A Purple Winter Page 2

  Nick was pulling the toilet paper out of the tree. He’d gotten so tall this year, he reached the middle branches. He must have been close to six foot five. Then I suddenly remembered that I’d hit five-seven this summer, after I’d turned sixteen. Yes, and I’d been lifting weights and doing stomach crunches, hoping to build up some muscle tone. It was working. Last year’s T-shirts didn’t fit me.

  I wasn’t a kid anymore.

  “Nicolas, you leave that alone. Don’t touch anything on my property.” Mrs. Pinet was on her way to me. “Oh dear, look at you. What are you doing with these, these criminals?”

  I dusted myself off. I never hung out with the gang. I wasn’t included in their camaraderie, but because I was Nick’s neighbor, my presence was tolerated.

  Though I knew they called me a fag behind my back. They had no proof of that.

  Yet.

  Mrs. Pinet lifted my face to the street lamp and frowned. “Well, you aren’t bleeding. You look all right. Sit down. I’m getting some trash bags and rags.” She walked away, then said, “You know Derek, your mom’s been through a lot. She doesn’t need all this extra worrying.” Mrs. Pinet went back into the house and I sat on the curb like she asked me to.

  My mother had lost a baby four years ago. Right around my twelfth birthday. My baby brother. She’d been depressed since then, rarely leaving her room. My Aunt Fran tried to help whenever she could, but she traveled a lot. And my dad? He’d gone off on some job again. In the Hudson Bay area, this time.

  “What if she calls the cops or something?” Josh had taken a few steps in Nick’s direction and was trying to make eye contact with Nick. Josh was a tough guy with a crew cut and sad brown eyes. His dad was a military man and rode him hard. “I gotta go, Nick!”

  Nick was staring at the ground, his long blond hair hanging down in his stunning face. Nick Lund was so beautiful, every thought I had of him was obscene. So I tried not to think about him, but that didn’t work well. “So fucking what,” he whispered in his usual low voice. “C’est la vie.”

  “Oh, Nick, man, I can’t get in trouble again, you know my dad…Come on, Nico boy, don’t lemme stand here with my dick in the wind.”

  “Okay, take off,” Nick said quietly. “Get outta here.”

  Josh bolted out of the street faster than Carl Lewis. “I owe you one, Lund,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  “Nick, why d’you let him leave?” David’s dark eyes shone every time he spoke to Nick. Like he had fever.

  Mrs. Pinet had come back out. We all stiffened at the sight of her stern face. “Okay boys, you’re gonna clean this up before your father comes home tomorrow and sees this.”

  Sebastian kicked a rock in the street and looked over at Nick. “This is all Boone’s fault, you know. He started all of this.”

  David slapped his brother’s shoulder. “No, you did, by insulting Boone’s brother. You know the Lund code.” Then he stared into Nick’s face. “Right, Nicolai?”

  “Right,” Nick said with a smirk, pushing a knot of toilet paper into David’s flat stomach. “You mess with one, you mess with all of us.”

  David laughed a little. Dark-haired, thin and graceful, he was a ballet dancer, and everyone in town knew it, too. But because Nick protected him, Terry and Josh didn’t mess with David. There was something between Nick and David no one dared name or criticize. It was a sacred bond.

  I couldn’t dream of ever being admitted into their world. David was so much more refined than the other guys. Always wearing black and smoking his long cigarettes.

  “Hey, I’m sorry for what my brother said about you.” And another thing, whenever David spoke to Nick, he always sounded like he was in pain. “You’re not retarded.”

  Nick was severely dyslexic. He’d quit school after his last bad report card last month. Everyone said he was going to become a bum.

  Funny, I didn’t think so.

  Finally, Nick glanced at me, his cobalt blue eyes sending a thrill of excitement down my spine. “Um, you all right, O’Reilly?” he asked, his tone turning gentle. “You’re not too hurt, are you?”

  I shook my head. No. I bit my lower lip, unable to say a word. My crush on him was turning into an obsession. We’d been neighbors for years, but never friends. We’d talk once in a while, or he’d say hello to me in the school hall last year, but everything had changed over the summer. My feelings for him were overwhelming, and Nick seemed uneasy around me. He never called me by my first name anymore.

