Free Solstice - Of The Heart by John Blenkush Page A

shoulder. After I crawled
off the ceiling and wiped the sleep from my
eyes I saw Cherrie standing before me.
    Now I have to tell you, seeing Cherrie
standing before me at six in the morning is a bit unnerving, given
the fact I had never seen her vertical so early in the
day.
    “Cherrie, what are you doing here? Or
better yet, what are you doing out of bed?”
    Cherrie sat down on the couch. She
pulled the unlit cigarette from her mouth. “Just wanted to catch
you before you left for school.”
    “Why?”
    “To talk.”
    “About what?”
    “Got any coffee?”
    “You just woke me up, Cherrie. If you
want I can make some.”
    She followed me into the kitchen. I
ran hot water into a mug, put it in the microwave, and hit the
button.
    “What are you doing?” Cherrie
asked.
    “Making coffee.”
    “Really?”
    I pulled the instant Folgers pack from
the drawer and held it up so she could see.
    “That’s not coffee.”
    “Cherrie, why are you
here?”
    “How’d it go last night?”
    “What do you mean?”
    Cherrie moved over to the coffee
maker. She dumped out the old grounds and leftover coffee.
“Where’re your filters and grounds?”
    “I don’t know. Mom always makes
it.”
    Cherrie started throwing open
cupboards and opening drawers. She found the filters. I found the
coffee grounds in the refrigerator as I pulled the half and half
out for my instant brew.
    “Did Aaron say anything?”
    Uncle Mickey wasn’t all that big on
wasting space so when he built the cabin he more or less squeezed
the kitchen and dining facilities together in the same room. I had
a seat at the small table with the two chairs.
    “Not much,” I said as I took sips from
my coffee.
    Cherrie finished prepping the coffee
and had a seat across from me.
    I took a look out the window. It was
drizzling, maybe even sleeting. I was in for another wet-bottom
day.
    “Well, he must have said something,”
Cherrie said, “to get you to buy the beanie.” She pointed to my
head.
    “What makes you think I bought it from
him?”
    Cherrie gave me the don’t-kid-a-kidder
look.
    “Well, he was nice. And he picked this
one out of the bunch.”
    “Yeah. Yeah.” Cherrie flicked her
fingers as if guiding me forward. “Keep it coming.”
    “What do you want me to tell
you?”
    “Everything,” Cherrie said. “But
wait.” She held up her hand in stop sign fashion. “Let me grab my
coffee. I want to see your face when you spill it.”
    I waited while Cherrie poured a cup of
coffee. I was glad she wasn’t one to doctor it with sugar, half and
half, and such. The caffeine worked its way into my blood stream. I
came alive and was more than ready to talk about Aaron.
    “You want a refill?” Cherrie
asked.
    “No. Thanks. Can’t drink it. Too
bitter.”
    “Okay. So tell me. How’d it
go?”
    “He was nice...”
    “You said that already.”
    “He’s gorgeous.”
    “This we already know.”
    “But even more so up close. He is just
so perfect in so many ways. It’s hard to describe.”
    “Go ahead. I can take a dose of
icky-sweet with my coffee. I’ll forego the cinnamon
roll.”
    “His eyes draw you into him. I could
look at them all day long and never be bored. They speak volumes.
It’s just the way the light shines in them. They’re always
changing.”
    “Don’t think that is such a good
thing.”
    “Why?”
    “Shifty eyes.”
    “I didn’t say shifty.”
    “Well, that’s what it sounds
like.”
    “Do you want to hear this or
not?”
    Cherrie picked up her mug, and with
the same motion I had seen her perform when she was steeling
herself with a shot of hard liquor, she downed the coffee. She set
the cup down, leaned back in her chair, and said, “Give it to
me.”
    “He’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of
having in a boy. Tall. Handsome. Kind.”
    “Explain kind, because,” Cherrie said,
narrowing her eyes, “from what I know being unsociable isn’t a
trait of kindness.”
    “I’m not finding him
unsociable.”
    “But