by Earl Sewell
I blinked. “Wow.”
“What?”
“That’s, um...really unexpected of you.”
“What is?” He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “The sentiment? Or the fact that I have the ability to express it in multisyllabic words and complex sentences?”
Again he smiled as if he could hear what I was thinking.
Yeah, um, definitely not complex or multisyllabic but more along the lines of “whoa” accompanied by a blush that my mild shock had been so apparent.
Along with holy cats, what a nice smile. Surprisingly wide, revealing straight, white teeth and a single, deep indentation in his right cheek.
Um, holy cats. David had a dimple? To go along with a beautiful smile that totally transformed his face. I realized then that for as rarely as I’d seen David in the past few years, I’d seen him smile—really smile—even less.
Why hadn’t that struck me as odd before this moment? After all, when we were little, he used to be happy and smiling all the time. Was in fact the only person who could get me, the most serious, somber kid on the planet, to laugh without fail. So what changed?
My stabbity little fairies chose that precise moment to reappear, jabbing pitchforks doused in a healthy measure of guilt into my chest with unrestrained glee.
Okay, yeah...I got it already. “It’s all a little unexpected, David.” I took a deep breath. “Especially the part about us being friends.”
His smile faded just a little, a hint of uncertainty emerging for the first time. “Is it...unwelcome?”
Before the fairies could start jabbing again, I took another deep breath.
“No. No, it’s not.”
five
I was more than familiar with being the subject of speculation. Hello—Cuban family? I was also more than a little familiar with the mechanics of a microscope. I could honestly say, though, that never before had the two had occasion to meet so completely.
In other words, hovering in the entrance to the ballroom at the Cape Florida Yacht Club, I completely got what it was like to be a specimen. Pinned to a slide. Studied beneath the relentless glare of a high-magnification lens.
“Relax, Claudia.”
“They’re all staring,” I muttered to Peyton. Around us, what seemed like every relative and every relative’s relative, and, oh, dear God, every friend of every relative stared. It was like that schlocky scene from the end of Titanic where Rose enters the rotunda and ascends the grand staircase to find True Love Jack waiting while all the doomed crew and passengers stand around.
Staring.
“They aren’t. Not...really.” Yeah, she didn’t exactly sound convinced.
“Actually, they are,” Eddie piped up from Peyton’s opposite side. “But so what? It could be they’re checking out the sweet gringa whose cold American parents left her alone over Christmas. It could be because Claudia’s wearing a dress in an actual color and looks like a real girl. Hell, it could be they think I’m looking particularly hot.”
Seriously, if Peyton hadn’t been between us, I so would have clocked him straight upside his product-slicked head. Especially since he was talking loud enough that the gossips didn’t even have to be subtle about eavesdropping. All they had to do was slow down just a little on their way to the open bar or the buffet, exchanging those raised-eyebrow glances that conveyed more in Silent Cuban than most normal people could express with a Shakespearean soliloquy’s worth of words.
“It could be because they see David and me standing within arm’s length,” I grumbled, “and they’re wondering about the wording on the wedding invitations—”
“Oh, for crap’s sake. So what if they are?” Eddie broke in, his voice a little sharper and because of it, a little louder. “It’s just bullshit gossip. You need to let it go, Claudia.”
With each word I felt my eyes widen until I was absolutely certain they had to be bugging straight out of my skull. Any second now they were liable to go bo-oing! on springs like some sort of cracked-out cartoon character.
While part of me wanted to slap Eddie straight into next week, the bigger part of me froze, stunned by how he was glaring at some of the cousins who were, of course, staring. And color me stunned twice over at the way they scurried off like startled rats under the threat implied by that stare.
Dude. When had Eddie, you know...grown up?
“We can do this, right?” I whispered to David.
“Absolutely,” he replied, although definite tension underscored his voice. Then again, it was a different ball of wax when you had a couple hundred members of your family and their closest friends all eyeing you down with deep interest bordering on macabre glee. If his fight-or-flight instincts were anywhere near as powerful as mine, it was a minor miracle we hadn’t yet made a break for it.
Odd to be thinking in terms like “we,” but I couldn’t deny being here with David had started to take on a distinct feel of Us Versus Them. And that felt...well, kind of nice.
“Absolutely,” I echoed. “Who cares what the rest of them think?” I shot an experimental glare at a visibly nosy viejita I recognized from Abuelita’s weekly poker game. Nowhere near as much of a wuss as the cousins, she pursed her lips in a way that made it clear I’d be hearing about it from my grandmother—in stereo. That’s all right. They could bring it.
“Eddie’s right. It’s bullshit,” David said.
That beautiful broad smile made its second appearance of the evening, and all of a sudden, there went the little fairies swooping around my stomach. No stabbity pitchforks this time—just teeny little wings fluttering wildly enough to leave me a little light-headed. Or that could have just been because of David’s cologne, as light and crisp as a sea breeze.
