Ocracoke 1995
I woke to sunlight streaming through my window. I knew my aunt was
long gone, though in my haze, I imagined I heard someone rummaging in the kitchen. Still groggy and dreading the barf because it’s morning thing, I gently pulled the pillow over my head and kept my eyes closed until I felt like it was safe to move.
I waited for the nausea to take over while I slowly came back to life; by then, it was as predictable as the sunrise, but strangely, I continued to feel okay. I slowly sat up, waited another minute, and still nothing. Finally, putting my feet to the floor, I stood, certain that my stomach would start doing cartwheels any second, but still there was nothing.
Holy cow and hallelujah!
Because the house was chilly, I threw on a sweatshirt over my pajamas, then slid into some fuzzy slippers. In the kitchen, my aunt had thoughtfully stacked all my textbooks and various manila folders on the table, probably to get me kick-started first thing in the morning. I pointedly ignored the pile because I wasn’t just not sick; I was actually hungry again. I fried an egg and reheated a biscuit for breakfast, yawning the whole time. I was more tired than usual because I’d stayed up late to finish the first draft of my paper on Thurgood Marshall. It was four and a half pages, not quite the five pages required but good enough, and feeling sort of proud of my diligence, I decided to reward myself by blowing off the rest of my homework until I felt more awake. Instead, I grabbed the Sylvia Plath book from my aunt’s shelf, bundled up in a jacket, and took a seat on the porch to read for a while.
The thing is, though, I’d never really liked reading for pleasure. That was Morgan’s thing. I’d always preferred skimming bits here and there to
get the general concept, and after opening the book to a random page, I saw a few lines that my aunt had underlined:
The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
I frowned and read it again, trying to figure out what Plath had meant by that. I thought I understood the first part; I suspected she was talking about loneliness, albeit in a vague way. The second part wasn’t so hard, either; to my mind, she was just making it clear that she was talking about loneliness specifically, not the fact that being in a quiet place is depressing. But the third sentence was trickier. I guessed she was referring to her own apathy, perhaps a product of her loneliness.
So why hadn’t she just written, Being lonely sucks?
I wondered why some people had to make things so complicated. And, frankly, why was that insight even profound? Didn’t everyone know that loneliness could be a bummer? I could have told them that and I was just a teenager. Hell, I’d been living it since I’d been marooned in Ocracoke.
Then again, maybe I’d misinterpreted the whole passage. I was no English scholar. The real question was why my aunt had underlined it. It obviously had meant something to her, but what? Was my aunt lonely? She didn’t seem lonely and she spent a lot of time with Gwen, but then again, what did I really know about her? It wasn’t as though we’d had any deeply personal conversations since I’d been here.
I was still thinking about it when I heard an engine and the sound of tires crunching gravel out front. After that, the thumping of a car door. Rising from my seat, I opened the slider and listened, waiting. Sure enough, I eventually heard someone knocking. I had no idea who it could possibly be. It was the first time I’d heard a knock at the door since I’d been there. Maybe I should have been nervous, but Ocracoke wasn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, and I doubted a criminal would knock in the first place. Without a care, I went to the front door and swung it open only to see Bryce standing before me, which pretty much made my brain freeze in confusion. I knew I’d agreed to let him tutor me, but somehow I’d thought I had a few days before we’d begin.
“Hi, Maggie,” he said. “Your aunt said I should come by so we can get started.”
“Huh?”
“Tutoring,” he said.
“Uh…”
“She mentioned that you might need some help preparing for your tests.
And maybe catching up on your homework.”
I hadn’t showered, hadn’t brushed my hair, hadn’t put on makeup. In my pajamas and slippers and jacket, I probably looked homeless. “I just got out of bed,” I finally blurted out.
He tilted his head. “You sleep in your jacket?”
“It was cold last night.” When he continued to stare, I went on. “I get cold easy.”
“Oh,” he said. “My mom does, too. But…are you ready? Your aunt said to be here at nine.”
“Nine?”
“I talked to her this morning after I finished working out. She said she’d come back to the house and leave you a note.”
I guess I had heard someone in the kitchen earlier. Oops. “Oh,” I said, trying to buy time. There wasn’t a chance I’d let him come in with the way I was looking now. “I thought the note said ten.”
“Do you want me to come back at ten?”
“That might be better,” I agreed, trying not to breathe on him. For his part, he looked…well, a lot like he had the day before. Hair slightly windblown, dimples flashing. He was wearing jeans and that cool olive jacket again.
“No problem,” he said. “Until then, can you get me the stuff that your aunt Linda set out? She said it might help me get a handle on things.”
“What stuff?”
“She told me it was on the kitchen table.”
Oh yeah, I suddenly thought. That thoughtful stack on the table, for the morning kick-start.
“Hold on,” I said. “Let me check.”
I left him waiting on the porch and retreated to the kitchen. Sure enough, on top of the stack was a note from my aunt.
Good morning, Maggie,
I just spoke to Bryce and he’ll be coming by at nine to get started with you. I also photocopied the list of assignments and homework, as well as quiz and test dates. I’m hopeful he’ll be able to explain the subjects that I can’t. Have a wonderful day and I’ll see you this afternoon. Love you.
Blessings, Aunt Linda
I reminded myself to keep my eye out for notes in the future. I was about to grab the stack when I remembered the paper I’d written. I went to the bedroom and retrieved it before scooping everything else into my arms and carrying it all to the front door, where I quickly realized my mistake.
“Bryce? Are you still here?” “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Can you open the door? My hands are full.”
When the door swung open, I handed him the stack. “I think this is what she set out for you. I also wrote a paper last night, so I put that on top.”
If he was surprised by the size of the pile, he didn’t show it. “Great,” he said, reaching for it. He took the stack, bobbling it slightly before rebalancing. “Do you mind if I figure this out here on the porch? Instead of going home and coming back?”
“Not at all,” I said. I really, really wished I’d brushed my teeth. “I need a little time to get ready, okay?”
“Sounds good,” he said. “I’ll see you whenever. Take your time.”
After closing the door, I went straight to my bedroom to find something to wear. Quickly undressing, I pulled out my favorite jeans from the pile in the closet, but when I buttoned the top, it dug into my skin and hurt. Same thing with my second-favorite pair. Which meant I’d probably have to wear the same baggy ones I’d worn on the ferry. I sorted through my tops, but thankfully they still fit. I picked something maroon with long sleeves. For shoes, though, I didn’t have much. Sneakers, slippers, rubber boots, and Uggs. Uggs it would be.
With that decided, I showered, brushed my teeth, and dried my hair. After dabbing on some makeup, I slipped into the clothes I’d picked out. Because my aunt had been so insistent about the cleanliness thing, my room was all set, so all I really had to do was straighten the sheet, pull up the comforter, and prop Maggie-bear against the pillow. Not, of course, that I had any intention of showing him my bedroom, but if he needed to use the bathroom and peeked in, he might notice that I kept things tidy.
Not that it mattered.
I washed and dried the plate, glass, and utensils I’d used for breakfast, but other than that, the kitchen was all set. I pulled open the drapes, letting more light into the house, and taking a deep breath, went to the door.
Opening it, I saw him sitting on the front porch, legs perched on the steps.
“Oh, hey,” he said, no doubt hearing me behind him. He realigned the pile and got to his feet, then suddenly froze. He stared as though seeing me for the first time. “Wow. You look really nice.”
“Thanks,” I answered, thinking that maybe I looked all right, even if I would never be as pretty as Morgan. But even so, I felt my cheeks redden slightly. “I just threw on whatever was lying around. You ready?”
“Let me grab this stuff.”
He gathered up the stack and I stepped back so he could squeeze through the door. He stopped, no doubt wondering where to go.
“The kitchen table is fine,” I said, motioning. “That’s where I usually work.”
In those rare instances I do work, I thought. And when I wasn’t doing it in bed, which I wasn’t about to tell him.
“Perfect,” he said. In the kitchen, he set the stack on the table, pulled out the manila folder at the top, and settled in the chair I’d used for breakfast. Meanwhile, I was still thinking about what he’d said to me on the porch, and even though I’d invited him inside, the fact that he was actually at the kitchen table felt bizarre, like something you might see on television or at the movies but never expected to experience in real life.
I shook my head, thinking, I need to get hold of myself. Starting toward the kitchen, I veered to the cupboards near the sink. “Would you like some water? I’m going to get a glass.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
I filled two glasses and brought them to the table, then sat in the spot that was usually my aunt’s. I was struck by the thought that the house looked entirely different from this angle, which made me wonder how it appeared to Bryce.
“Did you see the paper I wrote?”
“I read it,” he said. “He’s one of the most prominent justices ever to serve. Did you choose him, or did the teacher assign it?”
“The teacher picked it.”
“You got lucky there because there’s so much to write about.” He folded his hands in front of him. “Let’s start with this. How do you think you’re doing in your classes?”
I hadn’t expected the question and it took me a second to answer. “I’m doing okay, I guess. Especially considering that I’m supposed to learn all this on my own without having a teacher. I didn’t do all that great on my recent quizzes or tests, but there’s still time to get my grades up.”
“Do you want to get your grades up?” “What do you mean?”
“I grew up hearing my mom say ‘There is no teaching, there is only learning’ over and over. I must have heard it more than a hundred times, and for a long time, I didn’t know what she meant. Because she was my teacher, right? Was she telling me that she wasn’t a teacher? But as I got a little older, I finally understood that she was telling me that teaching is impossible unless a student wants to learn. I guess that’s another way I could have phrased it. Do you want to learn? Really and truly? Or do you simply want to do enough to get by?”
Just like on the ferry, he came across as more mature than other people his age, but maybe because his tone was so nice, it made me reflect on what he was really asking.
“Well…I don’t want to have to repeat my sophomore year.”
“I get that. But it still doesn’t really answer my question. What grades would you like? What would make you happy?”
