Beastly: Lindy’s Diary Page 6

  And now, I’m awake in my room, thinking, remembering.

  I got Adrian a present. I had Magda go out to buy it, a bound volume of Hans Christian Andersen’s stories. I know he’s too old for fairy tales, of course, but I thought he might appreciate them anyway. Several of the stories involve transformation, like “The Ugly Duckling.” But I think the one he’ll like best is “The Nightingale.” That’s always been my favorite. It’s about an emperor who prefers the singing of a gaudy mechanical bird over a real nightingale. But then, when the emperor is dying, the song of the plain-looking real bird restores his life.

  Of course, Adrian isn’t plain-looking. Still, I think the message of goodness over beauty is a valuable one. I wish the world knew it.

  I’ve never been so excited about Christmas before!

  December 25

  Christmas Day! I woke early and ran downstairs to see the beautiful tree before anyone else. But Adrian was awake and beat me to it.

  Even though it was morning, snow had fallen on top of the greenhouse, so the light was dim. Adrian had lit the tree, and it shone in the darkness. We stood and watched the lights twinkle for a few minutes. Then we thought to check our stockings.

  As we suspected, some secret Santa had filled them with candy and little books of poetry.

  Then Will and Magda came downstairs, and we went up and had breakfast before opening our oth

  er presents. We wanted to make it last longer.

  But after breakfast, we did open them. Will loved the gift Adrian and I chose for him, new speakers so NPR would be even clearer. For Magda, we’d chosen sweaters and earrings, and Adrian asked his father for an extra bonus check to send home to her family far away. Will bought us a chess set and promised to teach us how to play.

  Then Adrian picked up my gift. “Oh, boy,” he said, feeling it. “It’s a book.”

  “The best kind of gift?” I said.

  He smiled, and I noticed again how lovely his eyes were, how unexpected the color against his strange face. If only everyone could see him as I did, see how beautiful he was.

  “The best gift is having you here,” he said. “I was so afraid you’d leave last night. I would have let you go.”

  I shivered at the thought of it. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I held my breath as he fumbled with the paper. His hands aren’t like other people’s, and sometimes, little tasks are difficult for him. Still, I didn’t offer to help. I didn’t want to embarrass him.

  Finally, he opened it and read my inscription. I had written:

  Adrian King and Hans Christian Andersen—two men who taught me about magic!

  He looked away, saying, “That’s so sweet.”

  I wanted to read “The Nightingale” right away, or “The Little Match Girl,” because it was a Christmas story, but Adrian laughed and said there was time for reading, plenty of time, and told me to open his gift for me.

  It was then I realized Will and Magda had disappeared. I could hear Magda upstairs, singing Christmas carols while she cooked, and Will had said something about trying out his new speakers. We were alone.

  Adrian reached up to a high branch of the tree and found a small box I hadn’t noticed, and suddenly, I was terrified. Was it a ring? Did he mean to ask me to marry him? I couldn’t say yes. I’m only sixteen, and I can’t commit to this, to anything right now.

  And yet, I don’t want our time together to be over, either. If he asked me and I said no, it would be all awkward with him. I didn’t want that. I wanted everything to stay the same, perfect.

  Throat clenching, I fumbled with the paper almost as much as Adrian had.

  I opened the box, and I could breathe again.

  It wasn’t a ring.

  Inside the box was a tiny pendant in the shape of a rose, silver or maybe platinum petals, with one tiny diamond like a dewdrop. It hung on a silvery chain.

  I sighed. “It’s so beautiful,” I told him, immediately removing it from its box so I could see it more clearly.

  He said he’d offer to put it on me, but probably, I’d do better myself. He looked sad when he said that.

  “I love it,” I said as I fastened it on my neck. “Thank you.”

  “I wanted you to have something to remember me by, even after you leave.”

  And suddenly, I was hugging him, assuring him I never intended to leave.

  “You will,” he said.

  “I won’t.” I felt his heart beating, my chest against his. It was warm in his arms, and I wanted it to be true, wanted this moment, this day, this lifetime-in-a-year to last forever. I wished nothing would change and I’d always be happy just to be here. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. He’d take it the wrong way, or maybe the right way, and I couldn’t hurt him. And then, Will and Magda came back downstairs, and the moment was over. Still, I squeezed him harder, saying, “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

  Adrian pressed his face against my hair and said, “Me too. God, me too.”

  December 26

  I just had another weird dream. Again, there was the fairy girl, who looked just like that Kendra Hilferty. Now she was dressed for winter fun in a green velvet dress with white fur collar and cuffs, like the Ghost of Christmas Present. Again, she sang. This time, it was to the tune of “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.”

  Things aren’t always as they seem.

  So—voilà—you have this dream.

  Adrian is a great guy

  If you’ll just give him a try

  See him through much different eyes

  You will have a big surprise.

  If you trust yourself to love

  You will be in heaven above!

  And then, she started to dance.

  Like a Rockette.