  “How come you’re allowed to leave your house after eleven?” Sebastian was throwing strings of toilet paper into a trash bag and grinning maliciously at me. The kid was eleven, but that didn’t stop him from bullying me. “Your crazy mom is gonna come looking for you and—”

  “Call his mother crazy again.” Nick eyeballed Sebastian. “Come on. I dare you.”

  Sebastian swallowed hard, glanced at his brother, and then quickly turned away, going back to the house.

  I felt bloody triumphant.

  “I’m gonna go.” Terry was walking backwards into the street. “I was supposed to meet Laurie an hour ago. She’s gonna be pissed.” He was obviously looking for approval from Nick. “We’ll catch up tomorrow, right? I can get you those tires, like I said.”

  Johan, Nick’s father, had given Nick a car for his seventeenth birthday. It didn’t run well, but Nick was fixing it and Terry was scoring points with him by giving him parts for the car. The guys were always sucking up to Nick like that.

  After Terry had left, it was just Nick and I in the street. David was cleaning up the lawn. I knew I had to go home before my mother decided to check up on me.

  I took a few steps back. “I’m—I’m g—go—onna go,” I stuttered. My speech impediment was getting better this year, but not around Nick.

  “I’ll walk you home.” Nick was wearing worn blue jeans and a black wool sweater full of holes, over a white tee. As usual, his long blond hair was tied up, with stray strands falling over his forehead. He tucked one of them behind an ear and looked over at the lawn. “See you?” he called out to David, before walking away.

  There was a secret in David’s dark eyes. “So, you’ve forgiven me then?”

  “Yeah…” Nick smiled a little. What was the deal between those two? One moment, they were at each other’s throats, and the next, they were friends again.

  I wanted to say good night to David, but he wouldn’t have heard or acknowledged me. I hesitated, then followed Nick, not walking right beside him, but staying close.

  We didn’t say a word the whole way home. Once in a while, I’d chance a look at him, seeing his regal profile in the grainy light, and then my hands would tingle. Nick was Norwegian, and last month, curious to know more about Scandinavian culture, I’d read a book about the Vikings. In it, it said that the feared warriors of the North had ruled over Ireland many years ago. There was even a poem about it. I remember my mother reading it to me from the Saint Gall. Sometime in the ninth century, a Viking named Thorgestr had horrified the Irish folks by desecrating their altars and turning Christmas into some wild pagan feast of decadence and debauchery.

  That warrior reminded me of Nick.

  I was part Irish. My father’s folks were from Limerick, and on some nights, I’d lie there wondering what it would be like to be under Nick’s power. To give up my good-boy-manners and half-believed principles and let him do to me what that Viking had done to Christmas. But there was no sense in fantasizing about Nick. It would only drive me crazier than I already was.

  Nearing our street, Nick’s walk was determined, and yet, it almost seemed as though he was purposely slowing his pace to allow me to keep up.

  Or maybe it was all in my mind. I did have a vivid imagination, or so my Aunt Fran said. She was partly responsible for my dream world. She’d been bringing me books since I was eleven. I read too much, always looking for a way out of my dull existence.

  When we’d arrived at our apartment building, Nick and I both took the pa
th leading up to our connecting front porches. Our balconies were separated by a railing, but we shared the same back yard. I’d grown up around the Lunds, and yet, tonight, I realized something about Nick had always escaped me. I didn’t really know who he was. He was like a myth to me. But I wanted to know the real him.

  At my door, I paused and looked over at him. “H—heard you got a job at, um, at a restaurant,” I said, glad for the cover of darkness. My face was hotter than a boiling teapot.

  Nick shot me a quick look, his eyes catching the lamp post light. “Yeah, that’s right.” Why did I feel so naked whenever he looked straight at me?

  “As—as a cook?” I knew he was interested in cooking, and that Helga, his mother, was teaching him things.

  “Nah, just waiting tables. It’s decent money though.”

  As stunning as he was, I bet he made a lot of tips.

  Nick quietly opened his front door. “Is your head all right?”

  My head was a mess of dreams and fantasies, and all of them involved him. I nodded and smiled a little. I’m crazy for you, I almost said.

