Making Faces(64)

“So true, my floating friend. So true,” Fern said seriously. Ambrose bit his tongue so he wouldn't laugh. They were such dorks. Such an odd little twosome. And he had the sudden urge to cry. Again. He was turning into one of those fifty-year-old women who liked pictures of kittens with inspirational sayings printed on them. The kind of woman who would cry during beer commercials. Fern had turned him into a blubbering mess. And he was crazy about her. And her floating friend too.

“What happened to your face, Brosey?” Bailey inquired cheerfully, switching subjects the way he always did, without warning. Okay, maybe Ambrose wasn't crazy about the floating friend.

“It got blown off,” Ambrose answered curtly.

“Literally? I mean, I want specifics. You had a bunch of surgeries, right? What did they do?”

“The right side of my head was sheered off, including my right ear.”

“Well that's okay, right? I mean that ear had some major cauliflower if I remember right.”

Ambrose chuckled, shaking his head at Bailey's audacity. Cauliflower ear is what happened to wrestlers' ears when they didn't wear their headgear. Ambrose never had cauliflower ear, but he appreciated Bailey's humor.

“This ear is a prosthetic.”

“No way! Let me see!” Bailey bobbed wildly and Ambrose steadied him before he tipped face-first into the drink.

Ambrose pulled the prosthetic ear from the magnets that held it in place, and Fern and Bailey gasped in unison, “Cool!”

Yep. Dorks. But Ambrose couldn't deny that he was relieved by Fern's response. He had given her every reason to run away from him, screaming. The fact that she didn't even flinch eased something in his chest. He inhaled, enjoying the sensation of breathing deeper.

“Is that why your hair won't grow?” It was Fern's turn to be curious.

“Yeah. Too much scar tissue on that side. Too many grafts. There's a steel plate on the side of my head that attaches to my cheekbone and my jaw. The skin on my face was peeled back here and here,” Ambrose indicated the long scars that crisscrossed his cheek. “They were actually able to put it back, but I took a bunch of shrapnel to the face before the bigger piece took the side of my head. The skin they put back was like Swiss cheese and I had shrapnel buried in the soft tissue of my face. That's why the skin is so bumpy and pockmarked. Some of the shrapnel is still working its way out.”

“And your eye?”

“I took a big piece of shrapnel to my eye, too. They saved the eyeball but not my sight.”

“A metal plate in your head? That's pretty intense.” Bailey's eyes were wide.

“Yeah. Just call me The Tin Man,” Ambrose said softly, the memory of nicknames and old pain making it hard to breathe again.

“The Tin Man, huh?” Bailey said. “You are pretty rusty. That double leg yesterday was PA-THETIC.”

Fern's hand slipped into Ambrose’s and her feet found purchase on the rocky bottom beside his own. And just like that the memory lost its bite. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, not caring if Bailey gave him grief. Maybe the Tin Man was coming back to life. Maybe he had a heart after all.

They swam around for about an hour, Bailey floating happily, Fern and Ambrose paddling around him, laughing and splashing each other until Bailey claimed he was turning into a raisin. Then Ambrose carried Bailey to his chair and Fern and Ambrose lay out on the rocks, letting the sun dry their clothes. Fern was wearing the most and was definitely the wettest, and her shoulders and nose started to show signs of sunburn, the backs of her pale thighs turning a soft pink. Her hair dried into deep red ringlets, falling down her back and into her eyes as she smiled at him drowsily, half asleep on the big warm rock. He felt a strange, falling sensation in his chest and lifted his hand to rub the spot just above his heart, as if he could soothe the feeling and send it away. It was happening more and more often when he was around her.

“Brose?” Bailey's voice cut through his reverie.

“Yeah?”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Bailey informed him.

Ambrose froze, the implications clear.

“So you can either take me home pronto, or you can accompany me to yon forest.” Bailey nodded toward the trees surrounding Hannah Lake. “I hope you brought toilet paper. But either way, you're going to have to quit looking at Fern like you want to gobble her up, because it's making me hungry, and I can't be responsible for my behavior when I'm hungry and I need to use the can.”

And just like that the mood was broken.





November 22, 2003





Dear Marley,





I've never written you a love note, have I? Did you know Ambrose wrote love letters back and forth senior year with Rita Marsden only to find out Rita wasn't writing them? It was Fern Taylor, the little redhead who hangs out with Coach's son, Bailey. In the beginning, Paulie gave Ambrose the idea to use poetry, but I actually think Ambrose was really enjoying himself until Rita dumped him and told him it had been Fern all along. Ambrose doesn't show a lot of emotion, but he was pretty pissed. We teased him about Fern Taylor for the rest of the year. The thought of Ambrose with Fern is pretty funny. He didn't think so. He still gets real quiet if we even mention her name. It got me thinking that I've never been very good at communicating, and it reminded how far some people will go to get a message across.