A Season of Eden

by Jennifer Laurens

  “Goodnight.” I started through the gates, now on their swing back to a close. My heels tapped a lonely tune as I crossed the cobblestones.

  Chapter Twelve

  The house was expectedly empty when I went inside but I was too warm in my heart to care. I stopped and looked at my reflection in the Italian mirror Stacey had imported after one of their trips to Italy. My skin gleamed.

  My eyes twinkled.

  Smiling, I took the stairs up. William panted at my heels and I reached down and scrubbed his body the way he liked.

  Then my mind flashed images of Mr. Christian’s face after the concert. The way he’d looked conducting us: muscles tense, light beads of perspiration along his jaw.

  How happy he’d looked when Leesa had placed the roses in his arms.

  He’d hugged her.

  I undressed, wondering how Leesa felt about him.

  She was a nice girl, but her illness had left her with little more than a baby chick’s head of hair. Less than attractive.

  I watched myself as I slowly peeled off the dress. The joy I had felt moments ago stripped away. I looked at my deep red bra and panties. I looked healthy, Leesa did not. I was attractive, Leesa was not. How lame was it for me to think this way about her. She couldn’t help what had happened.

  I hung up the dress and stood looking at my reflection.

  Mr. Christian had called me beautiful. Turning, I surveyed every angle. No ripples. No excess bulges. Still, a body was just a body. I’d learned that the day I had gone to my dead mother as she lay in her coffin and pressed a kiss onto her icy lips. That day, my father had vanished in his loss, abandoning me along the way. He stopped hugging me.

  He never asked me how my day was. Our daddy-daughter dates became extinct. And he never again tucked me into bed.

  Mine had been a slow death after that, leaving me behind in the form of a shell.

  Looking at myself now, that empty place inside of me threatened to rip open, exposing what I really was. So what if I was beautiful? I’d done nothing with what was inside of me. I’d let myself die, and lost myself in the transparent existence my friends lived in. More than once I’d seen beauty in Leesa’ eyes, beams of light in her smile. Real caring in her countenance. Like Mr. Christian.

  I washed my face and changed into my pajamas. I got out my iPod and put on some classical music. Slowly, the lofty tunes lifted my spirits. I thought of Mr. Christian and how he spent time with wayward kids, teaching them to sing. I thought of Leesa’s smiling eyes, the way she eagerly waited to talk to me—and anyone else.

  In the mirror, I saw a girl who looked pretty even in simple pajamas. Even without all the paint and goop. I was healthy. Strong. And I had thick, handfuls of blonde hair. I ran my fingers through it. A flash of tears filled my eyes. I had enough, and thought at that moment if I could, I would share with Leesa.

  Monday, before Dad was up for his shower, I was dressed in nice jeans, a bright pink tee-shirt and a cropped jacket. I left my hair down. I was out the door, anxious to see Mr. Christian.

  I walked the empty halls of the high school relishing the quiet and the unknown. Nerves bundled in my stomach. Not sure whether or not he was there, I walked to the parking lot behind the music room where he had parked his mother’s car Saturday night. His grey Toyota was there. I smiled.

  I didn’t care what he thought of me showing up early.

  Since Saturday, I felt alive inside in a way I never had before, my whole body magnetically drawn to the music room.

  The door was closed, but I could hear him playing that song I’d heard him play months ago. Its melancholy tune quickly seeped into my heart as I opened the door.

  The whoosh of pressure in the room alerted him.

  He stopped and turned. Our eyes locked. I let the door silently close at my back. He stared at me, and a taut quiet stretched between us.

  “I like hearing you play,” I said. I moved toward him.

  He turned, in sync with my slow approach. He looked up at me but didn’t say anything. I rested my clammy hands on the cold, slick piano body. “May I?”

  The muscles in his throat shifted, then he swallowed.

  “Eden.”

  My knees weakened, like a soft tickling kiss had just been blown against the backs of them. “Is it okay?” I asked.

  His gaze held mine tight, like two hands joined. He understood what I was really asking. That’s why he didn’t answer.

  “Let me stay,” I said, his silence peeling away my courage, leaving me desperate. “Please.”

  “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  Another deep pause. Nothing but the sound of our low breathing. Then he turned, and placed his hands just above the keys. The gesture fired heat through me and I held my breath.

  He started to play. I couldn’t move, so overjoyed listening to him, so overwhelmed being close to him. I remained fixed at the side of the piano, enjoying that I could openly stare at him while he brought the room life with his music.

