Marc and Angie Read online

  “Do we have to? She doesn’t like me.”

  I had been thinking about escaping for a while. Did this matter? I shrugged. “Probably not.”

  That made her smile, a shine of happiness that no boy would have been able to resist, let alone one as isolated and lonely as I was.

  “Where can we go?” she asked.

  I was running through the options when her stomach growled. “The kitchen. Come on.”

  I looked over to find her studying me with those odd eyes. What was it about them, besides the fact that they were violet?

  “How do you like being a Brady?”

  She shrugged, but didn’t answer me and I felt a kinship that I couldn’t find a reason for with her so close. I figured out later that it was something we had in common. I didn’t care much for being a Brady either.

  “You go to school yet?”

  She nodded, little hands shoved into the pockets of her white dress as if she was afraid to touch anything, even by accident.

  “Crosby.”

  That meant my mother hadn’t really accepted her or she’d be going to private classes with the rest of us. It also meant that I would hardly ever get to see her and even then, the sense of loss was there for me.

  We moved quietly down another huge hall, surrounded by saints and dark colors, but neither of us paid attention to these things yet. There would be time for guilt later. Right now, talking to females was hard for me and I’d promised to try harder. My mother expected me to date Jeanie Hornsteader in the next couple of years. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I was a dutiful son. I decided this little girl wouldn’t be so intimidating to have a conversation with, to practice on. The females at school were another matter entirely, even the teachers who I sometimes caught staring at me in longing. My mind said desire was another word for it. I wasn’t sure exactly what desire was, but it sounded like trouble and I’d been raised to avoid that.

  “You’re quiet for a girl.”

  That pleased her, but didn’t draw the reaction I’d been looking for. I prepared to try again.

  “Momma said to be quiet and... mother Brady scares me some.”

  She blew me away with the emotions that brought. For the first time in my life, I felt the urge to protect someone other than myself. It was a world away from the boy who simply got by, so that he could get out.

  I grinned uneasily. “She likes bigger food. You’re too small.”

  That friendly face frosted over and her small chin formed a stiff V. She didn’t tell me she hated those words or not to ever say it again, but I felt both as if she had.

  Her age is a touchy subject, I thought, not knowing it would become one for me, as well.

  “I won’t say it again. Sorry.”

  Our gazes locked and when she stopped, so did I, very confused as to how she seemed so much older than her real age. Her power held me and outside, thunder crashed heavily, making the ground shake. We only stood there for a few seconds, but it felt like forever. In those stunning blue eyes, I could view so much! There was another world in there, one that I desperately wanted to be a part of. In there, I would always be wanted.

  Angie looked away (let go of me) and I yawned, instantly tired and more confused. What happened? Her eyes were blue again. How was that possible?

  “I’m sorry.” She hesitated, sounding miserable. “You can take me back now.”

  Her hair was lit up like a city skyline and her skin glowed like a jewel. No way was I letting her go yet. I wanted answers first.

  I shook off that sleepy feeling as best I could and got us moving. The last minute was already blurring and I struggled to remember all of it. Later, when I was alone, I would figure out what it meant. I was positive that it was important. It had been too strong to ignore.

  I could feel Angie stealing looks at me as we walked, some of those heated, and I realized she was keeping secrets. It was easy for me to recognize that since I saw it in the mirror each morning. That was where I put on the mask my mother insisted we all wear.

  The cook looked as shocked as I felt to be leading that little girl into his perfectly polished kitchen, and I didn’t ask him to do anything that might get him fired. I led Angie by the steaming pots of chicken soup that were destined for the small town shelter, fighting the urge to ask what she thought of the grand house that my parent had put together over the years. Was she impressed? Jealous? I was ashamed.

  I waved a hand at the table where a large plate of cookies and two baskets of fruit sat with perfectly matched precision. “Whatever you want.”

  The words had a ring of familiarity that made my insides twist. Did I know her already?

  Angie pulled an apple free with nervous caution and I handed her a napkin to hold under it. The cook approved of her choice, but it made me uneasy. Who turned down cookies for apples?

  I watched her, unable to look away as she bit into the fruit. Years later, I recognized it as an Adam and Eve moment, but right then, all I could see was future Angie. I wanted to dismiss it as a daydream, but that pull tightened around me, drowning me in the ebbs and flows. When she grew up, I wanted to be there.

  I pulled out of the daze with a groggy scowl. I had hair under my arms, a moustache starting, a playboy under my mattress, and a duplicate on the top shelf of my closet. I considered myself nearly grown. What did I want with a baby?

  “I won’t always be this little!” Angie shouted furiously.

  The cook smiled at what he assumed was baby talk, but I froze again. She heard my thought!

  “Of course not, child,” the cook tried to soothe. “You will grow and be even prettier.”

  We ignored him, lost in that first discovery. I opened my mouth without knowing what was coming out...

  “Marcus Brady!”

  Very glad of which way I was facing, I snapped my mouth shut and cleared my expression before rotating to face both of the parents in the doorway. Their clothes clashed in a vivid warning to be careful.

  “Yes, mother?” My tone was perfectly normal, but my pulse had tripled.

