2. STILLNESS

PAST

I woke up that day with a foot in my face. No nail polish. Rough, hard, big and hairy. A man’s foot.

Disappointing.

“Ryan.” I pushed his dangling leg back on the bed. My voice was raspy from all the beer, and my head felt dull and heavy.

“What?” He stirred.

“I’m going for a run. You still in?” I got off the floor and stretched. I had carpet burn from where I’d crashed last night and the rosary around my neck had left round indents on the side of my arm.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” he mumbled. “Go back to sleep and think happy thoughts of Matilda.”

“Mmmmmmatilda.” I smiled. The exchange student Ryan’s girlfriend had hooked me up with.

“Dude, her body did not match her name.” said Ryan.

“Dipshit.” I smacked him in the back of his head. “Is that why you had Ellen set us up?”

“I could only hope. But you always luck out. Now get out of my face.” He pulled the covers over his eyes.

I should be sleeping too, considering what time we got back. Thank god for Ellen. I’d been in no condition to drive myself home. I dusted the sand off my sweatshirt and put it on. Beach parties are fun, but gritty. And I was still smelling of smoke and whatever perfume Matilda had on. I thought of hitting the shower, but I was going to get sweaty anyways.

It was early enough that dew drops still clung to plump blades of grass. A cool, sunny June morning—perfect for a run. And that’s exactly what I did. I ran. Not a nice, leisurely start to the day, but a full-on sprint, the incomparable rush of feeling the world whizz by in a blur of sound and light and color .

I’d been running since sixth grade. It was the only thing that had stopped the phone calls—the ones my parents used to get from school.

“We’re a little concerned.”

“He lacks focus.”

“We asked the kids to hand in a report about their favorite book. Troy picked four. None of which he finished.”

My curiosity was my downfall. I wanted to see everything, learn everything, taste everything. All at once. I snuck into classes not meant for me. Sex Ed when I should have been in Math. Splatter Painting when I should have been drawing apples in the Still Life class. I ate when I was hungry, instead of when I was supposed to. I talked in the library and whistled in class. I winked at all the girls and declared undying love for my fourth grade teacher. I was a disruptive, albeit charming, rule-breaker, and had to be dragged back to my desk countless times, by my ear.

It got better once I started channeling all my extra energy into running. My grades improved, I wasn’t bouncing off the walls and kids weren’t as intimidated by me. I leaned out, made the track team and kept running—even now, when I was in college. Why mess with a good thing, right?

I took a swig of water and spotted a pair of long-legged girls walking my way. Heck, I loved summer. Sweet things in tank tops and short shorts. They looked at me. One said something to the other and then they looked away. They stole another glance as they got closer, and giggled.

Women. So fucking irresistible. Coy, feisty, sporty, nerdy, glamour dolls, book worms, hot, cool. I was a slave to their charms. And it didn’t hurt that they seemed to gravitate towards me.

“Morning, girls.” I slowed down as they passed.

They smiled and batted their eyelashes. The blond elbowed the brunette and they laughed some more.

I turned around and watched them walk away.

Damn those short shorts.

I was still reverse-walking, my eyes on the sweet summer girls, when I collided into someone.

I say ‘collide’ because I didn’t just bump into her. I sent her flying.

“Whoa! Are you all right? I didn’t see you there.”

She didn’t reply. She was on her knees, trying to collect all the papers she’d dropped. They were quickly getting swept down the street. I intercepted one with my foot and ran the others down.

“Here you go.” I knelt beside her and handed her the pile.

That’s when I first saw her face.

At the time, I was completely clueless about just how significant that moment was, how it would derail both our lives, because at the time I was just an ordinary guy looking at an ordinary girl on a quiet, shaded street. That’s how a lot of things start, don’t they? Our most profound experiences, our greatest adventures. When we’re just looking. Because if we knew that we were really at the beginning of miracles and plagues, and slayings and resurrections, we might retreat. But not knowing, I kept looking. And so did she.

Except she didn’t just look at me, she looked into me. As if she saw a place there that she’d always wanted to go, and it stunned her that it actually existed.

I forgot the papers in my hand, forgot everything but the delicate starkness of her face. She wasn’t cover-girl gorgeous. No. Her beauty came from some place deeper, some dark, hollow void that sucked up all of my scattered, restless energy. And for the first time I knew stillness. I was there, all there in that moment, not wanting to run off to the next one, or the one after that, or the one after that. Because that moment, that short, random suspension of me and her, was more loaded than anything I’d chased after.

She was wearing an ill-fitting yellow dress, buttoned up to the collar. Her hair was swept carelessly to the side. So much of it. Long, dark, curly. It glowed with red highlights where the sun touched it, like fiery pieces of stoked coal. She regarded me with eyes that were the shape of almonds; dark espresso eyes, flecked with cinnamon. She was singularly the most beautiful, exotic creature I’d ever seen.

Then she blinked, and the moment was gone. Pretty soon she would be too.

“Shhh. Don’t move,” I said. “Not a muscle.”

“Huh?” She turned a bright shade of red.

She had felt it too, and she was about to flit away.

“Don’t move,” I repeated. “There’s a butterfly. On your shoulder.”

Lame, but it was the only thing that came to mind.

“What color?” she asked.

“Red.” Like the glints in your hair, the flush on your cheeks.

