Immortal Mine (25 page)

The best part of the scene
is Niahm herself. She’s in top form, bossing everyone around,
organizing the chaos of so many people in a relatively small space.
Even better, she’s laughing and smiling as she does so. As if
sensing me watching, she turns toward me. She smiles, then
mouths
thank you
.
Maybe she won’t be as furious as I’d figured.

Tables and folding chairs are pulled out of
the garage and set up anywhere we can fit them. After a noisy,
chaotic dinner and time spent cleaning up, Stacy leads Niahm to the
living room, and plops her down onto a chair in front of the tree.
As others gather around, Niahm looks wary.

“Niahm,” Stacy says after quieting everyone
down. “We knew that this was going to be a hard day for you.”
Niahm’s wariness turns to anxiety as she looks around. Stacy takes
her hand. “We decided that rather than give you a bunch of useless
presents, we wanted to do something to hopefully make it
easier.”

“Like overrun my house with more people than
it was meant to hold?” Niahm asks shakily, and everyone laughs.

Stacy pulls out large, square, heavy book
wrapped with a ribbon and places it on Niahm’s lap. Niahm’s anxiety
ratchets up to panic. I can feel it from where I stand across the
room. I walk over and sit on the floor next to her chair, casually
taking her hand in mine. Her mind is a riot of alarm, wondering
what pain they want to inflict on her now. I pull her hand to my
mouth and behind the guise of kissing it, look up at her and say,
“It’ll be alright, Niahm. Trust me.”

She stares at me, holding my gaze,
searching. I pull my mind from hers. I can feel when she begins to
relax nonetheless. I frown from her utter trust in me—I don’t
deserve it.

“We all wanted to share with you memories of
your parents,” Stacy says, then hurries on, not giving Niahm a
chance to react. “In that book are stories from most of the people
in town.” Niahm’s eyes drop to the book. She runs one hand over the
surface lightly. “All of ours are there, also, but we wanted to
tell you while we’re here.”

Niahm takes a deep, steadying breath, giving
a minute nod.

“I’ll start.” The deep voice belongs to Mr.
Franklin, who grew up with Jonas. He lives on a small farm on the
opposite side of town. “When Jonas and I were boys, we had a
penchant for... well, let’s just say for getting adventurous.” All
of the people who knew Jonas as a boy laugh. “One time, we decided
it would be fun to go down to Mrs. Brown’s and see if we couldn’t
steal a pie from her window sill where she left them to cool.”
Niahm’s eyes jump to mine and twinkle at the mention of a pie.

“She had this big bull terrier, so we took
some bacon from my mother’s fridge to bribe him. We didn’t take
into account how quickly a big dog can down bacon.” Another round
of laughter and the corners of Niahm’s mouth begin to curve upward.
“We got into the backyard and all the way up to the house before
that dog finished the bacon. Jonas had hoisted me up on his
shoulders and I was just reaching for the pie when we heard
growling behind us.” Several people are leaning toward Franklin,
apparently having heard the story before, in anticipation of his
next words.

“Jonas swung around at the same time my hand
touched the edge of the pie, bringing it down on his head. He began
running, cherry pie filling dripping down his face, me still on his
shoulders, holding on for dear life.”

I open my mind to Niahm once again, and see
that she knows this story. She is anticipating Franklin’s telling
of it as much as anyone. She has a small smile resting on her face,
and I can feel her contentment, see the memory she has of Jonas
telling her the same story when she was younger.

“Mrs. Brown comes out to see what the
commotion is, and see’s Jonas running around with what appeared to
be blood covering his face, me clinging to him. She screams and
runs back in, coming out with a shotgun. ‘Let him go,' she screams
at me, but I can’t because he won’t stop running.” I feel a slight
jolt in Niahm at the image of her father covered in blood, but just
as quickly it’s gone, and she’s back into the story.

“Thank heavens Mrs. Brown is the worst shot
in the world,” Franklin says, everyone laughing. “At least the
sound of the shot brought Jonas to his senses, and he stopped
running so that I could jump down. Then he was bowled over by that
dog, who began licking the filling from Jonas. Mrs. Brown screamed
again, and about that time Mr. Brown moseyed on out from where he’d
been watching TV.”

Another round of laughter. In Niahm’s mind,
I see that it’s common knowledge that there isn’t much that will
pull Mr. Brown from in front of his TV. Apparently it takes a gun
shot.

Franklin smiles warmly at Niahm. “Jonas and
I spent a great deal of time that summer cleaning the Brown’s yard,
and weeding her garden to pay for that fiasco. But I’ll tell you,
Niahm, it wasn’t the punishment our parents had hoped. Jonas
managed to make everything we did into a game. I’ll never regret
the day that I said yes when a funny kid named Jonas came up to me
in first grade and asked me to be his friend. He was my best
friend. I’m so grateful for having him in my life.”

Niahm stood and went to hug Franklin. She
hugged every other person when they finished telling their memories
of Jonas and Beth. Each time she returned to her chair and took my
hand, I felt the further peace and contentment she experienced.
Stacy, whose idea this whole thing was, sits beside Niahm. I’m
overwhelmed with gratitude that she’s accomplished what I could
not.

It’s tradition in Goshen to hold the New
Year’s Eve bash in the school gym. There’s a big pot-luck dinner,
followed by a talent show mostly starring the younger kids. There’s
a pseudo New Year’s call at nine for the younger kids, who are then
taken home by their parents and either left with a babysitter, or
with a neighbor who swaps years with one another.

That’s when the music starts, with dancing
and a few of the adults breaking out champagne. No one under
fourteen is allowed to this party. Sam dances with me, but also
with some of the other girls from school. I’m not jealous, because
when he’s dancing with them, he’s watching me.

