The Thorn and the Blossom: A Two-Sided Love Story Read Free Page A

town of Pengarth, where there was an old fort. The next morning she would be taking the bus to Truro. Evelyn wondered if she could stay another week. But the airplane tickets had been bought long ago, and what would her parents think? She and Brendan spent the morning clambering over the stones and then had lunch at the hotel.
    Afterward, she asked if, instead of taking the bus, they could walk back to Clews through the forest. She didn’t want this day to end.
    “There’s a path I used to take when I was a child,” he said. “It’s easy enough, although there are roots in places. But are you sure, Evelyn? It’s a matter of seven miles. I don’t think you’re used to walking so far.”
    “I’ll be fine,” she said, bridling. Did it look like she didn’t exercise?She did the treadmill and the Stairmaster in the gym at Harvard.
    When they started back, she was sure they’d made the right decision. The forest was filled with sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves. It was like walking in a great, green cathedral.
    They didn’t walk particularly quickly, and they took rests to look at acorns with interesting shapes, a red squirrel that chirred at them from a branch, a robin that stared at them for a moment and then flew off.
    By the time Brendan announced they were approaching Clews, it was beginning to get cold. “Here, take my jacket,” he said. She wrapped it around her. It smelled like him, like old books.
    “Evelyn, there’s something I want to say. Can we sit down for a minute?” They sat on a fallen tree covered with moss.
    “What is it?” she asked. He looked almost concerned. He was silent for a moment, then said, “These last couple of days, I’m not sure I can describe—”
    He looked at her as though unsure how to go on. Suddenly, he put his hand on her cheek, leaned down, and kissed her. The kiss was long, so long and sweet that she felt as though her heart had stopped, or as though it had started beating with the forest itself.
    She could feel the trees above her, their roots beneath the soil. She could feel the moss growing, the earth stirring with whatever animals lived underground. Idly, she wondered if she were still breathing or if her breath was now part of the forest, part of its life.
    She could feel him pulling back, slowly, reluctantly, his hand still on her cheek. She opened her eyes.
    And looked into a face of leaves. There were leaves growing over his face, vines sprouting from his shoulders. In front of her, touching her, he was becoming a tangle, a thicket of oak and elderand ash. She felt a tendril on her cheek and saw that his hands were made of ivy. But his eyes were still the eyes of Brendan Thorne, green with brown flecks. They looked back at her, enigmatic and suddenly inscrutable.
    It was happening again. The world—the real world—was slipping away from her. She felt a terrifying sense of panic.
    “Evelyn,” he said, but his voice sounded deep, hollow, as though it were coming from the bottom of a well.
    She screamed.
    She jumped up from the fallen tree and stumbled backward. The man of leaves and vines rose and followed, his arms reaching for her. He was all greenery now, except his lower legs, where she could still see jeans and sneakers. But the vines were reaching there, too, and soon he would be not a man at all, but a part of the forest, following her, trying to catch her.
    She turned and ran. She didn’t look back or stop running until she reached the Giant’s Head. Her suitcase was already packed. She quickly checked the bus schedule; there was a bus to Truro in half an hour. She threw the rest of her clothes into her backpack. By the time she paid her bill, the bus was waiting. She boarded and didn’t look back as it drove away from Clews. She tried not to think about what had happened until she was on the airplane to New York. And when she did think about it, she went into the plane’s lavatory and cried, sitting on the toilet seat, sobbing