Pearls of wisdom by Ms. Hove:
According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, human beings date and mate on the basis of what they get out of it. We are constantly asking ourselves, how will this relationship meet my needs? Those who grew up in an unsupportive home environment will look for a more nurturing partner, while those from loving homes will seek out a mate who provides opportunity for growth. It may seem a rather self-serving theory, but our survival relies upon it. Only when lower-level needs are satisfied can we then move on toward the goal of realizing our personal potential!
What he was doing there, she didn’t know. But he most definitely was hanging around on purpose, hands tucked casually in the front pockets of his jeans as he slouched his rear end directly against her locker.
She hesitated. He hadn’t seen her yet. Could she turn around and leave without stopping? No, she needed her algebra II textbook. There was a quiz on linear systems tomorrow. With a deep breath, she advanced. “You mind moving? I need to get in there.”
He said nothing, just scooched one locker over and gave her a cool look. Eyes averted, she spun the combination to her lock, sensing his invasive stare throughout the entire process. Finally she couldn’t take it anymore. “Um, is there something I can do for you, Nathan?”
“Why, yes,” he replied, as if whatever this was had been her idea all along. “You’re seeing my man Declan now, am I right?”
She nodded hesitantly, instantly suspicious of where this was going.
“So don’t you think it’d be a good idea if we got to know each other better? I mean, I don’t know about you, but I kinda got the impression we started off on the wrong foot.”
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said as she grabbed the mammoth book and dropped it into her backpack with a thud. She pulled her leather jacket off the hook, slammed the locker closed, and turned to face him at last. And what a sight: cocky and smug. It was impossible to look at him without seeing Lauren’s watery eyes, her shoulders slumped in desperation. She could barely hide her disgust.
Nathan’s phone jingled. He retrieved it from his back pocket and scanned a few texts before blessing her once again with his undivided attention. “I’m talking about how you don’t seem to like me much.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” she replied. It wasn’t true; she didn’t dislike him. She utterly loathed him. Nathan was simply a younger version of her father. A soon-to-be good-for-nothing sleaze ball husband. And with this foresight, something uncharacteristically hostile and venomous rose up from inside. The meek and humble Vivien stepped aside to make room for the righteous one, the one who had no problem putting Nathan Dorsette in his proper place.
Nathan shrugged, rubbed his neck as if he was under great strain, then nestled his hands back into his pockets. “It’s just this vibe I get whenever I’m around you.”
“And you care because...?”
“Because, Vivs, I wanna be your friend.”
“Look.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what this is all about, but I’m kinda in a hurry. I’m supposed to be somewhere right now.”
“And where is that?”
“It’s really no concern of yours.” She’d stayed up extra late last night reading Tristan und Isolde. The story had captivated her right from the start. And now, despite her previous hesitations, she felt the old excitement she used to feel when she was working on a piece she loved.
Nathan held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No need to get testy. I know sometimes people get the wrong idea about me ’cause I tend to joke around a lot and shit.”
She couldn’t decide if he was sincere or not. “Whatever. I guess we can, since you happen to be seeing one of my best friends. I heard you’re going over to her house.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Whose house?”
“Lauren’s!”
“Oh. Right.”
What the heck? What was with this guy? She felt like kicking him square in the nuts. “Yeah. It looked like you guys were way more than friends the other night at Riley’s,” she blurted. “All over each other, if you know what I mean.”
He ran his fingers through his blonde hair, flicked his chin, and gave her a self-satisfied smirk. But his smile faded as he studied her face.
She narrowed her eyes. “Yeah…all over each other. Especially you. I have to say I was quite surprised. Shocked even.” She hadn’t meant to go in this direction, but once she’d started, she couldn’t help herself.
Now his smile vanished completely and he gave her a hard stare before looking down at his feet. “Sure. We had fun. Riley always throws a kick-ass party,” he replied.
“Fun, right. That’s what you’re calling it.”
His head popped up again and he frowned.
She smiled innocently. “So…if we’re finished being friends, I gotta get going. Glad we had a chance to clear things up.”
When Christophe opened the door to her, he looked different. The usual spark was missing.
She tried to pretend it was nothing all through the coffee and small talk, but at last she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Christophe, is something wrong? It seems like you’re somewhere else today.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, his lips closing softly on a cigarette. He didn’t light it. Just sat and stared vacantly out the window. At last he turned to her. “I’m afraid this is not going to work.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
He reached for his lighter, holding it to the tip with a slight tremor in his hand. After a deep exhale, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his arm out the length of the table, dangling the cigarette between two fingers. “You can’t come here anymore.”
She felt her pulse slow, stop, then restart in double time. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s for the best.”
What was he talking about? A feeling of panic overcame her, which was crazy because she had been the one having doubts. The idea to end it had been hers. But now that he’d come up with it first, she felt blindsided, her pride wounded. Quickly, her mind raced through possible explanations. “What, because of yesterday?” she said. “Declan and I…we just happened. I meant to tell you…”
He broke into smooth laughter, shaking his head repeatedly. “Vivien. That has nothing to do with it.” His expression turned solemn. “What you do on your own time is no concern of mine.”
She felt her entire body heat up. “Oh…I just meant…I don’t know why I thought...Geez, I feel really stupid right now.”
Christophe took a deep drag and studied her some more. There was a curious twinkle in his eye. “Don’t,” he said. “But I must admit, I was surprised. You seemed less than interested in him that day in the courtyard.”
“I know. I wasn’t. But—”
“Precisely when did you succumb to his devastating charms?”
She hesitated, detecting what she thought was a trace of sarcasm. But maybe he was just speaking formally, as he tended to do. “We kept running into each other,” she told him. “It was raining. I actually didn’t want to get in.” She stopped, the memory so sharp in her mind: the smell of the car, her wet clothing stuck to her skin, Declan’s eyes in the rearview mirror, watching her so carefully. “I guess the more I saw of him, the more I realized he wasn’t so bad after all,” she finished.
“Sounds like love at first sight.”
There it was again, the mockery. “No, of course it wasn’t. It was—it turned out—he wasn’t who I thought he was. It’s all new to me,” she added after a moment, ducking her head, skirting his gaze. “I’ve actually never had a boyfriend before.”
He stubbed out the end of the cigarette and regarded her with care. “Allow me to offer some advice.”
She waited while he appeared to be searching for the right words.
“Be careful. I happen to have several kids from that crowd in my morning class, and I know what they do when they’re not in school.”
“It’s not like that,” she said quickly. “And anyway, I’m not a child. I know what I’m doing.” She wracked her brain to try to back this up. “We’ve already been to a party together. A Halloween party. On campus.” She placed a particular emphasis on this last detail.
Christophe frowned. “So this is where he’s leading you? College parties?”
The way he said it made her feel instantly ashamed. “No, no.” She picked up her spoon and tried to look busy stirring her coffee. Then she looked up at him. “Honestly? I had a terrible time,” she admitted with a nervous laugh.
Christophe nodded and withdrew another cigarette. “You don’t fit in with his crowd,” he said, tapping the cigarette as he spoke. It stung to hear him say it, even though she’d known this well enough beforehand. “People don’t change, Vivien. You of all people should know this.” His look was sad. “I’m afraid you’re heading for a world of hurt.”
She stared at him, open-mouthed. Why would he say such a thing?
He left her to draw her own conclusions before he said, “You haven’t told him you come here.”
This statement stopped her cold, yanking her from present doubts, tossing her head first into deeper ones. She frowned and could manage no response but a simple shake of her head.
