Midnight Sun(18)

"I think I can keep up," I insisted. Perhaps common courtesy would keep her answering my questions as
long as I was rude enough to ask them.
She stared down silently at her hands. This made me impatient; I wanted to put my hand under her chin
and tilt her head up so that I could read her eyes. But it would be foolish of me -dangerous- to touch her
skin again.
She looked up suddenly. It was a relief to be able to see the emotions in her eyes again. She spoke in a
rush, hurrying through the words.
"My mother got remarried."
Ah, this was human enough, easy to understand. Sadness passed through her clear eyes and brought the
pucker back between them.
"That doesn't sound so complex," I said. My voice was gentle without my working to make it that way.
Her sadness left me feeling oddly helpless, wishing there was something I could do to make her feel
better. A strange impulse. "When did that happen?"
"Last September." She exhaled heavily-not quite a sigh. I held my breath as her warm breath brushed
my face.
"And you don't like him," I guessed, fishing for more information.
"No, Phil is fine," she said, correcting my assumption. There was a hint of a smile now around the
corners of her full lips. "Too young, maybe, but nice enough."
This didn't fit with the scenario I'd been constructing in my head.
"Why didn't you stay with them?" I asked, my voice a little too curious. It sounded like I was being nosy.
Which I was, admittedly.
"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." The little smile grew more pronounced; this career choice
amused her.
I smiled, too, without choosing to. I wasn't trying to make her feel at ease. Her smile just made me want
to smile in response -to be in on the secret.
"Have I heard of him?" I ran through the rosters of professional ball players in my head, wondering
which Phil was hers...
"Probably not. He doesn't play well." Another smile. "Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot."
The rosters in my head shifted instantly, and I'd tabulated a list of possibilities in less than a second. At
the same time, I was imagining the new scenario. "And your mother sent you here so that she could
travel with him," I said.
Making assumptions seemed to get more information out of her than questions did. It worked again.
Her chin jutted out, and her expression was suddenly stubborn.
"No, she did not send me here," she said, and her voice had a new, hard edge to it. My assumption had
upset her, though I couldn't quite see how. "I sent myself."
I could not guess at her meaning, or the source behind her pique. I was entirely lost.
So I gave up. There was just no making sense of the girl. She wasn't like other humans. Maybe the
silence of her thoughts and the perfume of her scent were not the only unusual things about her.
"I don't understand," I admitted, hating to concede.
She sighed, and stared into my eyes for longer than most normal humans were able to stand.
"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him," she explained slowly, her tone growing more forlorn
with each word. "It made her unhappy...so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with
Charlie."
The tiny pucker between her eyes deepened.
"But now you're unhappy," I murmured. I couldn't seem to stop speaking my hypotheses aloud, hoping
to learn from her reactions. This one, however, did not seem as far off the mark.
"And?" she said, as if this was not even an aspect to be considered.
I continued to stare into her eyes, feeling that I'd finally gotten my first real glimpse into her soul. I saw
in that one word where she ranked herself among her own priorities. Unlike most humans, her own
needs were far down the list. She was selfless.
As I saw this, the mystery of the person hiding inside this quiet mind began to thin a little.
"That doesn't seem fair," I said. I shrugged, trying to seem casual, trying to conceal the intensity of my
curiosity.
She laughed, but there was no amusement the sound. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."
I wanted to laugh at her words, though I, too, felt no real amusement. I knew a little something about
the unfairness of life. "I believe I have heard that somewhere before."
She stared back at me, seeming confused again. Her eyes flickered away, and then came back to mine.
"So that's all," she told me.
But I was not ready to let this conversation end. The little V between her eyes, a remnant of her sorrow,
bothered me. I wanted to smooth it away with my fingertip. But, of course, I could not touch her. It was
unsafe in so many ways.
"You put on a good show." I spoke slowly, still considering this next hypothesis. "But I'd be willing to bet
that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."