Straight A’s without having to do the work, I knew, but I didn’t think it would do me any good to say it out loud. The fact was, I was normally a B or C student, with more C’s than B’s. Sometimes I got an A in the easier classes like Music or Art, but I’d had a couple of D’s, too. I knew I’d never compare with Morgan, but part of me still wanted to please my parents.
“I think that if I averaged B’s I’d be happy with that.”
“Okay,” he said. He smiled again, dimples and all. “Now I know.” “That’s it?”
“Not exactly. Where you are and where you would like to be aren’t aligned right now. You’re at least eight assignments behind in your math homework, and your test scores are pretty low. You’re going to need to do outstanding work the rest of the semester to get a B in Geometry.”
“Oh.”
“You’re way behind in Biology, too.” “Oh.”
“Same situation in American History. And English and Spanish, too.”
By then, I couldn’t meet his eyes, knowing he probably thought I was an idiot. I understood enough to know that West Point was almost as hard to get into as Stanford.
“What did you think about my paper?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
His gaze flickered over it; it wasn’t in the folder—he’d placed it on top of the stack of textbooks.
“I wanted to discuss that with you, too.”
* * *
Because I’d never had a tutor before, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Add in the tutor is WAY cute and I was even more clueless. I guess I imagined we’d work and then take a break and get to know each other, maybe even flirt a little, but the day was nothing like that, other than the first part.
We worked. I went to the bathroom. We worked some more. Yet another bathroom break. Repeat for hours.
Aside from going over my paper—he wanted me to make it more chronological as opposed to jumping back and forth in time—we spent most of the day on geometry, catching up on homework. There was no way I could get through everything, because he made me do every single problem by myself. Whenever I asked for help, he’d go through my textbook and find the section that explained the concept. He’d have me read through it and if I didn’t understand, he’d try to break it down for me. When that still didn’t help—which was most of the time—he’d examine the homework question that had me stumped and would then create an original question that was similar. After that, he’d patiently show me how to answer that sample question step by step. Only then would I go back to the original homework problem, which I had to do myself. All of which was seriously frustrating because it made the whole process slower while simultaneously increasing the amount of work I had to do.
My aunt came home just as Bryce was about to leave and they ended up speaking in the doorway. I have no idea what they discussed, but their voices sounded cheery; as for me, I hadn’t moved from my chair and my forehead was on the table. Right before my aunt had walked in the door, and even after all I’d done, Bryce had given me additional homework, or rather, homework I was already supposed to have completed. In addition to reworking my paper, he wanted me to read chapters in both my biology and history textbooks. Though he’d smiled when he’d said it—as though his
request were entirely reasonable after hours of brain-frying strain—his dimples meant absolutely nothing to me.
Except…
The thing is, he was really good at explaining things in a way that made intuitive sense, and he was patient the whole time. By the end, I kind of felt like I understood a bit more about what was going on and felt less intimidated by the sight of shapes and numbers and equals signs. But don’t be misled: I hadn’t suddenly turned into some sort of geometry whiz. I made big mistakes and little mistakes all day long, and by the end, I was pretty down on myself. Morgan, I knew, wouldn’t have struggled at all.
As soon as he left, I took a nap. Dinner was ready when I finally woke, and after eating and cleaning the kitchen, I returned to my room and read from the textbooks. I still had more work to do on my paper, so I cranked up the Walkman and began scribbling. My aunt poked her head through my doorway a few minutes later and said something to me; I pretended I’d heard her, even though I hadn’t. If it was important, I figured that she’d come back and tell me again later.
After I’d been writing for a while, I made the mistake of forgetting that I was pregnant. I shifted to a more comfortable position and all at once, nature called. Again. When I opened the door to the hallway, I was surprised to hear conversation drifting from the living room. Peeking around the corner to see who it was, I noticed Gwen placing a cardboard box full of ornaments and lights in front of the Christmas tree and vaguely remembered my aunt telling me that we were going to decorate it tonight after work.
What I hadn’t expected was to see Bryce chatting with my aunt as she tuned the radio, finally settling on a station that was playing Christmas music. I felt my stomach do a little flip at the sight of him, but at least I wasn’t wearing pajamas and slippers and looking generally like I rode the rails, hobo style.
“There you are,” Aunt Linda said. “I was about to come get you. Bryce just arrived.”
“Hi, Maggie,” Bryce said. He was still wearing the same jeans and T- shirt, and I couldn’t help noticing the pleasing silhouette his shoulders and hips made. “Linda invited me over to help with the tree. I hope that’s okay.” I was momentarily speechless, but I don’t think any of them noticed.
Aunt Linda was already slipping into her jacket on her way out the door.
“Gwen and I are going to make a quick run to the store to get some eggnog,” she said. “If you two want to get started on the lights, feel free. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I remained in the doorway before remembering with painful urgency why I’d left my room in the first place. I went to the bathroom and washed my hands afterward. Peering into the mirror above the sink, even I could tell I was tired, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I ran a brush through my hair, took a breath, and went out, wondering why I suddenly felt nervous. Bryce and I had been alone in the house already for hours; why was this any different?
Because, a voice inside me whispered, he’s not here to tutor me. He’s here because clearly Aunt Linda wanted him to come over, not for her, but because she thought I might like that.
By the time I walked out of the bathroom, Aunt Linda and Gwen were gone and Bryce had pulled a strand of lights from the box. I watched him struggle to untangle them, and playing it cool, I fished out a different strand and started untangling, too.
“I finished my reading,” I said. “Some of my paper, too.” Without sunlight streaming through the windows, his hair and eyes seemed darker than usual.
“Good for you,” he said. “I took Daisy for a walk on the beach and then my parents had me chop firewood. Thanks for having me over.”
“Of course,” I said, even though I’d had no say in the matter.
He finished with his strand and scanned the room. “I need to check to make sure the lights are working. Is there an outlet handy?”
I had no idea. I’d never needed to know where the outlets were, but I think he was mostly talking to himself, because he bent lower, peering under the table next to the couch. “There it is.”
He squatted down, his movements fluid, and reached underneath to plug in the strand. I watched as the multicolored lights blinked on.
“I love decorating Christmas trees,” he offered, heading to the box again. “It gets me into the spirit of things.” He reached for another strand just as I finished untangling mine. I plugged it into the strand on the floor, watching as it blinked on as well, then reached for another strand.
“I’ve never decorated a tree.” “Really?”
“My mom usually does it,” I said. “She likes it to look a certain way.”
“Oh,” he said, and I could tell he was puzzled. “It’s the opposite in our house. My mom sort of directs while the rest of us do it.”
“She doesn’t like to decorate?”
“She does, but you’d have to meet her to understand. The eggnog was my idea, by the way. That’s part of our tradition and as soon as I mentioned it, your aunt Linda thought we should have some here, too. I was telling her how well I thought you did today. Especially at the end. I barely had to help you at all.”
“I’m still pretty far behind.”
“I’m not worried,” he said. “If you keep going like you did today, you’ll catch up in no time.”
I wasn’t so sure. He clearly had more confidence in me than I did. “Thanks for all your help. I’m not sure that I told you before you left. I was kind of out of it by then.”
“No worries,” he said. He took my strand and checked those lights as well. “How long have you lived in Seattle?”
“Since I was born,” I said. “Same house. Same bedroom, in fact.”
“I can’t imagine what that would be like. Until we got here, I moved pretty much every other year. Idaho, Virginia, Germany, Italy, Georgia, even North Carolina. My dad was at Fort Bragg for a while.”
“I don’t know where that is.”
“It’s in Fayetteville. South of Raleigh, about three hours from the coast.”
“Still doesn’t help. My knowledge of North Carolina is pretty much limited to Ocracoke and Morehead City.”
He smiled. “Tell me about your family. What do your mom and dad do?”
“My dad works on the line at Boeing. I think he does riveting, but I’m not really sure. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I get the sense it’s the same every day. My mom works part-time as a secretary at our church.”
“And you have a sister, right?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Morgan. She’s two years older than me.” “Do you two look alike?”
“I wish,” I said.
“I’m sure she says the same thing about you.” His compliment caught me off guard, the same way it had in the morning when he’d told me I looked really nice. Meanwhile, Bryce retrieved an extension cord from the
box. “I guess we’re ready,” he said. He plugged in the extension cord and attached the first strand of lights. “Do you want to lead or adjust?”
I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. “Adjust, I guess.”
“Okay,” he said. Gripping the tree, he gently scooted it away from the front window, making more space. “It’s easier to get around the tree this way. We can move it back when we’re finished.”
Making sure the cord had enough slack, he began stringing the lights at the back of the tree, then circled to the front. “Just make sure there are no gaps or places where the lights are too close together.”
Adjusting. Got it.
I did as he asked; it wasn’t long before the first strand was at an end, and he plugged in the next one. We repeated the process, working together.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to ask what brought you to Ocracoke.”
And there it was. The question. Actually, I was surprised it hadn’t come up earlier, and I thought back to the conversation I’d had with my aunt and the impossibility of secrets in Ocracoke. And that, as she noted, it would be best if the answer came from me. I took a deep breath, feeling a flutter of fear.
“I’m pregnant.”
He was still bent over as he glanced up to face me. “I know. I meant why are you here in Ocracoke and not with your family?”
I felt my mouth fall open. “You knew I was pregnant? Did my aunt tell you?”
“Linda didn’t say anything. I just sort of put the pieces together.” “What pieces?”
“The fact that you’re here but still enrolled in a school in Seattle? Because you’re leaving in May? Because your aunt was vague about the reason for your sudden visit? Because she asked for an extra cushy seat on your bike? Because you used the bathroom a lot today? Pregnancy was the only explanation that made sense.”
I wasn’t sure whether I was more surprised by the idea that he’d figured it out so easily or the fact that there was no judgment in his tone or his expression as he said it.
