Making Faces

by Amy Harmon

“Everybody is a main character to someone,” Bailey theorized, winding his way through the busy hall and out the nearest exit into the November afternoon. “There are no minor characters.

“It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that you aren’t ever going to be loved the way you want to be loved.”

But was she still ugly? Or had she just been ugly for so long that everyone had already made up their minds?

He was such an idiot. He’d twiddled his thumbs all summer long with not a damn thing to do. Now here he was, the night before his last day in town, and he was just discovering that he might like a girl who had all but thrown herself at him more than six months before.

“But that’s the cool thing about friendship. It’s not about being perfect, or even being deserving. We love you, you love us, so we’ll be there for you. Me and Bailey both.”

“Fern. Stop. I’m fine.” “You’re not fine! She should never have said those things to you! I hate her! I am going to throw rocks at her house and break all her windows!” Fern’s voice broke, and he could see she was close to tears.

“Maybe there is a bigger purpose, a bigger picture that we only contribute a very small piece to. You know, like one of those thousand-piece puzzles? There’s no way you can tell by looking at one piece of the puzzle what the puzzle is going to look like in the end. And we don’t have the picture on the outside of the puzzle box to guide us.”

“You’re kind of a strange girl, Fern Taylor,” Ambrose said softly, his eyes on hers, his right eye sightless, his left eye trying to see beneath the surface. “I’ve seen those books you read. The ones with the girls on the front with their boobs falling out and the guys with the torn shirts. You read smutty romance novels and quote scripture. I’m not quite sure I have you figured out.”

“Scripture comforts me, and romance novels give me hope.” “Oh, yeah? Hope for what?” “Hope that I’ll be doing more than quoting scripture with Ambrose Young in the very near future.” Fern blushed furiously and looked at her hands.

My girl is straightforward like that.

Fern laid her head on his shoulder and Ambrose smoothed her hair, amazed at how much better it felt to give comfort than receive it. He’d been on the receiving end of care and comfort from Elliott and his mother, as well as his hospital staff, for many long months. But since the attack, he had never given comfort, never offered a shoulder to cry on, never burdened himself with the weight of someone else’s grief.

He had no idea how he felt. Right now, he was tied up in a million knots, and he couldn’t say things he didn’t mean, just to make the moment easier. But he marveled at her courage to speak, and beneath his confusion and despair, he believed her. He believed she did love him. And that humbled him. Maybe someday, as the knots became unraveled, this moment would wrap around him, tying him to her.

Fern’s never had very good luck with animals. She smothers them with affection and care and they thank her by croaking. Fern hasn’t figured out how to play hard to get.”

Ambrose didn’t want to talk to the guys about Fern. It felt too soon. And he discovered he wanted to protect her, even from the ghosts of his closest friends. They’d all laughed too often at the little redhead, told too many jokes at her expense, poked too many holes, and taunted one too many times. So Ambrose kept Fern to himself, safe inside a rapidly expanding corner of his heart, where only he knew she belonged.

“I understand what you’re saying . . . and I appreciate it. I do. But I would really like it if, just for once, I could be beautiful to you on the outside.”

Bam !

the mother of the little girl was praying that they would find the child’s body. She wasn’t praying they would discover her alive. She was praying that her baby had died quickly and accidentally, because the alternative was a lot more terrible. Can you imagine knowing your child was somewhere suffering horribly and you couldn’t do anything about it?”

“Because terrible things happen to everyone, Brosey. We’re all just so caught up in our own crap that we don’t see the shit everyone else is wading through.”

Books allow you to be whoever you want to be, to escape yourself for a while.

He felt a strange falling sensation in his chest and lifted his hand to rub the spot just above his heart, as if he could soothe the feeling and send it away. It was happening more and more often when he was around her.

“I love my mom, but she’s lost. I didn’t want to be lost with her. People like Elliott aren’t ever lost. Even when the world tumbles around his ears, he knows exactly who he is. He’s always made me feel safe.” Fern was like Elliott in that way, Ambrose realized suddenly. She was grounded, solid, a refuge.