He said nothing for a long time. “Sub rosa,” he finally murmured.
“I’m sorry?”
“Sub rosa—under the rose. A phrase used to represent confidentiality—secrecy, if you will.” He grabbed the crutch, pushing himself to his feet. “You and I,” he explained, “we fall under this definition, don’t we?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned his back. “How perfect. I think you shall be my Rose from now on. What do you think?” He let out a lengthy sigh, as if their discussion had zapped all of his strength. “Come and see, Rose…see what we’ve gotten ourselves into.” And with that, he loped out of the room.
She sat still as stone for several minutes. The feeling that the conversation had somehow changed things gnawed away at her. They had crossed a line. A line she’d sensed was there, but had chosen to ignore. Now she struggled to grasp what exactly were the ramifications. Unfortunately, she hadn’t the time to spare for he was calling for her, once again, and without thinking she rose to her feet and went to him.
Due to her previous state of anxiety, Vivien had failed to notice the construction project going on in the living room. As she entered, Christophe was waiting for her with a childlike grin on his face.
Reflexively, she smiled back. “What’s all this?”
“I took your suggestion and am building a display case for my collection.” He tapped his crutch against the row of crates. “I can’t bear having them all boxed up like this.”
She stepped closer and examined the progress thus far. “Do you actually know how to build stuff?”
He picked up a corner piece and waved it at her. “I’ll have you know I won first prize in woodworking in my scouting group—Les Eclaireurs de France. My birdhouse was the envy of all.”
“You were a Boy Scout?” She grinned.
“Do you have something against the scouting tradition? Scouting, as I see you are unaware, presents our youth with opportunities to acquire essential skills: learning by doing, teamwork, surviving in extreme weather, and much more.”
“You sound like a brochure.”
“I feel compelled to enlighten you.”
“Are you being serious?”
“Scout’s honor,” he pledged, holding up three fingers.
She pursed her lips. “So you can build this thing all by yourself?”
He set the wood aside and dusted his hand against his pant leg. “That’s the plan.”
“Well. Cool.”
A long silence ensued. She stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. Was she supposed to leave now? He’d only just finished telling her she couldn’t come here anymore. But she had this feeling that things remained unfinished between the two of them.
“You know, it’s not fair; you never told me about your family, like why you don’t speak to them anymore. You promised you would,” she reminded him.
Christophe arched a brow. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” she insisted. “You said it was a story for another time, or something like that. Don’t you remember?”
“Well, I’m certainly not one to make empty promises.”
She waited. “But I can’t possibly tell you,” he said at last.
Her jaw dropped.
“On an empty stomach,” he finished. “Let’s order dinner first.”
He picked his way over to the coffee table, which now appeared more cluttered than ever. Fumbling beneath the rubble, he miraculously retrieved his cell phone and punched in the number while mouthing, “Got it memorized now.”
If possible, she was even more baffled than before. Were they going to dine together, one last time, and then say their farewells? His behavior continued to confused her, and yet she felt compelled to stay. For better or worse she would stick this night out until some sort of resolution took place.
Decision made, she returned to the kitchen to clear away the coffee cups and set the table. She hummed softly as she worked, wondering what sort of story he would share with her. She assumed it would be one similar to her own, in which the joy and innocence of childhood had fallen prey to your typical parental shortcomings. Depending on style, this often went from one extreme to another: overbearing, rigid, and critical to apathetic, lax, and distant.
Christophe took his time. They were midway through the meal before he stopped, withdrew a fresh pack of cigarettes, and assumed a relaxed pose as he blew dual streams of smoke from his nostrils. He watched her eat with an amused expression on his face.
She chewed self-consciously, maneuvering her chopsticks more ineptly than ever, and wiped her mouth with her napkin after every bite. At last she gave up and pushed her plate to the center of the table.
“Growing up, I sensed something was off from the very beginning,” he began. “My parents were old for having a child my age. My father was a hard man with an abusive personality. He’d beat my sister and me at the slightest provocation. Discipline ruled the house.” Christophe tapped his ash into a neat pile between the pale green wasabi and a mound of flesh-colored ginger. “His preferred method was the leather belt. He was sneaky, ambushing me when I was in the bath—the lashes stung more on wet skin,” he explained.
She covered her mouth. “How awful!”
“One day he caught me taking money from his wallet. He waited until I was sleeping, snuck into my room, and smashed my face with a two-by-four.” He pointed to his left eyebrow. “Twenty-four stitches and a broken nose.”
“Oh! Did you call the police?”
He shook his head slowly. “Family issues were a private affair.”
“Even so, that’s—”
“He seemed to have a special grievance against my sister,” he continued, ignoring her interruption. “More than once I overheard him calling her names: whore, Jezebel…things I didn’t understand at the time. I couldn’t comprehend why she’d let him say those things to her, why she never fought back. But ultimately she put an end to it. She moved out and took me with her—she was quite a bit older than I, you see—and we went as far away as possible, putting a good three hundred kilometers between us and our parents.”
She wanted to reach out and touch him, to physically seal the bond she felt toward him at this very moment. Without a doubt, her childhood woes paled in comparison, but as he spoke she felt a shared disappointment in human nature. In the end, her timidity prevented her from doing anything more than leaning far over the table in an effort to close the gap. “Geez,” she said. “I can see why you left. For a child to go through that…” She shook her head as words failed her.
A slow smile crept across his lips. “I haven’t finished yet,” he told her.
Her eyes grew wider.
“My sister married a few short months af
ter we left. Before I knew it, she had a family of her own—two girls, my nieces. Her husband, Bertrand, tried to include me. Took us camping and hiking all over the place. He was an avid adventurer, always outdoors. I came to love it as well, but I just couldn’t love…him. Any of them. I felt like a constant outsider. I began to wonder if there was something wrong with me.”
Abruptly he stood, pushed himself away from the table, and staggered to the kitchen counter, where he froze, head bowed, his back to her. “My sister, Nicole, laid into me relentlessly: Why couldn’t I try harder? Why was I acting so selfishly, after all she’d done for me? And I believed her. I was bad. Ungrateful. These thoughts haunted me over the years and I felt more alone than ever.”
He spun around, his face a vision of anguish. But slowly the pain appeared to recede, to be replaced by a determined look of ice-cold hatred. “Then I found it,” he said quietly. “When I was eighteen, I found several photographs hidden in one of her books, an old copy of Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita, if you can stand the irony.” He shot a devilish grin in her direction, but Vivien only frowned in bewilderment. She was not familiar with that particular story.
Christophe continued, “Yes, there she was, her belly round and swollen, her face that of a mere child. I held the photo for a long time, trying to figure out who this girl was. In that brief moment, I swear I passed through all five stages of grief. Acceptance was the final stage; there was no place else to go. What I’d known all along, the sense that something was off—in this, it turns out, I was not mistaken.” He looked at her with satisfaction as he nodded repeatedly.
She waited for him to go on, but he appeared to have finished. “I don’t understand,” she said finally. “Who was the girl in the picture?”
Slowly he made his way back to the table and collapsed into his chair as if this was the only and final act he was capable of. His chin dropped to his chest, the weight of his head clearly too much for him. He raised his gaze and sought her out. His beautiful gray eyes darkened like clouds before a storm. “My sister,” he told her. Then he closed his eyes and she observed the muscles along his jaw clench, relax, and clench again. “My mother.”
She sat unmoving, her body taut. She didn’t understand. What was he saying? After a moment, she pieced it together. “Wait. Your sister was…was…?”
Christophe opened his eyes and nodded once. The intensity had faded and they now appeared fogged over, unfocused.