“It was a mistake,” I said in a rush. “I did something stupid last August with a guy I barely knew, and now I’m here until I have the baby because
my parents didn’t want anyone to find out what happened to me. And I’d rather you not tell anyone, either.”
He started wrapping the tree again. “I’m not going to say anything. But won’t people learn what happened when they see you walking around with a baby?”
“I’m giving her up for adoption. My parents have it all figured out.” “It’s a her?”
“I have no idea. My mom thinks it’ll be a girl because she says my family only makes girls. I mean…my mom has four sisters, my dad has three sisters. I have twelve female cousins and no males. My parents had girls.”
“That’s cool,” he offered. “Aside from my mom, it’s all boys in our family. Can you hand me another strand?”
The change in subject threw me. “Wait…don’t you have more questions?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. How it happened or whatever?”
“I understand the mechanics,” he said, his tone neutral. “You already mentioned that it was a guy you barely knew and a mistake, and you’re giving her up for adoption, so what else is there to say?”
My parents certainly had a lot more to say, but to his point, what did the details matter? In my confusion, I reached for another strand and handed it to him. “I’m not a bad person—”
“I never thought you were.”
He started going around the tree again; by then, the lights were halfway to the top.
“Why doesn’t any of this bother you?”
“Because,” he answered, still placing the lights, “the same thing happened to my mom. She was a teenager when she became pregnant. I guess the only difference was that my dad married her, and I eventually came along.”
“Your parents told you that?”
“They didn’t have to. I know their anniversary, and I know my birthday.
The math isn’t hard.”
Wow, I thought. I wondered if my aunt knew all this. “How old was your mom?”
“Nineteen.”
It didn’t seem like a significant age difference but it was, even if he didn’t say so. After all, at nineteen you’re a legal adult and not in high school anymore. Instead, once he finished with the next strand, he said, “Let’s step back and see how we’re doing.”
From a distance, it was easier to see the gaps and other places where the lights were too close together. At the tree, we both adjusted the strands, stepped back, then adjusted some more, the scent of pine filling the room as the branches moved. Strains of Bing Crosby played in the background as flickering light fell across Bryce’s features. In the silence, I wondered what he was really thinking and whether he was as accepting as he seemed.
Once we finished, we strung the lights on the top half of the tree. Because he was taller, he did pretty much everything while I stood and watched. When he was done, we both stepped farther away again and studied our accomplishment.
“What do you think?”
“It’s pretty,” I answered, even though my mind was still a million miles away.
“Do you know if your aunt has a star or an angel for the top?” “I have no idea. And…thanks.”
“For what?”
“For not asking questions. For being so nice about the reason I’m in Ocracoke. For agreeing to tutor me.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “Believe it or not, I’m glad you’re here. Ocracoke can get kind of boring in the winter.”
“You don’t say.”
He laughed. “I guess you’ve noticed that, huh?”
For the first time since he’d arrived, I smiled. “It’s not all bad.”
* * *
Aunt Linda and Gwen showed up about a minute later and oohed and aahed over the lights before pouring glasses of eggnog. The four of us sipped while adding tinsel to the tree along with the ornaments and the angel for the top, which had been stored in the hall closet. It didn’t take long until the tree was finished. Bryce slid it back into place before adding more water to the base. Afterward, Aunt Linda plied us with cinnamon rolls she’d bought at the store, and though they weren’t as fresh as her biscuits, we ate them with gusto at the table.
Even if it wasn’t terribly late, it was probably time for Bryce to go, since Aunt Linda and Gwen had to wake up so early. Thankfully, he seemed to realize it and brought his plate to the sink, then said goodbye before we started toward the door.
“Thanks again for having me over,” he said, reaching for the knob. “That was a lot of fun.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant decorating the tree or spending time with me was fun, but I felt a surge of relief that I’d told him the truth about myself. And that he’d been more than kind about all of it.
“I’m glad you came.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice quiet, the words strangely sounding like both a promise and an opportunity.
* * *
“I told him,” I said to Aunt Linda later, after Gwen had left. We were in the living room, moving the empty boxes to the hall closet.
“And?”
“He already knew. He’d figured it out.” “He’s…very bright. The whole family is.”
When I set the box on the floor, my jeans pinched my waist and I already knew my other pants were even tighter. “I think I’m going to need some bigger clothes.”
“I was going to suggest that we do some shopping after church on Sunday for just that reason.”
“You could tell?”
“No. But it’s about that time. I brought a lot of young pregnant girls shopping when I was a nun.”
“Is it possible to buy pants that don’t make my situation so obvious? I mean, I know everyone’s going to know, but…”
“It’s fairly easy to hide in winter because sweaters and jackets can cover a lot. I doubt anyone will see your baby bump until March. Maybe even April, and once it does show, you can always keep a lower profile then, if that’s what you want.”
“Do you think other people have figured it out? Like Bryce did? And that they’re talking about me?”
My aunt seemed to choose her words carefully. “I think there’s some curiosity about why you’re here, but no one has asked me directly. If they do, I’ll just tell them that it’s personal. They’ll know not to press.”
I liked the way she was watching out for me. Gazing toward the open door of my room, I thought about what I’d read earlier in the Sylvia Plath book. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you ever feel like you’re all alone?”
She lowered her gaze, an odd expression on her face. “All the time,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
* * *
I’m not going to bore you with the details of that first week, because they were pretty much the same, varying only by subject. I finished rewriting my paper and Bryce had me rewrite it a second time before he was finally satisfied. I slowly but steadily began to catch up on my homework, and on Thursday, we spent most of the day studying for Friday’s geometry test. By then, I knew my brain would be too tired to take it after my aunt got back from work, so she came home from the shop to proctor the exam at eight the next morning, before Bryce arrived.
I was pretty nervous. As much as I’d studied, I was terrified of making stupid mistakes or seeing a problem that might as well have been written in Chinese. Right before my aunt handed me the test, I said a little prayer, even though I didn’t think it would do any good.
Fortunately, I thought I understood what most of the questions were asking and then worked through them step by step the way Bryce had shown me. Even so, when I finally handed it over, I still felt like I swallowed a tennis ball. I’d scored in the fifties or sixties on the previous tests and quizzes and couldn’t bear to watch my aunt as she graded it. I didn’t want to see her using the red pencil to cross things out, so I pointedly stared out the window. When Aunt Linda eventually brought the test back to me, she was smiling, but I couldn’t tell whether it was out of pity or because I’d done well. She put the test on the table in front of me, and after taking a deep breath, I finally had the courage to check.
I hadn’t aced it. Didn’t even get an A.
But the B I got was closer to an A than a C, and when I instinctively squealed with joy and disbelief, Aunt Linda held out her arms and I fell into them, the two of us hugging in the kitchen for a long time, and I realized how much I’d needed that.
* * *
When Bryce arrived, he reviewed the exam before handing it back to my aunt.
“I’ll do better the next time,” he said, even though I was the one who had taken it.
“I’m thrilled,” I said. “And don’t bother trying to feel bad, because I’m not going to accept it.”
“Fair enough,” he responded, but I could still see it was bothering him.
After Aunt Linda gathered up all my work—she shipped everything to my school on Fridays—and started toward the door, Bryce glanced at me, his expression uneasy.
“I wanted to ask you something,” he said. “I know it’s kind of last- minute and that I have to ask your aunt, too, but I didn’t want to do that until I talked to you first. Because if you don’t want to, then there’s no reason to ask her, right? And, obviously, if she’s not okay with the idea, then no worries.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know about the New Bern flotilla, right?” “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Oh,” he said. “I should have guessed that. New Bern is a small town inland from Morehead City, and every year, the town hosts a Christmas flotilla. It’s basically a bunch of boats decorated in Christmas lights that float down the river like a parade. Afterwards, my family has dinner and then we visit this amazing decorated property in Vanceboro. Anyway, it’s an annual family tradition and it’s all happening tomorrow.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to come with us.”
It took a couple of seconds before it dawned on me that he was asking me on something like a date. It wasn’t a real date since his parents and younger brothers would be with us—it would be more of a family outing— but because of the bungling, circuitous way he’d broached the subject, I suspected it was the first time he’d ever asked a girl to join him in anything. It surprised me because he’d always seemed so much older than I was. In Seattle, boys would just ask, Do you want to hang out? and be done with it. J hadn’t even done that much; he’d just sat down beside me on the porch and started talking.
But I kind of liked the bungling overcomplexity, even if I couldn’t imagine anything romantic between us. Whether he was cute or not, the
romance thing inside me had shriveled up like a raisin on a hot sidewalk, and I doubted whether I’d ever experience the feeling of desire again. Still, it was…sweet.
“If my aunt says it’s okay, that sounds fun.”
“There’s something else you need to know first,” he said. “We stay overnight in New Bern because the ferries don’t run that late. My family rents a house, but you’d have your own room, of course.”
“Maybe you’d better ask her before she leaves.”
By then, my aunt was already out the door and heading down the steps. Bryce chased after her, and all I could think was that he’d just asked me on a date.
No…scratch that. A family outing.
I wondered what my aunt would say; it didn’t take long before I heard Bryce coming back. He was grinning as he walked through the door. “She wants to talk to my parents and said she’d let us know this afternoon.”
“Sounds good.”
“I guess we should get started, then. With tutoring, I mean.” “I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Great,” he said, taking a seat at the table, his shoulders suddenly relaxing. “Let’s start with Spanish today. You have a quiz on Tuesday.”
And like a switch had been thrown, he went back to being my tutor, a role that clearly made him more comfortable.
* * *
Aunt Linda returned to the house a few minutes after three. Though I had the sense she was tired, she smiled as she walked in and shrugged off her jacket. It struck me that she always smiled when she walked in the door.
“Hi there,” she said. “How did it go today?”
