A Purple Winter Read online

  Below us, a few steps away, Nick slipped, but caught himself and stayed on his feet. The near fall must have angered him, because he howled at the wind again, leaning in so close to the rapids, a gust of air could have tipped him into the turbulent water.

  Without hesitation, I stepped forward and started my descent down to him, the soles of my sneakers slipping treacherously against every stone. I could feel David’s stare burning holes into my back, but I didn’t stop and he didn’t call out my name.

  Against the sound of the rapids, Nick didn’t hear me coming. After a few thrilling seconds, I was at his side, the water almost touching the tip of my shoes. The river was deep here. So black and scary. The opposing currents collided and pushed the waves up into little steeps of foam that made my spine burn with cold fear. I wasn’t a good swimmer. What would it feel like to drown in November, in this frozen black water?

  I could feel the pull of it now. Its thoughts. That foamy eye staring back at me, drawing me closer and closer to the edge. I would go under and no one would ever find me.

  “Jesus Christ,” Nick yelled, his fingers like steel on my arm. “What do you think you’re doing?” We were on the last stone, a breath away from falling. “Get back up there.”

  Nick’s eyes were haunted. I shook my head and broke away from his stare, but not his grip. “O’Reilly, I mean it.” I glanced at him, but remained steadfast. “Fine,” he said, after a moment. He climbed up a few stones and reached his hand out to me. “You made your point. Now get up here.” I stared at him and then finally gave him my hand.

  He pulled me up and we reached the path. “Where’s David?” Nick was already walking off in search of him.

  I looked around, my eyes watering from the cold. Dread crawled up my neck.

  “David!” Nick walked by me and then off to the edge again, stopping near the slope at our right, where the land met with the river five feet below. This part of the river was calm and wide, and seemed not to have a bottom. Nick looked over his shoulder at me, his face white as the snow.

  Then I understood that it could happen. David had a hurt inside him as big and bottomless as this river and it could swallow him. Could cover him with forty million gallons of pain.

  “David!” Nick rubbed his hair back, his panic reaching into my own stomach like a cold metal hand. “Oh, fucking hell!”

  Someone tapped my shoulder and I jumped, my eyes widening. David pushed a skinny and frozen finger to my lips. With his long coat flapping in the wind like a broken black wing, he quietly stepped up to Nick and threw his hands over Nick’s eyes. “Boo.”

  Nick spun around and his face flushed dark, then he grabbed David’s coat collar, jerking him hard. “You fucking lunatic!” he roared, shoving David back with brute force. “I thought you’d jumped.”

  David stumbled, but didn’t fall. He laughed that strange laugh of his, and gave a little bow.

  “You wanna play?” Nick tipped his head, his voice shaking. “Yeah? Uh, Davie, you wanna toy with me?” He lunged for David, and I watched, frozen with fascination and fear, as he lifted David right off the ground and held him up close to the slope.

  There was so much fury and madness between them, I couldn’t believe they’d been friends for years and hadn’t killed each other.

  Hanging in Nick’s hands, a few inches off the ground, so close to the water, David held on for a moment, but then flinched and his eyes filled with heat. He whispered something, something I couldn’t catch in the wind, and Nick slowly set him down.

  Aunt Fran was wrong. David was the one with the power over Nick.

  “You’re cold,” Nick said, walking by me. “Let’s go.”

  David was already ahead of us, walking in long strides, whistling.

  “What’s wrong?” Nick nudged my shoulder with his, being playful.

  I gave him a serious look and walked faster. They were both crazy.

  “We just—it’s our way of letting out steam, that’s all.” Nick touched my arm, slowing me down. “Hey…” I looked over my shoulder at him. “You’re mad at me?” he asked, tugging on my coat sleeve. “Come on, O’Reilly, say something.”

  I watched his face, that stunning face I dreamed of each night. What could I say? I had nothing to offer. No magic. No experience. No talent. I could never keep up with them. Could never be as interesting or daring. Couldn’t even say a full sentence without stuttering my words. But I had this longing inside me, this well of love I yearned so much to share with him. Couldn’t he see it when he looked deep into my eyes?

  “Why’d you follow me down there?” He tossed his head at the jagged rocks.

