“Apparently not my thing,” he says. “Pretty neat, though.”
“It could be genetic,” Angela theorizes. “Something that runs in the family with you and Jeff.”
Jeffrey snorts. “Oh, yes. A quarter-bending gene.”
I think, what good is it that I can bend quarters? What kind of useful skill is that? And suddenly I feel like I want to cry. For no good reason. Bam—tears.
“What’s the matter?” Christian asks immediately.
“Sorrow,” I croak.
We call my mom. Angela is super spazzing out this time because this is her home and it sucks for your home to not feel safe. My mom shows up ten minutes later, all out of breath. This time she doesn’t look that worried. Just tired.
“Still feeling it?” she asks me.
“No.” Which means I am feeling very stupid at this point.
“Maybe it’s your empathy thing,” Angela says to me as she walks me to the door of the theater. “Maybe you’re picking up on people around you who are sad.” I guess that would make sense.
Mom, it turns out, has a different theory. I find this out later that night, when she comes into my room to say good night. It’s still snowing, has been since the night of Midas’s return, coming down in big flakes at a slant outside my window. It’s going to be a cold night.
“Sorry I keep, you know, crying wolf,” I say to Mom.
“It’s all right,” she says, but her expression is pinched, like I’m giving her new wrinkles.
“You don’t really seem that alarmed,” I point out. “Why is that?”
“I told you,” she says. “I don’t expect Sam to come after us so soon.”
“I really feel sorrow, though. At least I think I do, when it happens. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“It means something.” She sighs. “But it might not be a Black Wing’s sorrow you’re feeling.”
“You think it’s somebody else’s?”
“It could be yours,” she says, looking at me with that quasi-disappointed look again.
For a second it feels like all the air is gone from the room. “Mine?”
“Black Wings feel sorrow because they are going against their design. The same thing happens to us.”
I’m stunned. Seriously, I have no words.
“What Black Wings feel is much, much more intense,” she continues. “They have chosen to separate themselves from God, and that causes them an almost unbearable pain.” I can never go back. That’s what Samjeeza kept thinking that day. I can never go back.
“With us it’s a little more subtle, more sporadic,” she says. “But it happens.”
“So,” I choke out after a minute, “you think I’m feeling flashes of sorrow because I didn’t . . . fulfill my purpose?”
“What are you thinking about, when it happens?” she asks.
I should tell her about the dream. The cemetery. All of it. But the words stick in my throat.
“I don’t know.” That’s true. I don’t remember exactly what I was thinking about all those times, but I would hazard a guess that it involved Tucker and my dream and how I’m not going to let it happen.
Fighting my purpose.
Which means I’m going against my design.
The sorrow is mine.
Chapter 7
Go Take a Hike
The next morning there’s two feet of snow on the ground. Our yard’s a winter wonderland, covered neatly in a downy white blanket that makes everything seem muffled. That’s the way it is in Wyoming, I’ve learned. One day it’s autumn, red leaves spiraling down from the trees, squirrels running around frantically burying acorns, a tinge of smoke in the air from people’s fireplaces. Then, like overnight, it’s winter. White and soundless. Really freaking cold.
Mom’s downstairs frying up bacon. She smiles when she sees me.
“Have a seat,” she says. “I’ve just about got your breakfast whipped up.”
“You’re perky this morning,” I observe, which I find odd considering our conversation last night.
“Why shouldn’t I be? It’s a beautiful day.”
I step into the kitchen and discover Jeffrey sitting at the counter looking as half awake as I feel.
“She’s gone crazy,” he tells me matter-of-factly as I slide in next to him.
“I can see that.”
“She says we’re going camping today.”
I swivel around to look at Mom, who’s flipping pancakes, whistling, for crying out loud.
“Mom?” I venture. “Did you happen to notice the snow outside?”
“What’s a little snow?” she replies, an extra twinkle in her twinkly blue eyes.
“Told you,” Jeffrey says. “Crazy.”
As soon as we’re finished with breakfast, Mom turns to us like she’s the director of a cruise ship, ready to get us started on our day.
“Clara, how about you tackle the dishes? Jeffrey, you load the car. I have some final things to do before we go. Pack for the weekend, both of you. Dress warm, but with layers, in case it warms up. I want to leave at about ten. We’re going to be hiking for several hours.”
“But Mom,” I sputter. “I can’t go camping this weekend.” She fixes me with a steady, no-nonsense look. “Why, because you want to stay home and sneak over to Tucker’s?”
“Busted,” laughs Jeffrey.
I guess I wasn’t being as quiet as I thought sneaking out of the house.
“I call shotgun,” Jeffrey says, and that’s that.
So by ten o’clock we’re all showered and dressed and packed and bundled into the car, the heater on full blast. Mom passes me back a thermos of hot chocolate. She’s still in this supernaturally good mood. She puts the car in four-wheel drive and turns the windshield wipers on to clear away the dusting of snow that’s coming down, humming along with the radio as she drives into Jackson. Then she pulls up in front of the Pink Garter.
“Okay, Clara,” she says with a mischievous smile. “You’re up.” I’m confused.
“Go get Angela. Tell her to pack a bag for the weekend.”
“Is she expecting me?” I ask. “Does she know that she’s going on some loony camping trip in the snow?”
Mom’s smile widens. “For once, Angela doesn’t know anything about it. But she’ll want to come, I have a feeling.”