  “Well…good night, O’Reilly.”

  “‘Night,” I sputtered.

  Why did it feel like something important was finally going to happen to me this winter?

  “See you around.” On those words, words I felt I’d heard before, Nick shut his door.

  Chapter 2

  Saturday morning, Helga Lund, Nick’s mother, was at our front door. I could see her striking face through the door’s glass pane. I was still in my gym shorts, half asleep, standing barefoot in the hall, holding a glass of chocolate milk.

  But my mother wouldn’t answer the door. “Hurry, get it,” she said, shutting her old flannel robe tighter, before shuffling back to her bedroom in the back of the apartment. I heard her lock click and knew she’d stay in there all day. On Saturdays, my mother would usually go over to the presbytery and help with things there. Whatever those things were. But today, she had a migraine.

  I set my glass down on the hall table and then cracked the door open a sliver, embarrassed to meet Helga in my U2 T-shirt and gym shorts. She was a classy woman with an almost royal presence that flustered me. Nick was so much like her. “Good morning,” I said, hoping to change her impression of me once and for all. She always looked at me like I was from another planet.

  “Boo!” Lene, Nick’s nine-year-old sister, jumped out from behind her mother, smiling a toothless smile. “You’re babysitting me!” She bounced her pale blond eyebrows and her curls shimmered like pearls in the sun. She was wearing a yellow summer dress and we were in November. Wasn’t she ever cold? She was the strangest little girl I’d ever met, and frankly, she scared me a bit. “I brought my Barbies and two Kens.” She entered the house, pushing by me.

  “I—I—uh—”

  “I’ll give you ten dollars.” Helga was already fishing into her red leather purse. Her platinum blond hair was tied back in a long pony tail and her gray overcoat was open over a cream-colored blouse that was neatly tucked into a fitted navy-blue skirt. And she was in heels. We’d gotten our first snow this morning. “Here you are.” She handed me a crisp ten-dollar bill. “Boone has had a little mishap again and Johan and I are taking him to the clinic.”

  Boone Lund was the most accident-prone kid I’d ever known. His hospital file was probably thicker than the phone book. “Wha—at happened?”

  Helga let out a sharp little breath and crinkled her nose. “He roasted banana peels and rolled the mixture into Archie comic book pages.” She had a wonderful accent I adored. “Then he smoked them. You know, like cigarettes.” She turned on her heels. “Thank you, Derek. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  I didn’t have any plans, anyway.

  When I turned around, I found Lene sitting on the worn green rug in our living room, emptying the contents of her pink backpack, blond Barbie dolls spilling out around her. “This one is Hecube,” she said, without looking at me. Lene’s voice was clear and high as a silver bell. “And this one is Andromaque.”

  I didn’t know how she could possibly invent such names.

  “They’re the Trojan women. You know—from the Iliad.”

  Right.

  She showed me a bigger doll. It was missing an eye. “And this one here…she’s special. She’s a prophet. She sees the future.”

  This kid was obviously a bloody genius. “What’s, uh, what’s th—the doll’s name?” I walked into the living room and sat on the old creaky arm chair. That chair still smelled of my dad’s Aqua Velva after shave. Sometimes I missed him. I hadn’t seen him in over two months. Maybe he’d be home for Christmas. And if so, what would we talk about?

  Lene’s eyes were bright—full of cleverness. “Her name is Cassandra.”

  I shivered, a strong feeling of déjà vu coming over me. Cassandra. I’d never known a girl named Cassandra, and yet, this all seemed so familiar.

  “She knows what’s gonna happen,” Lene said, her eyes returning to the doll in her hands. “But the tragedy is that no one believes her.”

  * * * *

  A few hours later, I’d learned two things about myself. One: I looked pretty good in make-up, and two: My vivid imagination was a perfect match for playing Barbies. I’d made up so many wild stories for Lene, that she’d nearly cried when I’d told her the fun was over.

  “Can you braid my hair?” She was now sitting on the bathroom counter, swinging her feet.