  There was a weight in his question. Why had I followed him?

  “Listen to me,” he said, grazing his fingertip against my jawline, “It’s no good for you. I like to stand real close to the edge. But that’s not where you belong.”

  “You—ou’re wrong.” I grabbed his hand, and staring right into his eyes, slipped his cold strong thumb into my mouth, his skin tasting like the river. I pressed my tongue against the curve of his thumb, pushing it up against the roof of my mouth. Nick’s lips parted open and a cloud of lust moved across his eyes. I sucked on the tip of his thumb, watching the blood gather in his pale cheeks. Could he feel it now? My hunger for him. I belonged on the ledge, too.

  Nick tumbled forward a step, as though his knees had given out, and pressed his forehead to mine. “Oh, God, O’Reilly.” Pushing his thumb deeper into my mouth, he kissed the corner of my lips, his tongue skimming the edge of my mouth, and I suckled harder, drunk on the saltiness of his skin. I could feel his chest like a wall of muscle against the palm of my hand. The height and width of him was something I couldn’t wrap myself around, but that would never stop me from trying.

  Then Nick broke free and picked up some snow, throwing it into the back of his coat. He let out a strong breath, eyed me over, and walked off.

  Why did he resist us so much?

  What would it take for Nick to fall in love with me?

  Chapter 9

  My mother stood by the open door, clutching her robe tighter at the neck. “We don’t have a gift for him or anything.”

  “Oh, no, that’s not expected or even necessary.” Johan’s booming voice echoed through our depressing apartment. He squeezed my shoulder. “What do you say, Red?”

  It was Sunday night, Boone’s thirteenth birthday, and Johan had come to invite me over for cake. After I followed him into the Lund home, I couldn’t remember if I’d even said good night to Mom. In the Lund apartment there was a buzzing energy, almost like I was stepping into a beehive. There were blond kids running around everywhere. Family, I supposed. Cousins.

  “Take your coat off, son.” Johan patted my shoulder and walked away. At the end of the carpeted hall, many voices were spilling out of the kitchen and I knew there were at least ten or more people in there. “Come on,” Johan said, turning to look at me. “We’re gonna have Boone blow out his candles soon.”

  I hadn’t seen Nick since I’d walked out of his car three days ago. I’d caught him peeking into my bedroom porthole window one night, his blond hair reflecting moon beams into the glass, but I’d pretended to sleep in my cold basement tomb. Something about my feelings for him terrified me. At times I couldn’t recall what it was like to live a day without thinking of him. Without fantasizing about winning his heart. I was neglecting my homework and reading, and hadn’t done any real exercise in days.

  Now I was seconds away from seeing his face again.

  After I hung my coat, I headed for the kitchen, but Lene tugged on my sleeve. She was with another little girl, this one, dark-haired, and they were both giggling into their tiny hands. “Give it to him,” the friend coaxed Lene. Lene pushed a paper into my hand and ran off screaming like she’d handed me her own bloody kidney. The friend waited. I unfolded the note. You smell good, it said. I smiled at the friend and she rushed off after Lene somewhere in the apartment. I smelled my sleeve. I couldn’t
smell what they meant.

  I didn’t wear any cologne. My soap was Irish Springs. Nothing fancy.

  The whole Lund clan had gathered in the kitchen. I was introduced to aunts and uncles—one had flown in from Norway for Boone’s special day. His name was Sven and he was Helga’s younger brother. Nick looked a lot like him. Sven didn’t speak much English.

  But then again, neither did I.

  Sven shoved a glass into my hand, a short and thick glass full of yellowish water that smelled of lemon and some herbs I couldn’t name. He motioned for me to drink and then laughed, slapping his thigh. Everyone was loud and happy. It was warm in the kitchen and after I’d sipped the deliciously strong drink, someone told me it was home made. Johan’s Aquavit. I knew I’d never forget the taste. I moved my tongue around as if to imprint my taste buds with it.

  Nick slid the patio door open, stepping inside. His eyes locked on mine, and I flushed all over. I took another gulp of my drink, the alcohol heating up my chest. I coughed a little and Johan laughed as he slapped my back. I felt enclosed. Safe. Surrounded with happy people.

