Chapter Fourteen

When I awoke the next time, it was morning, and though mom had breakfast ready, Bastiaan hadn't returned yet. That wasn't like him. I guessed he just got a little preoccupied with Bobby, and lost track of time…

Eewwww.

I pushed the image that brought forth into the deepest corner of my mind, never ever to be thought of again even under threat of death, and wandered downstairs in my socked feet. The idea of your brother having sex is just not something you need any time of the day, much less first thing in the morning, right before breakfast.

"Morning, mom," I said, kissing her cheek as I sat at the table.

"Good morning, AJ. Your father's already eaten and is out taking care of the horses, and Bastiaan isn't home yet, so it's just us this morning."

I grinned. "Okay."

"Tell me something," she said, after a few minutes, and I started, but agreed. "You've met Bobbi, haven't you?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, as I remembered how to breathe. I felt sure she was going to ask me something about Kevyn, that I hadn't been as careful as I thought, that she'd found out… but, no, she was only asking about my brother.

"Yeah, I met her," the word sounded strange in my mouth, as I knew it to be a lie, but continued on, "she seems really nice. And she really likes Bastiaan."

She seemed to look a little more at ease. I guessed she'd been worried about that. "I just wonder why he hasn't brought her home, yet," she mused, and I shrugged as I finished my cereal, and stood.

"I'm sure he will soon." Suddenly I just couldn't lie to her anymore. If she asked me anything else, I was sure to tell her the truth about Bobby, or Kevyn, or both of them. I rinsed my bowl in the sink, and told her I was going to go see how Diane was doing, and how Kevyn's Christmas had been. Mom asked if I would be back soon, and I said I didn't think so.

I called Kevyn from my room as I got dressed, putting on several layers, as the radio DJ forecasted the weather to only get worse as the day progressed, and mentioned to her that my mom said it was okay if I went over.

"Be careful driving, baby," was all she said, and I heard paper rustling in the background, and figured she was busy.

"See you in a few minutes," I promised, hanging up and slipping on my jacket before grabbing her gift and heading out the door. The main road had been cleared by the plow, and was still a little slippery, but the chains on the tires did fine, and I was standing at the front step of the Gibb's residence just about twenty minutes after I'd told my mom I was leaving.

I had barely rung the doorbell when the door opened and Kevyn literally pulled me inside, exclaiming, "Get in here out of that cold, baby." I chuckled, and wrapped my arms around her in a hello hug. She returned the embrace, and kissed my cheek, leading me to her room.

"I was wrapping this when you called," she said, and when I saw the large package on her bed, I instantly felt bad. The gift I'd gotten her was small enough to fit in my pocket, and here was this big present she'd gotten for me…

Her laugh was gentle, her eyes bright as she tugged on my hand and pulled me down to sit beside her. "Well, are you going to open it, sweetheart?"

I nodded, and removed the paper, revealing a beautiful case full of pastels and charcoals and colored pencils. I sat in silence for a moment, just staring, and then looked up to see that she was anxiously awaiting my response, biting her lip softly.

"It's wonderful, honey," I said, honestly, and kissed her. "Thank you so much. I love it."

"That's your birthday present," she explained, telling me, "I know you don't think much of your work, baby, but I do. And I asked my dad what to get an aspiring artist, and this was his suggestion."

I blushed at the praise, and was about to give her the small present I'd bought for her, when she handed me a card in an envelope.

"And this is your Christmas gift. It's just a card, I know, but…"

My heart was pounding as I looked at the beige envelope in my hand. How did I get out of this one? I tried the first thing that came to my mind.

"I'm sure it's perfect, and I'll open it later, honey. Right now, I…"

"Oh, Nikka, will you open it now, please?"

I bowed my head, and carefully tore open the envelope, giving her a small grin as I did, hoping she would take the subtle hint that I would rather not read it right now. When I made a comment about, "Okay, I opened it," she laughed and bumped my knee with hers.

"Silly. Go on, read it."

It almost felt as though the card burned my fingers as I removed it. Seeing the beautiful snow scene on the front, I opened it to find typed words on one side, and flowing letters from Kevyn's hand on the other.

"I can't read this," I swallowed, after glancing at them for a moment. Given enough time, I could probably make out what was written by the card company, but cursive was the worst for me. It was so hard to differentiate the letters when I couldn't even pick them apart, figuring out where one began and the other ended.

She chuckled at me again, taking one of my hands in both of hers. "Come on, I know my handwriting's not that bad," she smiled, and I pulled my hand away, feeling ill. She paused, and looked at me. "Nikka?"

"I can't read this," I said, again. I took a breath.

"It's no different then the letters…" she began, but I couldn't let her finish.

I sprang to my feet with a soft cry, and admitted, "I can't read those either!"

Her tone was flat, and I couldn't tell whether it was with pity or anger, but I would soon find out. "What?"

My chest felt heavy and I knew I was close to crying. "I'm dyslexic, Kevyn. I haven't read any of your letters you've sent. I might be able to read what's typed on the card, but it would take me a long time, and even if I had a week, I probably wouldn't be able to read what you wrote here."

