Tricks. Part 11

And for once, it actually feels like spring in Idaho. For most of my life, spring break was called Easter vacation. Daddy about had a meltdown when the school board caved in and changed it. What's this country coming to when the Spring Bunny delivers spring eggs to children? As if he ever gave two cents about bunnies and egg hunts. Not in his church. Not on the holiest day of the year, and Easter Sunday remains that for Christians near and far. For the family of Pastor Streit, it is even more, because at Papa's church, it's an all-out celebration of the Resurrection, and, dressed up in our Easter bonnets, we sit front and center. I've never really minded that before. But today, I'd much rather hang out in back, pretending not to notice the good-looking reformed Catholic sitting nearby.

Papa Has Noticed Andrew, of course. No way would he miss a possible convert wandering into his hallowed sanctuary. Once or twice he's made the effort to engage Andrew in conversation and Andrew, bless his heart, does his best to respond positively. No dunking yet (and Papa is quite likely the reincarnation of John the Baptist himself!), but he is cordial almost to the point of brownnosing. Almost. And speaking of nosing, Mama's ever-observant gaze is harder to avoid. She must have seen something, because two Sundays ago, she went fis.h.i.+ng: That McCarran boy is a fine-looking young man, don't you think, Eden?

If Papa is John the Baptist (again), Mama is the Inquisition incarnate. I tried not to gulp, struggled to meet her eye. "Who?

Him?" I pretended to study his face for the first time. "Well, now that you mention it ..." Then I almost blew it, almost smiled.

My mouth twitched. Mama pounced, all lioness to my poor little gazelle.

Appearances can be deceptive. Her hand settled on my shoulder. Why, if I had tumbled for every handsome boy who looked my way, I shudder to think where I might be today!

I bit hard on my lip, excused myself to go to the bathroom, barely making it through the door before shuddering myself-with uncontainable laughter.

Needless to Say Andrew and I have been completely discreet at church since then. And today, no way to flirt even a little, it's going to be really tough. But you know, just seeing Andrew at all makes any day special.

He's already there, with his sister and mother, when we arrive. Mariah smiles and waves. She is four years older than Andrew, but the two are tight.

So tight, in fact, that he has confessed our secret to her. So tight that, despite a little righteous worry, she has chosen not only to keep quiet about our relations.h.i.+p, but also to nurture it. She comes over now.

Happy Easter, she says to Papa before stroking Mama. Lovely dress. That color is wonderful on you! She takes my arm. May I borrow Eden?

I'd like to introduce her to my mother.

Andrew and I are hoping to get her to church more than two or three times a year.

If Mama is surprised that Mariah and I are acquainted, she hides it well.

Of course. Eden, you know where to find us. See you in a few minutes.

Mariah steers me toward love. Andrew wears it like skin, so obvious it makes me blush.

His mother's face, so like his, lights as she takes my hand in hers. Her voice is soft, and still she forces it low. h.e.l.lo, Eden. I hope you don't mind that I tagged along today, but I simply had to meet you. She draws me a little bit away from anyone likely to overhear.

Then she looks me in the eye. I've never seen Andrew so happy. Thank you for that.

My reply comes easily. "There is no one like Andrew. Thank you for that."

Old Mrs. Beatty Launches a spirited "Old Rugged Cross"

on the aging organ, and I must fall back into the role of perfect preacher's daughter.

I take my expected place in front, but find every opportunity to glance behind me, even as I hear the well-known story of a love greater than any human love could ever be. So sayeth Papa. Again.

Three rows back sits the greatest love I'll ever know, and my heart promises that our love was sparked, as all love is, by G.o.d's love. So why-WHY-is it wrong?

Rephrase. Why-WHY-does my own family think it's wrong when his doesn't?

Three rows back sits the one true love of my life, surrounded by his own family's love. A family that accepts me for who I am, to him. A family I long to be part of. And if that means leaving my family behind, maybe I have to go.

As Soon as the Thought Crosses my mind, I backtrack. Can't go. Not yet. He's not ready for me.

And I am only sixteen. Sixteen.

Immersed in the Easter story. Thinking about loving Andrew, about giving him the ultimate gift-my virginity. This week.

Not that he knows it. But it's spring break.

Lots of girls give it away on spring break, right?

So it's normal. And, despite sitting in the front row while my papa preaches about resurrection- including ways to avoid it-I want to be normal.

Not "normal" as defined by abnormal people.

My people. My parents. I never considered them (and so never considered me) abnormal until I met Andrew. But it's completely clear now. And the best way I can think of to become completely normal is by becoming a woman.

All I need is the opportunity. Eve, help me.

Ironically It is Eve (not the original) who sets it up.

See, my sister has asthma. Talking major.

And like I said, it is spring, also in a major way. We had snow over the winter, an early melt. Rain to follow. And that means wild flowers. Early bloom of sage. Beautiful.

Obnoxious to someone who can't tolerate pollen. Especially someone young. Someone like Eve. It is Tuesday. Spring break. Eve wakes, wheezing. Papa is off somewhere, leaving Mama to rush my little sister to Emergency. She calls just before noon.

They want to keep her for observation.

I have to stay with her. You'll be okay?

"I'm fine, Mama. You do what you need to. If I'm not here, I'll be at the library.

