If You Find Me(58)

“Carey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Ryan steps back, only a few steps, but it feels like miles. My eyes fill with tears despite my best efforts.

“Why? Because of my past? Because I’m fourteen? I’m not a little girl, Ryan.”

He pants, working on slowing down his breathing.

“You’re definitely not a little girl. But you have a lot going on. It might not be the best time for us to be—”

I reach out, take his hand, and put it between my legs.

“Carey!” He pulls away, fast, like he’s touched a hot coal. I stare him down. That’s what men like. But what I see is shock. Disgust.

I make my way down the wall, heading in the direction I’d been going before he found me.

“Carey!”

I keep going, ignoring him.

Caribou, of the Rangifer genus, related to the old-world reindeers. Both males and females grow large, branched antlers. Name derived from the Algonquian maka-lipi—snow shoveler—due to their habit of using their front hooves to push aside snow in their search for winter food.

“Carey, wait!”

He grabs my upper arm, and I tear it away.

“Carey. Please.”

I shake my head, my cheeks burning, and take a step away. But he takes a step closer.

“Look at me.”

This time, I do.

“Right now, I’m more interested in touching this.”

He places his hand on my heart. Barely an inch to the left or right, and he’d be just like the men in the woods. But his hand doesn’t move. I put my hand over his, and he pulls me to him, enfolding me in his arms. He holds me, my body racked with sobs.

“Hey. It’s okay, Ceec. It’s okay. Just slow down. Okay?”

I nod, the material of his coat crinkling in my ear.

He kisses the top of my head. “I’m sorry about our picnic, about tonight, all of it.”

He gives me a squeeze. I study his feet. He wears boots like my father’s, but fancier.

“I’ve wanted to tell you ever since that afternoon.” I fight for the words, fight for the sake of this new life. “I reckon I’m so used to being private and all, it’s hard to get the feelings into words. But I’m sorry, too.”

“Prove it,” he whispers.

This time, I kiss his cheek like he wanted me to, smiling through the middle of it.

“Good girl. Let’s get out of here.” He takes my hand and weaves us through the crowd. I catch Pixie’s eye again, and she motions at the girls she’s with, waving for me to go with him.

[page]“She’ll be okay,” Ryan says, following my gaze. “That’s Sarah and Ainsley. I’ve known them since kindergarten.”

He snakes us through the dancers, knuckle-bumping people I don’t know and shouting above the music. I crane my neck for one last look at Pixie, but the icy blue eyes that grab mine aren’t Courtney’s.

Delaney looks like she could strangle me right here, right now. Our eyes stay locked until Ryan pulls me through the doorway into another room, shutting the door behind us.

A redbrick fireplace pops and crackles, the flames dancing in crazy shadows against the walls, and smack in the middle of an Oriental rug sits a grand piano, the mahogany polished to a mirrored shine. Outside, nosy snowflakes press against the sliding glass doors before flitting off into the night.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he whispers, sinking onto a crushed-velvet bench and lifting the lid to display the piano keys. “A secret for a secret.”

My jaw drops as he plays the same piece I played for him in the courtyard, Vivaldi’s “Spring.” His fingers fly over the keys and the emotion builds, the notes delicate as a necklace of raindrops, ferocious as a wild boar protecting her young.

Ryan ends it with two notes. His rendition.

Fee-bee. feeeeee-bee.

I laugh through my tears. It’s perfect.

“My mom started me on lessons when I was four. She thought she’d have to superglue me to the bench to get me to practice. Instead, I loved it. There were times she had to drag me away for meals, or out into the sunshine because she said I’d become pale as a ghost.”

“Your music is beautiful,” I gush.

I smile at him, the softer, civilized version of myself. The girl from his backyard. The girl from before the woods. All it takes is one thought.

I’m not alone.

Ryan starts to play a piece I’ve never heard before. I close my eyes and ride the notes to their breathless end, my heart free-falling, like during my first elevator ride, then rising up, soaring like the eaglets with all the supporting branches gone, the only thing left being that leap of faith into the vast unknown.

I keep my eyes shut until the room goes silent. When I open my eyes, he’s watching me.

Ryan lowers the lid and pops to his feet.

“I have an idea,” he says.

He reaches into my coat pocket and pulls out my hat.

“I do appreciate a girl who chooses warmth over hairstyle.”

He plays with the tassel for a moment before handing it back to me.

“Put your mittens on, too.”

I regard him quizzically.

He reaches out and zips my coat to my chin, then does the same with his. We walk through the sliding glass doors and into the night. I’m glad for the horse boots, woods-glad. The snowflakes coat us in powdered sugar, and my breath rises like the smoke from my father’s cigarettes, clouding, then disappearing.