“What did you do?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I did nothing.” He shrugged. “What could I do? The damage had already been done.”
“But you must have been—I mean, how could you just accept that? You must have been furious.”
“No,” he replied. “More than anything, I felt…empty. I felt nothing. I was finished with them. And so I left.”
“You never said anything?” she demanded. “But it was inexcusable, what she did. She lied to you for all those years! Don’t you think she owed you an explanation?”
“Yes.” He let loose his devilish smile again. “It was all a big lie, you’re quite right. All that I thought myself to be, I was not. And this was terrible, yes, it was. But it was also wonderful.” Suddenly he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “I was free,” he said, trembling with excitement. “I was finally free.”
She tried to share his enthusiasm but was left feeling nothing but confusion. She smiled weakly and glanced down at his hold on her. She was desperate to understand, to show him how much of a connection she felt to him on a deep and meaningful level. “You were free because you left, because you got away, right?”
Her comment seemed to snap him out of his euphoria, and he looked momentarily lost. Then he released her and dropped his arm heavily to his side. “I knew the truth,” he said slowly. “I knew what I was.”
Feeling like she was still somehow missing something, she sighed and put on a sympathetic face. “But look at you. You’re a success all on your own. You don’t need them.” She gave a soft snort and added, “Who needs them?” as her thoughts shifted to herself.
Christophe reached for his water glass but appeared to change his mind, rising quickly to his feet. “The occasion calls for something with a little more kick, I believe.”
She watched as he uncorked a bottle of red wine and removed two large wine glasses from the cupboard. He poured both half full and brought one to the table, placing it in front of her. He then retrieved his own and stood before her. Raising his glass, he said, “I propose a toast.”
She froze, caught between her desire to impress him and her inexperience with any sort of alcohol. Nodding, she lifted her glass in imitation.
“To living your own life,” Christophe stated. “That’s the gist of it, in the end.” He took a healthy sip, keeping his eyes locked on hers the entire time.
Following his lead, she too took a sip, swallowed, and shivered.
“What do you think?” he said.
She replaced the glass on the table with decisiveness. “You’re absolutely right. That is what it’s all about. Keeping people out, not allowing them to get to you.” She was pleased they shared the same outlook on life.
But her response produced a curt chuckle. “No. I meant, what do you think of the wine?” He brought his glass close to his face and swirled the contents several times. “This is a vin de Bourgogne, from the Côte de Nuits region. Of course, it is a village wine and no grand cru, but it is one of my favorites.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “I’m sorry, I don’t drink much wine.”
“Ah. Then I believe this is the perfect selection from which to start.”
She took another sip; this time it tasted better.
“Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” she replied.
Reaching out, he coaxed her gently to her feet by the elbow. “Our voyage into the world of Wagner,” he explained.
She frowned in confusion. Dinner and now this? One minute he was dismissing her, the next he was baring his soul. It was nearly impossible for her to keep up.
“Bring that along.” He nodded toward the wine. “We shall imbibe as we work.”
And once again she found herself trailing along behind him, wondering what exactly was going to happen next.
His talent was unexpected. She stood to the side of the piano bench, holding the slender stem of the wine glass in an awkward grip, and listened carefully as Christophe introduced “The Vorspiel”—the prelude to Tristan und Isolde. He played with confidence, his style bold and aggressive. She watched in awe as his broad hands traveled the keys. The music filled her head, dulling the earlier sense of unease that had gnawed at her.
Closing her eyes, she focused on the moment. Her body hummed and buzzed, an effect of Wagner or the wine, she couldn’t say.
At length, his voice broke the spell. “The prelude is the musical introduction to the philosophical issues of the opera,” she heard him say. “It begins quietly with a descending chromatic phrase paired with a rising four-note phrase. In the third measure of the prelude, these two intersect and you have the famous Tristan chord. This chord contains two dissonances—Wagner used dissonance throughout, and this essentially marked the beginning of modern music—which serves to double the desire for resolution in the audience. The listener is in a constant state of tension, as are the lovers, until the very end when they are released. By death.”
“Wow,” was all she could say.
Christophe slid over and patted the bench. “Come. Let’s give it a try.”
She obeyed and settled down next to him, the warmth of his body sending an electrical current through her as his forearm brushed hers.
“Now, you must remember that the psychological states of the characters are preeminent in this work. German romanticism placed a great emphasis on the inner dream world, where there was a particular attraction to the themes of night and death. To the state of ecstasy.”
She nodded, trying to recall the
characters she’d read about the night before.
As if reading her mind, he prompted, “This is, in essence, the love story of two individuals for whom the everlasting realization of their love is unattainable—in this world.” He brought his lips close to her ear and whispered, “Think of a story where the longing is without end. It becomes unbearable.”
She held her breath and placed her hands on the keys, trying hard to overcome the feeling of lightheadedness. She wanted to get it right. She did not want to disappoint him.
In the end, she managed to play quite well. The music spoke to her, coaxed her on so that midway through she was no longer holding back. Letting go, she took risks and the decision paid off, culminating in a strong first performance.
When she’d finished, she rested her hands in her lap and waited for him to say something. She waited a long time, twisting finally to analyze his face.
Hastily he rose, maneuvering around the bench to stand behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed ever so slightly. “That was simply breathtaking, Rose. Once again I am speechless.”
She dipped her head timidly at this new pet name and the over-the-top praise. “Really?”
Christophe reached down and lifted her right hand from her lap. Gently he ran his thumb up and down her slender fingers as if he were a sightless man attempting to discover her identity. She remained still, barely breathing, her heart thumping away rapidly in her chest.
“Now I’m sure we’re doing the right thing. Bringing music back into your life. For you to give up on it forever would be a true crime. Your hands are like magic.” He let her hand fall back and stepped away from her. “It’s getting late. You should go. I’ll call you a cab.”
She stood and turned to him. “That’s not necessary. I can walk.”
“It’s not safe,” he replied.
“No. It’s fine. Really.”
At the door, she wiggled into her leather jacket and slung her backpack over one shoulder, all the while feeling as though she was moving along in a dream state. It was difficult to process everything that had happened between the two of them. After all this, she was to never come here again? It made no sense.
“It’s all right,” he said, reading the confusion on her face. “I want you…I would like you,” he corrected, “to come back. I’ll figure something out.”
She was at once both relieved and frightened. “Maybe we shouldn’t. I don’t…want to cause problems for you.”
He waved off her apprehension with a flick of his hand. “I’ll take care of it. Just leave everything to me.”
Fourteen
Pearls of wisdom by Ms. Hove:
It’s important to be able to recognize trouble or danger when actively dating. Violence is all too common in adolescent relationships. Be on the lookout for these red flags: 1) extreme neediness; 2) bullying or passive aggression to get his/her way; 3) consistent attempts to isolate you from friends and family; 4) flirting with others while in your presence; 5) deliberately disrespecting your choices, especially your prerogative to say no!!!
“It’s not safe.” These words echoed in her mind as she hurried down the sidewalk. But it was, wasn’t it? She was accustomed to walking alone. She tucked her chin into her collar as the chill wind whipped around her and whistled past her ears.
The neighborhood was pitch-black in between the evenly spaced streetlights, and not a soul appeared to be out. As she approached the corner, she noticed yet another missing-cat sign, this time advertising a yellow tabby named Sunshine. People shouldn’t let their pets run wild, she thought irritably, imagining their soft furry bodies flattened by the early morning traffic.
