CATHEDRAL - Patrick Sean Lee (best books for 8th graders txt) 📗

gently kicks Shadow with both feet at the same time. She kind of leans forward as Shadow steps away. It’s impossible for me to kick Fire with my right foot, so I do my best and give her a tiny tap with my left. She gets the idea, I guess, because she goes forward, following her pen mate.

She’s not waiting for me, so I say giddyap and kick Fire a little harder. She’s a good horse. She hurries her pace, or trot, or whatever it’s called, and a few seconds later eases up beside Isabella and Shadow. Like, this whole horse riding business is easy! She even slows down once we get beside them!

Isabella glances over at me. Her face is expressionless, and then she turns forward once again, ignoring my presence. It’s all going to be up to me. Honestly, I figured as much at breakfast. She has this wall, but I have a big hammer and plenty of stamina.

“It’s gorgeous out here this morning.” I breathe the simple words out with a seductive edge dripping off them.

“It’s chilly.” Hard-edged.

“Have you ridden on this trail before?” I ask almost immediately as she reins Shadow right onto the beginning of a trail. One that looks as gentle as a meadow. One at the end of which I wish had been that blasted lake.

“A few times. When I was younger.”

“Younger? You’ve been to Roosevelt Lodge before?”

“Uh-huh. I hated it back then. I was thirteen. I did like horses, though. And cats.”

That makes me laugh.

“I don’t dislike cats. I merely don’t like them.” Now that was lame, and I bite my tongue. Come on, Matthew, you can do better…she answers me with a cheery laugh. Finally, something cheery!

“You talk like you write, sir. Did you know that?”

She’s smiling at me. I don’t think it’s a bowled-over-by-what-you’ve-just-said smile, though. Sir?

I’m getting nowhere fast.

“Do you have a horse back home?”

“No. I have a cat, though.”

“I see.”

I loathe that fucking cat. Not hers, well yes, probably that one, too.

“Can we maybe not mention cats anymore?” I put to her as kindly as I can.

“Sure.” She goes silent for forty or fifty feet. She just looks dreamily out at the thick stand of pines we ride beneath. I try to press on.

“I have some ideas for my book. Good ones. With language that will approach Literary. You gave me those ideas. Thanks so much, Isabella.”

She finally turns her attention to me. I knew that would do it.

“Really Mr. Ash…”

“Please, Isabella, call me by my first name.”

“Yes, well…Matthew…how, pray tell, did I inspire you?”

“I’m not sure I should divulge that. Just be certain, though, that you did.”

Isabella looks herself over, and then brings her eyes to mine.

“I’ll bet I can guess.”

The quick scan of herself, the disdain in her voice that hits me like a black cloud descending in a swirl almost devastates me. It’s a perfect picture of what she thinks of me. It whispers coldly to me to turn and go back the way we came.

But I don’t.

“Look, I just want to get to know you. You’re very pretty. All right, so what? We’re here for a week. I like you a lot so far. Is that so bad?”

“Not at all. It’s the question of how well do you want to get to know me that makes me a little defensive. So far in the first two days you’ve shadowed me. That’s kind of creepy. Sorry. Maybe yesterday you made a bad decision up at the lake. That’s a possibility, but last night in the sitting room. This morning after breakfast. Do you get the picture from my perspective?” she says.

“Yes, I understand, but is it so out of line for me to simply want to get to know you, even for the short time that we’ll be here together? I like you, Isabella. I like you.”

“You like Frank, too. Why don’t you hang around him?”

“Oh seriously! What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

I pull back on the reins. Fire comes to a halt. Shadow keeps on for a second, but then she stops. I jerk the reins left, Fire obeys and turns, and then I nudge her side.

Giddyap.

“I apologize for ever speaking to you, Isabella,” I say without looking over my shoulder. She doesn’t answer.

 

Apology

Isabella

 

I won’t see Matthew again until dinner this evening. He’s holed up in his room after his morning faux pas, licking his latest wounds I guess. Maybe he’ll take out his anger at his keyboard, inventing a Black Widow antagonist, inspired (again, I’ve helped him?) by me.

The trail was delightfully quiet after he stormed off, and quiet for me is dangerous. It gives me time to think, and I thought a lot out there.

Brad is sitting at home, clueless. I’m at this scenic wonderland of a lodge taking stabs at this famous writer. I feel like Godzilla in the old Japanese version, trashing the guy’s brains out because I can. Because he dares ‘Like’ me. I’m still not entirely buying his admission the way he put it, but…

I had to push Brad out of my mind because I can’t deal with two train wrecks at one time.

