Prologue 1983
Tracy Dumont, the bossier of the twins, spoke into her walkie-talkie. “Breaker one-nine, breaker one-nine, can you hear me? Over.”
A scratchy male voice replied, “Ten-four. I’m here. Is it time?”
“Yes, red rover, red rover, send number…eight over. Over.”
“Over, over,” he giggled. “That’s two overs. Over.”
Tracy rolled her eyes and said, “Steven! Pay attention. Are you ready? Over.”
“Yes. Okay, I mean, ten-four. Sending number seven over. Over.”
“Eight!” Tracy cried shrilly into the receiver.
“Ten-four! I mean eight!” Steven shouted back, then not knowing he still had his button pressed, said, “Dang, who cares? Seven, eight, ten, four, what does it matter? Jacob, pass me that remote control.”
“Steven! I heard that!” Tracy hollered and then threw the walkie-talkie onto the couch.
Steven replied, “Sorry, babe. Here comes eight.”
She shook her head and turned to the group in the shimmering darkness. “Okay, who has number eight?”
When no one replied, she grabbed a piece of paper out of her twin sister Tammy’s hand. “Is it you?”
Tammy stammered, “No, I swear!”
Tracy sighed when she saw the number two and handed the paper back. She asked again, “Who has eight?”
I sat on the floor in the shadow of a Christmas tree, staring at the twinkle lights and brightly colored ornaments. I was trying to imagine being transported to another place and time. A mountain retreat, a log cabin in the woods, a snowy evening, a turkey dinner with all the fixings, a wall of books itching to be read by the light of the moon streaming through the frosted window, accompanied by a mug of hot chocolate with tiny white marshmallows floating languidly on the surface of the dark, swirling liquid.
The twins’ parents insisted on a winter wonderland theme every year for their joint birthday. The house was a veritable North Pole, and the floorboards above our heads were shaking with the sounds of adult drinking, dancing, and laughter. As I sat in my secret bower, I scanned the cramped room and regarded fifteen giggling girls with turquoise makeup, teased hair, and sticky flavored lip gloss flanking an enchanted forest of Christmas trees. I heard the passel of boys in the room next door, where the Pac-Man and Asteroids arcade games were buzzing incessantly. I sighed, thinking the chances of me getting out of here before midnight were slim to none.
“Sarah?” Tracy asked, hunting down her next victim.
“Nope,” Sarah answered, showing Tracy her number ten.
Tracy frowned. “Dina?”
Dina shook her head. Tracy looked around the room in the dim light, narrowing her eyes, finally landing on me. She walked over slowly and grabbed the piece of paper out of my hand. “Aha! Eight! Okay, Riley, you’re up. Get in there.”
I crouched down lower and gave her a pleading look. Tracy’s response: “Oh no you don’t. Come on.” She grabbed me by the arm, forced me up, put a bandanna around my eyes, led me through the maze of trees, and pushed me into the closet, closing the door behind me. I stood inside the blackness, reaching around blindly, my hands landing on several shelves lined with plastic storage tubs and paint cans. I waited in the narrow space, my heart pounding and my palms sweating. After a minute or two, I heard a commotion outside. The door opened, and with a shove and a grunt, a boy was hurled into my arms, tall and broad-shouldered with the smell of ginger ale on his breath and snow on his coat. I gasped as he clamped onto my waist with both hands, his head falling against my shoulder.
He said to me with a smile in his voice, “Whoops, sorry. Hi there. Hang on.”
He righted himself, let me go, turned toward the door, wrenching the door handle and hollering fruitlessly, “Hey! Unlock this door! You rats! Come on!”
The laughter outside rang in my ears. I could hear Tracy’s voice above the din, “Seven minutes! And you know the rules: no taking off the blindfold, and no monkey business below the waist.” I groaned as she cried one last sentiment over my thumping heart: “Have fun!”
I heard my co-captive turn to me and say, “Looks like we’re stuck.”
“I guess so,” I whispered.
At first, we both stood apart quietly. Then he carefully placed his fingers around my arm. I didn’t move. I felt the heat of his hand through my sweater. He laughed nervously, leaned in, and kissed the spot between my cheek and ear.
He said, “Sorry, missed. You okay?”
I nodded and then realized he couldn’t see my nod, so I said softly, “Yes.”
This time he tilted his head slightly and lowered his mouth to mine. It was a small touch, like the brush of a feather. I shivered as he took his hand off my arm and placed it on my back, pulling me to him. Then he kissed me again, but this kiss was soft and low and long and deep. It made my chest heave and my fingers tingle. I found myself sinking into him, wrapping my hands around his neck. After several moments, he pulled back, saying hoarsely, “One sec—let me get this coat off.”
I let go and stood breathing hard as he feverishly detached himself from his coat and said with funny heated force, “That’s better. Let’s try that again.” I laughed as he grabbed me in a strong embrace, covering my mouth with his. Suddenly it felt as if all external stimuli were banished and we were trapped on an island in the circle of an enchanted secret oasis. I had a sudden flash thought that saturated my mind and body: This is what it must feel like to be loved!
After a second to catch a wild, jagged breath of air, he continued until I felt my bones melting. Finally, with an unadulterated moan of joy, he quickly ripped off both of our bandannas, throwing them to the side with a flourish and lifting me off the ground in a tight embrace. The strength of this kiss was on the next level. I struggled to breathe, but I soon lost the urge to try, remaining suctioned to him in utter and complete abandon.
It was as if we were completely disconnected from reality. I was fifteen years old and had never been kissed before. I now thought with absolute shock and glory, this is what it is?! Like being engulfed by a boa constrictor and wanting more than anything to be consumed. I wanted Earth to stop turning on its axis. I wanted time to stop, hover, linger, and stay.
And then, too soon, out of our veritable dream state, “Gotcha!”
The light went on, and it was like a dagger to my skull. I never hated the light more. Tracy stood in the entryway, one hand on her hip, the other holding the egg timer, laughing, pointing, and saying, “Look at these two! Jeesh! Do I need to get you a room? Get outta there.” She turned away, picked up the walkie-talkie, and relayed, “Breaker one-four, breaker one-four. Steven! Do you read me? Send number two over.”
Steven responded, “Ten-four. Four, over. Oh wait…did you say four or two? Over.”
I turned my exasperated and bemused face back to the boy still holding me tight and noticed in slow motion that he wasn’t smiling. In fact, what I saw there was shock and horror, closely followed by anguish. Suddenly, he dropped me like a hot potato. A gasp escaped my lips, my hands covering my mouth as if my lips had been burned off. Without another word, I ran out of the closet, through the enchanted forest, up the stairs, out of the house, and all the way home.
