Chapter 3: Jude

Sweat covered my skin, and a clammy chill clung to me through the thin fabric of my pajamas. They were the only thing I recognized in the dark. It took me a minute to remember where I was, and it wasn't home. My mom wasn't down the hall, my stuff wasn't strewn about the floor, and I wouldn't be eating at the diner tomorrow morning when daylight took over the night, illuminating the room.

"Are you all right?" A voice startled me.

Jerking my line of sight toward the sound, I waited. I prayed my eyes would adjust and the shadows would stop tricking me into thinking things moved around the room. I'd woken up in here hundreds of times and never felt the panic I did now.

Portia didn't wait for me to respond. My heart hammered in my chest, although I didn't know if it was the nightmare that woke me, the unfamiliar fear clawing at me, or the girl crawling into bed next to me. Portia slinked between the sheet and the comforter. When the blankets moved, the swirling air from the fan hit my skin, causing me to shiver, which likely had to do with my damp clothes. I didn't want her to think I'd peed in the bed, but I wasn't quite ready to put my foot on the floor, brave the empty space between the mattress and the dresser, and change my pajamas.

"Do you feel bad?" She pressed her hand to my forehead. "You don't have a fever."

She laid her head on the pillow next to mine and shifted onto her side to face me. The moon gave off enough light to make out her features. Her smile was soft and gentle even though I couldn't see the crooked, front tooth that made her grin unique. Portia's eyes were wide and bright, even covered by a shadowed veil. There was nothing sleepy in her expression, contrary to my own, which was foggy and unclear. She pressed her hands together and laid her cheek on top of them like an angel. It wasn't the first time Portia had come to comfort me in the midst of a nightmare, yet every time, I wondered briefly if God had sent her to me because he knew I was afraid.

"I just had a bad dream." I finally answered one of her two questions, although those few words answered them both.

She nodded and ran her tongue over her lips. I watched with rapt attention, mesmerized by the sheen that remained. She wiggled a bit and snuggled farther into the pillow and comfort of the blankets. "I had a lot of those after my mom died, too."

I knew that. Even though it had happened months before I met Portia, when I came to stay here the first time, she still had them. Only, she didn't wake me up screaming; she woke herself and often found her way to my room and into the same spot she was in now. We'd hide together for a few hours and then she would retreat to her room before the sun came up.

"Does it get easier?" It was a dumb question; nevertheless, I needed something to cling to-hope that I'd recover and life wouldn't be so painful.

Her shoulder escaped from beneath the blanket when she shrugged. She was thin, and a bone jutted out on top of her shoulder, now exposed by her tank top. I'd admired that little knot for as long as I could remember. I'd never seen another girl that had it-it was all Portia, just like her crooked tooth.

"I don't think my situation was anything like yours. So, it might be easier for me. Or maybe harder. I don't know. My mom wasn't like Carrie. We didn't have lemon pie." It was a euphemism for the good things I had that Portia didn't. She had gained a ton with the Shaws, although I doubted, in her mind, they were the same as having them with her real mom. One day she'd realize Hensley was her real mom. But that was a conclusion she'd have to come to on her own; I certainly wouldn't push it or even point it out.

"Do you still miss her?" I whispered into the darkness the same way I had when we were little, never wanting to wake Ernie or Hensley for fear they would get mad or stop these moments from happening. I often wondered if they realized all the secrets Portia and I shared, or if they grasped the gravity of the bond foster children clung to.

"I think I miss the idea of who I wanted her to be." She sighed. "Then I think how disrespectful that is to Hensley and Ernie, who were more than I ever dreamed."

"I don't believe they expected to replace her. They just love you." I huffed out a little laugh. "Warts and all."

"I couldn't ask for better. But you asked if it gets easier, and I can't say yes or no. There are days where you will forget, and other days it will consume you. It's been ten years, and I still struggle." Portia brought the blanket up close to her chin. "Just don't think you have to do it on your own. You've always got me."

"Except you're leaving. I'll be lost in this house without you."

"Meh. You'll still have Ernie and Hensley. They'll even listen to you talk about your boring books."

I yanked the pillow out from under her head and swatted her with it just before I pretended to smother her. While Portia was shorter than me-and didn't weigh a buck and a quarter soaking wet-she was strong. Her thighs grasped my waist, and her arms wound around my ribs. In the blink of an eye, she threw her weight into a barrel roll, and I landed on my back with Portia straddling my stomach.

