hips and stretches them around his waist; pulling her chest up against his back.

One minute later, the bike turns out of the cemetery and heads away from Tyler. Various pieces of debris litter the fields as they ride by, but for the most part this side of town bears no resemblance to the disaster zone two miles away. Jules can almost pretend this is a normal August day. Almost.

They ride for twenty minutes down a county road before crossing into Suffix county, the breeze cooling her sticky skin. The wind whips at the hair trailing down her back, and suddenly the gusts of air begin to remind her of the tornado ripping and tearing at her. She closes her eyes at the uncomfortable feeling and tightens her arms reflexively around West's waist; pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

"Everything okay?" West shouts over his shoulder, one hand leaving the handlebar to touch her forearm.

She can’t seem to make any words form. The constant buzz of the wind across her ears brings on an eerie sense of déjà vu. When the bike leans to the right, Jules yelps before realizing they are only turning. She keeps her eyes closed until West pulls to a stop, turns the engine off and kicks the stand down.

"Jules?" His voice sounds worried and she feels him twisting around in his seat when she doesn’t answer. "Hey…seriously, what's wrong?"

Composing herself, Jules straightens her shoulders and tries to shake the fear away as she stretches her fingers. She gripped West so hard on the ride over that now her knuckles are white from the lack of blood flow. She tries to climb off, but West catches the front of her dress in his hand and tugs lightly.

"Did I drive too fast? What's wrong? Tell me...please," he asks softly as he releases her dress and unbuckles the chin strap from her helmet. His fingers skim her jaw line and she tries to tamp down the shiver his touch elicits.

"No, nothing like that..." Her words stop on her lips as he removes her helmet and tucks her messy hair behind one ear. "Um…it was the wind," she admits, and lifts her hand to smooth down her hair as he watches.

"The wind?" His dark brows crease together in thought before they shoot up; his eyes wide with understanding and his mouth drawing in a deep breath. "Shoot, I didn't think about that. I'm sorry."

He turns back to hang her helmet from the handlebars and Jules takes the opportunity to climb off the bike as modestly as she can. Straightening her wrinkled sundress, she admires the graceful way he swings his long leg around the bike and stands. His golden brown eyes are focused on her while she flips her head upside down, fluffs her hair and combs her fingers through the tangled mass.

Her racing pulse starts to slow as she takes deep breaths, and she begins to feel somewhat normal again.

"Seriously, Jules..." West gives her a worried look.

"That's the second time in under two minutes you've used my real name today."

Her jibe succeeds in relaxing the worry from his face, and he stops her hand mid-fluff when she lifts it to her hair again.

"Don't get too used to it,
Buffy
. You look great
—
come on."

He pulls her after him and she finally looks around to see where they are.

"South Berry Farm? Why are we here?"

Cornstalks stretch out for miles and miles in each direction, and West leads her down a row into the maze without another word. The crops have already been harvested and the stalks are beginning to brown in some spots, but for the most part the field remains green. The corn grows a few feet over her head, and after a few minutes of walking she discovers that she is standing in the middle of the crops with no exit to be found.