Novel: "Touch" chapter 7

[violetcheetah]

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This time when she awoke, Trudy recognized the smell of French toast, and she dressed quickly. "You should be honored," Susan said as Trudy sat down in her usual spot. "Real breakfast is usually a once-a-week thing."

"Must be my sunny personality."

"You lovable sociopath." A slice flopped onto Trudy's plate, and the jug of syrup slid closer. "So, after breakfast, and breakfast dishes, I was thinking we could hang out Tago Park. You ever been?"

"Yeah, I go biking there all the time. Or did; I guess that's kinda out."

"Funny you should say that. They rent bikes there, you know, and I called to check, and they have a couple of tandems if you want to see what that's like."

Trudy took her time finishing a bite. "Who'd be in the front seat?"

"Up to you. If you want to dawdle, I'd go with me; Amy's more about breaking the sound barrier."

"Dawdling doesn't really hold much appeal when you can't see the scenery, so I'm gonna have to go with Amy." She infused her voice with reluctance.

"Makes sense." Susan's voice was a little too nonchalant. "I think she'll like that."

"Besides, with her, I won't have to make conversation."

"Well, it's win-win-win, then."

"I believe you just took a shot at me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."



***



"You don't look like you're enjoying yourself," Susan said as Amy and Trudy pulled up after circling the parking lot a couple of times.

"I guess I'll get used to it. It's just, I can't tell when we're going to turn, or which way, or anything."

"Hmm. I can see how that would be disorienting."

"Do you think..." Trudy made her voice tentative, "I know I made the big deal about Amy touching me, but maybe it would work better if I rode with a hand on her shoulder. Then I could kind of tell, maybe, when she's turning or stopping or whatever."

"It could work. Amy?" In the pause, Trudy could hear motion; she pictured Susan miming the request to Amy. Amy gave an obviously affirmative "Sa!", and Trudy reached up a hand, bracing herself so she wouldn't betray anything.

Susan had close-cropped, dyed-red hair and dark-rimmed glasses. She looked back and forth from Amy to Trudy. "You okay with that?"

"We'll see. Uh, giddy-up, Amy." Susan's mouth quirked, but she didn't say anything, just tapped Amy's shoulder and then made a sweeping motion toward the path ahead. Amy's gaze flicked from Susan to the path, and then they were moving.

"I'll catch up later. Amy knows where we meet."

"Take your time," Trudy yelled back. She waited a couple of minutes to make sure they were out of earshot, but then she found she had nothing to say.

The trees had just been budding out when she was here last, but now everything was summer lush. An ache pushed against her throat and stung her eyes; she was home, more home than her own house had been. A home that had been destroyed, that she'd never see again. She wanted Amy to slow down so she could look at everything, but she didn't want to lose the familiar beauty of it all whizzing by. Then they came to a hill that slowed them down, anyway, and Trudy remembered that she, too, could be pedaling. They crested, both panting, but Amy upped the gears and buckled down, just as Trudy always did, and they both shoved their feet against the pedals.

They continued in silence until Amy took a left turn and said, "I want to see the spot with the purple flowers. Periwinkle?"

"Yeah! They won't be blooming now, you know."

"Yeah, but even when they aren't, when I come around the corner and see that spot, the, the glade? I remember the first time I saw them, the surprise, the... I don't have the right word."

"I don't, either."

Then they were there, and Amy slowed, stopped. Trudy closed her eyes but could still see the slope beneath the trees, the mat of glossy deep-green leaves, flowing like floodwaters around the trunks — white birch and grey maple — and encroaching on the edge of the path.

"Wait!" Trudy suddenly exclaimed. "Go back, look to the left. No, down a little." It was like operating a camera attached to a robot. "Back to the right just a — "

"Oh!" Amy's gaze stopped on the tiny fleck of purple.

"Yeah, weird, isn't it?"

Amy dismounted, slowly enough Trudy could keep contact as she, too, stepped off. For a few seconds the lone flower disappeared as Amy set the kickstand, but then it was back, and they walked toward it, stopping at the edge of the ocean of leaves.

"It's like," Amy paused, "like it's here just for us."

Trudy shrugged. "It's just a coincidence, just a random confused flower."

"It's a freak."

"You like that word entirely too much."

"It feels like hearing my name."

"Well, that sucks for you."

"But it doesn't. It hurts, but it... something else. Hot. Fierce. Proud. That can't be the right word, but it's in my head."

Trudy felt that heat, too, in her chest. It was anger, of course; nothing else burned like that. But still, that word, "proud," echoed from her head to her chest and back. She realized she was on the edge of smiling and took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Whatever gets you through the day."