  The melody reached in. Touched me. Filled me. As if an invisible siphon leeched off the notes and chords with the urgency of needed breath. He slowed the piece, his long fingers curling and flattening on the ivory keys, his eyes closing, lashes pressed against his cheeks. The tune echoed off the empty walls with one final deep chord.

  When he opened his eyes, they locked on mine. His hands slid from the keys and into his lap. “There can’t be anything between us.”

  “I’d like us to be friends.”

  Caution and amusement fought on his face. “Friends?”

  I had to smile. “Okay, well, maybe more. I think you’re interesting. You’re so passionate about your work it’s contagious.”

  He let out a low laugh. “I don’t know how contagious it is. Nobody else seems to care.”

  “Then they’re retarded.”

  He shook his head, settling another piercing look at me. “My position is precarious, Eden. You’re smart enough to know that.”

  “But I’m eighteen. I’m totally legal. If I weren’t in school and we met at a club, it wouldn’t matter. Would it?”

  “Probably not.”

  “If we had met at a club, would you have talked to me?”

  He looked at the keys for a moment, tapping a finger silently against one solitary note without it making a sound.

  Then he looked into my eyes. “Eden, that’s not something I can tell you.”

  My insides buzzed with thrill. “Why not? Are you afraid?” Though I had the sudden squeeze of disappointment around my heart that perhaps he wasn’t attracted to me, the way his eyes sharpened told me otherwise. “Or are you afraid I’ll tell someone.”

  “I’m just starting my career.”

  “I have no one that cares enough about me that I would tell something like this to.”

  His brows knit across his face. For another long moment, he looked at me with deep worry that opened my heart. “You said your parents don’t come to concerts, but, they’re your parents. And you’re a teenaged girl. They want to know what’s going on in your life.”

  “Hard to believe but, no. My dad remarried after my mother died, and they can’t keep their hands off each other.

  They don’t know I’m even around and could care less that I’m not.”

  He looked at me as if deciphering whether or not I could be serious. “What about your friends?”

  I shook my head. “Come on, it hasn’t been that long since you were in high school. It’s all about where we’re eating lunch today and who’s having tonight’s party.”

  “And who’s hooking up with whom,” he added. “One mention that you and I were talking to each other before school or that you listened to me play – alone – in my classroom, and I could get fired.”

  My fingers skimmed the worn body of the piano.

  “You could be talking to any student before or after class – alone – and that wouldn’t get you into any trouble.”
>
  “You’re not just any student.” His admission pleased me. Neither of us said anything then, the air filled with the implication.

  I smiled, hoping he would too, but intensity tightened his face. “I’m serious.”

  “I can see that. Can’t you just forget that I’m in your class?”

  “No. I see your face every morning. I watch the way you smile when you sing, like…” He lowered his head a moment. “Like… you’ve never been happier.”

  “Because I never have been.”

  “That can’t be true. You’re popular. You have friends everywhere, I’ve seen it. I can tell you’re a girl who has everything.”

  The rush I had felt building around us popped.

  “Because I live in a big house I have everything?”

  “It’s not just the big house.”

  “How do you know all of this without knowing me?”

  My face heated as anger spread. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “And you don’t know anything about me. Whatever you think you like about me, Eden, it’s only the part I let the world see. That’s the mask we all wear.”

  “Is this some lame excuse for rejection? If you aren’t attracted to me, just say so, but don’t play around with it. I can take it, whatever it is.”

  A deep line creased between his brows. “It isn’t rejection, it’s facts. You don’t know me beyond the walls of this classroom.”

  “You drove me home.” I tilted my head and tried a grin. “And I saw you at your church.”

  A slow smile spread on his lips. “Okay, okay, point taken.” He stood then, and looked down into my eyes.

  Desperation rushed back into every scared hollow I had inside.

  “So.” I had the feeling the conversation was almost over and didn’t want it to be. I smiled when he did. “I just, kind of thought we could, hang some time.”

  “And do what?”

  “Not homework,” I joked, but his eyes were stormy with uncertainty.

  “We couldn’t even be seen in public together, Eden.”

  “You make it sound like it’s against the law, two people hanging out. I’m an adult. I can be with whoever I want.”

  He shifted, shook his head and rested a hand on the piano. “It’s more complicated than that. If anyone found out that I was seeing one of my students, there would be political accusations. Is she getting an A because he’s seeing her? Is she seeing him because she only wants an A?”

  “That’s just wrong,” I shot. “I wouldn’t do that.” Though I had been guilty of kissing up to teachers before, especially male teachers, Mr. Christian’s honest vulnerability made me appalled, not abusive of such deception.