Two blocks down from the high school, she crossed the street and headed south. A single car passed, then another. Soon a frail-looking elderly woman scurried past, walking an equally frail-looking dog decked out in a sweater.
With these signs of life, her apprehension eased and she began to replay the evening in her mind. It had been a rollercoaster ride of emotions and even now she was not sure how she felt about it. Christophe had a way of getting inside her head. Even when her ideas were set, he managed to flip things around so that soon enough she was second-guessing herself. Was this good or bad? Of course, he was older and far more experienced. Maybe he could see what was best for her when she, herself, could not.
All at once, a jarring voice broke the solitude of the night and stopped her cold.
“Yo! Vivs!”
Her head spun around, seeking out the source, and her heart sank as she recognized Nathan’s shaggy blond mane hanging out the window of his red Saab 9000.
The car veered to her side of the street and rolled to a stop. Nathan lowered the volume on the rap music that had every window in the car vibrating. “Well, well,” he said slowly, deliberately. “What do we have here? Isn’t it kinda late to be out walking all by your lonesome?”
She stared at him, her mind a sudden blank.
Nathan’s face broke into a manic grin. “You headin’ home? I’ll give you a lift.”
A vague feeling of apprehension crept over her. “No, thanks.”
“Hey now,” he pressed. “We’re friends, remember? I don’t bite.”
“I’d rather not,” she answered, taking one step forward. “So feel free to just continue on your way to…wherever it was you were going.”
Nathan let that sit a moment. “Right,” he said at last. “The funny thing is, I was on my way to my good buddy Thomas’s when I saw you come out of that house back there. And the dude in the doorway, he looked familiar.” He pretended to think for a minute. “I was like, I’ve seen that dude before. And then it hit me. Yeah. It was what’s-his-name—that new French teacher. The one that’s making all the girls’ panties wet. Am I right?”
She didn’t answer.
“So I gotta tell ya, my curiosity got the best of me,” he went on, “and I thought to myself, I’ll just swing by and ask her. Ask her what she was doing there. For such a long time.”
She stood motionless, her mind churning frantically. “Have you been following me?” she said at last.
He shrugged and looked away. “How ’bout that ride? You look cold. You’re shivering.”
She looked down at her hands, and sure enough, they were trembling, but it had nothing to do with the cold. What was he getting at? Indecision froze her to the spot. Yet she knew. She wasn’t stupid. “Go to hell!” she wanted to scream, but instead she found herself walking haltingly toward his car, her jaw set in thinly concealed fury. Against her better judgment, she circled around, opened the passenger door, and got in.
Nathan pulled away from the curb with a jerk as he shifted gears rapidly. The music was on low, but she could make out the obscene lyrics as they sped off down the street.
After a minute or so, Nathan glanced over and gave her a sick smile. “So tell me, do you personally visit all your teachers in their private residences?” he asked. “Or just the good-looking ones?”
She glared at him. “What’s your problem? You’re not even making any sense.”
“Then why don’t you clear things up for me? ’Cause as it stands right now, I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna like what I’m thinking.”
She twisted in her seat. “Where do you get off saying such crazy stuff about me? You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“It doesn’t take much to get the wrong idea,” he told her matter-of-factly. “You’re a hottie. He’s young, single. You do the math.”
“For your information, I was over there working on my French.” She bit the inside of her bottom lip and spun away from him. “What else would I be doing?” She tried to regain control of her breathing. “I’m doing extra credit and he offered to lend me some materials.”
Nathan waited, letting the lie sit there out in the open. “How convenient.”
“It’s totally none of your business anyway.”
He shook
his head and chuckled. “Maybe you shouldn’t have started something you can’t finish.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you started this…this…business of saying ‘crazy stuff.’ I’m just making my move in your little game.”
She let out a cry of indignation. “Game?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I know what I saw that night.”
“Really? Then why don’t you just come right out and say it.”
“You’re not making me say anything,” she shot back. “I don’t answer to you.”
“Have it your way.” Nathan took the approaching corner at high speed, throwing her back against the door. She glanced out the window and saw that they were nowhere near her apartment.
“Slow down,” she shouted. “What are you doing? You said you were taking me home.”
“That’s right. We’re just taking a different route. I wanted to give us the opportunity to talk.” He shot her a quick look. “But since you’re not in the mood for sharing, I’ll just ask Declan about your visits to Frenchie’s house. I’m sure he’ll be much more cooperative.”
She chewed her lip again. “Go ahead. Like he cares.”
Nathan turned and studied her. “You’re lying. Declan doesn’t know what you’re up to. In fact, he told me the other day that he thinks Frenchie’s a real dick.”
She could think of no reply to this.
“Look,” he said, “it’s really quite simple. I’ll keep my mouth shut if you do the same.”
“What, are you, like, blackmailing me or something?”
“I wouldn’t call it that. Everybody has secrets. I’m just agreeing to keep yours, since that’s what friends do.”
“You are a despicable human being. And I am not your friend.”
“But I believe it’s in your interest to have me as a friend,” he told her. “You wouldn’t like me as an enemy.”
She sighed in frustration. “I can’t believe we’re actually having this conversation.”
He reached over and patted her knee as if she were a mere child. “It’s just that I don’t want you going around spreading nasty rumors about me. Rumors that just aren’t true.”
She tried to scoot out of his reach.
“Lauren’s into me,” he told her. “She had a good time on Halloween. Ask her yourself.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And…” She shook her head. “You got her all drunk. She doesn’t even remember what she did. Correction: what you did.”
His response came low and trembling, “You’re wrong. That’s not how it was.”
She dropped her head in her hands. “Just take me home now.”
He stared at her without speaking. Then his look of malice faded to be replaced by a gracious smile. “Of course.” He reached over and raised the volume on the music. The drumbeats vibrated their seats and Nathan began bobbing along. They were in front of her apartment building within minutes. “There you are. So glad I could be of service.”
She scowled at him, and grabbed her backpack.
“Take it easy with Frenchie,” he warned as she stumbled out of the car.
The conversation ended wordlessly by means of a slammed door followed by squealing tires.
When she got to her room, she checked her phone. There were two missed calls from Declan. She set the phone on her desk and collapsed onto her bed. She desperately needed to catch her breath, gather her thoughts.
What had just happened? She couldn’t believe Nathan had actually followed her to Christophe’s. Was he really that desperate? That devious? He certainly appeared quite pleased to have her backed into a corner like this.
And how had she let him? What did he truly have over her? He couldn’t have seen anything unseemly, just her standing at the door. Could he have? Would he have stooped so low as to go peeping in the windows? What if he had watched the two of them in there? Having dinner? Drinking wine?
She rolled over and moaned. Oh, how she hated Nathan, how his sick twisted mind had turned her afternoon with Christophe into some kind of indecent tryst. He was so wrong.
Her cell rang and startled her upright with a jolt. After several rings, she reached for it.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Where’ve you been?” Declan said. She thought she could hear a slight edge to his voice.
“Nowhere really. Just running around. Doing homework. And stuff.” She wandered over to the window and looked out.
“Hmm.” Pause. “I left you a message.”
“Yeah, I just noticed that. As a matter of fact.” A blue pickup truck was parked on the far side of the street directly below her window. The interior light was on and she could make out a figure sitting in the driver’s seat, the outline of his face turned up toward her window. As she leaned forward for a better look, the light went out.
Another pause. “Are you OK? You sound…” He let this observation trail off into silence.
“What? I’m fine,” she insisted, closing her blinds with a frown. “I’m good.”
“Well, we’re all set for Thursday,” he replied, changing the subject. “My parents seemed really into it. They said they were looking forward to meeting you.”