Everyone goes out of their way to make sure
Shane and Sam are having a good time, since this is their first
party. Of course, Shane’s mostly being mobbed by the women, which
amuses Sam—and irritates Stacy. I just shake my head at her. She’s
obsessed.

Just before midnight, someone puts a slow
song on and Sam pulls me into his arms and out onto the dance floor
before he can be claimed by anyone else.

“Having fun?” I tease.

“I am.” He sounds surprised. “How about you?
You seem like you are.”

I lean my cheek against
his chest. “I almost feel guilty that I’m having fun,” I tell him
honestly. “Maybe it’s because there were a lot of years when they
were already gone on their next adventure, so it’s not that unusual
to be here alone.” He doesn’t ask who
they
are; he doesn’t need to.
“Plus,” I say, smiling up at him, “this is the first year I’ve
had
you
here, so
that’s a bonus.”

He laughs. “When you first met me, did you
imagine you’d ever be glad to have me here?”

I think back to the first time I met him,
when he insulted my pie. It’s only been about four months, but it
seems much longer. “You scared me,” I tell him.

His eyes widen. “I
scared
you?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I’ve always been pretty
independent, determined to only marry someone who would stay in
Goshen with me. And even then I had no plans of getting serious
with anyone until I’m at least twenty-five.” I shrug, and feel the
strange heat begin between our palms. “When I saw you, it was like
there was this weird pull toward you, as if you were a danger to my
plan. Probably just because I couldn’t get over your amazing hair,”
I tease, lifting my hand from his shoulder to ruffle his copper
head. When I glance at him, he has a strange look on his face. Part
horror and part... hope. Suddenly I realize how this must sound to
him, as if I’m saying we’re destined to be together. For the first
time, I question his feelings for me. Maybe it really has been
based on pity. Maybe he’d been planning on dating someone else when
my parents... and then he felt like he had to stay. Maybe he really
wants—

“Niahm,” he says sharply, interrupting my
thoughts. When I look up at him, I make the decision to let him off
the hook now, break up with him—if one can break up with someone
who they aren’t even sure feels any kind of commitment to them.

“I felt the same thing,” he says with some
amusement as I open my mouth to speak.

“What?” is my brilliant response. “You liked
my hair?”

“No. I mean, yes, I do. That’s not what I
mean. I felt the same thing,” he repeats, “when I first saw you.
Why do you think I kept coming back when you made it clear you
didn’t want me around?”

I cringe as I think of how horrible I had
been

“Why did you keep coming around?” I ask.
“Most guys would have run the other way as fast as they could.”

“There was just something about you,” he
says, amused.

“My apple pie?” I ask.

“Well, there
was
that.” I elbow him
lightly and he laughs. “And now...”

“Now
what
?” I demand impatiently when he
doesn’t say anything.

“Here you go,” someone interrupts, nudging
us with their tray full of sparkling grape juice. “It’s almost
midnight.”

Sam releases me as he
takes two of the plastic cups and hands me one. I feel a sinking
disappointment that he didn’t finish his sentence. Then I look up
at him, see the flush in his cheeks, the hesitant look on his face
and realize that maybe
he
was going to break up with
me
.

“Time for the countdown,” Officer Hill booms
from the stage that was set up for the DJ. “10-9-8...”

Stacy hurries over to us, followed by the
double-H and a few other kids from school. I’m a little surprised
that she isn’t near Shane.

“Hey, guys. Another year in paradise,” she
enthuses sarcastically. “Cheers.”

I narrow my eyes at her, but laugh
anyway.

“3-2-1. Happy New Year!”

Everyone cheers and lifts their plastic cups
as someone begins singing Auld Lang Syne. Sam watches me intently,
and I wonder what he thinks of all this. He takes my hand and pulls
me from the room, which Stacy and all my friends notice, of course.
But none of them follow us.

Outside the building, we can still hear the
loud singing, and Sam and I laugh at it.

“I want to finish what I began to tell you,”
he says, and my stomach clenches.

“Kiss me first,” I say. I figure it might be
the last time I get to request a kiss from him. He accommodates me,
cupping my face with both hands as he leans down, smiling just
before his lips close on mine. Sam’s kiss is deep and warm. I
stretch upward toward him, as if drawn by his very being. Heat
tendrils curl up from the pit of my belly to my throat as he wraps
his arms around me and holds me tightly against him. When he pulls
away, my head is spinning.

“Don’t freak out,” he says, and I
immediately feel the panic begin to rise. “Shane told me not to do
this, that it’s too soon, but I don’t care.” My heart cracks, and I
bite the insides of my cheek to hold back the tears.

“I’m in love with you, Niahm.”

My mouth drops open. I just stare at him,
unable to find any sense in his words.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” he
says urgently. “And if it frightens you, I’m sorry. But I had to
say it. I’ve had to stop myself from saying it so many—”

I launch myself at him and, unprepared, he
stumbles back but manages to keep us from falling as he wraps his
arms around me. I can’t stop the stupid tears from falling.

“Whoa,” Sam says, rebalancing. Then he looks
at me, and brings his hands up to thumb the tears from my face.
“I’m sorry, Niahm, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

I laugh through the tears. “Don’t be sorry.
I’m so relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“I thought you were going to... break up
with me,” I say. The words sound inane as I say them.

“Niahm, I
can’t
ever—” He stops
himself, as if he were going to say something he’s changed his mind
about. “I
love
you. The only way I’m going anywhere is if you ask me to.”
Something in the way he says the words makes me think he’s trying
to say something else.