I ripped Matthew’s feelings to pieces. I didn’t have to be so blunt. But Jesus, he kept coming on to me! I should have called out for him to stop. I should have kicked Shadow in the sides hard, snapped the reins, and taken off at a gallop. I should have. I should have.

I should have done something.

Instead I just watched him trot back down the trail with his head hanging. That image of him all beaten up again made me think.

When I returned, put Shadow into Charlie’s capable hands, he stood there frowning. He didn’t sock me, but I got the feeling he wanted to. I wonder what Matthew told him when he returned?

Whatever. I thank sullen Charlie anyway, and then go into the kitchen. It’s barely noon. Getie’s busy humming away in her floral print apron, stirring something on the stove, her back to me. I sneak up behind her smiling, and poke my fingers into her vouminous sides. She jumps and nearly sends the spoon and whatever’s on it clear to the beamed ceiling. For a woman her size, she’s quick as a fox. She wheels around to face her attacker. Of course she realizes immediately that the monster is only little Izzy. She heaves the most tremendous sigh of relief a person can heave.

“Isabella, Lord A’mighty, you scared the wits out of me!”

I laugh. “I’m sorry, Gertie, I just couldn’t resist.”

A drop or two of something lands on my nose. It smells like…vegetable soup. Already I’m feeling better, and suddenly I’m hungry. I wipe the drops off and smile at her. She sighs again.

“How was your ride?”

“Spectacular!”

She stares at me for a second, and then says in a rather dour tone of voice, her eyes narrowing a tiny bit, “I couldn’t help but notice that your partner returned not long after you began…”

I am taken aback. Slap! The first two people I meet are angry with me. Seriously, I can’t help it if he was insulted out there. I wonder, was it my dismissal of this latest overture on his part to…how did he put it? Be my friend? I’ve read right through his real intentions from the start. Maybe the comment I made about him and Frank? That ticked him off, I know. I wasn’t suggesting anything other than, “Go make friends with someone else.” I might have said, “Go make friends with Michael,” but that would really have been an obvious no, no. It just wasn’t what I meant. The way he must have taken it.

Maybe Matthew will finally give up.

“He, uh…I think his leg hurt. Or something,” I say. I don’t think that works, and so I follow. “What did he say?”

Gertie sets the spoon aside, and then looks at me hard. “Not much, dear. He grumbled something as he stormed through here about cats and horses and…you. I didn’t catch much of it, and he didn’t stop to talk. Just went on to the stairs.”

Gertie hesitates.

“I don’t think it was his injured leg. What did happen out there that so upset him? He’s such a nice man. Don’t you think he is?”

I know what she’s really thinking. He’s such a nice man, and you’re such a pretty girl…

“I think he’s very charming, and very talented.” Lie. “But honestly, this morning I just wanted to be alone. I think that offended him. That’s all.”

“Oh. Well, yes. Far be it from me to meddle, dear, but perhaps you should go talk to him and explain?”

She can’t be serious! Why on earth should I? I’m not chasing him, he’s chasing me!

“He’s hurt, darling. I mean his feelings, not so much his leg,” she continues.

Tough luck!…Groan. There it goes again. Those Catholic feelings of guilt. He was casual, not overly…Okay, okay, okay, I smacked him. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Now I smack myself.

I sigh. “I suppose I could.”

“That would be so nice of you.” She smiles. All better, now. She turns, picks up the spoon and starts to stir the kettle of soup, and then picks up her humming where she left off when I scared her half to death. Damn, I should have just kept my mouth shut out there and endured him.

I leave Mother Gertie at the stove and make my way to the stairs. I look up the run of steps, wondering what I should say to him? If I say, “I’m so sorry, Matthew. Forgive my rudeness,” I’m pretty certain he’ll take that as an invitation to…Oh screw it, I’ll just say I’m sorry, and leave it at that.

I go to the second floor, and then walk to his closed door. I listen for a second or two. It’s as quiet as a church at midnight inside. Whatever. I rap on the door once, and then wait.

Why am I doing this?

Four or five seconds pass, and then the door swings inward. At first Matthew’s face is stony, but the second he notices me he forces a tiny wisp of a smile. Then back to stony.

I simply say, “I’m sorry.”

I Don't Feel...

 Matthew

 

There she stands, right outside my door, and she just said, “I’m sorry.”

I suppose I should feel victorious. Vindicated at the very least. But I feel neither of those two things. Actually, I feel a little overwhelmed, and a lot euphoric.

It takes me forever to reply. What I say surprises me.

“Perhaps it’s me that should