It took her a moment to remember what he was talking about. When she finally did, her stomach lurched. “Oh. Are you sure? They’re not too busy?”
“Too busy to eat? I don’t think so. Why? You’re not still nervous are you?”
“No,” she answered, then changed her mind. “Maybe.”
“Don’t be.”
“I know. I shouldn’t.” She lay back on her bed and sighed. “I just want them to like me.”
“They will. What’s not to like?”
She closed her eyes to consider the question but decided it had been posed rhetorically and a thorough dissection of her character wasn’t called for at the moment.
“Hey, you still there?”
“Yes,” she said, “Sorry. I’m just tired.”
Silence. “I’ll let you go then.”
“OK. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
That night she had a dream:
“Fucking Spics,” her father was saying.
“Alan,” Ramona admonished, glancing around nervously at the other tables.
“Hey. I’m just telling it like it is,” he replied. “I never said I wasn’t going to defend the bastard; he’ll have his day in court. I just can’t stand ’em. They’re overrunning the country, you know. Crawling underfoot like a bunch of cockroaches.”
Ashton stood abruptly, his arm inadvertently tumbling a tall water glass into the bread basket. “You’re a real piece of work, Dad.” He slung his electric guitar over his shoulder and hopped on his bike, riding off over the plush red carpet.
“Stop driving him away,” Ramona said through her teeth, surveying once more the adjacent tables and smiling stiffly.
“Don’t ever marry a Spic,” her father continued, ignoring his wife’s comment. He gave Vivien a hard stare. “They’re a good-for-nothing, lazy people.”
Immediately she began to worry about Declan. He was only half Cuban. Did that qualify as a Spic? She hoped her father wouldn’t notice. His approval was important to her.
Alan raised his arm, signaling the waitress. She hurried over to their table. He reached around and grabbed her generous behind, giving it a good squeeze. “Bring us some more wine, Toots,” he told her. “And none of this Chilean piss water. I want your best. Bring me a Chateau du Masson, Bordeaux Rose—2007.”
“Excellent choice,” Christophe said, causing Vivien’s head to spin. When had he arrived? she wondered.
“You’re a fine man,” Alan directed at him.
Christophe nodded and removed a pair of handcuffs from his briefcase. “I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand,” he announced to the table.
Alan let out a loud guffaw. “Take her, by all means. Who do I make the check out to?” The jo
ke sent him into soundless spasms of laughter.
She looked with concern at her father, then her mother. Ramona simply shrugged and removed her lipstick from her purse. She drew a clown-like red circle around her lips, then began singing softly to herself.
Christophe reached for her hands and carefully secured them in the cuffs. “Only the best for my girl. I just found these: August Schwarz, 1930s, Germany.”
An irritating itch began in the small of her back and Vivien lifted her hands off the table. The cuffs were surprisingly heavy and her arms fell back, the metal causing a startling clatter against her plate.
“Shhhh,” Ramona hissed. “People are looking at us.”
The young waitress arrived with the wine. She held the bottle in front of Alan for inspection. He pushed her away. “Not now, doll. Bring that up to our room for later.” He winked, retrieved a hotel key card from his wallet, and slipped it into her pocket.
From the back of the room, a song started up. Vivien strained her eyes to see a handsome young man dressed in a tuxedo seated at the piano. He leaned back and turned to her. “This one’s for you, babe.”
She frowned. “Declan, I didn’t know you played.”
“I changed for you,” he replied. “Who needs lacrosse?”
She began to weep. He’d thrown away his future for her. “No. Don’t do this.” The music suddenly turned ugly. She wanted to go to him. She looked down at her hands. “I’m all tangled up, Declan. I can’t break free.”
He gave her a wistful smile. “The more you fight, the tighter the grip.”
She tried to stop struggling, but the weight of the cuffs was dragging her down onto the floor.
Just then, Ashton passed by on his bike. He turned, lifting his hands from the handlebars to give her a double thumbs down. “Listen!” he said. “You’re not listening.”
Ahead, the blood red carpet dropped away like the edge of a steep cliff. “Ashton, watch out!” she screamed. But it was too late; over he went.
The seated guests turned, one and all, her guilt etched in their faces. “Now look what you’ve done,” they said in unison.
She awoke with a start. She glanced around the room with suspicion, her breath coming unevenly. From the shelves against the wall, multiple pairs of glowing eyes stared back at her. Retreating back beneath the covers she mumbled, “Time again to bag up the dolls.”
Fifteen
Pearls of wisdom by Ms. Hove:
Long-term relationships are special relationships where a “we” is created. This means, in essence, that the couple is intimately and profoundly connected in an exclusive way. Above all, the individuals involved do not share such a bond with any other person. This type of relationship does not just happen! A successful relationship requires hard work!
On Thursday at five o’clock sharp, the battered white Volvo pulled up to Vivien’s apartment building and Declan hopped out, opening her door in a perfectly gentlemanly fashion. They were going to have dinner with his parents.
She hurried across the sidewalk, pulling her leather jacket up over her head to protect her hair. The skies above were releasing a cold, persistent drizzle. The snow was gone. It had lasted only twenty-four hours before the ground melted it away. And then the rain had arrived. Five solid days of overcast skies were making the whole town bad-tempered and irritable.
Declan closed the door behind her and dashed around to the driver’s side. “I can’t take this weather anymore,” he said as they pulled away from the curb.
“Oh, I know.”
“I definitely prefer snow to this. At least you can do stuff in snow.” He gestured out the window. “This just sucks.” His arm dropped onto the seat and waited for her. She watched as her own inched sideways to meet his, as if his body had its own gravitational pull.
“Do you ski?” she asked him, her mind on snow.
“Hell, yeah! I love it. My family’s been going out East since I was a baby. My brothers are all awesome skiers.”
“Where do you go?”
“The White Mountains. New Hampshire. There’s a ton of great ski resorts there.” He glanced over at her. “How about you?”
“What, ski? I thought I told you: I’m not athletically gifted. I would break something for sure.”
“Have some faith in yourself,” he told her. “You’re always selling yourself short. I could teach you to ski, no problem. Give me a week.”
She shook her head. “No way. You radically underestimate my spazziness. I assure you, I cannot learn to ski. Besides having no hand-eye coordination, I’m afraid of heights. And of going fast,” she added. “So how exactly would I get up—not to mention back down—the mountain?”
“You wouldn’t ride a chair lift?” he chuckled.
“Are you kidding? I just saw a story on the news last week where this chair lift broke—it actually fell off the cable—and everybody plunged to the ground.” She gave him a look as if that explained it all.
“OK. That, like, never happens, Vivien. It was a freak accident. You’re far more likely to get hurt crossing the street. Or walking around alone at night.” He gave her a significant look.
“Whatever. So, what have you told your parents about me?” She was starting to get nervous again at the thought of meeting them.
“Not that much. I told them you were a junior at Eastbrook. That you lived with your mom. That you were hot…” He turned to grin at her.
“You didn’t,” she said.
“What’s the problem? It’s true. Anyway, I already told you not to worry. My parents aren’t intimidating people.”
“Hmm.” Dropping the subject, she occupied herself by looking out the window as they passed the striking entrance to East Bluff Estates.
Immediately the lawn acreage doubled. Enormous houses peered out at them, secreted away behind dense masses of evergreens and imposing wrought iron fences. Being an older development, multitudes of mature trees graced every yard alongside perfectly manicured shrubs and flower gardens. Here was significant wealth, she surmised. If the homes weren’t enough to tip you off, the cars parked in every driveway were: Mercedes, BMWs, Jaguars, Lexuses, you name it.