“It went well,” Bryce answered as he gathered up his things. “How was it at the shop?”
“Busy,” she said. She hung her coat on the rack. “I spoke to your parents and it’s fine if Maggie wants to join you tomorrow. They said they’d meet us at the church on Sunday.”
“Thank you for speaking with them. And for agreeing.”
“My pleasure,” she said. Then, to me, she added, “And after church on Sunday, we’ll go shopping, okay?”
“Shopping?” Bryce asked automatically.
My aunt caught my eye for only a split second, but she knew what I was thinking. “Christmas gifts,” she said.
And just like that, I had a date. Kind of.
* * *
The following morning I slept late and for the sixth day in a row, my stomach felt fine. That was definitely a plus, which was followed by another surprise when I undressed before getting into the shower. My…bust was definitely larger. I’ll admit I used the word bust instead of the one that had originally popped into my head, because of the crucifix hanging on the bathroom wall. It was, I figured, the word my aunt would have used.
I’d read that would happen, but not like this. Not overnight. Okay, maybe I hadn’t been paying close attention and they’d been growing without my being aware of it, but as I stood in front of the mirror, I thought I suddenly looked like a miniature Dolly Parton.
On the downside, I noticed that my once-small waist was already beginning to go the way of Atlantis. Examining myself from the side, I was both bigger and wider in the mirror. Though there was a scale in the bathroom, I couldn’t work up the courage to check how much weight I’d gained.
For the first time since Bryce had started tutoring me, I had the house to myself for most of the day. I probably should have used the quiet to catch up on homework, but I decided to go to the beach instead.
After bundling up, I found the bike beneath the house. I was a little wobbly as I got going—it had been a while—but got the hang of it within a few minutes. I pedaled slowly in the cold wind and when I reached the sand, I propped the bike against a post that indicated a walking path through the dunes.
It was pretty at the beach, even if it was entirely different from the coast in Washington. Where I was used to rocks and cliffs and angry waves shooting plumes of water, there was nothing but gentle swells and sand and sawgrass. No people, no palm trees, no shuttered lifeguard stands or homes with oceanfront views. As I walked the empty stretch of shoreline, it was easy to imagine that I was the first to have ever been there.
Alone with my thoughts, I tried to picture what my parents were doing. Or would be doing later, because it was still early there. I wondered whether Morgan would be practicing the violin—she did that a lot on Saturdays—or
whether she’d go shopping at the mall for gifts. I wondered if they’d gotten the tree yet or if that was something they would do later today or tomorrow or even next weekend. I wondered what Madison and Jodie were up to, whether either of them had met a new guy, what movies they’d gone to see lately, or where—if anywhere—they were going for the holidays.
Yet, for the first time since I’d left Seattle, the thoughts didn’t make me ache with a sadness that felt overwhelming. Instead, I realized that it had been the right decision to come here. Don’t get me wrong—I still wished none of this had ever happened—but somehow I knew that my aunt Linda was exactly what I needed at this time in my life. She seemed to understand me in a way that my parents never had.
Maybe because, just like me, she always felt alone.
* * *
After I returned to the house, I showered and stuffed the things I would need for church in one of the duffel bags I’d brought from Seattle, then spent the rest of the day reading various chapters in my textbooks, still trying to catch up and hoping that some of the information would stick in my head long enough for me to be able to complete the homework without having to do the extra problems that Bryce would no doubt concoct.
Aunt Linda returned at two—Saturdays were shorter days at the shop— and made sure that I’d packed everything else I needed but had forgotten, from toothpaste to shampoo. Afterward, I helped her set up the nativity scene on the fireplace mantel. As we worked, I noticed for the first time that her eyes were the same as my dad’s.
“What are your plans tonight?” I asked. “Since you’ll have the place to yourself?”
“Gwen and I are going to have dinner,” she said. “We’ll play gin rummy afterwards.”
“That sounds relaxing.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a pleasant evening with Bryce and his family as well.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“We’ll see.” The way she said it while also averting her eyes made my next question automatic.
“Do you not want me to go?”
“You two have spent a lot of time together already this week.” “Tutoring,” I said. “Because you thought I needed it.”
“I know,” she said. “And while I agreed that you could go, I do have concerns.”
“Why?”
She adjusted the figurines of Mary and Joseph before answering. “It’s sometimes easy for young people to…lose themselves in feelings of the heart.”
The words she’d used—both old-fashioned and nunlike—took me a few seconds to process, but I felt my eyes widen. “You think I’m going to fall for him?”
When she didn’t answer, I almost laughed. “You don’t have to worry about that,” I went on. “I’m pregnant, remember? I have no interest in him at all.”
She sighed. “I wasn’t worried about you.”
* * *
Bryce showed up a few minutes after we’d finished decorating the mantel. Still a bit off-balance from my aunt’s comment but kissing her on the cheek anyway, I stepped out the door with my duffel bag while he was still ascending the steps.
“Hey there,” he said. Like me, he was dressed for a wintry night. The cool olive jacket had been replaced by a thick down coat like my own. “You ready? Can I take that for you?”
“It’s not heavy, but sure.”
After he grabbed the duffel, we waved goodbye to my aunt and made for his truck, the same one I’d seen on the ferry. Up close, it was bigger and taller than I remembered. He opened the passenger door for me, but it felt a bit like I was scaling a small mountain before I could finally crawl inside. He closed the door behind me and then got in from the other side, setting the duffel between us. Though the sky was clear, the temperature was already dropping. From the corner of my eye, I could see my aunt turn on the lights of the Christmas tree, which shone in the window, and for whatever reason, I suddenly thought back to the moment I’d first seen him and his dog on the ferry.
“I forgot to ask but is Daisy coming with us?”
Bryce shook his head. “No. I just dropped her off at my grandparents.” “They didn’t want to come? Your grandparents, I mean?”
“They don’t like leaving the island unless they have to.” He smiled. “And by the way, my parents can’t wait to meet you.”
“Me too,” I said, hoping they wouldn’t ask the question, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. The ride only took a few minutes; their house was in the same general area as my aunt’s shop, near the hotels and the ferry. Bryce pulled the truck into the drive, stopping next to a large white van, and I found myself peering at a home that initially struck me as the same as every other home in the village, except maybe a little larger and better maintained. As I was taking it in, the front door suddenly flew open and two young boys raced down the steps, jostling each other. I found my eyes flashing between them, thinking they were mirror images of each other.
“Richard and Robert, if you’ve forgotten,” he said. “I’ll never be able to tell them apart.”
“They’re used to it. And they’ll mess with you because of it.” “Mess with me how?”
“Robert’s in the red jacket. Richard is in the blue jacket. For now, anyway. But they might switch, so be prepared. Just remember that Richard has a tiny mole below his left eye.”
By then, the two of them had stopped near Bryce’s truck and were staring at us. Bryce grabbed my duffel and opened his door before climbing down. I did the same, feeling like I was falling before my feet finally hit the gravel. We met at the front of the truck.
“Richard, Robert?” Bryce said. “This is Maggie.”
“Hi, Maggie,” they said in unison, their voices sounding both robotic and forced, machine-generated. Then, also in unison, they both tilted their heads to the left and when they went on, I knew it was an act. “It is a pleasure to meet you and to have the honor of your company this evening.”
Playing along, I gave the Star Trek salute. “Live long and prosper.”
They both giggled, and even though they were standing close and it was daytime, I couldn’t detect the mole. But (blue jacket) Richard leaned into (red jacket) Robert, who pushed Richard, who then punched Robert, and after that, Robert was chasing Richard, finally vanishing behind the house.
From the corner of my eye, I saw movement to my right, at ground level beneath the house. When I turned, I saw a youngish-looking woman in a wheelchair emerge, followed by a tall man with a crew cut who I assumed was Bryce’s father.
I’d seen people in wheelchairs, of course. There was a girl named Audrey in my third and fourth grade classes who was in a wheelchair, and Mr. Petrie—like my dad, a deacon at the church—used one, too. But I
hadn’t expected his mom to be in one, if only because Bryce hadn’t said anything about it. He could mention that she’d been a pregnant teen but forget to tell me this?
Somehow, I was able to keep my expression friendly but neutral. The two of them approached as his mom called out, “R and R…in the van! Or we’ll leave without you!”
Seconds later, the brothers came roaring around the opposite side of the house from where I’d last seen them. Now (blue jacket) Richard was chasing (red jacket) Robert…
Or were they messing with me? There was no way to tell.
“In the van!” Bryce’s dad shouted, and circling it once, the twins opened the side door and jumped inside, the van bouncing slightly.
Smart or not, they definitely had energy.
By then, Bryce’s parents had drawn closer and I could see the welcome on their faces. His mom’s jacket was even puffier than mine, and her auburn hair was offset by green eyes. His father, I noticed, stood ramrod straight, his black hair threaded with silver near his ears. Bryce’s mom held out her hand.
“Hi, Maggie,” she said with an easy grin. “I’m Janet Trickett, and this is my husband, Porter. I’m so glad you can join us.”
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Trickett,” I said. “Thanks for having me.”
I shook Porter’s hand as well. “Pleasure,” he added. “It’s nice to see a new face around here. I hear you’re staying with your aunt Linda.”
“For a few months,” I said. Then, “Bryce has really been helpful with my studies.”
“That’s good to know,” Porter said. “Are you both ready to go?”
“We are,” Bryce said. “Is there anything still in the house that I need to grab?”
“I’ve already loaded the bags. We should probably head out, since you never know how crowded the ferry will be.”
As I was about to head to the van, Bryce gently took hold of my arm, signaling for me to wait. I watched as his parents made their way to the side opposite the door his brothers had used. His father reached inside and I heard the hum of hydraulics and watched a small platform extend from the van, then lower to the ground.
“I helped my dad and grandfather modify the van,” he said, “so that my mom can drive it, too.”