  Two sets of narrowed eyes swept us and then went over the cook, who flinched back against the table, terrified.

  “What are you doing?”

  Mary’s voice was like stone, but before I could dig the hole, Angie saved us.

  “He gaves me apples!”

  The little girl let out a different giggle, this one so annoying that I took a step back.

  “Gave me one apple,” she corrected herself, sounding exactly her age.

  I hoped she knew I didn’t mean it as I rolled my eyes. “Can I go now?”

  It sounded like I couldn’t wait to escape.

  I left under my mother’s curt nod, but I could feel the weight of the little girl’s pain.

  That was my first meeting with Angie and I was already craving more before she was out of our mausoleum. Instead of slipping down to the rope swing over the cornfield as I usually did on a Saturday, I hid in the front tree and stayed there, waiting and studying these new emotions.

  When she and her loud parent stepped from our house, her gaze came straight to mine, as if to say it was the same for her. Even across the distance, there was a spark, a sense of us being connected. It said there were things coming that we weren’t ready for, but I didn’t look away, even after mother found my hiding place with her stern glare. That little girl was someone I wanted to know and I set my mind to it right then that I would.

  What I didn’t count on was how determined my parent was to keep us apart. With her years of being in charge, I stood little chance against her manipulations. In fact, many of them, I didn’t recognize for what they were until it was too late.

  Angie slipped from our ungracious steps with dainty, careful movements that didn’t fit the age of the girl I’d spoken to. Angie hung back from her parents, waiting until they told her what to do. Timid. That was a new vocabulary word I had learned this week. Fearful and hesitant: problems that call for bold, not timid, responses.r />
  Yes, that fit us both, but why did I care? I spent my time reading and playing sports. I had a girl I was supposed to start dating. Why was I drawn to a baby? Because we were both alone in our minds? Because she was special? Did I want her power?

  That thought scared me. I’d watched enough movies to understand that I could use her to get what I wanted. Was that something else we would have to be careful of? Was she in danger from me?

  My wording instantly bothered me. Would have to be careful of... I already planned to do this, no matter the risk. Was it for her gifts?

  No, I realized. I didn’t need anything she could give me. I already knew what people around me were thinking. I’d learned that skill at home.

  “People will think what they see, Marcus. If you always look and act like a proper Christian boy, they’ll always see one.”

  “But... What if I don’t feel it? On the inside?”

  “You will. In time, the other life will fade into a vague, shifting picture without sound. Then it will be gone for good and you’ll forget.”

  Those words had hurt me then and they still did years later. The idea that I could forget my dad or Angie, the notion that I could ever be as callous as my family, was utterly crushing. I would never do that. My mother would try to keep us apart, but I wasn’t going to let my first taste of wonder, of happiness, be stolen.

  Already dripping sweat from the humidity, I watched Angie climb into the old wagon, brain thudding with new emotions and ideas. I was flooded with hurt and pain, and an aching loneliness that I couldn’t ease as the engine fired up. I don’t want her to leave.

  As if she heard me, she spun around in the seat and waved.

  My Brady.

  I don’t know if she said it or I thought it, but from that moment on, my heart belonged solely to her and was never even brushed by another woman. It was only ten minutes in time, but it set the path for everything that came later. It was the beginning of us, of Marc and Angie.

  Angie

  That was the first time I’d been in mother Brady’s home, and it made me feel out of place among the perfection, as it was meant to. Those paintings and suffering idols were right to be so stiff, foreboding. I was the aberration here, not them.

  That was also the first time I’d spoken to my Brady. I’d always thought of Marc that way. He didn’t belong with those awful people any more than I did. We were different.

  Standing there, eating the apple (a rare treat), I could hear his thoughts clearly and it wasn’t an accident that he discovered my secret. Marc was nice to everyone else. Why not me?

  I did wonder if I scared him, but as we left, I realized that I’d made him curious.

  I was satisfied that he knew who I was, which was more than I’d had when we arrived. I didn’t listen to my mom and Georgie trash-talk him and his siblings on the way home, but I did notice that not one bad word was said about mother Brady.

  Georgie flipped on the radio and Welcome to the Jungle blared from the speakers. It was perfect timing for my mood. I always felt like a small cat in a gigantic jungle, but more now than usual because I wanted to be at that awful house with my Brady, not trapped in this car. I rolled down the window to escape the heat and the noise.

  When we got to our trailer, I slipped away while Georgie tried to explain what a promissory note was. My mom wasn’t bright and such conversations often ended with a fist and a grunt of annoyance at the tears. I didn’t want to hang around for that.

  I wandered down into the humid cornfields instead of hitting the local area where most of the neighborhood kids played. They didn’t like me and I was afraid of them, of what I sensed they could push me into doing. I wasn’t always a quiet, little gypsy girl. Sometimes, I was dangerous.

  Today however, I was excited and a bit sad that I hadn’t gotten more time with Marc. He had no idea that I’d been following him around for years while dreaming of the time when I would be old enough to prove the things that I needed to say. Lost in my desperate thoughts, I sat on the edge of the cornfield, watching the old tire swing move in the breeze. Large bees and wasps flew in and out of the rows, and the drone of insects in the ten-foot corn was hypnotizing. Maybe that’s why I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me. I was usually extremely observant about things like that.