Or maybe it was because of the surprising feel of his hand closing around mine. A little cold—maybe even trembling a little—but his hold was firm and strong as he led the charge into the ballroom. We forged our way around the tables and skirted the dance floor with the practiced wariness of tourists avoiding the more aggressive camel traders at the market. Swift, no eye contact and not pausing until we’d reached the safety of one of the more out-of-the-way tables. Shrouded in shadow and close to the French doors leading to the outside terrace, it provided a perfect hiding place.
“Making sure we have the means for a quick getaway?”
“I adhere to the Boy Scout motto.” He grinned as he held a chair out for me. “Be Prepared.”
“Ha!” I eased into the chair, shivering slightly as his hands brushed my bare back. “You and Eddie lasted all of two weeks in the Boy Scouts before getting kicked out.”
“Eddie’s fault,” he replied easily as he dropped into the chair beside mine.
“Oh, dude, you so lie.” Eddie drew a chair out for Peyton but remained standing.
David crossed his arms. “Whose idea was it to hijack the Holy Family Girl Scout troop’s cookie shipment and hold it for ransom as a fundraiser?”
“Who actually came up with the plan to liberate the cookies from Mrs. Ramirez’s garage?”
“Who tried to keep a case of Samoas after we’d been busted?”
Eddie shrugged, completely unapologetic. “It’s not like we were gonna get merit badges. Figured we deserved something for our efforts.”
“It’s clever,” Peyton said.
As Eddie honest-to-God preened, I exchanged another one of those glances with David, the kind where we somehow exchanged an entire conversation in a split second. Softly enough so it was lost beneath the throbbing beat of the tune the DJ was spinning, he asked, “Why is it I get the feeling he could suggest robbing a bank right now and she’d think it was clever?”
“I hope to hell she’s not that far gone,” I whispered back. “Otherwise I’m gonna have to have a serious come-to-Jesus with the girl.”
“So long as someone’s looking out for her best interests.”
“And so long as you keep him from doing anything monumentally stupid.”
“It’s Eddie. No guarantees.”
“Good point.”
He smiled, his eyes turning a mellow blue in the flickering light from the votives. And there went those damned fairies again.
“Yo.”
Speak of the devil...
Spell broken, I turned, feeling as I did the brush of warm fabric across my shoulders. I shivered slightly as I realized that at some point during our hushed conversation, David had draped his arm along the back of my chair. Comfortable. Familiar. And...more. As his fingers brushed against my upper arm in a slow, deliberate rhythm, I felt the spell wind itself around us again—strong enough that even Eddie’s know-it-all grin couldn’t shatter it.
“Yes?”
“I’m gonna go get me and Peyton something to drink. Want anything?”
“Actually, Eddie...” Peyton’s glance met mine for a split second before she looked up at Eddie and hit him with another one of those smiles that seemed to turn my cousin to flan. To think, she’d had that in her arsenal all along.
“I’m not all that thirsty yet. Why don’t you show me how to salsa like you promised?”
I lifted my fist to my mouth and bit down to hold back a laugh as Eddie’s expression dissolved from I’m Too Cool For Words to OhGodOhGodWe’reAllGonnaDie. Behind me, I felt David vibrating with suppressed laughter.
As they walked away, I leaned back. It was completely unnecessary since there was no one around to overhear us, but I enjoyed how it pressed David’s arm even more firmly against my shoulders. “When was the last time he danced salsa?”
“A quarter to never. Boy’s got two left feet.”
“That’s what I thought. What could he have been thinking?”
His shoulder rubbed against my back as he shrugged. “Probably that she’d be too shy to take him up on the offer is my guess. Not too many gringas who’d willingly subject themselves to learning how to salsa in front of a crowd of Latinos.”
“If you’d asked me even a week ago, I would have agreed wholeheartedly.” My words emerged a little breathless, because David’s fingertips had moved up my arm and were now stroking my shoulder where fabric met bare skin. His touch was gentle with a unique raspy texture—calluses, I realized. Not at all unpleasant, just different from the soft, smooth hands of the boys I’d gone out with at Warrington.
Part of me couldn’t believe I was letting this happen. An even bigger part of me couldn’t believe this was happening at all.
David Levy.
Of all people, David.
I couldn’t even begin to understand where all of this was coming from. But our little corner was dark and cozy and removed enough from the rest of the ballroom that it felt as if we were behind glass, like in a snow globe. Protected from the outside and free to play out...whatever this was.
Skeptic that I am, I couldn’t help but question how easy it was to fall into the fantasy. These things didn’t happen to the likes of me, after all. Just as quickly, though, I felt the questions swept away by the nervous yet expectant beating of the fairy wings.
We sat quietly, David idly stroking my shoulder as we observed the ebb and flow of the crowd and listened to the loud music and even louder chatter conducted in two languages. An almost bittersweet melancholy wound itself around my heart and squeezed. It was all so familiar and yet so not of my world. What was odd and new was the very certain feeling that if I expressed the feeling to David, he’d understand what I meant.