  A woman, tall and broad-shouldered with short blond hair, was leading Nick to the back of the kitchen where the stove was. They talked over pots and pans and I watched Nick take a big yellow sponge cake out of the oven. He glazed it with a gold syrup, before sprinkling it with nuts. The woman kept ruffling his hair and nodding, while Nick smiled like a little boy, obviously enjoying her approval.

  “That’s Lene,” Johan said, close to my ear. “Senior.” His breath smelled of my drink. It was nice. “She’s my sister. Nicolai’s godmother.”

  I was comforted that he should have such a wonderful godmother.

  “Why don’t you get Boone, please? He’s downstairs, up to God knows what.”

  In the basement, I found Boone wrestling JF into submission on the black leather couch. “Red!” he said, releasing JF, whose face was slowly returning to its original color, “you’re here!”

  I was overwhelmed with affection for Boone and I didn’t know why I suddenly wanted to hug him, but I did. I pulled him into my arms and squeezed him tight. “How a—are you?” I said, letting him go.

  “Oh, my God,” JF mocked, “you guys are such fags!” He ran up the stairs.

  “I’m no fag,” Boone said, his jaw hardening. In his white jogging pants and little muscle shirt, he looked like a miniature wrestler.

  I backed up to the stairs. “It’s ca—ake time.”

  Boone walked by me and up a few steps, but then looked over his shoulder. “Uh, what is a fag anyway?”

  “It’s a bad word for being gay.”

  “Gay?”

  I tipped my head, thinking at the speed of light. “Maybe you cou—ould ask your brother,” I said. Boone would probably forget anyway.

  But he shot into the kitchen and went directly up to Nick. “What’s gay?” he asked loudly.

  A few eyes turned my way. What? Was I the definition?

  “Um,” Nick said, a sly smile curling his lips. He gave me a quick, but deep look and laughed.

  Helga ushered everyone to the table and forced Boone into a chair. “Don’t ask questions like that on your birthday.” She tossed her chin up at Nick, her long blond ponytail bouncing. “Well, what are you waiting for? Bring the cake over.” Her icy tone made Nick blush, and around me, people shifted in their seats or talked quietly.

  “Here you go,” Nick said uneasily, setting the cake before Boone.

  “You used a lot of nuts,” Helga snapped, while Johan lit the candles.

  “Well. I like nuts. I like ‘em a lot.”

  “Stille,” Johan hissed, giving his son a hard look. “Don’t be a smart ass.”

  They all sang happy birthday in their mother tongue and soon everyone was loud again.

  Later, in the living room, Boone opened gifts. I was feeling loose from the Aquavit, smiling lazily, watching him tear through the paper. I’d turned sixteen in July. I’d gotten a phone call from Dad and a card with twenty dollars enclosed in it from Mom.

  Aunt Fran had sent me a book. It was Johnny Get Your Gun, but I hadn’t read it yet. The whole book was about some soldier who was in a coma or something.

  Then Nick was standing next to me by the living room doorway. I didn’t look at him, but felt his presence envelop me. “Can we go over to your place or something?” He was already heading for our coats. He said something in Norwegian to Johan, who was sitting in the Lazyboy with a coffee, and his father nodded discreetly, shooing us off.

  Outside, it was snowing. I skipped down the steps, the cold air reviving me.

  “Will your mother freak out?” In the path, Nick carried our coats in his hands. “I mean—it’s just for a few minutes. I told my dad we were getting some chips at the store.”

  I thought about it for a second. It didn’t matter what my mother said. She’d probably be sleeping anyway. I wanted Nick Lund inside my cold basement room.

  * * * *

  I sat on my stiff narrow twin bed, over my worn blue blanket.

  Meanwhile, Nick walked around my room, touching my belongings. Every object, trinket, or book, his long fingers grazed, I loved a little more. Minutes ago, we’d crept into the dark apartment and down the stairs without waking my mother. Nick was being quiet, almost contemplative. He went around my bedroom as though he was visiting a historical monument.

