True North

Chapter 20

Restless and wired after her encounter with Gage, Stormy drove slowly along the back roads, her hand stretched out the window in the warm night air. Country music played softly on the radio, and her only passenger was a six-pack of beer she had picked up at the gas station. She had no particular destination in mind, but when she saw the rusted metal gate hanging open, she made a spontaneous turn onto the narrow gravel road and the Buick lumbered slowly up the hill. She smiled as she passed the same 'No Trespassing' sign that she and her classmates had ignored so many years before, now almost completely hidden by the ragged undergrowth. As she reached the top, the thick canopy of trees lining the road opened into a weedy gravel clearing, at the center of which stood the massive water tower, eerily illuminated in the beam of her headlights. Killing the engine, she climbed out and stood beside the car as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight. Six-pack in tow, she wandered leisurely around the perimeter of the tower, running her fingers lightly over the names of couples—past and present—who had marked their names on the surface in declaration of eternal love, purposely avoiding the spot where she knew she would find her own initials. Circling around to the far side of the tower, she came to the base of the iron steps that spiraled up to the top, and after a few firm tugs to ensure their stability, she began the long climb upward.

Upon reaching the top, Stormy stepped gingerly out onto the narrow maintenance walkway that encircled the tower. Looking out over the tree tops, she could see the shadowy forms of the old elementary school, the playground, and huge blocks of open fields lit by the silvery light of the moon. The smattering of homes looked like dollhouses, their tiny windows cast in amber. She twisted open a beer and sat down, her feet dangling over the edge of the walkway and her arms looped over the guard rail for support. She took a long pull from the bottle as crickets chirped in every direction, accompanied every so often by the distant throaty baritone of a bullfrog. Suddenly she heard a different sound, the sound of tires crunching on gravel, and realized that somebody was driving up the same road she had come in on.

"Dammit!" she breathed. At first she worried that it was the police, and then, after considering the alternatives of rapist and serial killer, began to hope that it was the police! She slid back as far as possible and sat cross-legged with her back against the tower. The vehicle came to a stop, with the engine immediately following and taking the headlights with it. Footsteps crunched slowly on the gravel below, and Stormy held her breath as she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that whoever it was suffered from a debilitating fear of heights.

"Stormy?"

"Brian?" she squeaked, poking her head out over the guard rail to see him standing on the ground below. Angus stuck his head out from the cab of the truck to let out a brief howling bark before shrinking back into the cab, like a turtle retreating into its shell.

"I should have known," Brian said dryly as he looked up at her. "Just a sec, I'm coming up." The metal steps clanked dully as he climbed, and within moments he appeared at the top. He joined Stormy on the walkway and sat down beside her, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

"What are you doing out here?" Stormy asked, offering him one of the five unopened bottles on her other side.

"I was on my way home from a job," he said, accepting the cool glass bottle and twisting the top off. "I come up here every once in a while, when the nights are warm. It's peaceful."

Stormy nodded. "I can go, if you'd rather be alone," she offered.

"No, that's okay," he said, taking a sip of his beer.

"What's the job that you're coming from?" she asked.

Stormy listened as Brian told her about his latest side job—installing drywall in the Michaud's basement—as well as a few humorous anecdotes from previous jobs. From there, his words had flowed seamlessly into a discussion about the farm, and the many intricacies involved in the planting and harvesting of potatoes. Stormy listened with rapt attention as he explained the difference between Early and Late Season crops, intrigued with the way he made it all sound so interesting. Or maybe it was the way his whole face seemed to light up as he was speaking. It made her smile.

"What?" he asked, stopping midsentence. "Sorry. I guess I've been kind of rambling on, huh?"

"No, it's not that," she assured him. "I was just thinking... You really love what you do, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I do," he agreed. "I know it's not much, and it sounds kind of corny, but... When I'm out in the fields, driving a tractor or tending to the crops, I know that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing."

Stormy sighed wistfully. "What's that like?"

"You mean you don't know?" he asked, sounding faintly surprised. "Don't you feel that way about— I'm sorry, what is it that you do again?"

She gave him a warning look. "Nice try," she said dryly.

"What?" he grinned, feigning innocence. "I just asked what you do, that's all. Why is it such a big secret?"

"It's not," she insisted, a smile tickling the corners of her mouth. "I just know that it bugs you."

He seemed to consider her words as he took a long sip from his bottle.

"It doesn't bug me," he shrugged. "I was just being polite. Truthfully, I don't even care."

"Reverse psychology won't work either," she said, grinning out into the darkness. "But again, nice try."

"You know I'm going to figure it out," he cautioned, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Why does it matter?" she asked, turning toward him. "Why are you so interested?"

"I'm not," he said, his eyes glinting mischievously in the moonlight. "I just know that it bugs you."

Stormy stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed. An amiable silence settled over them, and they sat lost in their respective thoughts until the moon was well above the tallest of the treetops. As if by some unspoken arrangement, they rose from the platform at the exact same moment and moved toward the stairs that would deliver them back to ground level.

Back on earth, Stormy set the beer carton, with the four unopened and two empties, on the roof of the Buick and leaned back against the side door, tipping her face up to the stars. Brian fell in beside her, leaving a generous gap in between.

"I never asked why you're here," he noted. "What brings you out to this neck of the woods after dark?"

"Just driving around," she shrugged, tossing in the truth as an aside. "Amy and I had a fight."

He nodded. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she lied, and then barreled on nonetheless. "Why does everything have to be so damn complicated? I came back to Aubry to help my father out, not to have my whole life turned upside-down! So much has changed, and it turns out that half of what I remember was a lie! I'm just trying to figure things out, and I've got Amy telling me one thing, and Gage telling me anoth—"

"Gage?" Brian cut in. "What's he got to do with it?"

Stormy sighed heavily. "I may as well tell you, since you'll probably find out from Amy anyhow," she reasoned. "I ran into Gage today in Houlton, and we had coffee together. He wants to try being friends..."

"And you think that's possible?" he prodded, his words carefully measured.

"I don't know what I think anymore!" Stormy groaned. "All I know is that I'm tired: I'm tired of trying to be something that I'm not, I'm tired of carrying around all of this...baggage, and I'm tired of being miserable! I just want to let it go, and maybe this is a way to do that. Maybe if I can think of Gage as a friend, instead of... Oh, hell, I don't know what to do! I just need someone to tell me what I should do, and there's nobody! My mother is dead, my father is...Walter, and now the one person that I thought I could confide in isn't speaking to me! Everything is falling apart, and there isn't one single person that I can talk to about it!"

Choking down the lump in her throat, Stormy bit down on her lower lip to quell the tremble that loomed just beneath the surface.

"You're talking to me," Brian pointed out, turning to face her.

"I know," she acknowledged, with more than a hint of bleak desolation. "And you don't even like me!"