Has to Be Love (10 page)

“Rhodes should be able to handle the horses on his own if you're not up to it,” Dad offers.

I stand, grateful for the distraction. “I'm up to it.”

Rhodes stands with me. “I can help, at the very least.”

“Muddy out there today.” I point to the water flowing over the windowpane.

“I got Toughies to fit in.” Rhodes smiles and I nod. The XTRATUF brown rubber boots seem to be almost a uniform in Alaska on crap weather days like this.

He grabs his boots from the front entry and meets me at the back door. I figure he thinks I'm sick, so I don't worry trying to make conversation or anything. I zip up my raincoat and tug my hood forward before stepping into the downpour. The noise outside takes over every thought. Being too sick to bother with politeness is something I could get used to.

Rhodes pulls open the barn door, and the warmth of the animals is a stark contrast to the deluge outside. We work in silence to feed and water the horses. He's familiar with the routine now. My heart feels weirdly heavy, and I can't place why.

When we finish with the last bucket of water, my eyes connect with his. I'm holding my breath, waiting to see if he'll say something or start walking out of the barn, but he's so still. His eyes look almost sad, so instead of walking back into the rain, I sit in front of Snoopy's stall. Rhodes pauses for a moment longer in the middle of the open area before sitting next to me. I'm not sure how being around him turned into something less frantic feeling. Maybe I'm just exhausted with all the thinking I've done over the past few days.

Neither of us speaks. Maybe he gets that I'm in a weird place. I stare at our brown boots with the scuffed mustard-yellow edges. Well, mine are scuffed, his are new. Mine are also about half the size of his.

“You have boat-like feet,” I say.

Rhodes chuckles and taps his toes together a few times. “So I've been told. Twelves, in case you were curious.”

The rain continues its frantic slap-tapping on the roof and walls.

“I forget that you're younger.” He turns to face me, and his light blue eyes feel more … gray. Definitely sad. “That you're a student. Maybe I'm here too much to make the distinction the way I should.”

I fold my arms, trying to stay warm in the damp air. “You're younger even than you let on.”

“Twenty-one, almost twenty-two.” He taps his toes a couple more times, the rubber-on-rubber noise barely carrying over the sound of the rain. “I graduated from high school early. And then did some traveling through college. But I also signed up for courses during the summers from different schools, depending on where I was living at the time. I took extra credits every semester, and I've been burning through school at a frantic pace.”

It's on the tip of my tongue to ask about New York, but the idea of the move still feels fragile. There are things that I need to get done before I think about moving.

“Why did you graduate from high school early?”

His feet stop tapping, and he pulls his knees up in an almost defensive posture. He suddenly looks sixteen instead of twenty-one. Small, maybe sad, a little afraid …

I'm holding my breath when he answers.

“Homeschooled.”

But something in his face says there's a whole lot more to the story. “Gonna give me the real story?” I ask.

“My brother died of leukemia. I was fifteen. He was thirteen. My dad was stationed in Italy when my brother was diagnosed, and we were transferred to San Diego so we'd have access to better specialists. I know it happens all the time, but he was my brother, you know?” He picks apart a piece of straw with his fingers, peeling down the sides until there's nothing left.

I stare at his features—his eyes cast down to the straw-covered floor, his slight frown. “I'm so sorry.” I can't imagine having a sibling, much less one who died.

“The pain runs so deep that I sometimes think I won't be able to breathe or wake up the next day, but then I do and I'm still healthy, and my brother's still gone and that's it.” He finally looks at me, and this is the real guy. The one that's not smirky or annoying or older or younger. He's just a guy.

“Wow.” I know this part of him. “Losing someone you love steals parts of you that you'll never get back.”

“My parents are sort of okay. They have these staunch beliefs where they say
he's in a better place,
but all I can think is that he should be here. He shouldn't have gotten sick. He should be
here.”
Pain and anger infuse his voice. “I'm sorry. It's my brother's birthday today. Every year I think it'll be better, and every year it's not. I'm not as okay as I want to be.”

