Beating Heart by A. M. Jenkins Read Free Book Online Page B

them,
    letting them go
    on
    his shoulder
    my fingers
    clutched
    white cloth
    straining, then
    letting
    it
    go
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    after that,
    whenever I looked
    his eyes were on me
    full of purpose
    and a question
    to which I was
    the only answer
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    I remember
    easing silent into his room
    as if slipping a leash
    muted straining passion and then
    slick and salty
    sweat cooling on his chest
    along his neck
    while we whispered
    always careful
    always quiet
    tenderness unlocked
    and shared.
    In the dark he spilled
    raw, half-formed thoughts
    and words which, always
    being held back,
    had rusted for lack of use.
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    I remember
    tiptoeing, soundless
    before dawn,
    past my parents’ closed door
    my father’s even snores
    my mother’s undisturbed silence.
    Back in my own room
    I was
    still wrapped in closeness
    and in kisses.
    Â 
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    his lips
    on
    her lips
    just a touch
    a soft
    lingering
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    the air
    feels wild and thick
    I am being slowly squeezed
    I remember…
    what?
    Â 
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    a voice knotted in panic
    a hand,
    hard and harsh
    unyielding
    weight

 
    C arrie pulls back suddenly, looking at the open door.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Evan asks.
    â€œLibby,” she whispers.
    Evan walks quickly to the doorway. He steps outside.
    No one is there.
    He looks across the landing to see Libby in her room, still struggling with Lucinda’s dress. “I don’t think it was Libby,” he tells Carrie, coming back in.
    â€œI thought—I thought I saw somebody. I saw—I don’t know.”
    â€œWas it purple?”
    â€œI don’t know. It was too quick. I just saw it out of the corner of my eye.”
    â€œLibby’s wearing that crappy old purple T-shirt that was mine about a billion years ago. God, I hate that thing.”
    â€œMaybe it was—maybe I imagined it.”
    â€œSometimes, when a car drives by, light gets reflected in weird ways through that stained glass.”
    â€œOkay. Well. Do I get to see the rest of the house?”
    â€œSure.”
    Evan takes her hand again. As they walk across the room, Carrie says, “Hey, what’s that?”
    â€œOld letters and stuff. It was in the attic,” Evan tells her without looking around. Only then does he glance over his shoulder at the slightly rusted metal box on his desk. “You mean that box, right?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œI think it belonged to the lady that used to live here,” he adds, as they walk out the door.
    Carries follows him onto the landing. “The one that went into a nursing home?”
    â€œNo, the one before that.”
    â€œLots of old ladies.”
    â€œNo, there’s only been two owners. And then nobody lived here for a long time.”
    Evan shows her the other bedrooms, and the unfinished third floor. Libby joins them, eliciting satisfying oohs and aahs from Carrie over Lucinda’s gown. Theyall end up downstairs, watching a movie, with Libby popping in and out just often enough to keep Evan from trying anything. Finally, when it’s almost Carrie’s curfew, Evan walks her to her car. He kisses her good-bye.
    When he stops, she keeps her arms fastened around his neck. “I love you,” she says into his ear.
    â€œMe too.” His hands are on her waist.
    â€œI don’t know what I’d do without you,” she says, still clinging.
    â€œMe neither,” he agrees, looking into her eyes—but what he’s thinking is that he never finished going through that box with the pictures. Finally she lets go and gets into her car. He waves as she backs out; then he walks into the house.
    Now that Carrie’s safely off, Evan goes up to his room. The metal box is still there, the lid still shut. He hasn’t looked at her in several days, and now the thought of her draws him.
    He puts on a CD, and then sits at the desk and opens the box. A newspaper clipping now lies on top:
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    M ISS C