Wilde Fire

Chapter 13: Present

I hadn't talked to Lily since I left, so when my phone rings early the next morning, I am eager to pick it up. The loud ring wakes me from my slumber. I quickly wipe the sleep from my eyes, see Lily's name flash across the screen, and scramble for the talk button.

"Lily!" I say exuberantly.

"Hola preciosa!" Her voice is shrill in my ear, surrounded by various other noises.

"How's the trip?" I ask her, stretching my limbs from beneath my comforter. I look out the window, where my mother is gardening in a makeshift plot a few feet from the dogwood tree.

I hear chatter, multiple voices talking at once, a laugh, and then Lily's voice again: "It's amazing!" she yells over the noise. "I wish you were here with me!"

I bite my lip at her words. I did wish I was with her, spending my summer in Spain. Who wouldn't want to relax on the beaches of a foreign country for three months? But I know that being in Kala is doing more for me than anything. As much as I wished I were in Spain with Lily, I needed to be in Kala with my parents.

"Me too," I say semi-truthfully.

I don't know if Lily hears my reply, because the next several moments consist of high-pitched giggles and exuberant voices from Lily's end of the line. I am glad that she is having a great time with her cousins and family, but I start to wonder why she bothered calling me if she didn't have time to talk.

I sigh, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder. "I can call back later, Lil-"

"No! It's okay-" More giggling. "I'm here, I'm here."

And finally, all I hear is her.

"I take it you're having fun," I say sarcastically.

Lily sounds out of breath. "Definitely," she replies, "it's crazy how much changes in that many years. I'm exhausted trying to keep up with everything that has happened."

I fall back onto my pillow and look at the ceiling. There is so much truth in her words, more than she even knew. "Tell me about it," I say softly.

Though I did not intend to discuss the details of my return to Kala, now was the perfect opportunity.

Lily pauses. "Is everything okay, Sidney?"

I reach for my necklace, struggling for the right words. "It's great actually," I say honestly. I pause again, wondering how to continue. "I just saw someone yesterday--it kind of threw me off guard."

"Well, who did you see?"

Lily knew about Owen, about the fact that he was my best friend before I met her. She also knew that he was one of the only people I ever talked about from back home. Following my sudden silence, she puts the pieces together.

"Oh my gosh, you saw him? That kid you always talked about?" she asks in disbelief. "How was it? What did he say?"

I think back to yesterday morning, when Owen held me in his arms and our memories flashed through my mind--the good and the bad. And then I think about that unplanned moment when he kissed me.

I could have told her the truth. I could have told Lily that Owen Blackwood, my former childhood friend, kissed me after four years of silence between us. But the thing is, it was not just a kiss. . . it was my first kiss.

I am almost positive that Owen had no idea, otherwise he would have acted differently. It seemed so natural for him to press his lips to mine, to let his emotions run wild, but it was an entirely new experience for me, not just because of who it was. I was not lying when I said that Hunter Winston was one of the first boys to notice me, because that was entirely the truth. Not only did my appearance fail to grab people's attention, but I never attempted to reach out to the opposite sex. I was too worried about taking care of myself to even begin to think about dating.

This was the truth, but it is not what I decided to tell Lily.

"Nothing," I lie, "we just talked, I just didn't expect to see him so soon."

Lily's sigh almost sounds like she is disappointed. Immediately, she drops the subject and begins telling me about her uncle's extravagant house that she has the opportunity to stay in all summer. She tells me about her cousins, whose names I will never remember. She tells me about the cute Spanish boys that she can't wait to get the courage to talk to. She tells me everything that is going great in her life, until the noise picks up again and she tells me she needs to go.

I say goodbye to my friend and gratefully hang up the phone.

I should have been excited that I was able to talk to her, but I couldn't help but shake the feeling that she didn't ask me a lot of questions on purpose. Was my life simply not interesting enough for her anymore, or was it too depressing? I loved Lily and our friendship, but sometimes I didn't understand her motives.

Rather than questioning yet another aspect of my life, I decide to push my thoughts aside as I slowly climb out of bed. I quickly change into shorts and a loose t-shirt before making my way downstairs and out the back door.

My mother is kneeling in the grass in a pair of denim overalls, elbow deep in a bag of mulch. She is wearing a floppy sun hat over her auburn hair, which is pulled into a tight braid around her shoulder. Once my shadow looms over her, she turns around and smiles at me. "Want to help?" she asks, reaching for the trowel. "I just finished with the begonias."

I drop to my knees beside her and begin scooping out the dirt with my bare hands. We spend several minutes like this, side-by-side, digging small holes for the seeds in silence. Finally, I decide to speak up.

"I saw Owen yesterday."

From the corner of my eye, I see my mother's hand pause for just a moment before reaching for a packet of chrysanthemum seeds. "How was that?" she asks softly.

I rub my hands on my thighs, blowing a stream of air from my mouth. I glance up, just to the right of me, at the fragrant blooms of the dogwood tree. "It was strange," I begin. "I walked down to the river just to sit by myself, and the next thing I knew he was there. He recognized me immediately, I just-- I don't know, something was different."

My mother looks up, meeting my eyes. "Time changes a lot, honey," she says softly. She pulls off her gardening gloves and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. When I don't answer, she continues. "You witnessed something traumatic happen--it changed you both, whether you realized it or not. And you've spent the past four years coping with a similar loss. . . Neither of you changed, you just grew up."

I let her words sink in. If only she knew what else happened, and how even though Owen promised he would catch up with me today, I had a feeling he never would.

"I guess you're right," I murmur, staring down at the gardening plot. The dirt had been dug and pushed around, only to be put right back where it came from. Despite being in the same four-foot plot in our backyard, it would never look exactly the same again.

I don't realize that I am rubbing my scar--my constant reminder of Ben--until my mother reaches for my hand and gently pulls it away.

"Not always," she whispers back.