I have to research a history paper." Guilt wants to well as I hang up. I force it back down, call Andrew, knowing it's wrong. Wondering if I'm d.a.m.ned.

In the Back of My Mind I'm thinking he'll take me to a hotel, all the while stressing about how we'll get away with it.

Spies, remember? But when he picks me up, we head out of town, and it occurs to me that I never confessed what I had in mind for the afternoon. "Where are we going?"

He pulls me very close to him, right up against his very warm body. Home.

My parents went to Elko for a few days.

Not exactly a world-cla.s.s destination, but for them it's a second honeymoon.

You and I will go to Hawaii, okay?

He always says the right thing. "Okay.

But I'm allergic to pineapple." I'm not, at least, not that I know for sure. But they say humor steadies the nerves.

Nervous?

Let's see. Why wouldn't I be? My mom and sister are at the ER, which is the only reason I'm here. What if Mama calls and I'm not home? Will she buy the library thing?

And what if something is really wrong with Eve? Should I be there? Or here?

Andrew's parents are likely a few hundred miles away. But are they really? And are they discussing the likelihood of what is going on here? Are they talking about me?

And even if they're not, and everything else is on the up-and-up, am I seriously considering doing that stuff I read on the Net the other night? I answered all those "Are you really ready" questions and came away with a definite "Yes." But am I really, really?

Andrew answers the question for me, though I'm sure he has no idea that's what he's doing. I can't wait to show you the ranch.

Someday it will be your home too. No hint of hesitation. He's not only saying his home is mine, he's telling me his life is mine.

We turn down a long gravel driveway, the smell of spring sharp through the windows.

Cattle graze in one field, horses in another.

I know nothing about either animal except what I've seen on TV. But that will change with time. Time with Andrew. One day, not far in the future, we'll have plenty of time together. Something powerful rises up inside me.

Home Andrew parks the Tundra and we are home.

A bluetick pup lifts her head from the porch, and when she sees Andrew, sprints to greet him, tail stub wagging. I know how she feels.

Andrew bends to scratch her behind an ear.

Here now, little Sheila. Say h.e.l.lo to my Eden.

And now she is my puppy too. She licks my hand, telling me so, and I cannot believe that any of this is real. Where is my familiar home? Where is Boise? I never want to return to either. I slide my arms up around Andrew's neck. "I love you. More than anything in this world." And, for a swift-pa.s.sing moment, the thought crosses my mind that I love him more than anything in any world. Torn, always torn, I throw out a silent entreaty to whatever might exist beyond this world: "If love like this is wrong, Lord, go ahead and d.a.m.n me."

I Feel Zero Trepidation as Andrew takes my hand, encourages me through the front door.

I hold my breath, not sure why. I feel like a bride on her wedding night, despite the nag inside my head who insists: Not married. Not right. Not married ...

"Shut up!" I will her, silently. Because, despite the lack of white gown and cake, dripping frosting flowers, I know what will happen soon means Andrew and I are forever one. Sheila, puppy of honor, follows us inside. She's probably not nearly as impressed as I am. The decor is simple. Real. Wood.

Leather. Antiques, refinished, as if the people who own them care about their history.

And, of course, they do. "Oh, Andrew.

It's all so perfect. I love it!" And I do.

"But not nearly as much as I love you."

We're kissing. We've never kissed exactly like this, because we've never felt this easy with each other. No one here. No one to see. Only Andrew and me.

(Sheila doesn't care. Doesn't count, because she only wants what Andrew and I do. Love.) We could talk, I guess.

But there's nothing, really, to say beyond I love you, and we've already said that.

Andrew stops kissing me, and his eyes ask what he's afraid to, and my eyes answer in the same way, so he takes my hand, leads me down the hall to the bedroom that I would have picked as his without a.n.a.lyzing. It has a big feather bed, with ma.s.sive quilts and pillows I have to fall into. With Andrew.

I Thought It Would Be So easy. That loving him as much as I do would conquer any hint of fear. But when he kisses me, I'm shaking, and there are tears in my eyes. We don't have to, he whispers.

"I know. I want to. I'm just ..." Unsure.

I'm completely unsure about my body.

What if he hates it? But now he touches me. His hands are tentative, and I remember that this is new for him, too. Is this okay? he asks. Tell me what you like.

He kisses me as he picks me up, lays me gently on the bed. A slow, mutual exploration begins. As we learn together, the fear falls away, and sheer exhilaration- like standing on the very edge of a cliff, with the wind in your face-replaces it.

He likes my body, and I love his, and there are only a few seconds of pain, before waves of pleasure. Wave after swelling wave of everything right. Wave after wave of love.

A Poem by Seth Parnell Nothing's Right Not when you know someone you love must leave too soon.

The thought of losing a friend stings.

The pain of losing a parent revisits you.

The insanity of losing someone who has become your very heart slices you right in two.

You can't eat. Can't sleep. Can't concentrate on simple things. All you do is wonder how you'll live without the necessary beat inside your chest.

The weight of dread takes your breath away.

Seth

Three Weeks

Until Loren leaves me.

One month until my life falls into limbo. I never knew limbo was meant to be experienced on earth.

I'm halfway there already.

I fake my way through every day, eating, drinking, staring off into the cla.s.sroom void, with finals fast approaching.

I don't care about school, about getting into some highbrow university.