  He lowered his head a moment, stroking the piano with such gentleness I followed the gesture with my insides quivering.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked.

  He let out a light laugh. “No.”

  What idiots women were, I thought. “Then let’s hang out some time.” His serious expression once again left me feeling empty handed. “How about we ‘run into each other’ at Starbucks? That way, no one can say anything. You like coffee?”

  He hesitated, but finally said, “Yes.”

  The coerced look on his face pinched my exposed heart. “Look, forget it. I’m sorry I even came in here.” I took another look at his hand, at the way it lay protectively on the piano and couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. “It was stupid of me. I’m sorry.”

  I turned, grabbed my bag lying on the chair. I shouldn’t have to talk him into anything. If he cared or was interested in getting to know me, he would have to come after me.

  He was a guy, after all. More than that even, he was a man.

  I started toward the door.

  “Eden.”

  Without turning to look at him I stopped, my hand on the knob, my heart thudding.

  “There’s a Starbucks in the Rivera. Do you know where it is?”

  I nodded. The first fluttering of joy started in my stomach.

  “Tonight. Seven o’clock.”

  Breathing froze. My whole body flushed with delicious anticipation. I gripped the knob, my knuckles turning to rock. I didn’t turn and look at him. I opened the door and walked out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A few minutes later, I waited outside the music room until the bell rang and most of the other choir members had filed in. I meant to show him that in no way would I give away what had happened between us by being some giddy girl. I heard the classical music he played for us on his CD player start.

  Leesa stood next to me and I smiled at her. “Hey, Leesa.”

  “Hi, Eden.” Her smile twinkled. “Have a good weekend?”

  “Pretty good. What did you do?” I asked. She looked shocked that I’d asked, then pleased.

  “I hung out with some friends, thanks for asking.”

  We started through the door of the classroom.

  “Sounds better than my weekend,” I said.

  “Really? I thought you would have been with Matt.”

  “We’re not seeing each other anymore.” I glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Christian who stood talking to a few students.

  Leesa was so enamored with our conversation, she didn’t notice. “You’re not? Wow. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. But, thanks anyway.” We separated and went to our chairs. Hers was closer to the front than mine. I noticed that she set her books under her seat then instantly focused on James Christian and what he was doing.

  “Let’s get started.” James looked out over the class. I waited for him to look at me, but he avoided it. “Thanks to everyone for a great concert.”

  “We sounded awesome,” a boy called from the back.

  A bunch of kids voiced their agreement.

  “You guys did great.” James nodded and moved his music stand so that it was in front of him.

  “So, we’re like, on a break now?” Josh asked. Everyone laughed.

  “No, we’re not on a break.” James grinned. “But we are starting on some new music.”

  A roll of good-natured groans rumbled through the room. “You work us too hard, Mr. C,” somebody said.

  “That’s my job, to work you guys.”

  “Can’t we just have a party today?”

  He shook his head. “You should have celebrated Saturday. Sorry if you missed out. Now, it’s Monday.”

  Another round of groans. “Besides, we have the spring concert to prepare for.”

  “What will we be singing? Not more classical. Save us!”

  James set his hand over his heart with a feigned frown.

  “You don’t like my choice of music?”

  “I say you let us pick the songs,” a boy suggested. The room roared with shouts of song titles. James laughed and finally held up his hands until the room quieted.

  “Okay, okay… or the fun of it, let’s hear what some of you suggest?”

  Hands shot up and he pointed randomly to each one.

  “Something from Eminem.”

  “Yeah, The Real Slim Shady.”

  “No way, we need to sing, Holiday.” Another suggestion.

  James laughed with a shake of his head. “Right.”

  “Phantom of the Opera has some good songs.”

  “Now that’s not a bad suggestion,” James said. Leesa raised her hand. “Yes, Leesa?”

  “I know it’s old, but I kind of like My Heart Will Go On, from Titanic.”

  James’ face flushed red. He shifted, and moved the music stand an inch. Then his eyes met mine. For a moment he looked at me, before turning his attention back to Leesa. “That’s an old standby. Yeah, we can sing that.

  Anybody else have suggestions?”

  •••

  The day dragged as if I carried leaden weights on my ankles. I couldn’t think during any of my other classes, anticipating my meeting with James later that night. Lunch came and I forced myself to continue my regular patte
rn of joining my friends at the plaza for a nonsense lunch.

  Matt sat at the table with Josh and Tanner. Brielle and I scored a parking space right in front of Fiasco’s and walked over.