The sunset glow of the prayer candles flickered across his long face. Lean as shadows in twilight, the young man rose to his scuffed boots. Henriette watched him from the pew, wringing a tissue in her hands. He crossed himself and combed his inky curls from his forehead then strode towards the exit.
Henriette’s mother swatted her on the leg as the priest instructed his small congregation to stand. It was the memorial service for her father, his picture propped up by flower arrangements at the altar. Dead for nearly ten years, Henriette had never seen the point in such traditions. Her mother said it was to keep his memory alive. Henriette never had that problem. She thought of her father every day.
“Ashes to ashes…” the priest droned.
Henriette’s younger sister snapped her gum. Their mother gripped her upper arm and held out her palm for the moody teenager to spit it out. While they were preoccupied, Henriette peeked over her shoulder. She was sure she knew him from somewhere.
The young man zipped up his brown leather jacket. With one last look at the picture by the altar, he turned and pushed open the door. Snow swirled into the sanctuary. Henriette's mother bristled beside her.
“Rude. Can’t they tell we are in mourning here?” She grumbled as they were instructed to kneel.
Henriette wanted to say they had been in mourning for a decade and was tired of being sad but didn’t. She was too distracted trying to remember where she had seen his face. The long nose, soft jawline and full lips, the face of a sad puppy dog. She barely registered that the priest had dismissed them.
Her mother rose, gripping her pouting sister by the wrist and striding towards the priest to speak to him. She knew that her mother expected her to follow but something in Henriette wouldn’t quiet. She had seen him somewhere, he looked too familiar.
Henriette followed her mother out into the aisle but then swiftly turned her heel and walked towards the exit. As she slipped outside with a few other parishioners, she tugged the black lace veil from her head. The snowfall was picking up, dusting the desert around the red clay monastery.
The dirt parking lot on the other side of the street was emptying of vehicles and the strange young man was nowhere to be seen. Henriette perched her hands on her hips and huffed, stopping in the middle of street as she searched her brain. It was better than having to think about her dead father, fall into that deep heaviness that always loomed after a memorial service.
“Henriette!” Her mother squawked as she walked out of the church, her round face red with frustration.
Henriette grimaced as she turned towards her, “Sorry, mama. I just-“
Before she could finish her sentence, a motorcycle whipped around the tight corner beside the church. Henriette didn’t have a chance to get out of the way and the blind corner had hidden her from the rider. The motorcycle plowed into her, sending her to the other side of the street.
As she flew through the air, Henriette’s brain dug up the recollection of the young man. A wall in a garden, heavy stones being built up one on top of the other. And her father, grinning at them as he poured water over his sweating face. The boy laughing as he splashed him.
As she landed, she hit her head on the curb and didn’t remember anything else.
Henriette woke in a chilled hospital bed. She blinked up at the ceiling, listening to the bustle of the ER outside the door of her private room. A machine beeped mechanically next to the bed. Even before she turned onto her side, head spinning, she knew he was there.
She blinked in the dim light. He sat by the door, bent over with his elbows perched on his thighs and shadowed face resting on his fists. She shifted beneath the antiseptic sheets, still wearing her black dress from the memorial. It was in dire need of dry cleaning by now. Henriette folded her hands on her pillow, laying her cheek on the back side of her hand. She studied him till he glanced over, a dark brow lifting in interest.
“Weldon Shepard,” she murmured loud enough only for him to hear, "It only took you ten years to come home."
Weldon sat up. The cold light from the hallway illuminated the messy black curls shivering above his shoulders. A nervous tick played quietly at his full lips as his eyes darted away from hers. She noticed the motorcycle helmet by his chair.
“Was it you who hit me?” she almost laughed.
He grimaced as he stood, “It’s not funny. Your mother is threatening to sue me.”
Henriette rolled her eyes and settled on her back, “Of course she is.”
“Will she?”
She snorted and peeked over at him, “Why? You scared?”
Weldon shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, “No-“
“Well you should be, my mother is a hell of a lady. Hell being the key word,” she sighed, “But don’t worry. I won’t let her. For old time’s sake.”
Weldon shifted his weight awkwardly and stared down at his boots, “So you remember me.”
Henriette’s heart thudded into her stomach, “You could say that. It took me a minute to recognize you. You’re taller. And your hair…”
“I’ve been down south, working on a cattle farm. I keep it long now”
Henriette nodded and pursed her lips. She managed to catch his dark eyes and hold them, “You still build walls for people?”