“Why didn’t you just buy one?”
“They’re expensive,” he said. “And they didn’t have a model that would work for us. My parents wanted one where either of them could drive, so the front seat had to be easily interchangeable. It basically slides from one side to the other, then locks down.”
“The three of you figured that out?”
“My dad’s pretty smart about those kinds of things.” “What did he do in the army?”
“Intelligence,” he answered. “But he’s also a genius with anything mechanical.”
Why was I not surprised?
By then, Bryce’s mom had vanished into the interior and the platform was rising again. Bryce took it as his cue to start walking. Opening the door on the opposite side, we got in, squeezing in beside the twins in the back seat.
After the van backed out, we started toward the ferry and I eyed the twin next to me. He was wearing a blue jacket, and peering closely, I thought I could see the mole. “You’re Richard, right?”
“And you’re Maggie.”
“Are you the one into computers or aeronautical engineering?” “Computers. Engineering is for geeks.”
“Better than being a nerd,” Robert added quickly. He leaned forward in his seat, turning his head to peer at me.
“What?” I finally asked him.
“You don’t look sixteen,” he said. “You look older.”
I wasn’t sure whether it was a compliment or not. “Thanks?” I offered. His expression was steady on mine. “Why did you move here?” “Personal reasons.”
“Do you like ultralights?” “Excuse me?”
“They’re small, slow, very light planes that only need a short runway to land. I’m building one in the backyard. Like the Wright brothers did.”
Richard cut in: “I make video games.”
I turned toward him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“A video game uses electronically manipulated images on a computer or other display device that allow a user to engage in quests, missions, or journeys, perform duties, or perform other tasks, either alone or with others as part of a competition or as a team.”
“I know what a video game is. I didn’t know what you meant by make.” “It means,” Bryce said, “that he conceives games, writes the code, and then designs them. And I’m sure she’ll want to hear all about it—and the plane—later, but how about the two of you let us ride to the ferry in peace?”
“Why?” Richard asked. “I’m just trying to talk to her.” “Richard! Let it be!” I heard Mr. Trickett call out.
“Your father’s right,” Mrs. Trickett added, glaring at them over her shoulder as well. “And you need to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For being rude.”
“How am I being rude?”
“I’m not debating with you,” she said. “Apologize. Both of you.” Robert piped up. “Why do I have to apologize?”
“Because,” his mom answered, “you were both showing off. And I’m not going to ask you again.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed both of them sink lower in their seats. “Sorry,” they said in unison. Bryce leaned closer, his breath warm on my ear as he spoke. “I tried to warn you.”
I stifled a giggle, thinking, And I thought my family was weird.
* * *
We waited in a longish line of cars for the ferry, but there was plenty of room on the deck, and we departed on schedule. Richard and Robert scrambled out of the van almost immediately, and we followed, watching as they raced toward the railing. Behind us, as I put on my hat and gloves, I heard the hydraulic lift. I gestured toward the upper enclosed seating area.
“Will your mom be able to go inside? I mean, is there an elevator?” “Usually they spend most of the time in the van,” Bryce answered. “But
she enjoys the fresh air for a little while. Would you like to get a soda?”
I saw the crowd moving in that direction and shook my head. “Let’s go up front for a while.”
We walked toward the bow along with a few other people, but were able to find a place where we weren’t sandwiched next to others. Despite the chilly air, the water was calm in all directions.
“Is Robert really building an airplane?” I asked.
“He’s been working on it for almost a year now. My father helps, but it’s his design.”
“And your parents will let him fly it?”
“He’d need his pilot’s license first. He’s mainly doing it as an entry into some national student science competition, and knowing him, I’m sure it will fly. My dad will make sure it’s safe, though.”
“Your dad can fly, too?”
“He can do a lot of things.”
“But your mom homeschools? Not your dad?” “He always worked.”
“How can your mom possibly teach any of you anything?”
“She’s pretty smart, too.” He shrugged. “She started at MIT when she was sixteen.”
Then how did she become pregnant as a teenager? I wondered. Oh, yeah. Sometimes it’s just an oops. But still…what a family. I’d never even heard of another one like it.
“How did your parents meet?”
“They were both interning in Washington, D.C., but I don’t know much more than that. They don’t really share those kinds of stories with us.”
“Was your mom in a wheelchair then? I’m sorry, I know I probably shouldn’t ask…”
“It’s okay. I’m sure a lot of people wonder about it. She was in a car accident eight years ago. Two-lane highway, a car passing another car from the opposite direction. To avoid a head-on crash, my mom veered off the road, but she hit a telephone pole. She almost died; it’s actually kind of a wonder that she didn’t. She spent almost two weeks in the ICU, had multiple surgeries and a ton of rehab. But her spinal cord was damaged. She was fully paralyzed from the waist down for over a year, but eventually she recovered some feeling in her legs. Now she can move them a little— enough to make dressing easier—but that’s it. She can’t stand.”
“That’s awful.”
“It’s sad. Before the accident, she was very active. Played tennis, jogged every day. But she doesn’t complain.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
“I guess I didn’t think about it. I know that sounds strange, but I don’t really notice it anymore. She still teaches the twins, makes dinner, goes
shopping, takes photographs, whatever. But you’re right. I should have thought to mention it.”
“Is that why your family moved to Ocracoke? So her parents could help out?”
“It’s actually the opposite. Like I told you, after my dad retired from the military and started consulting, we could have gone anywhere, but my grandmother had had a stroke the year before. Not a bad one, but the doctor indicated that she might have more in the future. As for my grandfather, his arthritis is getting worse, which is another reason why my dad helps him whenever he’s in town. The point is, my mom thought she could help her parents more than they could help her, so she wanted to live near them. Believe it or not, she’s fairly independent.”
“And she’s the reason you’re raising Daisy? To help someone like your mom who needs it?”
“That was part of it. My dad also thought I’d enjoy having a dog for a while since he travels so much.”
“How much does he travel?”
“It varies, but it’s usually four or five months a year. He’ll be taking off again sometime after the holidays. But now it’s your turn. We’ve been talking about me and my family and it feels like I don’t know anything about you.”
I could feel the wind in my hair, could taste the salt in the chilly air. “I’ve told you about my parents and my sister.”
“What about you, then? What else do you like to do? Do you have any hobbies?”
“I used to dance when I was little, and I played sports in middle school.
But no real hobbies.”
“What do you do after school or on the weekends?”
“Hang out with my friends, talk on the phone, watch TV.” Even as I said it, I understood how lame that sounded and knew I needed to get off the subject of me as quickly as possible. “You forgot to bring your camera.”
“For the flotilla, you mean? I thought about it, but I figured it would be a waste of time. I tried last year, and I couldn’t get the photos to turn out right. The colored lights all came out white.”
“Did you try using the automatic setting?”
“I tried everything, but I still couldn’t make it work. At the time, I didn’t realize I should have used a tripod and adjusted the ISO, but even then, the
images probably wouldn’t have come out. I think the boats were too far offshore, and obviously they were moving.”
I had no idea what any of that meant. “Seems complicated.”
“It is and it isn’t. It’s like learning anything in that it takes time and practice. And even if I think I know exactly what to do for a shot, I still find myself changing the aperture constantly. When I shoot in black and white— which I normally do—I also really have to watch the timer in the darkroom to get the shading just right. And now, with Photoshop, there’s even more I can do in post.”
“You have your own darkroom?”
“My dad built it for my mom, but I use it, too.” “You must be an expert.”
“My mom’s the expert, not me. When I have a problem with a print, either she helps or Richard does. Sometimes both of them.”
“Richard?”
“With Photoshop, I mean. He automatically understands anything computer related, so if it’s a Photoshop issue, he can figure it out. It’s irritating.”
I smiled. “I take it that your mom taught you photography, right?” “She did. She’s taken some incredible shots over the years.”
“I’d like to see them. The darkroom, too.” “I’ll be happy to show you.”
“How did your mom get into photography?”
“She said she just picked up a camera one day in high school, took some photos, and got hooked. After I was born, neither my mom nor my dad wanted to put me in daycare, so she began to freelance with a local photographer on weekends, when my dad could stay with me. Then, whenever we moved, she’d find work assisting a new photographer. She did that up until the twins came along. By then, she’d started homeschooling me—and taking care of them—so photography became more of a hobby. But she still goes out with her camera whenever she can.”
I thought about my own parents, trying to figure out their passions, but aside from work, family, and church, I couldn’t come up with anything. My mom didn’t play tennis or bridge or anything like that; my dad had never played poker or whatever it was guys did when they hung out together. They both worked; he took care of the yard and the garage and emptied the garbage, while she cooked, did laundry, and cleaned the house. Aside from
going out to dinner every other Friday, my parents were pretty much homebodies. Which probably explained why I didn’t do much, either. Then again, Morgan had the violin, so maybe I was just making excuses.
“Will you keep up the photography once you get to West Point?” “I doubt I’ll have the time. It’s a fairly regimented schedule.” “What do you want to do in the army?”
“Maybe intelligence, like my dad? But part of me wonders what it would be like to go the special forces route and become a Green Beret or get selected for Delta.”
“Like Rambo?” I asked, referring to the Sylvester Stallone character. “Exactly, but hopefully without the PTSD afterward. And again, we’re
back to talking about me. I’d like to hear about you.” “There’s not much to say.”
“What’s it been like? Moving to Ocracoke, I mean?”
I hesitated, wondering whether I wanted to talk about it or how much I would tell him, but that feeling lasted only a few seconds and evolved to Why not? After that, the words just began to spill out. While I didn’t tell him about J—what was there really to say, other than that I was stupid?—I told him about my mom finding me puking in the bathroom and picked up from there, talking about everything right up until the moment he’d shown up to tutor me. I thought it would be harder, but he didn’t interrupt me often, allowing me the space I needed to tell the story.