Didn’t seem the sort of thing worth disturbing our easy silence for, though. Not yet. It wasn’t until I spotted Tío Carlos chatting with a dark-haired woman in an elegant blue satin cocktail dress that I felt moved to speak.
“How’s your mom?”
His shoulder tensed, even though his hand never ceased its gentle motions. “She’s fine, I guess. Talked to her before we came to pick you and Peyton up. Wished her a happy New Year, since it’s already tomorrow there.”
“She’s still in Sydney, then?”
“Yeah.”
Where she’d been for the past five years—just the latest stop in an increasingly high-profile career as a museum curator. The career for which she’d given up marriage and family after being offered a plum assignment in London. Tío Carlos had refused to leave behind his budding law practice. She’d refused to live with regrets and anger over turning down an opportunity she’d trained her whole life for. Ultimately, they’d agreed it was Tío who could provide the more stable environment for David, and that, as they say, had been that.
David had been four.
For the first time, I made a move to touch him, slowly moving my hand to cover his free one on the table. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Last Christmas.”
My breath caught as his hand slowly turned, leaving us palm to palm. His fingers toyed with mine, his touch a combination of subtle roughness and warm sensation. It felt...intimate. Never before had I considered the simple act of holding a guy’s hand as intimate. Now I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to imagine it as anything but.
“She wants me to visit this summer, after graduation.”
“Are you going to go?”
“Depends on what I decide to do about the draft, I guess.”
Color me crazy, but I could have sworn I heard something in his voice. Something tentative and unsure that made me ask, “What do you want to do?”
His hand tightened, then went slack as if in shock. “God, it’s been so long since anyone actually asked me that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind.” His voice was clipped and short. “It’s nothing.”
Yeah, right. “David...it’s okay. I want to know.”
His long exhalation teased the hair around my forehead. “No one’s asked, Claudia, because it’s all been decided already. It’s all about the strategic decisions. About what’s going to have the greatest long-term benefit to my career. What’s going to provide the greatest stability yet allow me to attain my full value. What’s gonna give the right impression.” His voice was hard and bitter, but I knew it wasn’t directed at me.
I turned to face him, missing the warmth of him against my back, but feeling a greater need to look at him. “You mean like having a girlfriend and eventually a wife to keep the home fires burning so you can go about the business of being a pro athlete?”
“Yeah. Exactly.” Even in the low light it was obvious he was blushing.
“I’m so sorry about that,” I said quietly.
“Why are you apologizing?” He shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, you got just as ambushed and you’re definitely not the one who needs to be apologizing.”
As he spoke, his narrow gaze settled on his dad, making it clear whom he held responsible for, well...everything. “So—” A bit more tentatively, I reached for his hand again. “I’m getting the impression the draft maybe isn’t your first choice?”
“I...don’t know.”
Those were the out-loud words, but the way his hand tightened around mine, almost desperately, said he did know. And it was potentially scary.
Boy, could I ever relate.
“Hey,” I said gently. “It’s not like I’m going to go alert the media.”
“I know. I just—” Impatiently he reached up and yanked his tie free. As he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt, I watched the muscles work along the column of his throat. Breathing easier, it seemed, he closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them and meeting my gaze. “It’s been so long since someone asked,” he repeated. “And honestly wanted to know the truth. The answers seem so clear up here—” he tapped the side of his
head with his finger “—but I almost don’t know how to say them out loud.”
Slowly I reached up and took his other hand in mine, half-awed at how easy it was to touch him. As he shifted so our hands were tightly clasped together, I was surprised yet again by how nice it was to be touched by him.
“We’ve got time,” I said. “So why don’t you start at the beginning?”
six
“Wow.”
David’s response was a deep sigh that sounded all the more heartfelt in the quiet surrounding us.
As private as our corner of the ballroom had been, it had still been loud and a little too exposed had anyone cared to come interrupt us. Which, miraculously, it seemed no one had wanted to, but let’s face it—that sort of luck could only hold out for so long. Last thing we needed was relatives cooing and fussing over us with their sly grins and not-so-subtle expressions communicating, See, we know so much better than you—why didn’t you just listen to us in the first place?
So we’d escaped through the French doors to the expansive multilevel terrace, where we’d commandeered a tucked-in-a-corner chaise that gave us a feeling of seclusion. Add in the dry, windy rustle of palm fronds and the slapping of the waves against a nearby retaining wall, and it felt like a world apart.
Being with David tonight felt like a world apart.
“I can’t imagine announcing you want to give up the prospect of a professional baseball career to study astrophysics has gone over too well with your dad.”
“Ya think?”
Oops. Open mouth, insert sparkly pump, chew vigorously. Squeezing his hand gently, I said, “Sorry, that was stupid.”
“Not really.” Keeping hold of my hand, he rolled to his back on the oversize double chaise and stared up, his profile illuminated by a nearby tiki torch, all clean, sharp lines silhouetted against the deep blue-black of the sky. This close, I could see how his gaze automatically searched out the stars overhead, no doubt mapping constellations I’d just learned he knew as well as he knew his own name.