She ripped the pillow from my hands, laughing loud enough to wake Ernie and Hensley. I cupped my hand over her mouth to quiet her victory. My gaze strolled from her glittering irises past her perfect nose and down her long neck. Stopping at her chest, her nipples were taut under her thin tank top, and even in the darkness, I could make out their dusky outline beneath the fabric. The top had ridden up her belly in the struggle and now exposed a sliver of her flat stomach and milky skin. Her long hair fell over her shoulder and onto her arm, and when she stopped squirming long enough to tuck it behind her ear, I quickly moved my hand from her mouth to join my other on her hips. I feigned a struggle and lifted her off my stomach to prevent her from noticing my arousal.

"Jesus, do you have rocks in your pockets?" I joked.

She rolled over and back into the spot she'd inhabited moments before...on her side of my bed. Far enough away that she couldn't feel the heat that flushed my skin or witness my growing erection under the blanket.

"Is that a crack at my weight?" She laughed as she spoke.

Before I could respond, she crossed her hands on her stomach and turned her face toward me. "Just a piece of advice there, sunshine"-I secretly loved when she got perturbed enough to make fun of my hair-"you're never going to win over the ladies with those kinds of jokes in your arsenal. Lucky for you, I'm here to school you in the ways of wooing." Her satisfied smirk made me chuckle.

To my knowledge, Portia had only shared one kiss with Bryson Kilpatrick, and that had been forced while playing spin the bottle. For all her rousing of me, she was just as inexperienced. "What do you know about being wooed?"

She stammered before acknowledging she knew nothing in absolute truth. "I've read a lot about it." Her brow pinched with indignation.

"Smut doesn't count. And when did you start reading?" As long as we'd known each other, my affinity for literature had been a source of amusement for Portia. It was all in good fun, but she let me know in her own way that it might be the reason I wasn't all that popular at school. I was never sure if she hadn't figured out that other kids believed I was awkwardly tall, overly skinny, had Irish-red hair, and was covered in freckles, or if she thought that my love of reading was one characteristic I had the power to alter. Either way, I was who I was, and that wasn't going to change.

"Around age five, I believe."

I moved onto my side, intrigued by this revelation. "Smart ass. You know what I mean."

She moved around in an attempt to get under the covers, clearly insecure. When she settled, I assumed she'd answer. She did not.

"Well?"

"What's with the interrogation?"

I hadn't meant to embarrass her, and I wasn't sure how to fix it. Social awkwardness was my forte; charming ladies was not. "I- I didn't mean..."

"I had a hard time when you'd leave. I'd get used to having you around and then you'd be gone again." This was unbeknownst to me. "I started coming into your room because I missed you." Her vibrant, pear-colored eyes glistened with unshed tears. "But there was nothing to do in here other than smell your stinky boy scent. You don't even have a TV." She giggled self-consciously and ran her fingers under her eyes to remove the evidence of her emotion. "Anyway, I was sitting in here after your mom had gotten better, but you'd stayed over one weekend, and I picked one up."

"What was it?" I didn't know why it mattered.

"Huckleberry Finn."

A classic, although not something I thought Portia would enjoy. "Did you like it?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I liked feeling close to you."

She could have slapped me across the face and I wouldn't have been more shocked than I was right that second.

"I know, it's dumb." It wasn't dumb at all. In fact, it made me love her even more. "So, I read them all."

There were hundreds of books on the shelves in this room and had been even then. I'd added to the collection tenfold over the years, but it was the single greatest kindness the Shaws gave me upon my arrival, because it allowed me to live in a place where my troubles didn't exist. "You mean the ones that were here then?"

She shook her head. "No. I mean every book you've ever brought into this house. And those you didn't leave, I bought and added to your shelves after I read them. And when we came to pick you up at your apartment, I'd look in your room to see if there were any new ones and ask Hensley to buy them."

Portia left me speechless. All these years, I believed she hated reading. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The emotional mess that threatened to spill over was replaced by the snarky banter I loved to share with her.

"And risk you thinking I was as big a dork as you are? Pfft. As if." She ruffled my hair playfully and awarded me with a cheesy smile, crooked tooth and all.

I found it hard to believe she'd held onto that secret all these years. If she'd done that, I could only imagine what she was capable of. "What else have you been keeping from me?"

"Nothing." Portia took my hand under the covers and closed her eyes. "Shh. It's late. Go to sleep." Without another thought, she shut down. Once she was done, there was nothing I could do to lure her back.

I couldn't stop myself from adoring her in the darkness. The moonlight cast an ethereal glow to her porcelain skin, and I had to will myself not to lean over and kiss the lips I'd admired since I was eight. I drifted off to sleep, wondering how it could have been the worst day of my life, burying my mother, and the best day, finding out Portia was a closet literature lover.

And when we woke in the morning, she had retreated back to her own room to keep our secrets safe.