  And then, she turned into a whole LINE of Kendra Rockettes, kicking and singing:

  Please give Adrian a chance!

  So we can finish up this dance!

  And they disappeared—poof—as I awakened.

  Was my subconscious telling me to stay with Adrian? Of course, that’s what I want. But what I want hasn’t always been right. I mean, what I’ve wanted all these years was to fret and worry and try to care for a father who will never get better, to sacrifice what I want in the process. And maybe Adrian is just another substitute for my father, another someone who needs me.

  So my subconscious might not have the best judgment.

  And, um, why is my subconscious showing me dancing Kendra Hilfertys?

  Answer: My subconscious is nuts!

  Still, I know I love Adrian. He’s kind to me and good and decent. I love his roses, and I love that he really will do anything for me, even read poetry. I love his courage and his sweetness, too. And, of course, unlike my father, Adrian is nice to me and tries to make me happy.

  I’m wearing the necklace he gave me. I know I’ll never take it off, no matter what.

  December 26, Later

  I had barely slept when Magda shook me awake. “Come,” she said, “we are going on a trip.”

  A trip? My thoughts were all muddled, and for a minute, I wondered if it was a big lie. I’ve lived with these people for five months, but maybe they were just gaining my trust and now they’re going to ship me to South America and sell me. I thought about running, but I was too tired.

  Magda led me downstairs, where Adrian and Will were waiting.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Trust me?” he asked.

  And yes, I did. I trusted him. I wasn’t used to trusting people, but I did.

  “We’re going someplace great,” he said, “someplace you’ll really like. At least, I hope you will.”

  He held out my coat and gloves. I put them on. He, too, had on a heavy coat and a scarf, hiding his face. As we walked around to the back door of the house, he held my arm lightly, and I trusted him.

  There was a limo out back. A freakin’ stretch limo!

  “Are we going to the airpo
rt?” I asked, thinking of South America again.

  Adrian shook his head. “I’m taking you to see snow. Like you wanted. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”

  Adrian gestured at my seat belt. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

  Obediently, I fastened it, then just as obediently, I slumped over and pretended to sleep.

  I felt so warm beside him.

  I remembered that, a few days earlier, I’d complained that I wanted to go out in the snow. Was he taking me someplace where we could play outside? Would he really do anything I asked, just because he loved me so much?

  I knew he wasn’t asleep, but he thought I was. We crossed a bridge, then another. He took off his scarf and gloves. (The limo had this screen between us and a driver, so he couldn’t see us.) I could feel him stroking my hair.

  I snuck a peek out. The sky w

  as starting to get light, and soon, I stopped seeing gray buildings and instead saw tall, snow-covered trees like on a Christmas card. Adrian had fallen asleep, finally, and I was tired, so tired, and so comfortable that I did too.

  I woke, maybe hours later, and everything had changed. Now, there were not only trees but hills covered in snow. I shook Adrian awake.

  “Where are we?” I asked. “Are we still in the United States?”

  He laughed. “Still in New York.” Then he told me he was taking me to see real snow, not just gray, city slush. “Where we’re going, we can go outside and roll in it.”

  No more sleep. I’d never been outside New York City before, but now I saw farmhouses, decorated with bows for the holidays, even silos and cows and horses. People really lived here—on farms like in the Little House books! I saw that the hills were mountains now, looming high above everything. I wanted to go out and run in all that glorious snow.

  Finally, we pulled off the main road and onto a side street, then in front of a huge, beautiful house surrounded by snow-whitened pines. Adrian told me that this was where we were staying, that it was his father’s house, where he used to come when he was a kid.

  The trees here all looked like Christmas trees.

  I couldn’t believe it. I jumped from the car, even though I was still in my nightgown and the coat, and ran around and spun and danced and threatened to make snow angels before Adrian and Magda urged me to put on warmer clothes.

  And they had brought warmer clothes—a whole big suitcase full. Adrian said we can stay all winter! No one else is here, and we’ll be able to make snowmen and skate on the lake and curl up by the fireplace and read!

  I have never been so happy!

  December 26, Even Later

  We’ve been outside, making a snowman(!) and having a snowball fight. We made snow angels and fed bread crusts to the birds. I saw a cardinal and lots of crows. This place is a wonderland.

  But one thing is bothering me.

  When we first got here, Adrian told me he used to come here with his father, when he was a kid.

  “That was before he started acting like if he missed a single day of work, he’d be replaced,” he said.

  And then, he said IT:

  “After that, I started going skiing with my friends during spring break.”

  Friends? Spring break? Adrian had had friends? He’d gone to school? How?

  That must have meant he’d been normal once, that h

  e hadn’t always looked this way. Yet I know he said he’d been this way as a child. He said his father couldn’t take him to a baseball game.

  What had happened to him? And why didn’t he want me to know the truth?

  He changed the subject, and we’ve had a wonderful day together. Still, I wonder what it is he doesn’t want me to know.

