Chapter 9

Saturday night.

FOUR POV

She comes home tomorrow. She comes home tomorrow. She comes home tomorrow. She comes home tomorrow. She comes home tomorrow. I repeat it to myself as a mantra or a talisman, or just a phrase that helps distract me and pass the time as I lay on my stomach and wait for the sun to rise. I am cold but I don't want the blanket to touch my back. Tris comes home tomorrow night. I will see her Monday morning. I have to be in control of this by Monday morning. She can't know what happened today. She can't know my secret shame. She can't know how weak I truly am. She would never understand, and I could never explain. No one can know...Marcus's words as he lashed me with his belt. No one can know about the pain. I must hide the pain, and the injuries that caused it. No one can know whose hand held the belt. No one can know. I must keep this secret, like so many other times. I have to bury it inside, and keep it inside no matter what. If anyone knew, I can't imagine what that beating would be like. If someone found out, my life would be over. Everything I have worked for, waited for, for so long, everything that is so close to being within reach, would be gone. Over. I have two more years in this house, and then I am free. I can go anywhere. Do anything. I just have to survive two more years.

She comes home tomorrow. Everything will be better tomorrow. It will be easier to breathe tomorrow. She didn't ask me questions. She didn't look at me like I was damaged. She had on sparkly earrings on Friday, little dangly stones of some sort. They were delicate, like her, but not fragile. She isn't fragile. She is strong. I heard all about the hell sprints that Coach Bullock made them run at soccer tryouts. Shauna told me how stubborn Tris was and how she refused to give up or complain. If she can do that, I can do this. I won't give up, and I won't complain.

When did Tris become a source of comfort? When did my mind start to orbit around thoughts of her? I close my eyes and the image of her eyes looking back at me appears. Her blue-grey eyes do not waver, do not look at me with pity.

'She comes home tomorrow,' I think one more time and drift off to sleep. While I sleep I dream, but in the morning when I wake, I can't remember the dreams, except I feel the ghost of a small hand on my shoulder. I know it is impossible, but it feels like she was here with me when I was sleeping. Watching over me. My mother? Tris? Who else could it have been?

The rational part of my brain knows that it was neither of them. It was simply a figment of my imagination, made real through my thinking of Tris before I fell asleep and the high dose of pain medication I took after the beating. But her skin was so soft. I know now how it would feel if she touched me there. For years now I have cringed away from being touched. My close friends know that I don't like it and avoid it when they can, but they don't know the reason why. Tris hasn't known me long enough to know I don't like to be touched, and she sometimes does touch me. Casually, naturally. The way any two friends might graze hands when they pass papers, or to get my attention in a crowd, or just as a friendly gesture for any of a hundred perfectly normal reasons. She has no idea what it does to me when she touches me. I have learned that physical contact equals pain. I learned that from my father's hands. When she touches me, I feel the opposite of pain, but I have no name for it. The first time I felt it, it terrified me. My heart was racing, and I felt such warmth spread from the point of contact, I thought surely she could feel it too? But I glanced at ther quickly, and nothing in her expression indicated she was in the same turmoil I was.

She comes home today. I will see her tomorrow. I just need to get through today. How am I going to do that?

It is only 6:00 a.m., Sunday Morning. I lie in bed quietly for at least another half an hour. When I think that I hear the sounds of the bedsprings in Marcus' bedroom, I get up and get dressed. Long pajama pants and a loose long sleeve tee shirt. I grab some socks too, the floors are cold this time of year. Marcus refuses to turn on the heat for the winter until absolutely necessary.

Before I leave my room, I stretch my hands up over my head and out to the slides, to twist a couple of times side to side very slowly. I am stiff but not as bad as some mornings. Marcus of course, won't acknowledge what happened last night. He never does. It is as if the entire experience only exists in my head and the only evidence is on my skin. I bend over and touch my toes a couple of times, then step back into downward dog, then up to warrior pose, and back down to touch my toes. Now I can move more freely, the pain is not so bad.