By the time I finished, there was only half an hour left before the ferry was going to dock, and I was saying a silent prayer of thanks that I’d bundled up. It was freezing and we retreated to the van, where Bryce pulled out a thermos and poured two cups of hot chocolate. His parents were chatting up front and we said a quick hello before they went back to their conversation.
We sipped the hot chocolate as my face slowly returned to its normal color. Through it all, we continued to chat about regular teenage things— favorite movies and television shows, music, what kind of pizza we liked (thin crust with double cheese for me, sausage and pepperoni for him), and anything else that came to mind. Robert and Richard clambered back into the van just as Bryce’s dad was starting the engine and the ferry was about to dock.
We drove along dark and quiet roads, past farmhouses and mobile homes decked out in Christmas lights. One small town gave way to the
next. I could feel Bryce’s leg pressed against my own, and when he laughed at something one of the twins had said, I thought about the easy way he seemed to relate to his family. His mom, probably thinking that I might be feeling left out, asked the kinds of questions that parents always asked, and even though I was happy to answer in a general way, I still wondered how much Bryce had told them about me beforehand.
When we reached New Bern, I was taken with how quaint it was. Historic homes fronted the river, the downtown area was lined with small shops, and lampposts at every intersection were decorated with illuminated wreaths. The sidewalks were crowded with people making their way to Union Point Park, and after parking, we fell in alongside them.
By then, the temperature was even colder, my breath coming out in little puffs. At the park, more hot chocolate was proffered, along with peanut butter cookies. It wasn’t until I took the first bite that I realized how hungry I was. Bryce’s mom, seeming to read my mind, handed me another as soon as I finished the first, but when the twins asked for seconds, she told them they’d have to wait until after dinner. The conspiratorial wink she gave me immediately made me feel like I belonged.
While I was still nibbling, the flotilla began. Broadcasting live from beneath a tent, the local radio station announced via loudspeaker the owner and type of each boat as one by one they slowly floated past. For some reason I guess I was expecting yachts, but aside from a handful of sailboats, they were either similar in size or smaller than the fishing boats I saw in the docks at Ocracoke. Some were festooned with lights; some sported characters like Winnie the Pooh or the Grinch, and still others had simply placed decorated trees along the decking. The whole affair had a sort of Mayberry vibe to it, and though I thought it might arouse a feeling of homesickness, it didn’t. Instead, I found myself focusing on how close Bryce was standing next to me, and watching his dad point and grin with the twins. His mom merely sipped the hot chocolate, her expression content. A short while later, when Bryce’s dad leaned over and tenderly kissed his wife, I found myself trying to remember the last time I’d seen my father kiss my mother in the same way.
Afterward, we had dinner at the Chelsea, a restaurant not far from the park. We weren’t the only ones who headed over there after the flotilla ended; the place was bustling. Nonetheless, the service was quick and the food satisfying. At the table, I found myself mainly listening while Richard
and Robert debated their mom and dad on heady scientific topics. Bryce sat back, remaining as quiet as I was.
When dinner was over, we returned to the van and drove to what seemed like the middle of nowhere, eventually parking alongside the highway with our hazard lights flashing. Climbing out, I could only stare in wonder as I tried to take it all in.
While houses decked out in Christmas lights were common in Seattle and the malls were decorated professionally, this was on an entirely different scale, with the holiday display spread over at least three acres. Off to my left sat a small house at the edge of the property with lights framing the windows and lining the roof; a Santa and sleigh perched near the chimney. But it was the remainder of the grounds that amazed me. Even from the highway, I could see scores of illuminated Christmas trees, a giant American flag glowing high in the treetops, tall teepee-like cones assembled only with lights, a “frozen” pond with a clear plastic surface lit from below by tiny brilliant bulbs, a decorated train, and synchronized lights making it appear as if reindeer were flying through the sky. In the middle of the property, a miniature glowing Ferris wheel rotated slowly, stuffed animals seated in the cars. Here and there, I could make out comic and cartoon characters painted on plywood, cut to exacting standards.
The twins ran off in one direction while Bryce’s parents moved slowly in another, leaving Bryce and me alone. Winding among the decorations, I felt my gaze drifting here and there. Dew was moistening the toes of my shoes and I pushed my hands deeper in my pockets. All around us, families wandered the property, children racing from one display to the next.
“Who does all this?”
“The family who lives in the house,” Bryce answered. “They set it up every year.”
“They must really love Christmas.”
“No doubt,” he agreed. “I always find myself wondering how long it takes them to set all of this up. And how they pack it up, so they can do it again the following year.”
“And they don’t care that people are basically walking through their yard?”
“I guess not.”
I cocked my head. “I’m not sure I’d like strangers traipsing through my yard all month. I think I’d always be wary of someone peeking in the
windows.”
“I think most people understand that’s a no-no.”
For the next half hour, we meandered among the decorations, chatting easily. In the background, I could hear Christmas music drifting from hidden loudspeakers, along with the joyful squealing of children. A lot of people were taking photographs, and for the first time, I found myself getting into the spirit of the season, something I couldn’t have imagined before I’d met Bryce. He seemed to know what I was thinking, and when he caught my eye, I thought again about our recent conversations and how much I’d already shared with him. Bryce, I suddenly realized, probably knew the real me better than anyone else in my life.
* * *
That night we stayed in New Bern’s historic district, not far from the park where we’d seen the flotilla. Grabbing my duffel bag, I followed the family inside the house, and Bryce’s dad showed me to my room. After putting on my pajamas, I fell asleep within minutes.
In the morning, Bryce’s dad made pancakes for breakfast. I sat beside Bryce, listening as the rest of them figured out their own shopping plans for the day. But the clock was ticking—no one wanted my aunt to have to wait in the church parking lot. After a quick shower, I repacked my things and we made the drive back to Morehead City while my hair was still air- drying.
Aunt Linda and Gwen were waiting, and after saying goodbye to the Tricketts—Bryce’s mom offered a hug—we did the church thing. Lunch and the supply run followed, and while I knew I’d mentioned that I needed bigger clothes, my aunt casually reminded me of something I’d forgotten.
“You might want to pick up gifts for your parents and Morgan while we’re out and about.”
Oh yeah. And while I was at it, I figured I should probably get something for my aunt, too. Seeing as I was living with her, I mean.
We ventured to a nearby department store and split up. I bought a scarf for my mom, a sweatshirt for my dad, a bracelet for Morgan, and a pair of gloves for my aunt. On our way out, my aunt promised to box and ship out my family’s gifts the following week.
We next visited a store that specialized in maternity clothing. How she knew about the place, I had no idea—it’s not like she’d ever needed it—but I was able to find a couple of pairs of jeans with elastic waistbands, one for
now and one for when I was watermelon-sized. In all honesty, I hadn’t even known that such things existed.
I dreaded the idea of having to check out—I knew the cashier would give me that look—but thankfully, my aunt seemed to sense my concerns.
“If you want to head to the car and wait,” she said casually, “I’ll pay for these and Gwen and I will meet you there.”
I felt my shoulders suddenly relax. “Thanks,” I murmured, and as I pushed through the door, I was struck by the revelation that a nun—or former nun, whatever—was actually one of the coolest people I knew.
* * *
We met up with Bryce and his family on the ferry and saw that their van had a large Christmas tree strapped to the roof. Bryce and I hung out for most of the ride until my aunt strode over to let Bryce know that on Tuesday, she and I were going to take a “personal day,” so Bryce wouldn’t have to tutor. I had no idea what she meant but knew enough to stay quiet; Bryce took her comment in stride, and it wasn’t until I was back at the house that I asked my aunt about it.
I had an appointment with the OB-GYN, Aunt Linda explained, and Gwen would be joining us.
But strangely, even though we’d bought the maternity jeans, it struck me that in the last couple of days, I hadn’t thought about my pregnancy much at all.
* * *
Unlike Dr. Bobbi, my new OB-GYN, Dr. Chinowith, was male and older, with white hair and hands so huge he could have palmed a basketball twice the normal size. I was eighteen weeks along, and by his demeanor, I was pretty certain I wasn’t the first teenage unwed mother-to-be he’d come across. It was also clear that he’d worked with Gwen numerous times in the past and they were comfortable with each other.
We did the whole checkup thing, he renewed the prescription for prenatal vitamins that Dr. Bobbi had originally written, and afterward, we spoke briefly about how I’d likely be feeling over the next few months. He told me that he usually saw his pregnant patients once a month, but because Gwen was an experienced midwife—and getting to appointments was an all-day, inconvenient thing—he was comfortable with seeing me less often unless there was an emergency and that I should speak to Gwen if I had any questions or concerns. He also reminded me that Gwen would be
monitoring my health extra closely during the third trimester, so there was nothing to worry about on that end, either. Once Gwen and my aunt left the room, he mentioned the adoption and asked me whether I wanted to hold the baby after delivery. When I didn’t answer right away, he asked me to think about it, assuring me that I still had time to figure it out. The whole time he was talking, I couldn’t take my eyes from his hands, which actually frightened me.
When I was shown into an adjoining room for the ultrasound, the technician asked whether I wanted to know the sex of the baby. I shook my head. Later, though, as I was putting my jacket back on, I overheard her murmuring to my aunt, “It was hard to get a good angle, but I’m almost certain it’s a girl,” which confirmed my mom’s earlier suspicion.
As the next days and weeks unfolded, my life settled into a regular routine. The December weather brought even chillier days; I completed homework assignments, reviewed chapters, wrote papers, and studied for exams. By the time I took the last round of tests before my winter break began, I felt like my brain was going to explode.
On the plus side, my grades were definitely improving, and when I spoke with my parents, I couldn’t help bragging a little. While my scores weren’t at Morgan’s level—I’d never be at Morgan’s level—they were a lot higher than they’d been when I left Seattle. Though my parents didn’t say it, I could almost hear them wondering why studying suddenly seemed so important to me.