  I spun around to find Marc standing there.

  “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

  I lowered my head instead of answering, busy saying thank you to the spirits for sending him.

  “Angie?”

  My name coming from him in concern was already more acceptance than I was used to having, and a tear spilled down my cheek. I wiped it away angrily. The hormones of my body were difficult on a good day, and this one had been stressful. I’d been certain Mary Brady would know I had the family curse. But she hadn’t. That scared me, too.

  Marc knelt down, and I was glad he didn’t do more. If anyone saw him touch me, his mother would ground him forever or maybe something worse. His older cousins, Rodney and Scot, were vocal about Mary’s lack of goodwill toward her own kin. I’d even heard that she sent some people away, but I didn’t know if it was over the curse or breaking her rules. I suddenly didn’t want to take the chance on her discovering my secrets now that Marc finally knew I was alive.

  “Can I do anything for you?”

  I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t understand that I wasn’t just a cute kid who had put a spell on him. I would be his wife someday. I’d already dreamed of it. That future was set. How could I explain the visions of us in my room and in some sort of hut, where we crossed adult lines and sealed our souls? How did I try to tell him all that?! There was no way he would believe me yet, but the witch was never wrong, and it was terrifying to know that this boy would come to mean so much to me.

  I choked. I didn’t say anything. I watched him scowl and listened to him mutter about having no babysitting experience. It was heaven and it was hell.

  Marc

  I understood she was shy and I thought that maybe she was a little scared of me because we were alone. I figured silliness would help and started speaking super-fast, covering what could be wrong in a goofy blur.

  “Shoes too tight, hair too flappy, dress too snappy, nose too full...”

  Angie laughed.

  I stopped as the sunlight faded into a dark, smoky sky and my body shuddered with needs that I didn’t want to acknowledge. The sound of her pleasure sank into my guts and made me shift uneasily. I liked it way too much.

  Our eyes met and I forgot to breathe as the world shifted. I read things in those sparkling orbs, things that I wasn’t ready for yet. I could see both of us, older and so in love that nothing else mattered. I stared in horror at my future, frightened of the pain.

  I stood to go.

  Angie reached out to take my wrist and I stared down at her, at the girl I’d just seen in a wedding gown and a shroud that combined to create a desolate widow. She was cursed.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Angie muttered, clenching her lids shut. “Forget it. Let it go.”

  Drowsiness settled over me and I began to doubt that I’d witnessed anything.

  “Just the heat.” Angie looked back up with a shy smile, once again adorable. “Stay?”

  Even then, there wasn’t a choice when she begged. I dropped down next to her with tingling skin, the place where she’d touched me covered in goose bumps.

  Then the odd moment was over as if it didn’t matter. I didn’t stare at her, but I was aware of every shift, every sigh. She sounded happy in those moments and it confused me because I felt the same even though we weren’t doing anything but sitting here. Why?

  “You need a friend.”

  I gaped at her and she gave me a half-excited, half-wary look. “I can do other things...”

  “Like what?” I asked slowly.

  Angie held out her hand and I felt like I was sitting next to an engine as the ground rumbled with life. I saw a tiny blue spark at her fingertip and then th
e corn stalk by her began to get bigger. It didn’t grow much, but it was enough to convince me that it was all true. I also had enough child left in me to ignore the chills on my skin and the sense of danger that it had produced.

  “Cool.”

  She beamed at my acceptance, blinding my heart. Angie showing true happiness was another moment that I never recovered from. It sent a wave of longing into my soul that still echoed twenty years later.

  “Why do your eyes change color?” I had to know.

  “I get...tired,” she answered defensively, hands clenching. “It’s not weird.

  “It’s pretty,” I answered honestly. It was also fascinating.

  Her fists relaxed and she gave a curt nod, as if she had made a choice.

  “I’ll be your friend,” Angie stated suddenly, putting a hand up to shield the glare as the sun moved directly over us. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

  That suited me fine, except for the slight nagging of my conscience. “Okay. Maybe we need a code?”

  She studied the dusty ground in concentration and I knew she had an answer when she straightened.

  “Hand signals, like on shows.”

  “Like the soldiers use?”

  “Yes, but easier so the adults don’t recognize them.”

  Impressed, I leaned on my elbows. “I’ll come up with a set for us. What should we cover first?”

  Her pale cheeks turned pink. “When and where to meet?”

  I swallowed a lump of excitement. I never willingly broke mother’s rules, even in the spur of the moment, and here I was planning it.

  Angie glanced toward the tire swing. “You can show me how to have fun.”

  I knew instinctively that it wasn’t something she was allowed much of.

  I agreed that we could be friends.

  Angie was quiet for a minute or so, and then asked, “Can we start today? We might not be here tomorrow.”

  Wise, I thought, nodding. “Sure. What’s first?”

  We spent the rest of that first afternoon swinging and joking, and pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist. Except it did, and eventually, I had to go home. My curfew was earlier than hers, I assumed, because she hadn’t once mentioned going home, even when it began to get dark.