Declan slowed and turned left into a wide, circular driveway. She eyed the house with awe. Before her stood a traditional-style rose brick home, only triple in size. Elegant sets of French windows framed by long black shutters distinguished the front face. The left side boasted a three-and-a-half car garage in addition to a full-sized basketball court.
“This is your house?” she said, turning to him.
“It is,” he replied, trying not to smile at her reaction.
“Why didn’t you tell me you lived…in a mansion?”
“What difference does it make? And I wouldn’t call it a mansion.”
“It makes a huge difference! I would have…I would have worn better clothes,” she told him, looking down at her jeans with the frayed hems and her (formerly) white Converse.
“What are you talking about? Nobody cares what you wear. My family’s not like that.”
“Now I’m super-nervous,” she said, slumping down in her seat. She would always associate wealth with her father and she could never truly define how she felt about him.
“Don’t be. Come on.” They walked hand in hand up to the front door. As they stepped inside, Declan called out, “We’re here!” He tossed his car keys on an ornate, highly polished cherry wood table in the entryway and motioned for her to follow.
“Hey there, girl, I’ve got a new friend for you,” he said as a rotund chocolate Lab waddled over to greet them. Declan bent down and rubbed her gray chin, then gave her a couple of firm pats on the rear end.
“This is Cocoa?” she guessed. She leaned forward and held her hand out to the dog. Cocoa came toward her, ignored the hand, and went directly to the crotch for a few quick sniffs. That done, she ambled off down the hallway.
“Not too shy about getting to know people.” Declan smiled. “She g
oes right for the essentials.”
Vivien turned away, hiding her face.
“I bet my mom’s in the kitchen. Come on,” he said.
They passed below an elegant curved staircase and down a hallway lined with photographs of exquisitely colored flowers. “My mom’s projects,” Declan explained as they went. “She’s an amateur photographer in her free time. But I think she’s pretty good.”
She nodded in agreement.
“Each flower represents a different kind of love,” he said. “Like, here, the red rose. An obvious one, right? But then you’ve got carnations, white lilies…and these.” He stopped, tapping his finger on a photograph of orange blossoms. “Orange blossoms are meant to symbolize undying love because, unlike a rose, they don’t wither away.”
“Hmm.” She cocked her head. “You’re very knowledgeable on this subject.”
An uncharacteristic look of self-consciousness passed across his face and he turned away. “At least, that’s what my mom explains to everyone. I wouldn’t know, really.”
As they neared the kitchen, a mouthwatering smell wafted toward them. “Mmmmm,” she said.
Declan smiled. “Hey, Mom,” he said as they entered. An attractive strawberry blonde turned from the sink to greet them, wiping her hands on an apron. She was petite, with fair, freckled skin and light eyes. Vivien recognized the origin of Declan’s soft, warm smile.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Vivien,” his mother said, clasping both hands in her own. “How wonderful that you could join us for dinner.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” she replied. “Whatever it is you’re making smells incredible.”
Mrs. Mieres smiled again. “Declan tells me you’ve never had Cuban food, so I thought I’d introduce you to a traditional meal of roast pork with fried green plantains and yucca.”
“Hope you don’t mind garlic,” Declan kidded.
Vivien shrugged. “I suppose if you’re eating it too, then I won’t be the only one with garlic breath, right?”
“Precisely,” Mrs. Mieres agreed. “Go and say hello to your father now. He’s watching a game in the family room.”
Declan swiped a roll from the counter and nodded. Shoving half into his mouth, he signaled for Vivien to follow.
“Dinner will be ready in forty-five minutes,” Mrs. Mieres called after them as they made their way to greet the man of the house.
As informed, they found Declan’s father in the family room, sprawled out on a large leather sofa, eating peanuts and watching Notre Dame well on its way to losing to the University of Southern Cal.
“Come on!” he bellowed at the TV. “Where’s the pass rush? You can’t let those girls move the ball like that.”
“Dad,” Declan interrupted. “I want you to meet Vivien Allen.”
Mr. Mieres wore a sheepish look as he leapt to his feet, peanut shells shooting in all directions. “Excuse me, kids. I didn’t see you there.” He gripped her hand in a firm shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Vivien.” He then cast a somber look at Declan. “The Irish have absolutely no defense. I just don’t understand it.”
“You recorded this?” Declan asked.
“I didn’t get a chance to give it my proper attention with your brother here last weekend,” Mr. Mieres explained. “There were some plays I wanted to study more closely.” He looked over at Vivien. “You like football?”
“I don’t mind it,” she told him.
Mr. Mieres grinned at his son. “She doesn’t mind it. You’ve got your work cut out for you there.”
Declan shrugged. “Mom said dinner’s in forty-five minutes. More like forty now. I’m going to show Vivien the rest of the house.” Gently he veered her toward the door. Mr. Mieres appeared to have already forgotten about them as he resumed his berating of the Notre Dame players.
“I take it your dad’s fond of football,” she said once they were a safe distance away.
“Yeah. You could say that. You could even go so far as to say he’s dedicated every fall of his entire life to the Fighting Irish.”
“Was he disappointed you chose lacrosse over football?”
“Not at all. He actually told all of us that football was out of the question. It’s his job; he’s a neurosurgeon and he thinks football is way too dangerous. Too many concussions.”
“Oh. Wow. He’s a surgeon? Which hospital?”
“The university.”
“Are you interested in medicine too, then?”
“My dad says it’s nothing like it used to be, with the health insurance nightmare that’s going on. I don’t know, though. It really appeals to me. As a surgeon, people are counting on you. And you have the skills to change their lives and really make a difference. That’s incredible, don’t you think?”
She nodded hesitantly. Incredible, but scary. What if you messed up?
They had reached the front staircase again. Declan paused. “You want to see the upstairs?”
“Sure.”
It took her an extra few minutes to ascend as she paused to study the display of family photos lining the wall. “Is this you?” She grinned and pointed to a picture of a chubby toddler dressed in nothing but a Batman mask and matching underpants.
Declan backed down to look. “Yeah, I was into Batman. I think I thought I actually was Batman. At least for a year or two.”
She squeezed his arm. “Adorable! Look at your pudgy tummy.”
He broke free and started back up the stairs. “That’s enough.”
She laughed and moved on to linger over rows of school pictures. “Look at you here,” she said, pointing. “What’s this, middle school?” Declan shrugged. “So not fair! You never even had an awkward phase. Don’t tell me you never wore braces.” She caught up to him at the landing and reached for his arm again.
“Nope. No braces. Did you?”
She nodded. “A year and a half. It wasn’t that bad, I guess.”
The walls of the upstairs hallway were filled with sports photos of the four brothers. She noticed how healthy and athletic they all appeared. A stunning photo of Declan, flanked by Thomas and Nathan, stopped her in her tracks. It appeared to have been taken just after a game and the three were glowing. Declan looked incredible, amazingly fit and vibrant. His dark eyes shone.
She faced him, putting her hands on her hips, and declared, “How is it that every girl in town is not stalking you?”
He grinned, a dimple materializing on the left side, and left the question unanswered. A moment later Vivien found herself in his room.
“Here’s where it all happens,” he joked, dropping backward onto his bed. He placed his hands casually behind his head and stared at her.
“What?” she said.
“Have at it. Snoop. See what you can discover.”
“I don’t snoop,” she replied. All the same, she was already circling, making mental notes about the books on his shelves, his CD collection, the posters on the walls.
