Page 9 of Beyond The Maples
"I asked around, Maple. No one has seen him. I'm sorry," he says softly, dipping his head.
I sigh, nodding. I knew that's what he was going to say, but tears still sting at the backs of myeyes.
"I'm sorry, Mae. Come here." He puts his own mug on the table before pulling me in closer.
I resist at first, but his strong arms keep pulling until I relent. He puts my mug down and I allow him to scoop me up. I lay with my face against his chest.
Suddenly, I'm overcome with disappointment that feels a lot like grief. A sob threatens to burst from me. He must feel my body stiffen because his hand brushes my back in soothing circles. The tender act breaks me, and I let out a silent, slow sob, trying to hold on to some semblance of my dignity and failing. I bury my face deeper and grip his shirt as I try to hide my tears.
It strikes me how long it's been since anyone has held me like this, comforted me. I rarely allow myself to feel this despair, mostly out of fear that it will consume me if I'm not careful. I watched it consume dad; I won't allow myself the same indulgence. Willow and Linden need me.
I've always felt things in overwhelming waves, feelings that threaten to take me under. I hate it. It feels a lot like weakness in a place like this, so it's easier to box it up.
Until my best friend shows me an inch of kindness and breaks the box wide open. Damn him.
"Shhhh, it's ok, nothing has changed, we'll keep looking," he soothes through my soundless sobs. I'm pretending he can't tell I'm crying.
Relief hits me as my body slowly releases tension.
"I'm sorry," I sniffle. Pulling away slightly, I busy myself pulling at a thread unraveling from my sleeve. "I feel silly. I know he's not coming back. Sometimes I just allow myself to think maybe...." The whisper dies on my lips.
Deacon puts a finger under my chin, lifting my face to his.
"Hey, it's not silly. It's not silly to wish one of your parents was here. They would be so proud of you, Maple. It's ok to feel things sometimes, you know." His eyes bounce over my face. The sincerity in his tone is too much. I feel overwhelmed by his thoughtful perceptiveness, too exposed.
I break the tension before I do something stupid, like kiss his big, beautiful face.
"You didn't have time for a haircut on the road? You look like an animal." I say while wiping all the tears and leftover emotion off my face.
"You are such a little.... You told me you liked my hair long. You said it made the red stand out, and my eyes pop," he scoffs, smiling at the ceiling and raking his hand through his hair.
"I did? I might have been trying to make you feel better... because you look insane," I laugh.
Deacon releases me, grabbing his mug again, chuckling.
"You are the worst, you know that. No one is as mean to me as you are. Remind me why you're my best friend?" He raises his eyebrow at me.
My eyes narrow with feigned challenge.
"You once said I keep you grounded. I keep your big, inflated ego from swallowing you whole." I joke, leaning back and throwing my legs over him.
I often wonder if this is normal bestfriend behavior. It always seems like we float the line. Something more, but not quite. At the end of the day though, I don't actually care. As long as he's here.
"So.... How's she doing?" he nods towards the closed bedroom door.
"About as good as she can be. The meds seem to work. We've had to space them out, but she had a dose not long ago, so she's well right now. Hopefully these dust clouds ease up soon, so we can worry about her lungs less." I shrug.
Deacon looks away, worried. Willow is practically his family, too. He's known her since she was born. We both cried the first time she got sick, as we listened to her lungs fill up with fluid and prayed to every god we could think of as she struggled to breathe through the night.
"Is there anything I can do?" he asks.
I shake my head while taking another sip of my gross tea.
"I don't think so. We're doing everything we can.Unless," I hesitate, "you know of any material you guys might have picked up I can make into a makeshift air filter?" I say this, scrunching up my face.
"Maple..." he warns. Deacon is many things, but rarely does he want to break the rules. His family doesn't see the government's restrictions as something thatshould bend. The latest slogan from the Council,"Reuse and recycle to rehabilitate the land,"is plastered everywhere for all to see. They truly believe that if we can all hold out long enough, the Gods will see our worthiness and either grant us the magic or repair the land needed to grow a turnip or two.
I have my doubts the Gods care at all whether I use some extra materials for an air filter, but here we are.
