His Eyes (19 page)

Any guilt I should’ve felt for waking my parents up was overshadowed by my excitement. I bounded through the house, landing with a bounce in their doorway. Holding up the paper, I screamed again, “I can go! To Evanston! I got a scholarship!”

My parents were sitting up in bed, their hair standing at odd angles and their eyes bugged in their heads. My dad was the first to free himself from the covers. Stumbling toward me, he took the paper, squinting at it in confusion. “But
how
?!”

“Charlie! He nominated me!”

“He, he did!” Dad beamed, turning to Mom and shaking the paper in confirmation. He then wrapped me in a giant hug, before jogging from the room. Amazed to see him move so quickly so late at night, I laughed, “Where are you going?”

“To call your brother!” he shouted from the kitchen.

I shook my head. It was so weird that he was saying that—he was
calling
Charlie—but it was so right, too. As soon as the shock wore off, my face fell into a look of contemplation and I lowered myself onto the edge of my parents’ bed. Everything had changed, so suddenly. Now that need for money was just
poof
, gone.

My mom was watching me and she placed a hand on mine, asking, “Why aren’t you happy, honey?”

“I am,” I said and managed to smile. “It’s just, now...now I don’t need the job.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Now you won’t be getting paid to date your boyfriend.”

“He’s not—” I began and then sighed. “We had a fight. He was letting this girl flirt with him and... Well, it’s not just that. He doesn’t want to adapt to being blind and...me being with him doesn’t help. Not really. I’m a crutch for him, you know? At least, that’s how I feel sometimes.”

Her smile was annoyingly knowing. “Sometimes, if you love someone, you have to let them go.”

I knew she was talking about her and Charlie. Sure, she had kept up the dinners so we wouldn’t forget about him, but she hadn’t sent anyone to find him. She knew he needed time to wander on his own and she had given it to him. I hadn’t really thought about it before, how hard that must have been for her to do. Maybe I was a little like Charlie, taking her hippie-ness for granted and never thinking of looking to her for advice.

I reached out and hugged her, saying softly, “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, Amy Rose.”

Everything felt so much...clearer. I knew what I had to do: I had to quit.

* * *

I parked my Camry in front of the Edmunds’ house and stared up through the windshield at the morning sky. This was it. I took a deep breath and, pushing my hair behind my ears, climbed out of my car and up the stairs. The front door was already open and Chris was standing in the doorway, his stance wide and his arms crossed stubbornly. I tried to give him a nonchalant smile, but after the argument he’d heard yesterday, I could see on his face that he wasn’t buying it.

“Did he fight with you, too?” he asked.

I cocked my head to the side. “What do you mean?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “He’s been in the closet all morning.”

“Oh.” I sighed. “Yeah, we did.”

He shook his head and stepped out of the way to let me inside. “He wouldn’t even talk to us when we came home! You have get him to come out, Amy.”

I eyed the winding stairs and said, “Wish me luck, kid,” before marching forward. I began my ascent quickly and then stopped two steps from the landing. I pressed my icy hands to my lips and blew warm air on them. There was no reason to be nervous, but I felt strange, as if many days had passed since I last saw him.

I shrugged off any uneasiness and climbed the last stairs. My eyes were greeted by the sight of The Closet Door. For some reason, I’d expected it to be closed and locked, bringing me full circle, back to my first meeting with Tristan. In reality, the door was slightly ajar. I could see a sliver of darkness leering at me from within. Surely that was a good sign. I stepped forward and pulled on the door, which swung open.

I was immediately greeted by the smells of paper and leather. I walked inside and blinked so my eyes would adjust to the dim light. The first things I noticed were the piles of books pushed against the walls; there were many classics,
Catcher in the Rye
among them. Noticing a faint glimmer, I crouched down to find a box full of trophies. I ran my finger over the smooth metal, wondering what it would have been like to see Tristan flying through the air on Aeris.

I heard a faint noise, like something settling into place, and peered into the back of the closet. I recognized a riding uniform, hanging on a hook, and leather riding boots standing stoically on a shelf. Beyond that, the corner was a dark mass. I moved forward carefully, avoiding the stacks of CDs that littered the floor, and finally stopped in front of the shadow. I squinted, trying to make out who or what I was looking at.

I whispered, “Hello?”

Suddenly, little Marly jumped up from where she had been crouched in the corner and flew past me, out of the closet. I threw myself against the wall. Since when was I playing hide-and-seek? Bewildered, I shook my head and held a hand over my pounding heart. That’s when I heard it: music coming from the corner. I could hear Jon Buckley singing,
“Lost in a maze; I feel like I’m trapped in the turnings. All the wrong choices; I’ve done you wrong. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to go down this path—”
Were these lyrics for me?

Crack!

