The Divided Child by Ekaterine Nikas Page B

him away with my feet.
                He
shouted something and grabbed me around the waist.   There was a horrible grating sound, then the stone behind me
slid away with a sickening lurch.   I screamed, and Geoffrey pulled me toward him.   From somewhere below came a loud crash.   I turned in the safe circle of his arms
and looked back at the wall.   Two
large blocks were missing.   "Are they all loose?"   I demanded hoarsely.
                "No,"
he replied, his voice ragged.   "Just the two."
                "The
two?" I repeated, at a loss.   My head felt clogged, as if all my thoughts had tangled together in a
single mass, like a knotted ball of string.
                "The
two over the bench.”   His arms fell
away and he took a step back.   “They were loosened beforehand -- with a tire iron, I think."  
                I
stared down at where he was pointing, and ran a hand across the newly exposed
stone.   There it was:   a long, thin groove running down the center.   I ran my fingertips across the place
where the second block had stood and found a twin groove there.   I moved to the left, past the gap, and
tested the wall.   It felt
solid.   Carefully, I leaned over to
take a look, and I didn't struggle when Geoffrey reached out to brace me.
                Several
hundred feet below us was the Chapel of St. George.   To its left, and directly beneath the gap in the wall, was
an area temporarily roped off from visitors.   In the center of the roped off area was a splintered bench covered
with broken stone.
                "I'm
sorry," I murmured as I stepped back.   "I guess I owe you an apology -- and a thank-you for
saving my life."
                "No
need," he said, bending over and gingerly rubbing his leg.   "I was partially to blame.   I should have warned you that the block
was loose."   He grimaced as he
straightened up.
                "Why
didn't you warn me?" I demanded.
                His
eyes locked with mine.   "I had
to find out how much you knew."
                "Oh,
I see.   If I fell over the wall and
was killed, then you would know you could trust me?"
                "I
didn't let you fall over, did I?” he exclaimed.   “Despite, I might add, being pummeled and kicked by the
closest thing to a she-donkey I ever hope to meet."   He pointedly massaged his left arm
where I'd punched him.
                "Well,
it was your own fault,” I said   “If
you hadn't jumped on me like some kind of maniac --"
                "If
you hadn’t hurled yourself at that wall like a crazy fool --"
                We
glared at each other for about ten seconds.   Then the edge of my mouth started to quiver.   I thought I saw his lower lip give an
answering tremor, but he quickly tightened his mouth to cover it.   I tried to do the same, but the
ridiculous image of myself as a donkey kicking wildly in all directions while
Geoffrey jumped nimbly back and forth across my back filled my mind and
sabotaged my best efforts to stay angry.
                Giggles
rushed up my throat like bubbling champagne, but it wasn’t my laughter that
suddenly erupted like fireworks in my ear.   Startled, I gazed up at Geoffrey’s grinning face and all the
tension of the last twenty-four hours seemed to evaporate.   Without thought I stepped into his
arms.   Just as naturally, he drew
me close and rocked me to the rhythm of our shared laughter.
                Then,
just as quickly as it had come, the laughter subsided, and I realized I was
standing there with my eyes closed and my cheek pressed against his chest.   I thought I felt his lips brush against
my hair, but I must have imagined it, for when I finally found the courage to
look up, he was gazing pensively into the distance.   He looked like a man waiting patiently to be released.   Mortified to