Declan watched with amusement. “What do you think?” he said finally.
“You knew I was coming. You had time to prepare.”
He sat up. “I guess I did attempt to make my bed and hide the dirty laundry in the closet. But that’s all. You think I’m hiding something? My giant stash of porn, maybe?”
“No!” A fiery blush shot across her cheeks. She looked away. “Why do you do that to me?”
“Do what?” Smiling, he patted the bed next to him. “Come here. Sit with me.”
She complied and eased back into his arms. “Won’t your parents be mad that we’re alone in your room?”
“Nah, they’re otherwise occupied at the moment.”
“Well, you were right. They seem nice. It’s funny, now that I’ve met them, I can see them in you.”
“Really? Like what?”
“You have your mom’s smile, for sure. But you’re almost an exact replica of your dad. You both stand the same way and do the same gestures when you talk. And you’ve got the same wave to your hair.
Same skin color, too.”
“Wow,” he said. “You’re way more observant than I am. I’ll have to see what you got from your mom one of these days.”
She thought about this. She knew it wasn’t right, but she didn’t really want the two of them to meet. She wasn’t sure what her mom would say to him, but she was fairly certain that Ramona would find some way to embarrass her.
“Are you hungry?” Declan asked.
“Yeah. I’m excited to try real Cuban cuisine. It really does smell amazing.”
“Good.” Suddenly he slipped out from beneath her and hopped over to close the door. “Sorry, but I have to tell you that all day long I’ve been thinking about your lips. And now that your lips are actually here on my bed, I don’t think I can wait any longer.” He lay back down and Vivien rolled sideways to meet him.
“Just what is it about my lips that has you is such a state?”
“Everything. It’s all good. Why don’t you let me have them for a few minutes? I think they could be the perfect appetizer for our meal.”
She smiled back, closed her eyes, and waited.
The dinner was excellent. Vivien was a little unsure about the yucca, but it turned out to be her favorite part of the meal. Declan was right about the garlic, however. She could smell it every time she took a breath and she was sorry she didn’t have a spare toothbrush in her purse.
Mr. and Mrs. Mieres were easy to talk to. She was pretty sure that Declan had told them about Ashton because they carefully steered clear of asking too many questions about her family. Their stories of Declan’s childhood exploits thoroughly entertained her. As it turned out, being responsible was something he’d had to grow into. His younger days were filled with numerous questionable schemes in which he was always able to convince the neighborhood boys to become willing participants.
The most notorious of these was a race from the top of the hill to his house. Declan and his co-conspirator decided that speed could be significantly increased if they first greased their bicycle tires before zooming down the hill. Needless to say, this turned out to be a very bad idea. Declan’s young neighbor lost control, effectively putting an end to the race by slamming his face into the curb. He suffered a serious concussion and a fractured rib and was out of school for over a month.
“What a naughty boy you were!” Vivien said.
“I wasn’t naughty. I was a creative child who could think outside the box. Isn’t that every parent’s dream?”
His parents exchanged dubious glances. “I think it comes down to the fact that by the time we had you, darling, we were too worn out to keep you under close supervision,” Mrs. Mieres said. “Raising four boys has just about put me in my grave several times over.” She stood and pointed to her face as proof. “See what you and your brothers have done to me? Look at all the worry lines.”
Declan shook his head. “I don’t see anything.”
Mrs. Mieres smiled to herself as she began clearing the dishes. “Well, at the very least, you did manage to learn proper manners during your stay here.”
Vivien rose to her feet. “Please, Declan and I can do that, Mrs. Mieres. You’ve done all the work so far.”
“I don’t mind. It’s old habit. Why don’t the two of you go off to yourselves? Have some fun.”
“Don’t tell them that, Momma,” Mr. Mieres said, leaning back in his chair. “They may take it literally.” He gave Declan a serious look. “You may be the only kid left and we may be tired, but we still have rules in this house.”
“Dad,” Declan groaned. “Please. We’re leaving soon anyway.” He took her hand and pulled her away from the table as if he could not get out of there fast enough. They wandered into the living room where they both collapsed onto the sofa.
She groaned and patted her stomach. “I’m so stuffed! Look at this. My jeans are gonna explode.”
“You’re crazy. You look great, as usual.”
She gave him a suspicious look. “I hope one day I look like crap and you actually tell me I look like crap. Then I’ll know you’ve been telling me the truth all along.”
He looked hurt. “Obviously you’re incapable of seeing yourself as I do. You don’t know how hard it is for me to be around you without…” He looked away.
She’d been half kidding, but now she saw that Declan was not. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I know you don’t.” He stared at her for a while. “Anyway, I always tell the truth. Don’t you?”
She gave a half nod and looked away.
“Hey,” Declan said, changing the subject, “did you happen to notice we’ve got a piano?”
“That’s nice.”
“That’s nice?”
She turned back to him, confused. “What?”
“I was just saying, there’s a piano…conveniently located right over there.” He pointed to the far end of the living room. “And I thought maybe you could play me something. It’d be cool to hear you play.”
Why had this possibility not occurred to her? Hadn’t Declan already told her Patrick played? Why wouldn’t they own a piano? Now here she was being asked a very innocent request: he wanted to hear her play.
But she couldn’t do it. At least, not here. In front of him. In front of his parents. That chapter in her life had been closed for a very good reason. She had a gift she no longer felt like giving. Simple as that. Thanks to her parents, her talent had been twisted into a sort of lethal weapon they chose to use against each other. As a child, she’d overheard one too many arguments, all unfolding in the same fashion.
“How can you be so selfish?” her mother would say. “Our daughter needs you now more than ever. Are you or are you not aware that she has four competition dates booked in the next six months? Who’s going to pay for all that? The private instruction, the airfare, the hotels, the clothes?”
“Oh, I see your point there, Ramona. In actual fact, it’s not me you need, just my bank account.”
“Nice, Alan, but this isn’t about you. Why can’t you see how much it means to her when you come to her concerts? Every time she asks, ‘Will Daddy be there?’ And you rarely are, some ready excuse just waiting. Do you keep a list of those handy?”
“You will not bait me this time. Hell, the kids are right upstairs!”
“As if you care! You think they don’t know what kind of father you are? Oh, they know. The worst kind! The kind who refuses to grow up, to honor his commitments. That’s right. You’re a impressive role model for our son, teaching him how to be weak…and…and lie, and then cover it up like a common criminal.” She laughed. “Exactly the same as those sleaze balls who hire you!”
Ramona’s voice would grow louder and louder as her tirades grew in vehemence. By the end she was literally shrieking and reaching for the nearest breakable object to hurl in his general direction. Inevitably Vivien would hear the front door slam followed by the squeal of her father’s Lexus down the driveway. Her mother would simply collapse wherever she happened to be standing and break into great, heaving sobs.
“Vivien? Hello?” Declan’s voice brought her back to the present.
“Isn’t it time to go?” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “The Future Leaders need our brainpower,” she added, trying, unsuccessfully, to make a joke.
Declan stayed put and gave her a funny look. “Why do you do that?” he said. “Just shut me out like that?”
“I’m not shutting you out. I really thought it was time to go. I have lateness anxiety, you know that.”
There was no response from him, merely a blank stare. Finally he stood, saying, “Whatever you want.” But his voice was tight and he walked on ahead of her without looking back.
All the way to the meeting, Declan continued to ignore her. She snuck secretive glances in his direction, but his jaw was set and he stared straight ahead. After a few minutes he turned on the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Are you giving me the silent treatment or what?” she
said finally.
