Pearl

I avoided Owen Weaver at all costs. My father would ask me to come to the gym, but I complained that I was too tired. My first year of college was approaching, so I used this as an excuse as well, saying that I didn't want to work on my last weeks of freedom.

"Pearly, come on. I want to spend time with you before you leave for Sarah Lawrence," my father would say.

I would shake my head and say, "No, Papa. I want to stay and read books and drink sodas with my friends."

And he would shake his head with disdain.

Owen still came by for dinner though, so I would eat quickly and flee to my bedroom before he got there. One time when I was flying up the stairs, I heard his deep voice say my name, as if he were asking for me. My momma said, "She is eating like a bird these days. Quick, little bites. She wants to fit into her bridesmaid dress for Claire's wedding, if you ask me."

One day I was in town with my best friend Barbie. We were sitting at Faye's Diner in a little booth at the front. Barbie was braiding my golden brown hair while we sipped on milkshakes. We were talking about her fiancee, Thomas. It seemed like everyone was getting married back then.

"Tom says he's going to buy me a house on that street, you know. Maple Street, where all of the nice families live. A big white house with a big red door."

"Yes, a big boring white house with a big boring red door to raise little boring children," I quipped under my breath.

"Shush, Pearl. Why do you say things like that? It's not very nice," Barbie said. She was hurt and angry. I apologized.

"I'm sorry, Barbie. But I am just exhausted of hearing about weddings and plans and God knows what else."

"That may be so, but you don't have to be rude, you know," she replied.

"I said I was sorry," I said back dolefully.

"Sorry about what?"

Barbie and I both looked up quickly to find Owen Weaver standing above us. He was wearing normal clothes now, not the exercise gear I had been accustomed to see on him. Just a plain red dress shirt with folded up sleeves and soft looking black trousers. It angered me that he looked so nice.

"I'm sorry, we haven't met," Barbie said gracefully and extended her hand out to Owen.

He grinned in response and said, "I'm Owen Weaver. I work with Pearl's father at the gym."

"Oh! Right," Barbie replied joyfully, "Are you having something? Would you like to join us?" She gestured to the seat across from us.

"I would love to, but I'm not alone," Owen said softly. Right then, as if on cue, a young woman walked in and stood beside Owen. Her skin was a translucent ivory. It stood out against her bright blue eyes and inky black hair.

"Hello, Owen. Introduce me," she said with a wicked smile.

"Pearl, Barbie -this is my sister Olive."

My heart sank. I watched her mother die.

"Pearl! You work at the gym right? Your Mr. Wilson's daughter?" Olive asked.

It took me a second to gather myself and reply, "Yes."

Barbie took it upon herself to be a proper lady and said, "Olive, we were just telling your brother that you two were more than welcome to sit with us."

Olive grinned, "Oh yes. We will sit here," she said.

I watched as she scooted into the red leather booth. Owen sat down next to her, right across from me, as always.

"Why haven't you been at the gym, Pearl?" he asked as Olive and Barbie gabbed about some pink cardigan they had seen in the department store window across the street.

"I've been quite busy preparing for school," I said, looking down at the unraveling braid in my hair.

"That's right. Your daddy said you were going to Sarah Lawrence. That's a great school," he said, "You must be a smart girl."

"I try to be," I muttered, playing with the straw in my milkshake.

"You do make that impression," he commented. It caused me to look up at him.

"What do you mean?" I questioned.

"I mean that you seem very conscious, you know. Careful and thoughtful."

"Hm. I will choose to take that as a compliment," I said quietly.

"You should. People tend to lack that quality nowadays," he replied.

"Well, what kind of qualities do you possess, Owen?" I asked.

He looked taken aback for a long second and there was a long pause.

"I know you're a great fighter," I continued, "And I know that you treat my family well. But what else do you do?"

He looked confused by my pressing tone, but he replied rather simply, "I guess you'll have to find out for yourself."

"Ugh. Such a boy-answer," I huffed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that's what a boy says when he can't think of anything to say."

Owen laughed under his breath, "That may be true. I can't think of anything to say. You seem to ask things you already know the answers to. I can't quite put my finger on what it is."

I stared at him for a second. When I had asked him to tell me about himself I half expected for him to say that he had drowned his mother. Owen interrupted my silence with, "Will you come back to the gym?"

"What's the point?" I asked, "I'm leaving next week anyway."

"Then what's the problem? It's only a week that you'll have to bear being in my presence," he said with his eyebrows wagging up and down.

A laugh came out of my mouth. Owen seemed surprised and said, "So will you?"

"Fine, fine. It's only a week."

I didn't know, however, that a lot could happen within the course of one week.