Green eyes just stared at me, and I couldn't read her expression. I think that scared me more than anything.

"Then how did you know what I've written before?"

I ducked my head. "Bastiaan. He reads things for me."

"Your brother has been reading everything I've written for you?" Now I could read nothing from her voice except anger, and nodded, closing my eyes. "How long were you going to keep this from me?" And then, I opened my eyes long enough to see green lightning aimed at me as she spat, "I hope Bastiaan got a kick out of reading those letters that I meant for only you!"

I flinched. "Kevyn…"

She held her hand up, and I fell quiet. "No, don't talk to me. I don't even want to see you right now, Annika." I knew without a doubt that if I left, I'd never see her again. I was so sure that it was over. That was the last thing I wanted to happen, so even as my heart pulled painfully at the harshness of her words, I kneeled beside her.

"Kevyn, please…"

"Just don't."

Now I could feel the tears as they ran down my face. She wouldn't even look at me. I clutched at her hand, but she drew away from me. "Kevyn," I choked, begging.

"Go." She looked at me then, and I felt my heart break for the pain in her eyes, the pure betrayal. "Please, go." She turned away, again, but I saw the first tear as it fell, and sat back on my heels.

I swallowed, though my throat was dry, and I nearly started coughing. "Don't make me go, Kevyn," I pleaded. "Please, I'm so sorry, let me stay. I don't want to lose you."

She stood so suddenly that I fell backwards. "You should have thought of that before you lied to me," she cried, taking the card from the desk where I had lain it down and throwing it across to the other end of the room. I felt it hit the wall deep in my soul, as though it had been a blow to my chest.

Finally understanding that there was nothing I could do to make it better, I scrambled out of her room and ran to my truck. I was in no condition to drive, and even if I could have left, I couldn't have gone home. My mom would take one look at me and demand to know what was wrong, and I couldn't tell her. My brother was out with the one he loved, I'd just lost mine, and I couldn't even find comfort with my own mother.

I slumped against the steering wheel and cried.

I cried, and cried, until I remembered my dream of the night before. What had I just done? I'd turned and walked away. All this time, she'd been asking me to trust her, and I didn't. I didn't think I could. And now I'd left.

I'm going to go back and she's going to be gone, I know it, I sobbed. I'll never see her again, never hold her, never kiss her, and it's all my fault.

But I had to try.

I didn't even bother knocking on the door. I had no idea if Diane was asleep or if Patrick was home, but all I knew was I had to see Kevyn, had to talk to her. I walked down the hall to her room and tried the knob, but she'd locked the door.

I knocked.

I heard her sniffling, but other than that, there was no reply.

I knocked again. "Kevyn?" I had to show her that I did trust her. I had to take that step, and keep walking. There was no other option.

"No, Annika. Just leave me alone."

"I can't," I admitted, leaning my forehead against the wood. "I can't go. Please, don't ask me to leave. You said I could always talk to you, honey, please, let me talk now. I know I should have told you sooner, but can I explain? Kevyn, please?"

In a moment, she unlocked the door and opened it, and I met her gaze, both of our eyes red and swollen. She was clutching my shirt to her chest, and my knees nearly went out from under me at the amount of hurt and sadness that filled her eyes.

"I'm sorry," was all I could say at the moment, and she just blinked up at me. "Can I… can I talk to you? I want to tell you everything, honey. No more secrets, no more lying, I swear."

She still didn't say anything, but walked inside, pulled out her desk chair, and then sat on her bed. I assumed the chair was for me, and closed the door before sinking into it. Taking a deep breath, I kept my promise, and told her everything.

I told her how, when I was young, I was always getting in trouble, both at home and at school, for being disruptive. The teachers said I bothered the other kids, I talked in class when I was supposed to be listening, and often I'd be drawing pictures rather than taking notes. When this information was sent home to my parents, I got in trouble at home, too.

Of course, all this just made me even more frustrated. It seemed like the teacher always called on me for the hard parts of the story to read, and when I asked the kids next to me for help, I got in trouble. If I tried to sound out the words, the teachers became impatient, even if they tried not to show it, and the others laughed at my struggles with what they found to be so simple. When the letters switched on me, and I pronounced the wrong word correctly, more snickers followed, and I always blushed.

My parents wanted to help me study at home, and my brother tried too, but too much studying and reading and trying to get my spelling lists right only lead to headaches. The more my head hurt, the more irritable I became, and my parents started murmuring to each other when they thought I couldn't hear, "Why isn't she more like Bastiaan?"

This went on for several years, until my fifth grade teacher finally called me to stay after school one day, and gave me a small book, asking me to read from it. At first I refused, but when she insisted, I huffed a sigh and stared at the pages. I could make out a few words before I got tired of it and pushed the book away in anger. It was enough, though, and she called a meeting with my parents, telling them she wondered if I might have a learning problem. She noticed, she said, that I played well with the other children, and that during recess I often stayed in the room to create things with the building blocks, or to draw quietly in my seat. The other teachers that had marked me as disruptive and one that caused problems just hadn't taken the time to really look at me.