“Red?”

A lie.

But I didn’t care if she believed me. I just wanted her to stay. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen,” I said.

The truth.

“You know,” I continued, grasping at straws to keep her there, “there’s a Native American legend which says that if you want a wish to come true, you must capture a butterfly and whisper your wish to it. Since it makes no sound, it won’t tell the wish to anyone but the Great Spirit. By making the wish and releasing the butterfly, your wish will be taken to the heavens and be granted.”

“Are you...are you going to try and catch it?”

“Only if it wants to be caught.”

Somewhere nearby, a rose bush was in full bloom. I could smell its sweet, heady fragrance in the air.

She made a short, jerky move, clamping down on the papers she was holding, as if to steady herself. Something glinted off her left hand. A ring. A plain golden band on her wedding finger.

Fuck.

All of the roving, tossing, turning energy found me again.

“It’s gone,” I said.

“What?”

“The butterfly.” The weird stillness I felt around you. “Are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No,” she replied.

But she looked unsure, like she wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened.

That makes the two of us.

I smiled. “I’d say I’m sorry for running into you, but I’m not really.”

Her guard was up now; her face back on. So that was the look she normally wore to keep the world at bay.

“Need some help?” I offered her a hand.

“I’m fine.” She kept her head down.

Her right knee was scratched, but she was too busy clutching the papers like a shield to keep me away. It didn’t seem right to just leave her there, in the middle of the street, but that’s exactly what I did. Because I wanted to stay, and you never, ever mess with another man’s woman.

I was tempted to turn around and make sure she was okay. Maybe I just wanted one final glance. She looked too young to be married.

Keep running, Troy. Keep running.

I had three more rounds to go, but I headed back to Ryan’s. I felt like I had just been run over by a truck.

Ryan was sprawled out in the living room, watching TV and balancing a bowl of cereal on his lap.

“Hey,” he said without turning around.

I peeled off my sweatshirt and downed the rest of my water. My throat still felt parched.

The doorbell rang.

“Dad! Are you expecting someone?” asked Ryan.

Bob came into the kitchen, finishing off his coffee.

“Would you mind getting that, Troy?” he said.

I opened the door and did a double take.

Yellow dress, curly hair, crooked pile of papers.

Her.

Standing upright, she was curvier than I thought. Not quite as tall. But she turned just as red when she saw my bare chested form.

Hell. I was ready to buy whatever she was selling. Cookies. Time share. Encyclopedia Fucking Britannica.

“Ryan?” she said, peering at me through the screen.

“I’m Ryan.” His head popped up beside me. “He’s Troy. Who are you?”

“Coming through, coming through,” said Bob. “Oh hey, Shayda.” He let her in. “Boys, this is my assistant. Be nice.” He said something to her before leaving, but I wasn’t listening.

I smelled roses as she walked past me and headed for Bob’s home office.

“Holy crap. My dad’s assistant? She’s smokin’!” said Ryan, when she was out of earshot.

“Lay off, man. She’s married.”

We shut up as Ryan’s sister walked into the hallway.

“You want breakfast?” she asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Since when, Jayne?” shot Ryan. “Should you even be up? It’s not noon yet, is it?”

She was sixteen or seventeen, and her schoolgirl crush on me embarrassed Ryan, although he didn’t say. He knew I would never make the moves on his kid sister. That’s just part of the bro code.

“Shut up, smartass.” Jayne flipped him the finger and gave me a honey-sweet smile. “You sure I can’t get you anything?”

“Jayne, I’ll look after breakfast,” said her mother. “You go change.”

Elizabeth Worthing was not impressed with her daughter’s flimsy pajama shorts. Jayne made a face, but she went off to do her bidding.

“Morning, boys.” Mrs. Worthing gave Ryan and me a peck on the cheek. “Have fun last night?”

Ryan groaned, nursing his head.

“How about you?” she turned to me. “You need an advil too?”

I shook my head. My cotton-balled hangover had been knocked right out of me.

“God, you reek,” she said, as I reached over and grabbed an apple. “Off to the shower, young man. You’re not getting any pancakes until you’ve freshened up.”

“Pancakes? Yummm.” I took a big bite of the apple. “Thank you, Mrs. Worthing.”

“Call me Lizzie,” she said.

“Since when?” asked Ryan. First his sister and now his mum. “All my friends call you Mrs. Worthing.”

“Lizzie, Mrs. Worthing. What difference does it make?” I heard her say as I headed for the bathroom.

“Hey, Jayne.” It was Shayda’s voice, coming from the study room. “Have you ever seen a red butterfly?”

Without the distraction of her unsettling presence, I could focus on other things. She had an accent— barely detectable, like she had practiced the words many times to iron it out, but it still lingered in the folds. It wasn’t so much the way she said things, but the tone they took. High and low, up and down, a soft lilting like she was a bit unsure, so some words came out like question marks.

“A red butterfly?” replied Jayne. “Does that even exist?”

“Sure does.” I peeked into the study.

They jumped liked they’d been caught in the act.

“I saw one just this morning,” I said. I had the funny feeling they’d been talking about me.

“Yeah, right.” Jayne recovered first. “What’s it called then?”

A full flush settled over Shayda’s face when I looked at her.

“A Beetroot Butterfly.” I smiled.