Sparks of orange shot out in a star, sizzling and sputtering. Lifting it, I drew an experimental line through the air. Too slow. I did it quicker and the image stayed for a few seconds, a line of fire in the darkness. I spun it in a circle, watching the sparks flash and spin. I wrote my name in the sky, the first
'Almost done,' Clay called after me. 'Throw it and make a wish.'
'That's birthday candles,' I said. 'Only you blow them out, you don't throw them.'
'You threw them once. Cake and all.'
'I threw them
Clay laughed. 'Well, you always throw the sparklers, so you might as well make a wish. A new werewolf superstition.'
As I drew my arm back, the sparkler winked out. Clay lit the other one and handed it to me. I lifted it over my head and spun a figure eight, then brought my arm down and twirled around so fast I nearly tripped over Clay. He laughed and put a hand on the back of my calf to steady me. When I recovered, he didn't take his hand away. I looked down at him, lying on his back beneath me.
'I love you,' he said.
I blinked and froze.
'Bad timing?' he said with a small smile. He took his hand off my leg. 'Better?'
'I-' I started, then stopped. I didn't know what I'd been going to say, didn't know what I wanted to say.
'I'm not trying to seduce you, Elena. The run, the sparklers, they're not leading up to anything. The last few days, I've been trying to keep things easy for you. No tricks. No pressure. I want you to see things clearly. When you do, you'll be able to make your choice. The right choice.'
'Which would be you.'
He waved a hand at my sparkler. 'Better hurry up. It's almost gone. That's the last one until next fireworks day.'
I looked down to see that the glow had almost reached the end of the sparkler. I looked up into the trees above, then pulled back my arm, and threw it high. The glowing ember shot into the sky, arced, then came tumbling down, end over end like a falling star. I glanced down at Clay. He was watching the sparkler and grinning with as much childlike joy as I'd felt, dancing around the grove with my fairy wand. I looked back up at the light, closed my eyes, and made my wish.
I wished I knew what I wanted.
Possibilities
We slept in the forest until dawn, then dressed and headed out before morning hikers and joggers intruded on our domain. We found a tiny bistro near Yonge and had breakfast on the front patio. Business was brisk, but it was all takeout, commuters stopping to grab a double espresso and biscotti on the way to the office. No one had time to stop and sit. We had the patio to ourselves and the staff left us alone even when we'd been there more than an hour. I was leaning back in my chair, eyes closed, fingers against my warm coffee cup, listening to Clay's running commentary on the morning traffic of cars and people rushing by.
'You look happy,' he said suddenly.
'I am,' I said, not opening my eyes. I tilted my head back and felt the heat of the sun on my face. 'You know, I couldn't imagine living somewhere without seasons.'
'Yeah?'
'Real seasons, I mean. I'd miss the changes, the variety. Especially spring. I couldn't live without spring. Days like today are worth every snowstorm and slush puddle. By March, it seems like winter will never end. All that snow and ice that seemed so wonderful in December is driving you crazy. But you know spring's coming. Every year, you wait for that first warm day, then the next and the next, each better than the last. You can't help but be happy. You forget winter and get the chance to start over. Fresh possibilities.'
'A fresh start.'
'Exactly.'
Clay hesitated, then leaned forward as if to say something, but then stopped, pulled back, and said nothing.
We got back to the apartment after nine. I was late for work, but I was in too good a mood to care. I could always work through lunch or stay late. No big deal.
As we headed up the elevator, Clay told me how some street punks had tried to steal his car on a trip to New York City last winter. By the time I got to the apartment, I was laughing so hard I nearly fell inside as we walked into the apartment.
'Seriously?' I said as I closed the door.
Clay didn't answer. When I glanced at him, he wasn't laughing. He wasn't even looking at me. His gaze was trained somewhere over my shoulder. I turned to see Philip sitting on the recliner, arms crossed, looking like a parent who'd been waiting up all night for an errant child. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My brain raced, wondering how long he'd been home, what excuse would be appropriate. Had he come back that morning? If so, I could say we'd gone out for breakfast. As we stepped farther inside, Philip stood.
'I'd like to talk to Elena,' he said.
Clay headed for the bathroom. Philip stepped in his path. Clay halted, shoulders tightening. He started turning his gaze toward Philip, then stopped, looking somewhere past him. He tried stepping around, as if he didn't see anyone there.
'I said, I want to talk to Elena,' Philip said. 'I'd like you to leave.'
Clay turned and headed for the sofa. Again, Philip stepped in front of him and again Clay tensed. His hands clenched once at his sides, then relaxed. Philip was challenging him and it cost every ounce of self-control to ignore it. I was about to step in when Clay turned and looked at me.
'Please,' I said.
He nodded and headed for the door, murmuring, 'I'll be downstairs,' as he passed me. When the door closed, I turned to Philip.
'When did you get back?' I asked.
'I didn't go.'
'So you-'
'I was here all night.'
I stalled as I struggled to think up an excuse. 'The meeting was canceled?'
'There was no meeting.'
I looked up sharply.
'Yes, I lied, Elena,' he said. 'I had to prove to myself that my suspicions were wrong.'
'You think Clay and I are-'
'No. I wondered, but you wouldn't have needed to leave the apartment for that. Something's going on, it's just not the obvious.' Philip paused. 'You know he's in love with you, don't you?'
As I opened my mouth, he held up his hand.
'Don't,' he continued. 'It doesn't matter whether you know or not, or agree or not. He is. It's there for anyone to see, every time he looks at you, the way he talks to you. I don't know how you feel about him. I can't tell. Whenever I walk into the room, you two are arguing or laughing or doing both at the same time. I don't understand it. I don't understand a lot of things since you got back.'
'He'll be leaving soon.'
'Not soon. Now. Today.'
He turned and walked into the bedroom. As I debated going after him, he returned with a handful of papers.