I was ten before my parents took me to be tested, and sure enough, the doctors or whoever they were said I was dyslexic. When my mom explained it to me, she said that it meant I didn't read things the same way as other people, and sometimes the letters would switch places, and I had a hard time remembering how to spell words… it was like all the things I'd been having trouble with suddenly found a name, and I wasn't just stupid, after all.

Special programs and teachers were employed at that point, and I struggled through classes for another year, until sixth grade. I just gave up. The kids were still cruel and didn't want to understand, and the few friends I had made no attempt at encouraging me to stay. They knew I wanted out, and why, and wanted it to happen. I wasn't happy in school. My only memories were of teasing, headache, heartaches, and being sent to time-out for something I couldn't overcome.

I tried my best, and my parents saw that. They also saw that my life wasn't in books. I just wasn't like my brother, that's all there was to it. He would be the book smart twin, the one that went on to do bigger and better things, but me? All I wanted in life was at the ranch. I had no dreams beyond working with the horses and keeping my dogs company, and I was happy with that.

So, I finished sixth grade, but never went on to seventh. I left school to help my dad with the ranch, learning from him, and beginning to genuinely smile again. I felt most comfortable on the land, with the animals. It wasn't as though I was isolated; I had a few friends that I kept in touch with from school, though in the end, Stacey was the only one who I truly called "friend". The others moved away without so much as a new address or simply drifted out of my life.

My dad came home with Hamlet, about a month after I'd been out of school. He became my best companion, since most of my time was spent at home. I could pretend to read to him, and he didn't know any different, he didn't laugh. I talked with him often, and was thrilled when I discovered I could teach him to speak.

"I can read and write a little," I said, still running my mouth to Kevyn, "but not much. My dad will read the newspaper to me sometimes, but usually I just listen to the radio or watch the news on TV. I do okay with math, especially if I don't have to look at the numbers, if I can work them in my head. My brain just processes things differently, you know."

Here I sighed, lightly. "I didn't want to tell you, because most people don't understand, and I get treated differently for it. And I didn't want you to pity me. You're so smart, Kevyn, so intelligent and good with school, I didn't want to say anything and make you think less of me. But I should have told you. Bastiaan told me right away that I should have told you. I'm sorry."

I had moved steadily closer to her the whole time I was talking, and now sat quite near her on the bed.

"I still don't want you to feel bad for me; I just want you to understand. You deserve to understand. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before," I said, and just kept staring at the place where the card had fallen. The redhead beside me was still silent, and I knew that I had done all I could, and failed. My first relationship, with the most wonderful person I could ever imagine, the only relationship I wanted, and I'd screwed it up. And the day after Christmas, no less.

The tears came back. "I'm sorry I ruined us," I managed to say, and made a move as if to get to my feet so I could just slink away and Kevyn would never have to look at me again, but then I felt her hand on my arm.

She was looking at me, really seeing me, I mean, for the first time in probably two hours. I paused, not wanting to do anything to make her turn away again.

"One fight… and you think it's over?"

My heart gave a painful thud of hope. I started shaking. "It isn't? We aren't?"

"No, baby." She drew me close, and I cried into her shoulder, realizing that it was the first time she'd held me as I sobbed, instead of vice versa. For all her small size, I felt safer than I would have ever thought, and tried to get my breathing under control as she rubbed my back.

"Are you okay?" she asked, kissing my forehead when I'd stopped shaking. I kept her hand held tightly in mine, and nodded, just slightly. "Hey, talk to me, beautiful. Are you all right?"

I sniffled. "I thought…"

Though once I started talking she didn't let me finish. "I know," she interrupted, gently. "I'm sorry I scared you."

I shook my head. "It was my fault. I'm sorry."

She smiled softly and I almost started crying all over again. I leaned into her touch when she brushed my cheek with the back of her hand, saying, "How about we're both sorry, and we declare this argument over?"

"That sounds good," I nodded, and hesitantly reached over to pick up the card from the floor. Handing it to her, I requested, quietly, "Will you tell me what you wrote?"

Not taking the card from me, she motioned for me to open it, and I did, slightly confused. Did she expect me to try to sound it out and try to read it in front of her?

No. She leaned close to me, instead, resting her chin on my shoulder, telling me the words in a soft tone.

"Nikka," she began, "this has been one of the most enjoyable Christmases I've ever had, and I have you to thank for it. You mean so much to me, baby. I know you're scared; my feelings for you are stronger than your fears. Trust me. Trust me, and I won't ever let you fall. I promise. Always, Kevyn."

I wrapped an arm around her and hugged her to me so tightly I was sure I'd never let go. Her words, so close to the ones I'd imagined her saying in my dream and the words her mother had said just a few days before, were almost eerie, and yet exactly what I needed to hear.

"I trust you," I said, and that was enough.