I jumped and turned around, my eyes fixed on the spot on the bottom of the doorframe where the sound had come from. The first thing I saw was the tip of a thin white pole. No, not a pole—a cane! My eyes followed the white line as it angled upwards into a male hand. My breath caught and I briefly hesitated before looking up. Tristan. He was standing in the doorway, holding his cane in one hand and a red rose in the other. I couldn’t believe what I saw and my mouth fell open.

“Amy?” He paused, shifting his feet as he waited for me to respond, but I was at a loss. He coughed nervously and tried again, “I-I’m sorry if Marly scared you; I just wanted you to hear the song.” He offered the flower, its head bobbing up and down on its long stem. “Can I talk to you, Amy Rose?”

I took a small step forward to take the rose, sliding it from between his fingers. I studied the delicate petals for a moment and then looked up into his face. “I’m listening.”

“She took it!” I heard Chris whisper loudly. Craning my neck, I could see the Edmunds huddled on the stairs, clearly straining to hear what was going on. I rolled my eyes; Chris may have fooled me into thinking that Tristan was in the closet, but he wasn’t cut out to be a spy.

“Amy, you were right—about everything. I was being a coward. I thought I’d just sit around and let life happen to me, let Lexus walk all over me. And, it wasn’t fair to you. I-I know that a rose doesn’t make up for it, but...I’m sorry.” Tristan pushed a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, as if willing himself to continue despite the fact that I was silent. “And, I’m going to change! I’m going to
do
something: learn Braille and how to use this cane right. I think I can even go to college in the fall...one that I was accepted to...one that has an equestrian team.”

“Evanston?” I breathed, a smile growing on my face.

Tristan nodded slowly. “Evanston.”

There was no thought, no words, as I suddenly closed the space between us. My lips were on his and his were on mine. My heart raced while his arms tightly encircled my waist. We kissed for all we are worth, as if we had never tasted anything sweeter. I could have lived forever in that moment. When our mouths grew sore and our breaths came in gasps, we finally pulled apart.

I leaned back and my eyes were caught by his shining glasses. My sapphire irises reflected in the dark depths of his lenses. I reached out and brushed his temple, remembering the bright cerulean. Tristan smiled softly and caught my hand. His tone was low when he said, “You’re the one who wanted to look at my eyes.” He held my hand between both of his. “You’re the only one I’ve ever—”

“I love you, too,” I whispered and squeezed his fingers. “But...Tristan? I quit.”

“What?!” came a little boy screech. “After all
that
?”

I peered over Tristan’s shoulder to see that the Edmunds had snuck upstairs, onto the landing. Chris was looking particularly indignant, his face red and his arms on his hips as he gaped at the two of us. I couldn’t help but laugh, as I explained, “I mean, I got a scholarship! I don’t have to work for you, anymore.”

“Goodness, you worried me for a second!” Mrs. Edmund complained, but she was still wiping at her teary eyes.

I smiled, but was blushing at the idea that they were watching us. Tristan leaned down to my ear, asking, “They’re
all
there, huh?”

With a shake of his head, Tristan stepped back, catching the handle and swinging the closet door shut. He pulled me close and I wrapped my arms around his neck. We were both cocooned in the pitch blackness. I could feel his warmth, smell the cinnamon and sandalwood, and nothing else mattered. Because even if Tristan had never physically seen me, he’d seen the real me, just like I’d seen him.

Epilogue

A large crowd gathered under the bright Arizona sky. The stands were full and the people buzzed with excitement, as though they were about to see a great moment in history; this was not an average Novice event. On the lowest bleacher, a young woman pressed herself as close to the field as she could. She nervously brushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and bit her lip. This was it.

Her sapphire eyes lit at the sight of him. He was the image of dark perfection, sitting proudly in his saddle. The onyx horse beneath him shimmered cobalt in the sunlight. Her breathing grew shallow with anticipation while she watched the two begin. They moved with perfect rhythm, muscles tensing and flexing while they sped forward. Her heart pounding, she too shored herself for the flight.

“Please, please, please,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving the horse and rider.

It happened in an instant.

The gelding braced and, in a movement of ballet-like grace, raised his front hooves. His powerful back legs pressed against the ground and then they were in flight. Time slowed. The young woman’s lips spread into a smile as she watched them soar, as one, over the fence. The moment the horse’s hooves reunited with the earth, the waiting crowd burst into applause.

The rider, hearing the noise, couldn’t suppress a grin. His mind was reeling and he felt as if his heart would fly free from his chest. He had done it...his world was no longer black, but full of light.

About the Author

Even before she could use a pencil, Reneé has been a writer. She began by telling stories to a cassette recorder and using dolls for props. Countless short stories later, Reneé finished writing her first chapter book at age eleven. At thirteen, she developed her writing style through fan fiction novellas and she discovered the power of an online audience.
His Eyes
is Reneé’s first novel. She currently lives in Wisconsin, where she is studying for her bachelor’s degree in English and Web Development.

For information about upcoming projects, please visit:

www.renee-carter.com