  December 30

  Four amazing days! I feel like I’ve crammed my entire lost childhood into four amazing days! We’ve snow-shoed! We made a fort! We rode a snowmobile and made s’mores in front of the fire. And today, when we came back from all of it, the UPS guy had left a package on our doorstep.

  Adrian lit up when he saw it. “I was waiting for this.”

  He let me open the box. Skates! Two pairs—one for each of us. Mine were pure white leather with shiny silver blades. They are maybe the most beautiful things I’ve ever owned!

  “I tried to talk the others into it,” Adrian said, “but they were wusses about it.”

  “It’s, like, three degrees out there!” Will said.

  “It’s nine degrees,” Adrian corrected.

  “Yeah. Big difference,” Will said.

  So it was just the two of us, alone at the frozen lake at the bottom of the hill. When we walked down, Adrian had already cleared the snow from one big section. It shone in the late afternoon sun, and I felt like Jo March in Little Women.

  “Is it safe?” I asked, remembering that Amy March had fallen through the ice.

  “I’d never take you anyplace that wasn’t safe.”

  I looked at him—at his beautiful blue eyes—and I knew he meant every word. My heart stuttered a little, but then I turned away.

  I confessed I hadn’t skated in years, and then only at ice-skating rinks with railings and smooth surfaces (and horrible, rented blue plastic skates). The pond had bumps and ruts where snow had frozen to the ice. There was, for sure, no Zamboni here.

  “I’ll show you how,” Adrian said. “The railings are just a crutch anyway.”

  “Some people need crutches,” I said.

  “Not you, Lindy. Come on. Take my hand.”

  He had no gloves on. I’d never held his hand without gloves. I was a little scared, more of the skating than that, but I smelled the pine trees and felt the cold stinging my face. I wanted to go and use my pretty skates. Finally, I took Adrian’s hand. Together, we stepped out onto the ice.

  “Just walk,” he said. “Hold out your arms, and if you feel like you’re going to fall, it helps to bend your knees a little.”

  I did as he said, and to my amazement, it all came back to me, and I was a six-year-old girl, skating at Prospect Park. When Adrian realized I didn’t need him to hold my hand anymore, he skated backward in front of me, watching.

  “Isn’t this better than some fake ice at a rink?” he said.

  There it was again. Had he skated at a rink before? Something else to indicate he’d been normal once.

  But I said, “Much better.” A flock of Canada geese flew over in a V. “You don’t see that at a rink.”

  “Race you!” he yelled, and he turned and started skating faster, so fast I couldn’t keep up. When he came around behind me, I said, “Let’s hold hands again.”

  Obediently, he took mine. “I like holding hands.”

  “Me too. But can I ask you something, something personal?”

  “Maybe.”

  I took a deep breath, uncertain. I didn’t want to insult him. But I wanted to know him, the real him. “You haven’t . . . always looked like this, have you?”

  He didn’t answer, and so I started to list the things. He’d mentioned skiing, having friends,

  going to school, skating rinks.

  Finally, he said, “No, I haven’t always been this way. Does it matter?”

  “I just wondered . . .” I wanted to ask him how it happened, what it was like for him. “It must have been hard.”

  “It was hard. That’s why I don’t like to talk about it. It was like everything I thought was true suddenly wasn’t. My father, people I thought were . . . they weren’t there anymore. They couldn’t deal.”

  I nodded. “Like when my mother died. Everything changed.”

  “Exactly.” He looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to talk about it because it . . .”

  “Hurts?”

  He nodded. “I should have known you’d understand.”

  And then, he dropped my hand and skated, lightning fast, around the ice. This time, he didn’t call to me to join him. Had I offended him, insulted him with my question? I couldn’t tell. He went around, faster and faster, and I remembered what he’d
said about the tiger in the cage. Maybe sometimes he just needed to run. I watched him, his power and grace, and even though he might be freakish in some ways, in others, he was so, so beautiful, so full of life and energy.

  He went around three times, not looking back, just flying, but after the third time, he fell back in step. He didn’t even seem out of breat

  h.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For . . . asking you about something you didn’t want to talk about, for making you feel all weird.”

  He shook his head. “I am all weird, but it’s not because of you. I just like to go fast. I don’t get that many opportunities.”

  I told him I liked to watch him, and then, I begged him to do it again. And again. He happily obliged, and I yelled and clapped each time he passed. He really was like a wild cat, graceful even in his heavy clothes, and finally free. I could tell he knew it, knew it and liked impressing me. After a while, he even shed his jacket, knowing he was safe, knowing no one was watching but me.

  “It’s so great to get out and just go.”

  “It is. We should do it every day while we’re here.”

  “We will.”

  After another hour, we went upstairs and had soup by the fire, even though we’d exercised way too much to be cold, and for the first time, I wondered if it wouldn’t be bad to be like this forever, me and Adrian, holed up in our private house in the middle of nowhere, like characters in a Brontë novel—like Jane and her blinded Rochester at the end of Jane Eyre. Would it be that bad?

  What have I seen of the rest of the world that would make me think I’d miss it so much?