Even more surprising, I was slowly but surely getting used to life in Ocracoke. Yeah, it was small and boring and I still missed my family and wondered what my friends were up to, but the regular schedule made things easier. Sometimes, after I finished my studies, Bryce and I would walk the neighborhood; twice, he brought his camera and the light meter along. He’d take photos of random things—houses, trees, boats—from interesting angles, explaining what he was trying to achieve with each photo, his enthusiasm evident.
Three times, we ended the walk at Bryce’s house. The kitchen featured a lowered prep area that Bryce’s mom could easily access, their Christmas tree looked a lot like the one we’d decorated, and his home always smelled like cookies. His mom made a small batch almost every day, and as soon as we entered, she’d pour two glasses of milk and join us at the table. Through these snack-time chats, we gradually got to know each other. She told
stories about growing up in Ocracoke—apparently it had been quieter back then than it was now, which I found almost impossible to believe—and when I asked how she’d been accepted to MIT at such a young age, she merely shrugged, saying that she’d always had a knack for science and math, as if that explained it all.
I knew there was a lot more to the story—there had to be—but because the topic seemed to bore her, we usually spoke about other things: what Bryce and the twins had been like when they were younger, what it was like to move every few years, life as a military wife, homeschooling, and even her struggles after the accident. She asked me lots of questions as well, but unlike my parents, she didn’t ask what I intended to do with my life. I think she’d picked up on the fact that I had absolutely no idea. Nor did she ask why I’d come to Ocracoke in the first place, but I suspected that she already knew. Not because Bryce had said anything—it was more like a teen- pregnancy radar—but she always insisted that I have a seat while we chatted and never asked why I wore the same stretchy jeans and baggy sweatshirts.
We also spoke about photography. They showed me the darkroom, which kind of reminded me of my high school science lab. There was a machine called an enlarger and plastic tubs used for chemicals, along with a clothesline where prints were hung to dry. There was a sink and counters lining the walls, half of which were low enough for Bryce’s mom to access, and a cool red light that made it seem like we’d traveled to Mars. Photos lined the walls of their home, and Mrs. Trickett sometimes mentioned the stories behind them. My favorite was one that Bryce had taken—an impossibly large full moon casting light over the Ocracoke lighthouse; even though it was in black and white, it looked almost like a painting.
“How did you get that shot?”
“I set up a tripod on the beach and used a special cable release because the exposure time had to be super long,” he answered. “Obviously, my mom coached me a lot when it came to developing the print.”
Because I was curious, Robert showed me the ultralight he was building with his dad. Staring at it, I knew I wouldn’t ride in the thing for a million dollars, even if it did fly. In turn, Richard showed me the video game he was creating, which was set in a world complete with dragons and knights in armor packing every weapon imaginable. The graphics weren’t great— even he conceded that—but the game itself seemed interesting, which was
saying something, since I’d never seen the appeal of parking myself in front of a computer for hours on end.
But hey, what did I know? Especially when compared to a kid—or a family—like that?
* * *
“Have you figured out what you want to get Bryce?” Aunt Linda asked. It was Friday evening, and Christmas was three days away. I was washing dishes at the sink and she was drying, even though she didn’t have to.
“Not yet. I thought about getting him something for his camera, but I wouldn’t know where to start. Do you think we could run by a store after church on Sunday? I know it’ll be Christmas Eve, but it’ll be my last chance. Maybe I can figure something out.”
“Of course we can go,” she said. “We’ll have more than enough time.
It’ll be a long day.”
“Sundays are always long.”
She smiled. “Extra-long, then, because Christmas is on Monday. We have regular Sunday mass in the morning like always, and then midnight mass for the Christmas celebration. And a couple of other things in between, too. We’ll stay overnight in Morehead City and catch the ferry back in the morning.”
“Oh.” If she heard the unhappiness in my tone, she ignored it. I washed and rinsed a plate and handed it to her, knowing it would be pointless to try to talk her out of it. “What did you get for Gwen?”
“A pair of sweaters and an antique music box. She collects those.” “Should I buy something for Gwen, too?”
“No,” she said. “I added your name on the music box. It’ll be from both of us.”
“Thanks,” I said. “What do you think I should get Bryce?”
“You know him better than I do. Have you asked his mom what he might want?”
“I forgot,” I said. “I guess I could go over tomorrow and ask. I just hope it won’t be too expensive. I have to get his family something, too, and I was thinking I’d get them a nice picture frame.”
She put a plate into the cupboard. “Keep in mind that you don’t have to buy Bryce anything. Sometimes the best gifts are free.”
“Like what?”
“An experience, or maybe you can make something, or teach him something.”
“I don’t think there’s anything I can teach him. Unless he’s interested in makeup or painting his nails.”
She rolled her eyes, but I could see the mirth in them. “I have faith you’ll figure something out.”
I thought about it while we finished up in the kitchen, but it wasn’t until we moved to the living room that inspiration finally struck. The only problem was that I was going to need my aunt’s help in more ways than one. She beamed as soon as I explained.
“I can do that,” she said. “And I’m sure he’s going to love it.”
* * *
An hour later, the phone rang. I guessed it was probably my parents and was surprised when Aunt Linda handed me the phone, telling me that Bryce was on the other end. Which was, to my knowledge, the first time he’d called the house.
“Hi, Bryce,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if it would be possible for me to stop by on Christmas Eve. I want to give you your gift.”
“I’m not going to be here,” I said. I explained about the double mass on Sunday. “I won’t be back until Christmas Day.”
“Oh,” he said. “Okay. Well, my mom also wanted me to ask if you’d like to come by for our Christmas meal. It’ll be around two.”
His mom wanted me to come? Or did he want me to come?
Covering the receiver, I asked my aunt and she agreed, but only if he would join us later for our Christmas dinner.
“Perfect,” he said. “I’ve got something for your aunt Linda and Gwen, too, so we can do the gift thing then.”
It was only after I hung up that the reality of the situation hit me. It was one thing to see the flotilla with his family or drop by his house after walking the beach, but spending time at both our houses on Christmas Day felt like something more, almost like we were taking a step in a direction I was pretty sure I didn’t want to go. And yet…
I couldn’t deny that I was happy about it.
* * *
Christmas Eve on Sunday was different than it was at my house in Seattle, and not just due to the ferry ride and two services. I guess I should
have expected that for a pair of former nuns, it was important to find a way to honor the true meaning of the holiday, which is exactly what we did.
After church, we did our normal run to Wal-Mart, where I found a pretty frame for Bryce’s parents and a card for Bryce, but instead of the usual garage sale circuit, we visited a place called Hope Mission, where we spent a few hours prepping meals in the kitchen for the poor and homeless. My job was peeling potatoes, and though I wasn’t that fast in the beginning, I felt like an expert by the end. On the way out, after Aunt Linda and Gwen had hugged at least ten people—I had the sense they volunteered there every now and then—I watched as my aunt surreptitiously slipped the shelter coordinator an envelope, no doubt a financial donation.
At sunset, we attended a living nativity program at one of the Protestant churches (my mom would have made the sign of the cross had she found out about that). We watched Joseph and Mary being turned away from the inn and ending up in the stable, the birth of Christ, and the appearance of the three wise men. It took place outside, chilly temperatures making the play seem more real somehow. When that part of the program ended, the choir began, and my aunt held my hand as we joined in on the carols.
Dinner came next, and then, because we still had hours until the midnight service, we went to the same motel we’d stayed at when I’d flown in from Seattle. I roomed with Aunt Linda, and after setting the alarm, we all took evening naps. At eleven, we were awake again, and if I was concerned about still being tired at the service, the priest used enough incense to keep anyone awake; my eyes couldn’t stop watering. It was also kind of eerie, but in a spiritual way. There were candles glowing throughout the church, an organ adding depth and resonance to the solemn music. When I glanced at my aunt, I noticed her lips moving with silent prayers.
Then it was back to the motel, and onto the ferry first thing in the morning. It didn’t feel much like Christmas at all, but my aunt tried to make up for it. In the seating area, she and Gwen shared stories of their favorite Christmases. Gwen, who’d grown up on a farm in Vermont, told us about the time she’d received an Australian shepherd puppy. She was nine years old, and she’d wanted a dog for as long as she could remember. In the morning, after unwrapping all of her packages, she’d been crestfallen, not realizing that her dad had slipped out the back door. He reappeared a minute later holding the puppy, who was wearing a red bow for a collar—and even almost half a century later, she could still recall the joy she’d felt when the
puppy bounded over and began playing with her. On a quieter note, Aunt Linda recounted how she had baked cookies with her mother on Christmas Eve; it was the first time her mom had allowed her not only to help but to do most of the measuring and mixing. She remembered how proud she’d been when everyone in the family raved about the cookies, and in the morning, she received her own apron with her name stitched on it, as well as her own baking utensils. There were more stories like that—and as I sat with them, I remember thinking how normal the stories sounded. It had never occurred to me that future nuns had ordinary childhood experiences; I just assumed that they grew up praying all the time and finding Bibles and rosaries beneath the tree.
Back home, I chatted with my parents and Morgan on the phone, wrote the card for Bryce, then started getting ready. I showered and did the hair- and-makeup thing. On went the stretchy jeans—God bless them, by the way
—and a red sweater. Outside the window, darker clouds had filled the sky, so just in case, I put on my rubber boots. Evaluating myself in the mirror, except for my ever-expanding bust, I thought I barely looked pregnant.
Perfect.
Tucking the gift under my arm, I started toward the Trickett house. In the Pamlico Sound, I could see small whitecaps in the swells and the wind had picked up, playing havoc with my hair, which made me wonder why I’d bothered to style it in the first place.