Weldon’s mouth parted but he didn’t reply. He coughed into his fist and looked away. It bothered Henriette but she couldn’t call him a coward. He was standing there in her hospital room when he could have run. Like he had done ten years earlier.
“You know it wasn’t your fault.” She blurted out.
“Actually it was, I was going too fast around that corner and I should have been looking for pedestrians, I’m just glad you are ok-“
“That’s not-“ her voice rose in volume but the effort made her throbbing head hurt more, “That’s not what I meant.” Henriette’s mother could be heard out in the hallway arguing with a doctor. Henriette only had a few more minutes alone with him. She had to tell him, it might be the last time she’d see him, “It’s not your fault what happened to my father.”
Her mother burst into the room, clicking on the overhead light. The fluorescence violently tore into her senses, making the blood hum through her ears. Henriette squeezed her eyes shut and groaned.
“You’re awake? How long has she been awake, why didn’t you say anything?” Her mother ripped into Weldon.
“Because I was talking to him.” Henriette ran her hand over her eyes and blinked numbly. Gingerly, she rose from the sheets.
Her mother glared back and forth between them, narrowing her green eyes in confusion, “How do you know this punk?”
Henriette shook her head and sighed. She peered up at Weldon. 579Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvmYN1zBhyj
He stared intently at his boots as he replied, “We’re old friends.”
“Friends?” Her mother screeched.
“Something like that,” Henriette replied quietly, the pang of the word striking her deep, “What did the doctor say?”
The emergency room doctor who was seeing to her entered the room. She reviewed Henriette’s tests and checked her over, then deemed it safe for her to go home as long as she was being looked after.
After signing out at the front desk, Henriette’s sister Louise met them where she was smoking in front of the hospital. Their mother stood off to the side, her arms crossed tight over her emaciated chest. Her glare was still honed in on him but the harsh line of her thin lips had loosened.
“Well, I suppose if he is your friend, I won’t press charges,” she conceded, “But your sister is going to have to watch you tonight. I’m working the third shift. What a day.”
Louise groaned but didn’t argue under her mother’s hard stare.
“Thank you, mama,” Henriette reached out and gave her a hug, holding her for a moment longer, “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“Well, no thanks to him.” She grouched jerking her chin towards Weldon.
Henriette wanted to agree out loud, no thanks to him in more ways than one. Weldon nodded, his eyes dancing away towards the parking lot where he had parked his bike. Their mother got onto a bus as it pulled to the curb, insisting that Louise taking Henriette home in their car immediately instead of dropping her off at work.
Louise’s phone rang and she meandered towards their shared Toyota as she talked to her newest boyfriend. Henriette turned towards her first boyfriend where he stood awkwardly under the streetlight. Tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear, she stared at his face.
She tried to see the eighteen year old boy who had been her first kiss. In the rock garden behind their old home before her father had died, the desert sun dripping along the horizon. Cacti shadows running long over the carefully combed sand. Weldon’s lanky shadow curving on the honey brown ground as he had leaned towards her, hands cupping her neck and mouth warm from the cinnamon cider they had been drinking. It was beside the wall her father had built with Weldon. So sturdy, Henriette had no doubt that it still stood even though they had moved soon after the accident.
Weldon’s jaw tightened as he finally met her searching gaze. The lines on his weary face softened, “I think about that night every day.”
“Me too.”
“Henny, I’m just- I’m so very sorry-“
The lights from the oncoming traffic blaring in their faces as the truck dipped into the other lane. A stupid mistake, Weldon had been changing the radio. They were safe but her father had been catapulted through the windshield. Weldon didn’t even come to the funeral.
“Stop.” Henriette held up a trembling hand, “Please, I told you. It wasn’t your fault, it was an accident. You didn’t mean for him to die. But-“ She caught her breath as the tears threatened to overflow, “You did run away. For that you should be sorry.”
Weldon released a long held breath, “What can I do to make it up to you?”
A car door slammed behind them and without an explanation, selfish and irresponsible Louise drove away. Henriette scoffed, almost not surprised, “Well, you could give me a ride home.”
Weldon smirked, the first sign of a smile she had seen on him all night. This time, he was the one holding her gaze, “Suppose I owe it to you.”
“Yes, you do owe me that much, Weldon Shepard.”
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