I head downstairs to make coffee and wait for the sun to come up. While the coffee percolates, I walk to the end of the driveway to pick up the paper, then set it on the dining room table for Marcus. He will probably want to read it before we go to church.

Church, one of the other lies in my life. Marcus is an elder in our church. He mentors young men in stewardship, he councils grieving widowers when they struggle with the loss of their wife. He is, to all outside observers, a good and honorable man. But they have no idea what hides beneath that placid and pious shell. Growing up, I was expected to volunteer in the church as well, and I finally found a fitting role for me as a junior youth aid to the minister. I helped with the kids after they left the service following the youth sermon. I played basketball with them on Wednesday nights at Summer Youth Group and have plans to chaperone them on the ski trip later this year. Those kids were the best part of my summer, they mean more to me than anything else in that church. The church is just a building to me, the Bible is just a book. The crucifix on the wall is a symbol. Faith? Faith is the belief in things unseen…. I have had no faith since I was nine years old and was left to defend myself from the Devil himself.

She comes home tonight. I will see her tomorrow.

The strain in my chest eases a bit. Maybe that is a kind of faith. I believe she is coming home, though I can not see it. I believe that she will be waiting for me to pick her up tomorrow. She will smile when she sees me, though she has no reason to want to be with me. I believe that is what I want most in this moment, to see her smiling at me. I close my eyes and imagine her clear blue-grey eyes, with just a slight smudging of makeup. She is perfect.

I hear a foot on the stairs above and then come crashing back to reality. I can not stand here in the kitchen daydreaming about Tris. I have to get my head in the game or Marcus will take it out on me again.

"Good Morning Sir. Would you like some coffee?"

"Thank you, Tobias, but you are not a waiter. I can pour my own coffee."

"Yes Sir. The paper is in the dining room. If you will excuse me, I am going to go take a shower."

Just that small exchange was enough to make my fingers begin to go numb. The man terrifies me to the point my blood freezes in my veins. Capillaries! I silently correct myself with my newfound knowledge of the vascular system, thanks to my Anatomy class.

Anatomy class…..Tris…. She comes home tonight. I will see her tomorrow.

When I get upstairs to my room, I glance at my phone. I don't know why. Uriah and Zeke are still asleep this time of day. No one would have called or texted me yet today. Who am I hoping to have a message from? Tris. She comes home tonight. I will see her tomorrow. She is with her family this weekend, there is no chance she is thinking about me. She is probably asleep right now anyway.

She comes home tonight. I will see her tomorrow.

The warm water soothes the rest of my aches for now. I have to be careful to not take too long, or use too much of the hot water. Marcus still has to take his shower. I select a blazer, slacks, and a white shirt and am contemplating my tie collection when Marcus knocks on the door.

He never knocks, my guard is immediately up, but I can't let him see that. "Yes Sir?"

Marcus opens the door part way and leans his body around it to ask, "Do the Priors attend services anywhere?"

I shake my head slightly, confused by the question. "I don't know Sir. Tris mentioned that her grandfather was a retired minister. I believe they attended church in Colfax, Sir, but I do not know about here. I can ask her tomorrow."

"Yes, please do. It would be nice to know where they stand on certain things. Wear the dark green striped tie today," he says then leaves down the hall to take his own shower and dress.

I reach for the green tie and put the blue one back in the closet. What things was he talking about? My mind spins out possibilities but none of them seem to make sense. What could he mean?

TRIS POV

The weekend back home was exactly what I needed to shake off the first week of school. Maybe I missed an opportunity to strengthen my budding friendships by going to visit my old home, but I will have plenty of opportunities to spend time with my classmates and new friends. I really needed to spend some time with Mom. Seeing her, getting the chance to talk about Four with her and with Susan have really helped me to realize that I do like him, and I want to see what could evolve from our friendship.