He tells me this like I'm old enough or worthy enough to hear it. And maybe I am. I have things to say. To share. His legs slide back down, and he rubs his hands up and down his thighs a few times.

The rain clatters on the roof and makes plopping, plipping noises as it hits the soft dirt outside. I breathe in the sweetness of the hay. “I think that about my mom sometimes.”

“I bet.”

“Losing family affects us in ways other people can't understand.”

He nods slightly as he strips apart another piece of hay with his fingers.

Most people I know have lost someone, but very few people have lost someone from their immediate family. It's not the same. “When a person …” I'm not sure if I can say this right, but I feel the need to try. “When a person is unquestionably a part of your every day, and then they're gone … My house is still hollowed out and emptier without Mom. So is my heart. Always will be. Without believing she's somewhere better, I'm not sure how I would have survived the loss.”

“Hmm.”

I chew on the end of a piece of hay, still just looking for a way to keep busy. “My dad, you know. I mean, we've always gone to church, but after we lost Mom it became everything to him.”

He leans back against the stall and faces me. “And do you push back?”

“No.” I shake my head. “It works for me. I like our church. I like what we believe, but …”
But everyone doubts sometimes.
Maybe I'll always doubt a little, but it's definitely not something I'd share with Rhodes. Or Elias. Or even my dad. I'm a firm believer in faith being personal, and that's gotten me out of a lot of awkward conversations.

“Your scars—” he starts but pauses. “I look at you and I'm reminded of how very lucky I am. Your internal scars are probably related to your external scars, and it's not like you can hide those. Mine are easily hid.”

“No,” I agree. “I can't hide.” And for the first time I think someone understands a part of why I hate my scars. It's something I've never been able to put into words in such a simple way.

“I'm glad we're friends,” he says as his eyes float over my face, spending a few extra seconds on my scars.

I snort like the very attractive person that I am. “Is that what we are? Because I'm pretty sure you're my teacher.”

He leans toward me until our shoulders bump before moving away, but just slightly. “In six months, we could end up in the same college class, Clara. I feel much more connected to that idea than the fact that I'm student teaching. I'd love to be a teacher, but I have more school I'd like to finish first. I'm student teaching now because it felt like a good opportunity to spend time in Alaska, and I've never been. I think I'd like to be a teacher later because I love learning and I love the school schedule. I'd have a lot of freedom for travel. Well … if I ever stop going to summer school.”

“Oh.” The divide between us shrank with the story of his brother and shrank with him slumping next to me, and he's right anyway. When I start college in the fall, it
is
possible that we could end up in the same class. Not likely. But possible. I hold my breath as the reality of how close we could be sinks in, and then I want to ask him about all the places he's been. Is that something I'll do? I'm not sure. New York still feels like an insurmountable wall.

Rhodes shreds a few more pieces of hay with his fingertips. “You and Elias have been together a while.”

I nod but don't speak. Talking about Elias with Rhodes feels like another kind of unfinished poem—awkward in a way that makes me unsure of how to move forward.

“It's just …” He frowns a bit and shakes his head.

What Rhodes thinks shouldn't affect me. It shouldn't matter. But the weight of his obvious disapproval rests on my mind.

“You think it's silly or something? I've known him since I was little. He's one of my best friends. Having that close friendship turn into dating is a pretty awesome place to start a relationship.”

He leans closer to me, just enough that I notice, but not enough that I pull away. “Don't you want to experience more?”

“Yes.” I
want Columbia. Maybe a little bit of you …
Guilt hits my stomach like a brick. I shouldn't have even let the
thought
of Rhodes formulate. I shouldn't have answered yes to his question. Elias deserves better.

He jerks his head my way, his eyes widened in surprise. “Then why …?”

“I got into Columbia,” I blurt out and then slap my hand over my mouth.