  We’d been in the washroom together for half an hour, because evidently, I’d lost my mind, pride, and will, and allowed Lene to turn me into Lucille Ball. “I—I need to—to clean up this mess.” I surveyed the other half of the tiled counter. It was full of lipstick tubes, open eye shadow containers, glitter power, eye liners, and foundation power. “You have a lot of m—make-up for a—a nine-year-old.”

  “My mother was a beauty queen in Norway. She gave me all her make-up when I turned eight. But I don’t think I’ll wear much make-up when I’m older. I believe in a woman’s natural beauty.”

  This girl was something else. I shot her a look. “How do I get this off?” I tried wiping a wet Kleenex over my eyes. Lene had insisted on black eyeliner and green eye shadow, swearing it would bring out my features and make my green eyes pop.

  “It’s water proof.” She leaned back on the wall next to the cracked mirror I was staring into, and narrowed her eyes. “How come your hair is so red?”

  I shot her another quick look from under the tissue. I’d never asked myself that question. My hair was the color of dark rust. Or a new penny. My mother said I’d gotten it from her side of the family. She always insisted I should be proud of my redhead genes. She believed we were soon to be extinct. My mother was strange that way.

  “Here, use this.” Lene fumbled through the mess and handed me a tube of cream. “Is your mom sleeping?”

  I squirted the make-up remover into a fresh tissue and rubbed my eyes clean. But there was still a trace of eyeliner under my eyes.

  “My mother says that your mom needs to see a psychologist.” Lene was watching me remove my make-up with curious eyes. I really enjoyed her company. That was probably weird. I was sixteen. But somehow, I could be myself around her. “I’m gonna be a psychologist when I grow up,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “So I’ll take care of her.” When the doorbell rang, Lene slid off the counter. “It’s time for my figure skating lesson!”

  I quickly shut containers and lids, then found a plastic bag under the sink to dump all the make-up into. When I heard Nick’s deep and smooth voice in my apartment, I froze, my stomach tightening into a hot fist. Why would God punish me this way? I looked at my reflection—I’d slipped some jeans on earlier, but was still wearing that fitted U2 shirt. Was it too tight? I’d really gained some muscle mass this summer. But the make-up. Had to do something about the make-up. The more I rubbed, the more the eyeliner smudged.

  “Derek, my things!” Lene ordered from the entrance.

  Cornered by
fate, I grabbed the bag and stepped out into the hall.

  Nick was crouched down in the living room, with his back to me, gathering Lene’s dolls.

  I set the make-up bag by the front door and waited, hoping he’d step out without looking directly at me, as he was in the habit of doing these days.

  But Nick stood, his eyes widening a little at the sight of me. “Oh, hey,” he said, quickly looking away. Was he blushing? Flustered?

  “Derek played Barbies with me.” Lene looked up at her tall brother, craning her neck. “You and Boone never play with me. And he let me do his face up.” She threw her pink bag over her thin shoulders and walked off, but passing me, stopped to throw her arms around my waist. “Adieu,” she said, into my shirt. She left in a huff, her curls bouncing.

  Dumbfounded, I stood there with my mouth open.

  Nick scoffed, the pale light of the afternoon dancing in his blue eyes. “Did I just get the third degree from my nine-year-old sister?” In his worn jeans and black T-shirt, he looked like a picture I’d have like to cut out of a magazine and stick on my bedroom wall.

  I looked over at the open front door. There was a cold wind blowing into the apartment, but I couldn’t make myself move. I was trapped by Nick’s presence. I could catch the scent of him in the air. Ivory soap and some kind of coconut base cream. His energy was overwhelming and, affected by it, I held my breath, my face feeling hotter and hotter. Nick tipped his head, watching me for half a second as though he was debating on something. Then he moved, taking a step forward.

  Contrasting emotions of desire and panic took me over, and I retreated into the hall table, something clanking there, my glass probably, and then stuffed my hands down my pockets to stop myself from gripping his shirt.

  Nick stepped out of my home as though he was being chased. Why? Had the intensity between us scared him off?

  I stared at the open front door, my heart beating fast and hard. If Nick should ever kiss me, I’d die. If I ever got the chance to hold him in my arms, I’d cry the whole time.

  “Shut the door, Red!” my mother screamed from the end of the hall, jerking me out of my melodramatic daydreaming.