  There wasn’t much to see here. A bed. A bookcase filled with books. My desk, the one my father had found after they’d renovated the school five years ago and left some furniture at the side of the road. It was meant for an elementary student and when I sat at it, I always felt like a giant. Someone had scratched Mr. Langelier eats his buggers into the old wooden top.

  The Aquavit was wearing off and I was antsy. Would Nick kiss me? Put his hands on me? I wanted him to be my first. All he needed to do, was ask.

  “That’s kind of creepy,” he said, his voice sounding lower in this room. He was staring at the large golden crucifix hanging on my back wall, by the window. “You used to be an altar boy, right?” He shot me a quick glance. “I think I remember seeing you at Christmas or something.”

  I’d stand by Father Neil at Christmas Mass in a cloud of incense and try not to cough the whole time. I’d stare at the statues, Christ on the cross, and pray I’d wake up “normal” the next day.

  Then “normal” lost its appeal and I slowly stopped praying.

  Nick picked a novel out of the bookcase. He flipped through the book, Wuthering Heights, and frowned. He was definitely my Heathcliff. “I wish I could read,” Nick said without looking at me. He shut the book and gently placed it on the shelf. “I mean—I can, but it’s really hard. Takes a long time to make out the sentences and stuff. That’s why I failed high school.”

  I wanted to tell him it didn’t matter. But his vulnerability made me frantic with affection and I couldn’t make a sound.

  Nick wasn’t looking at me, but at the floor. “My mother thinks it’s ‘cause I don’t make the effort. Every birthday, she gives me a book.” He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “She just doesn’t believe me, I guess. You’d think I’d lie about something like that?”

  I could see how Helga, being so proud and perfect, could think that of him. I could see it, but I couldn’t accept it.

  “But you have it tougher than I do,” Nick said, sitting on the edge of my bed. Your mother doesn’t take care of you. Your old man is never around.” Nick was fiddling with a string of the blanket. “What happened to your aunt, the one who used to live here sometimes? Fran, right? She was something else.” He moved a little closer to me on the bed. “Look, O’Reilly, I know you don’t say much ‘cause of that stutter and all, but it doesn’t bother me.” He briefly touched my hand and then tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “So…you can talk to me. Tell me things. You know, whatever’s on your mind.”

  My mind was so dirty, I couldn’t share any of it without leaving a stain on him.

  “Don
’t be scared to talk to me.”

  I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t scared. Only too shy.

  “Man,” he said, after a while, “the way you look at me sometimes. It’s like…you see something no one else sees.”

  I knew I’d stutter badly, but I couldn’t keep quiet anymore. Had to know. “Was Da—avid yo—our b—boyfriend?”

  Nick shook his head. “No, Davie and me, we used to kiss sometimes, but we haven’t done that for a while. I still care about him though.” He smiled a little. “See, the thing is, Davie’s like a race car—you know? Like one of those Italian models. He’s built for speed and I don’t really ride like that. See what I mean?”

  Did he even know David was in love with him? I didn’t want to bring that up. “And, and d—do you ha—ave a girlfriend?” I was having so much trouble getting the words out, my frustration building and building inside. “I mean—are yo—ou g—gay or, or not?”

  He hesitated, wetting his lips and searching the blanket with his gaze. “I don’t connect with people that way. I mean—in a boy, girl, black and white thing.” He was embarrassed, his cheeks flushing darker. “I get turned on by people…not what’s in their pants.” Then he looked up and chuckled. “Well, what’s in their pants is okay by me, too, but I don’t go for that first. Why? Is that important to you?”

  It was my turn to shake my head, no.

  “It’s called being bisexual. It’s not something that goes away. I mean—you can’t change it. It’s like being gay. Do you get it?” Nick moved closer again, until our knees touched. “What else do you wanna know?”

  A million things. But I’d settle for this one. “Are you…lea—leaving with David?”

  Nick leaned into me, stopping close. “I’m torn, O’Reilly. Real torn. Like, split right down the middle. Been that way all my life.” He sighed, his breath warming my lips. “I wanna get outta here so fucking badly and Davie’s got something lined up, but it’s a shit thing and I have to watch out for him, do you understand?”

  “And…me?” I’d never asked anyone that question. I’d never dared to until now.