“What?” His whole face lightens. He pushes off the stall and scoots until he's cross-legged and facing me. “You got in to Columbia? From
here?”

I nod again. The reality of me having a chance to go to
that
school is just …

Rhodes laughs. “We
could
be in the same classes!”

I shake my head before closing my eyes.

“What's that, Clara?” he asks. “How are you not jumping up and down? Is it a money thing?”

I shake my head. “I know it would be tight, but Mom and Dad have always saved for me. I think, with some student loans, it could be doable.”

“Clara. I mean …
wow.”

I finally open my eyes. “I can't go. Not this year.”

Rhodes snorts. “Uh … why not? Why would you jeopardize your chances? Not all deferments are accepted, you know. You have to have a really good reason.”

“I'm …” I swallow. I don't know how to tell Rhodes that there's no way I can go there looking the way I do. “I just have things to do first.”

“Does this have to do with Elias?” he asks with so much disdain and contempt that I push to standing.

“No!” I press my hands to my heated cheeks. “No. You wouldn't understand.”

Rhodes is in front of me, bent forward to look in my eyes. I want him to look smug or annoyed, but instead his brow is all wrinkled with worry. “Clara?”

I blink because I'm once again standing in front of Rhodes in the barn and now I'm almost
crying.
“I have homework.”

He frowns. “I wish you'd tell me what the hang-up is so I can help. Columbia might not be for everybody, but Clara … I think I know you well enough to know how much you'd absolutely
love
it. Think about what it would be like to go to school with people who do the required reading for fun.”

Amazing.

“I have to go.” I step around him and start for the barn door, heart pounding.

“It's a big deal to get in, Clara. Someone saw something in you. Don't let them down.”

It's too much. I have Elias. I love him. I have a dad to prepare for my departure. I have a face to fix …

Someone saw something in you … Don't let them down …

My stomach tightens as if it's trying to squeeze me in half. I should have never applied a year early. I turn and face him. “I'll figure it out.”

He cocks a brow like he's not sure what to do with me. “If you say so.”

At least he says “if you say so” when that's what he means.

“I do.”

Rhodes shrugs. “Okay then.”

Okay.

Only something tells me this is going to come up again, and I may need a better answer.

11

The rows of wooden pews at my church have started to blend together as my blinks get slower. I've been playing sick for enough days that I'm not about to ask Dad if I can skip. Elias has been so busy at work that we've barely spoken since my near pass-out at his house. I'm afraid to think of what it might mean if he's avoiding me, even though I'm “sick” to avoid him—at least while I try to sort out what I'm feeling.

I stare at the second hand of the clock that sits high on the wall, achingly traveling from one number to the next. The speaker today is one of the old, white-haired guys. He's nice enough and I'm pretty sure their family is loaded, but he always looks like he took a trip through the washing machine in his suit before coming to church.

I've flipped through the hymn book, slid through the pages in my scriptures, tried counting the number of people sitting in the pews but got bored at fifty, and anyway, there are a lot of little kids moving around.

How is Dad even focusing? Better question. Why didn't I pull the girl-problem card and stay home today?

I glance at Dad to see if we can give a mutual eye roll at a talk I feel like I've heard a million times, but Dad's blotting tears from the corners of his eyes.

What am I missing?

Don't get me wrong, Dad tearing up in church isn't all that unusual. In fact, it's a near-weekly occurrence, but for this? All I know is that I'm pretty sure Jesus's name was mentioned and I think there was a story about a hunting trip the guy took. The rest sort of went over my head.

I'm dying.

Seriously
dying
of boredom. I lean my head down to cover my face with my hair better and try to scan the room to see if anyone else is as bored as me. Sadly, the only company in my boredom is very small children. I wish Cecily were here. This is when I should pull out my scriptures and read, or try to think deeply about my life and the decisions I have to make, but it seems like all I'm doing is making decisions, or at least being faced with them. This meeting is normally my break and reset time, but today it's just not working for me.