He glanced over at her. “Hmmm?”
“I said…” She shook her head in frustration. “Please stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Oh, OK. This is how it’s gonna be, huh?” She began to nod. “I get it.”
“Get what?”
“You’re mad. So you’re punishing me.”
“I’m not punishing you, Vivien.”
She scowled out the front windshield. He so obviously was. She’d pissed him off, apparently, when she’d shut him out. While she couldn’t exactly blame him, she also couldn’t help feeling annoyed.
“Look,” she told him, sighing deeply. “The reason I stopped playing the piano is personal and I’d rather not talk about it. I’m not purposely trying to withhold information from you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Withhold information. Nicely put.”
“Declan! I’m trying to be open here—isn’t that what you want? You’re making it so hard for me.”
“Am I?’”
She let out another sigh and crossed her arms tightly.
“Don’t you get it?” His voice sounded pained. “I want you to feel like you could tell me anything. That’s the whole point of being close to someone. You need to trust me. Why can’t you do that?”
“I can do that,” she replied. “I do trust you.”
“Then prove it. Tell me why you won’t play anymore. I’m curious. Maybe it’s no big deal and I’m getting mad over nothing. But when you choose to keep things from me, it’s…it’s kind of insulting, you know?”
They’d already arrived at the old Victorian house and Declan was circling around the block, looking for a parking space.
She checked the clock and saw they still had twelve minutes before the meeting began. She had time. She had time to explain things.
Pulling knees to chin, she hugged herself tightly and stared out the front windshield. “Look,” she began, “the last thing I meant to do was insult you. I guess I was just thinking of myself. I wasn’t thinking about how you feel and…I’m sorry.”
Some tension seemed to drain from his body as he acknowledged her apology.
“And of course, you were right about not sharing,” she went on. “Only, sometimes it’s hard to share stuff. It’s not like I can do it just because you tell me to. It doesn’t work that way. For me, at least.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It is kinda hard. That’s what makes it even more meaningful, when you actually do it.”
She frowned suddenly, turning to face him. “You want to know the truth? What I think? I think you’re the one who doesn’t see things correctly. You can’t see Declan Mieres like I do. Through my eyes. Every morning I wake up and I pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Seriously! You and I, we’re a riddle, really. It’s so hard to believe you were ever interested in me in the first place. Look at you!” She waved her hand in his direction, feeling half crazed. “Not in my wildest dreams did I ever picture myself with your…kind. No, wait! Actually that’s not true; I’m pretty sure I prayed for it millions of times, knowing all along it would never come true.”
Declan started to protest, but she cut him off. “Let me finish! Don’t disagree with me. I’m trying to tell you where I’m coming from. So when I pinch myself and I see that I’m not dreaming after all, immediately I’m so frickin’ happy no words in the English language are fit to describe it. But then I start to feel that sneaky, destructive feeling that makes me afraid. Afraid that I’m going to do something to mess this up. ’Cause good things in my life are always getting messed up. And I begin to overthink everything I say and everything I do.” She gave him a helpless look. “I don’t want to scare you off. I don’t want you to change your mind.”
Declan opened his mouth, but she stopped him once again. “You’re so perfect. What if you find out…I’m not?”
“What are you talking about?” All at once he seemed angry. “Who the hell is perfect? Do you remember when I told you about my brother, Gavin? How it was a really tough time for me because I was scared to mess up and turn out like him? I worked so hard at being perfect. So hard I chewed my nails to bloody stumps and missed so much school from stomachaches my parents wanted to bring me to a specialist.
“My parents, they’re pretty cool, you know? They’ve always supported my brothers and me. But there’s no hiding the fact that my dad’s successful. Around the house, there was always this unspoken rule that we’d all follow in his footsteps.” He sighed. “That’s a lot to live up to. The pressure to be perfect will kill you, though. Finally, I figured out that there’s no such thing. No such thing as perfection.”
He leaned in closer, leaving only an inch of space between their faces. “One of the reasons I like hanging out with you is that I can be myself. I can be flawed, be stupid, and stick my foot in my mouth from time to time. And when that happens, you call me out. And we move on. Everybody makes mistakes, but when you really care about someone, you forgive them.”
He held her eyes, then smiled. “Besides, what could you possibly tell me that would make me change my mind about you?” He waited half a second, then added, “What I feel for you is…bigger than that.”
How could he have such unshakable faith in them? In her? She’d never experienced anything like it. The sheer force of it knocked her speechless. She wanted him to want her, but the fear of disappointing him haunted her nonetheless. There was no way she could lay it all out there for him to see. Not just yet, at least. She had to have a safety zone, a place where she could keep her flaws hidden.
“No one should have to share everything,” she told him. “Sometimes it turns out to be a really bad idea.”
“Like when?”
“What?”
“Yeah. When is it a good idea lie?”
“Like…I don’t know, when you think you might hurt someone’s feelings. For example, what if you had this super-ugly mole on your neck, complete with a nasty hair sprouting out of it, and you asked me if I thought it was gross? Should I say yes, which would be the honest response, or should I say that it didn’t bother me so you wouldn’t feel bad?”
“Wait just a second,” Declan said with a slight frown. “We’re talking about two separate things here—although I like the mole scenario; that was good. Of course people fib in order not to hurt each other. That’s justified. What I’m talking about is deliberately keeping secrets. There’s a huge difference.”
She was silent, his words wrenching her insides. “Oh, I know. Totally.” She swallowed. “So let me explain why I quit playing the piano. I want to share it with you.”
“Fine. I think that’s what I was asking for in the beginning.”
She took a deep breath. “It’s not...some deep dark secret. I stopped playing because of my parents. They were fighting all the time and somehow they always managed to drag me into the middle of it. You know, like accusing each other of ruining my potential stardom.” She laughed self-consciously. “And all at once, performing made me feel…bad. And sad.” She looked at him shamefully. “Also—and I’m not terribly proud of this—I quit because it was a very successful way of punishing them both.” She sighed as if a great weight had been lifted. “There. Mystery solved.”
There was a pause, then Declan said, “Don’t dismiss it like it’s nothing. Like you somehow think I’m stupid for wanting to know.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said quickly. “It was more like I was making fun of myself.”
“Well, don’t do that either. That’s not healthy.”
She smiled. “Is that clucking I hear? Your Mother Hen feathers are flying again.”
“Fair enough,” he said, laughing. “But maybe I only dish it out to those who are in need.”
“Hah!” She shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Let’s skip the meeting. I’m suddenly not in the mood for Chad. What do you think?”
She hesitated. She’d never skipped
a class in her life, had never had an unexcused absence her entire school career. But this was not school. Yes, there was a sign-in sheet on Mr. Stossel’s desk, but she didn’t think he paid much attention to it. “What should we do instead?”
“All this talking has made me hungry. I’m craving some ice cream or something.”
“Fine. But don’t order me any. I’ll just have a bite of yours.”
“If I let you,” he said, starting the car again. “First, you may be obligated to meet certain conditions.”
“Such as?”
“That’s classified. I’ll have to debrief you later.” He grinned. “In private.”
Sixteen
Pearls of wisdom by Ms. Hove:
Sexuality assumes an important role in an adolescent’s life and is widely considered a rite of passage into adulthood. No doubt, sex is a pleasurable activity! Yet it’s important to keep in mind how small a part it plays in people’s lives. Sex, when compared to routine nonsexual activities, takes up a surprisingly insignificant portion of our time. One study found sex to account for a measly sixty-five hours out of the 8,760 that make up one calendar year! Chew on that, little darlings!!!