I think about him most of the train ride back to Chicago. I wonder how his weekend was, and how he spent his time. I realize that I don't know all that much about his interests or hobbies outside of his school work and that he is on the paper and the baseball team. Would he even consider coming with me to Colfax for a simple small town Fall Festival? It might seem insignificant or silly to him. Would Marcus allow him to go? Mom assured me that she would be happy to speak to any of the parents beforehand to make sure they understand there would be adults present in the house as well as us kids. Even if she has to go to work, my grandparents would be there the whole time.

I keep pulling out my phone to text Tobias, but what would I say? We have only ever texted for informational or update purposes. Maybe he doesn't even keep his phone with him at home. I don't have his house number, and it's already 10:00 p.m. anyway, too late to call the house now. I put my phone away and just fidget with the keychain on my zipper pull of my backpack. It was a going away present from Susan when we moved, a large friendship bracelet woven around a split ring. I didn't pay much attention to it when she gave it to me, I was too distracted by the unwanted tasks of packing and moving, but now I really study it. She used all my favorite colors of embroidery floss, and the alternating zig zag patterns must have taken a lot of time to make. I wonder if I thanked her properly. I resolve to make her a present and bring it with me when I come back for the Festival. Maybe Dad can take me to the art supply store, I saw they had a good selection of yarns. I can make her a scarf or a hat.

Before I know it, the train is rolling into the station in Chicago, and I can see my dad on the platform with his phone in his hand...reading an email no doubt. I hope he didn't work all weekend while I was gone.

"Hi Dad!" I chirp and give him a big hug when I reach him on the platform.

He hugs me back and kisses the top of my head. "Welcome home, Peanut! How was Colfax?"

"It was Colfax. Same as always, only now Betty Parker is about to pop with twins, um Old Mr. Carver sold his farm, but the new owner has promised to still do the corn maze for the Festival and something else I can't remember right now. I'm sure it wasn't that important. Speaking of the Festival, Dad, I want to go back for the Festival and invite my new school friends to go with me. Mom said it was ok, and she'd talk to their parents if they need confirmation we will be supervised. The boys can have the basement, and the girls can stay upstairs. What do you think?"

"I think," he pauses and observes me for a moment before smiling, "that I haven't heard you speak so animatedly about anything in weeks, and you must have enjoyed your visit this weekend! Yes, of course you can go back for the Festival, and you can invite your friends to go, but I would be surprised if their parents all let them go with you, Beatrice. You are new to the school, and your friends' parents don't know your mom or me yet. They may not want their kids riding the train off to a little town hours away for an overnight trip with both boys and girls."

"Do you think Mr. Eaton would let Four go?"

"Four? I don't know. Marcus is rather strict, but it won't hurt to ask. I didn't think you were interested in him as anything more than friends?"

"I don't know anymore, Dad. I do like him, and after talking with Mom and Susan, I want to see how much. I figured since you and Mr. Eaton were both in favor of us spending time together, we might go ahead and appease you. It was your idea Dad, remember?" I smile and add a teasing tone to my voice. I don't want Dad to read too much into this request.

"Yes, I remember. Well, to be fair, my idea began and ended with him being a ride to school. I can't claim I knew what Marcus had in mind. Halfway through dinner last week he seemed to have decided that you are the perfect match for his son, and no one else will do. I am glad that you two left the dinner table and had some time alone. While you were gone Marcus told me a little about what he expects from his son. That boy doesn't get to have a lot of fun, and if spending time with you, even as friends means he gets to be a teenager for a little while, I am in favor of it as long as you are too. You don't have to date him, or anything like that. It would be enough to simply be friends with the boy, which you already are."

"I promise Dad. Four and I will be what we want to be. Don't take this the wrong way, but the decision is ours, not yours and not Mr. Eaton's."

"You are wise beyond your years Tris. Let's get home, you have school in the morning and it is late." He wraps his arm around my shoulder and carries my backpack in his other hand as we walk to the parking lot.