Pathways - Jeri Taylor [148]
His mother smiled. “The girls convinced me you would appreciate a hovercraft more if you thought you weren’t getting one. They knew you expected it. So they evolved this whole scheme, and persuaded Vaxi to be a part of it.”
“We knew you’d never guess what was happening if she was involved.” Mixin grinned.
“But I was so nervous,” breathed Vaxi. “My heart was pounding—I was sure I’d mess everything up somehow, and you’d guess what was going on.”
Neelix walked toward the vehicle and ran his hand softly over the finish. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “I couldn’t have imagined anything better.” He turned to his family, to his neighbors, and his eyes began to sting. He felt surrounded, enveloped by love. How did he deserve such happiness? “Thank you,” he breathed. “I’ll always try to . . . to . . . I’ll try never to disappoint you. Any of you.”
It was an odd little speech, and he didn’t quite know where it came from, but his father embraced him strongly and his mother hugged him; Vaxi’s father clapped him on the back, and—bliss of blisses—Vaxi planted a delicate kiss on his cheek. His skin flushed and his stomach twitched in an unfamiliar but decidedly pleasurable way.
He was happier than he’d ever been in his life, happier than he would ever be. He couldn’t imagine ever being unhappy again.
Four years later, just twelve days before his nineteenth birthday, he stood, terrified, stricken by catastrophe, in the yard of a hidden compound on Talax. The world as he knew it was over, and misery was the most positive emotion he could summon.
How had it come to this? How could everything have crumbled so completely, so dreadfully? Was life truly so unpredictable, so uncontrollable? And could he hope that, someday, it might reverse itself as completely and render him happy again?
And, most important: Was there anything he could have done that might have altered this unspeakable course of events?
And as he asked himself this fateful question, he realized the answer. Yes, things might have been different. He would be dead now, of course. But at this point that seemed a far more comforting possibility than the life to which he was now consigned.
In a strange way, it had all happened as a result of his Prixin gift four years ago. His hovercraft. His liberation.
His fantasies had come true. He mastered the craft quickly, and became a skilled pilot. He took Vaxi for long and exhilarating rides over the countryside of Rinax, and she squealed at his bold maneuvers. She even clung to him, as he had imagined her doing, and her dainty hands were indeed like pinpoints of fire, burning into his skin.
They began studying together every night, a practice which immeasurably improved Neelix’s grades. They swam in the pond between their homes, and went to concerts together or in the company of their parents.
His father had acquired a small, knowing smile which appeared whenever Vaxi’s name was mentioned, and his mother seemed serenely happy about the relationship. He knew they were anticipating the eventual acquisition of yet another daughter into their large and loving family.
He never got around to taking Vaxi to his hut in the woods.
He never even mentioned it. It seemed childish now, and he was embarrassed to reveal the detritus of his youth to her. She would undoubtedly think it was foolish and immature behavior, this retreat to an isolated hut for the purpose of living a fantasy life. She would find it strange, aberrant. He couldn’t risk that.
Yet he felt vaguely guilty, as though he’d abandoned a childhood friend without ever saying good-bye. He pictured his hut, standing alone and forlorn in the woods, insects once again draping it with webs, voracious undergrowth creeping toward it across the clearing, vines climbing its walls and obscuring its windows.
These thoughts made him disturbingly uncomfortable, and each night he vowed he’d go tomorrow and clean the place up, restoring it to its pristine state.
And each day he’d spend every moment