“It could be genetic,” Angela theorizes. “Something that runs in the family with you and Jeff.”
Jeffrey snorts. “Oh, yes. A quarter-bending gene.”
I think, what good is it that I can bend quarters? What kind of useful skill is that? And suddenly I feel like I want to cry. For no good reason. Bam—tears.
“What’s the matter?” Christian asks immediately.
“Sorrow,” I croak.
We call my mom. Angela is super spazzing out this time because this is her home and it sucks for your home to not feel safe. My mom shows up ten minutes later, all out of breath. This time she doesn’t look that worried. Just tired.
“Still feeling it?” she asks me.
“No.” Which means I am feeling very stupid at this point.
“Maybe it’s your empathy thing,” Angela says to me as she walks me to the door of the theater. “Maybe you’re picking up on people around you who are sad.” I guess that would make sense.
Mom, it turns out, has a different theory. I find this out later that night, when she comes into my room to say good night. It’s still snowing, has been since the night of Midas’s return, coming down in big flakes at a slant outside my window. It’s going to be a cold night.
“Sorry I keep, you know, crying wolf,” I say to Mom.
“It’s all right,” she says, but her expression is pinched, like I’m giving her new wrinkles.
“You don’t really seem that alarmed,” I point out. “Why is that?”
“I told you,” she says. “I don’t expect Sam to come after us so soon.”
“I really feel sorrow, though. At least I think I do, when it happens. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“It means something.” She sighs. “But it might not be a Black Wing’s sorrow you’re feeling.”
“You think it’s somebody else’s?”
“It could be yours,” she says, looking at me with that quasi-disappointed look again.
For a second it feels like all the air is gone from the room. “Mine?”
“Black Wings feel sorrow because they are going against their design. The same thing happens to us.”
I’m stunned. Seriously, I have no words.
“What Black Wings feel is much, much more intense,” she continues. “They have chosen to separate themselves from God, and that causes them an almost unbearable pain.” I can never go back. That’s what Samjeeza kept thinking that day. I can never go back.
“With us it’s a little more subtle, more sporadic,” she says. “But it happens.”
“So,” I choke out after a minute, “you think I’m feeling flashes of sorrow because I didn’t . . . fulfill my purpose?”
“What are you thinking about, when it happens?” she asks.
I should tell her about the dream. The cemetery. All of it. But the words stick in my throat.
“I don’t know.” That’s true. I don’t remember exactly what I was thinking about all those times, but I would hazard a guess that it involved Tucker and my dream and how I’m not going to let it happen.
Fighting my purpose.
Which means I’m going against my design.
The sorrow is mine.
Chapter 7
Go Take a Hike
The next morning there’s two feet of snow on the ground. Our yard’s a winter wonderland, covered neatly in a downy white blanket that makes everything seem muffled. That’s the way it is in Wyoming, I’ve learned. One day it’s autumn, red leaves spiraling down from the trees, squirrels running around frantically burying acorns, a tinge of smoke in the air from people’s fireplaces. Then, like overnight, it’s winter. White and soundless. Really freaking cold.
Mom’s downstairs frying up bacon. She smiles when she sees me.
“Have a seat,” she says. “I’ve just about got your breakfast whipped up.”
“You’re perky this morning,” I observe, which I find odd considering our conversation last night.
“Why shouldn’t I be? It’s a beautiful day.”
I step into the kitchen and discover Jeffrey sitting at the counter looking as half awake as I feel.
“She’s gone crazy,” he tells me matter-of-factly as I slide in next to him.
“I can see that.”
“She says we’re going camping today.”
I swivel around to look at Mom, who’s flipping pancakes, whistling, for crying out loud.
“Mom?” I venture. “Did you happen to notice the snow outside?”
“What’s a little snow?” she replies, an extra twinkle in her twinkly blue eyes.
“Told you,” Jeffrey says. “Crazy.”
As soon as we’re finished with breakfast, Mom turns to us like she’s the director of a cruise ship, ready to get us started on our day.
“Clara, how about you tackle the dishes? Jeffrey, you load the car. I have some final things to do before we go. Pack for the weekend, both of you. Dress warm, but with layers, in case it warms up. I want to leave at about ten. We’re going to be hiking for several hours.”
“But Mom,” I sputter. “I can’t go camping this weekend.” She fixes me with a steady, no-nonsense look. “Why, because you want to stay home and sneak over to Tucker’s?”
“Busted,” laughs Jeffrey.
I guess I wasn’t being as quiet as I thought sneaking out of the house.
“I call shotgun,” Jeffrey says, and that’s that.
So by ten o’clock we’re all showered and dressed and packed and bundled into the car, the heater on full blast. Mom passes me back a thermos of hot chocolate. She’s still in this supernaturally good mood. She puts the car in four-wheel drive and turns the windshield wipers on to clear away the dusting of snow that’s coming down, humming along with the radio as she drives into Jackson. Then she pulls up in front of the Pink Garter.
“Okay, Clara,” she says with a mischievous smile. “You’re up.” I’m confused.
“Go get Angela. Tell her to pack a bag for the weekend.”
“Is she expecting me?” I ask. “Does she know that she’s going on some loony camping trip in the snow?”
Mom’s smile widens. “For once, Angela doesn’t know anything about it. But she’ll want to come, I have a feeling.”