Bryce opened the door as I was climbing the steps. In the distance, I heard a deep rumble echoing in the sky. The storm, I knew, would be coming soon.
“Hey there. Merry Christmas! You look amazing.”
“Thanks. You too,” I said, eyeing his dark wool slacks and button-up shirt, as well as his shiny loafers.
Inside, the house was a picture-perfect version of Christmas Day. The remains of wrapping paper had been crumpled up and packed into a cardboard box beneath the tree; the aromas of ham and apple pie and corn simmering in butter filled the air. The table was set, some side dishes already in place. Richard and Robert were on the couch in their pajamas and fuzzy slippers reading comic books, reminding me that as smart as they were, they were still kids. Daisy, who’d been nestled at their feet, rose and wandered toward me, tail wagging. In the meantime, Bryce introduced me to his grandparents. While they were perfectly friendly, I barely understood
a word they said. I nodded and smiled, and after Bryce finally maneuvered me away, he whispered in my ear.
“Hoi Toider,” he said. “It’s an island brogue. There’s maybe a few hundred people in the world who speak it. People on the islands didn’t have much contact with the mainland for hundreds of years, so they developed their own dialect. But don’t feel bad; half the time, I can’t understand them, either.”
Bryce’s parents were in the kitchen and after hugs and greetings, his mom handed him the mashed potatoes to bring to the table.
“Richard and Robert?” she called out. “Food’s almost ready, so wash up and come find your seats.”
Over dinner, I asked the twins what they’d received for Christmas and they asked me. When I explained that my aunt and I planned to open our gifts later, Robert or Richard—I still couldn’t tell them apart—swiveled his gaze to his parents.
“I like opening the gifts on Christmas morning.” “Me too,” the other one said.
“Why are you telling me this?” their mom asked.
“Because I don’t want you to get any crazy ideas in the future.” He sounded so serious that his mom burst out laughing.
When everyone was finished eating, Bryce’s mom opened the gift I’d brought, for which she and her husband thanked me graciously—and everyone pitched in to clean the kitchen. Leftovers went in Tupperware and then into the fridge, and when the table was cleared, Bryce’s mom brought out a jigsaw puzzle. After dumping out the contents of the box, Bryce’s parents, brothers, and even the grandparents began flipping the pieces, turning them right-side up.
“We always do a puzzle on Christmas,” Bryce whispered to me. “Don’t ask me why.”
As I sat beside him, trying to find matching pieces along with the rest of the family, I wondered what my own family was doing. It was easy to imagine Morgan putting her new clothes away while my mom cooked in the kitchen and my dad caught a game on television. It occurred to me that after the morning frenzy of opening gifts, aside from the meal, everyone in my family did their own thing. I knew that families had their own holiday traditions, but ours seemed to keep us dispersed while Bryce’s gathered them together.
Outside, it began to rain, then pour. As lightning flickered and thunder boomed, we worked steadily on the puzzle. There were a thousand pieces but the family were absolute puzzle wizards—especially Bryce’s dad—and we finished it in about an hour. Had it been me putting it together alone, I was pretty sure I’d still be working on it until next Christmas. His family put on Scrooge—a musical version of Dickens’s classic—and not long after it ended, it was time for Bryce and me to go. After fishing out a couple unopened gifts from under the tree, Bryce grabbed umbrellas and his truck keys while I hugged every member of his family goodbye.
It felt darker than usual as we drove the quiet roads. Heavy clouds blocked the starlight while the wipers pushed the rain aside. The storm had abated to a drizzle by the time we got to my aunt’s, where we found her and Gwen in the kitchen. I savored another round of delicious aromas, even though I wasn’t hungry in the slightest.
“Merry Christmas, Bryce,” Gwen called out.
“Dinner should be ready in twenty minutes,” Aunt Linda informed us.
Bryce put his gifts beneath the tree with the others and greeted both women with hugs. The house had been transformed in the hours I’d been gone. The tree was glowing, and candles flickered on the table, the mantel, and the end table near the sofa. Faint strains of holiday music drifted from the radio, reminding me of my childhood, when I’d be the first to sneak downstairs on Christmas morning. I’d wander to the tree and check out the gifts, noting which ones were for me and which ones were for Morgan before taking a seat on the steps. Sandy would usually join me and I’d stroke her head, letting the anticipation build until it was finally time to get everyone up.
As I recalled those mornings, I could feel Bryce’s curious gaze on me. “Good memories,” I said simply.
“It must be hard being away from your family today.”
I met his eyes, feeling warm in a way I hadn’t expected. “Actually,” I said, “I’m doing okay.”
We took a seat on the couch and chatted in the glow of the lights from the Christmas tree until dinner was ready. My aunt had made turkey, and despite eating only small portions, I felt like I was going to pop when I finally put my fork down.
By the time we cleaned the kitchen and retreated to the living room, the storm had passed; though lightning still flickered on the horizon, the rain
had stopped and a light fog had begun to roll in. Aunt Linda had poured herself and Gwen a glass of wine—it was the first time I’d ever seen either of them drink anything with alcohol—and we began opening gifts. My aunt loved the gloves; Gwen exclaimed over the music box, and I opened the gifts that my parents and Morgan had sent. I found a nice pair of shoes and some cute tops and sweaters that were one size larger than I usually wore, which I supposed made sense considering my situation. When it was Bryce’s turn, I handed him the envelope.
I’d picked a fairly generic card, with room to write my own message. Because the light was so dim in the living room, he had to turn on the reading lamp to see what I’d written.
Merry Christmas, Bryce!
Thank you for all your help, and in the spirit of the holidays, I wanted to get you something I knew you would love, a gift that just might keep on giving for the rest of your life.
This card entitles you to the following:
-
My aunt’s super-secret biscuit recipe; and
-
A baking lesson for the two of us, so that you can learn how to make them on your own.
Obviously, this gift is from both my aunt and me, but it was my
idea.
Maggie
P.S. My aunt would like you to keep the recipe secret!
As he read the card, I stole a peek at Aunt Linda, whose eyes were glittering. When he finished, he turned first toward me, then toward her before finally breaking into a grin.
“This is great!” he declared. “Thank you! I can’t believe you remembered.”
“I wasn’t sure what else to get you.”
“It’s the perfect gift,” he said. Turning to my aunt, he said, “I don’t want you to go to a lot of trouble, so if it’s easier, we can go to your shop early and watch you prepare them like you always do.”
“In the middle of the night?” I said, my eyes widening. “I don’t think so.”
Both Aunt Linda and Gwen laughed. “We’ll figure it out,” my aunt said. Next were the gifts from Bryce. As my aunt carefully unwrapped the gift he’d given both of them, I caught a glimpse of the frame and knew immediately he’d given them a photograph. Curiously, my aunt and Gwen both stared at it without speaking, causing me to rise from my spot on the couch and peek over their shoulders. I suddenly understood why they
couldn’t stop staring.
It was a color image of the shop taken early in the morning, and from the angle, I suspected that Bryce had to lie in the road to take it. A customer
—I guessed he fished for a living based on his attire—was leaving with a small bag in hand just as a woman was entering. Both were bundled up and you could actually see their breath frozen in space. In the window, I spotted the reflection of clouds, and beyond the glass, I could see my aunt’s profile and Gwen placing a cup of coffee on the counter. Above the roof, the sky was slate gray, accentuating the faded painted siding and the weather-beaten eaves. Though I’d seen the shop countless times, I’d never seen it appear so arresting…beautiful, even.
“This…is incredible,” Gwen managed to say. “I can’t believe we didn’t see you taking this.”
“I was hiding. I actually went out there three mornings in a row to get just the shot I wanted. It took two rolls of film.”
“Are you going to hang it in the living room?” I asked.
“Are you kidding?” my aunt replied. “This will be front and center at the shop. Everyone should see this.”
Because my gift came in a box similar in shape and size, I knew that I’d been given a photograph as well. As I unwrapped it, I silently prayed that it wasn’t a picture of me, something he’d sneakily taken when I hadn’t been paying attention. As a general rule, I disliked photos of myself, let alone a photo taken while I was in baggy sweats or ugly pants with my hair being blown in every direction.
But it wasn’t a photo of me; it was the one I had cherished, the image of the lighthouse and the giant moon. Like me, Aunt Linda and Gwen were taken with the photograph, and they both agreed it should be hung in my room where I could see it from bed.
After we had opened the gifts, we chatted for a while until Gwen decided she wanted to go for a short walk. Aunt Linda accompanied her to the door, and we watched as they bundled up.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” my aunt asked. “It might help with digesting dinner before the rain returns.”
“I’m okay,” I replied. “I think I’d just like to sit for a while, if that’s all right.”
She finished adjusting her scarf. “We won’t be gone long.”
Once they had left, I turned my attention from the photograph to the glowing tree, then to the candles, and finally to Bryce. He was sitting beside me on the couch, not pressed against me but close enough that our shoulders would brush if I leaned in. The music continued to play on the radio, accompanied by the barely audible sound of gentle waves lapping at the shore. Bryce was silent, and like me, he seemed content. I thought back to my first few weeks in Ocracoke—the fear, sadness, and loneliness I felt as I lay in my room, the fear that my friends might forget me, and the feeling that being away from home for the holidays was a mistake that could never be corrected.
Yet, as I sat beside Bryce with the photograph in my lap, I knew this Christmas would be unforgettable. I thought about Aunt Linda, Gwen, Bryce’s family, and the warmth and kindness I had found here, but mostly, I thought about Bryce. I wondered what he was thinking, and when his eyes suddenly met mine, I wanted to tell him that he had inspired me in ways he might not realize.
“You’re thinking about something,” Bryce stated, and I felt my thoughts drift away like vapor, leaving only a single idea.
“Yeah,” I said. “I was.” “Care to share?”
I glanced down at the photograph he’d given me before finally turning to meet his gaze.
“Do you think you could teach me photography?”
