“I looked at some courses at NYU,” he said, in a voice that was just one shade too casual to be believable.
“And?”
“Nothing, really. I just thought it would be cool—you and me in the Big Apple.”
“Sebastian, I don’t mind where we go. If you want to go to New York, if you’ve seen some courses that interest you, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“Really?”
He beamed at me.
“Of course! It’s just as much your future as mine.” Or more.
In secrecy, we planned for Sebastian to apply to NYU with his courses starting in the Spring semester. We—and I delighted in that small pronoun—would leave California as soon as he was 18 on October 2nd, and hoped to hide in the anonymity of the gray metropolis. I would, of course, find work as a journalist, and undoubtedly we would be happy.
I was swept up in that delicious dream. I couldn’t fully hide my happiness; someone was bound to notice.
“Caroline!”
Donna Vorstadt’s voice interrupted my happy musings in the Kwik Shop.
“How are you? Johan and I are really looking forward to your little soirée tomorrow.”
My brain lurched to attention. Had she seen me arrive with Sebastian? No, she was still smiling, acting normally—unlike me.
“Oh, yes, of course! Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
So true.
“It must have been somewhere lovely—I called your name three times!”
I flushed uncomfortably and she raised an eyebrow, but was kind enough not to pursue the point.
“David told Johan that you’ll be making some of your delicious little Italian delicacies.”
She glanced, puzzled, at my cart. A milk carton and bottle of olive oil blinked back at her.
“I prefer to cook everything from fresh,” I muttered, improvising wretchedly.
“Of course,” she smiled. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Oh, look! There’s the Hunters’ boy over by the cold meat counter. He’s cut his hair. Goodness! Sebastian! Yoo-hoo!”
A brief expression of horror swept over his face before he schooled his features into blankness. He walked toward us, warily.
“Hi, Mrs. Vorstadt.” He paused. “Mrs. Wilson,” he muttered.
“Hello, Sebastian,” she said, eyeing his buzz-cut. “Are you shopping for your mother?”
“Um…”
“That’s awfully good of you. I wish I could get my boys to do chores around the house. They think food just materializes into the refrigerator.”
I laughed weakly and Sebastian smiled, giving a vague, non-committal answer.
“Can I give you a ride home, Sebastian?” Donna offered kindly.
“No, thanks, Mrs. Vorstadt, I’m good.”
She smiled. “Well … see you tomorrow, Caroline.”
“Bye.”
Eventually she disappeared behind the frozen goods and I let out a sigh of relief. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath.
“We must be more careful,” I whispered.
Sebastian nodded solemnly, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“What?!”
He shook his head, a small smile escaping. “Let’s get out of here.”
I abandoned my few goods with the shopping cart, much to the irritation of the staff, no doubt, and headed for the parking lot. Our exit was certainly more discreet than our aborted shopping expedition.
I slipped into the driver’s seat feeling elated and guilty at the same time.
Sebastian let his fingers drift down my neck; a shiver ran through me.
“Not here!”
“Where then?”
“Let’s go to the beach.”
He grinned. “Perfect.”
As I drove he fiddled with the radio and picked up a station playing cool, ambient jazz.
“Mom and Dad have been on my case about getting a summer job,” he said casually.
My heart sank—if he worked all day, I’d never see him. I couldn’t go out in the evenings, not without facing the inquisition from David.
“What sort of job?”
He shrugged. “Ches says I could get a job bussing tables at the place he works—the country club out at La Jolla.”
“That sounds … fun.”
“Mostly evening shifts, Caro. I’ll still be free during the days.”
I smiled with relief. “By the way, I’d like you to read my surfing article; just to make sure it’s okay.”
“You finished it?”
He sounded surprised.
“Sure! What else is there to do in the evenings?” I said, teasing.
He scowled. “I hate you going home to that asshole.”
I sighed. “Me, too, but it’s not for much longer.”
The truth was that I found David’s brittle company almost unbearable. I honestly didn’t know if I’d be able to last four months. I’d been turning over in my mind the possibility of moving out—but I was scared and had little money of my own.
I banished the thought of David: here and now was for Sebastian.
“Which beach shall we go to?”
“There’s a place I know not far from here. There’s a beach shack, too, so we should be able to get some food.”
I smiled to myself—the boy could eat.
No, not a boy, I snarled.
But the part of my brain where I parked all my miscreant thoughts was getting pretty damn crowded.
We drove with the windows down, Sebastian leaning back lazily, singing along softly to the radio, while the wind tangled my hair.
Sebastian was showing me a side of San Diego that I’d never seen before—the chilled out, laid-back beach community that would have given David hives.
The girl working the counter of the beach shack eyed Sebastian with interest. I watched her follow his progress around the store. She was pretty; a stereotypical California girl with long, blonde hair, long tanned legs, and long, false eyelashes. To my amusement and delight, Sebastian didn’t appear to notice her.
“What do you want to eat, Caro? They’ve got tuna on wheat or meatloaf on rye.”
“I’ll just have a soda and a small bag of chips.”
He frowned. “That’s not very healthy.”
He looked so serious, standing there in his cut-offs and surfer t-shirt, I couldn’t help a broad smile.
“Then I’d better have the tuna, kind sir.”
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Just a little, but in a good way. You’re so sweet!”
He looked like he wasn’t sure whether or not that was a compliment, but shrugged it off.
I paid for the food, irritated with myself for recalling that the money came from the housekeeping David so grudgingly gave me. To hell with it! I earned every penny: cooking, cleaning, ironing his damn pants—even entertaining his colleagues.
The cashier loaded our purchases into a carrier which Sebastian tucked under one arm, with the briefest of smiles at her. Then he took my hand.
He took my hand!
David never held my hand. Well, perhaps once—the day of our marriage, when my father had given it to him. Not since then, not that I could remember.
It felt wonderful and terrifying, strolling along the beach, our fingers learning the lines and shapes of each other’s hands.
We found the perfect dune, a concave dip among the marram grass. It gave us some slight protection from the prevailing wind, although it was gentle today; but, more importantly, it gave us privacy from anyone watching from the beach.
Shyly, I pulled a copy of my surfing article out of my bag.
“This is it.”
He sank down to the sand and sat cross-legged. I watched his face anxiously as he read. It was the first time I’d shown anyone my writing. I badly wanted him to like it. I felt like I’d launched a baby out into the world and was waiting for someone to tell me whether or not I had an ugly child.
Once or twice Sebastian smiled as rea
d through the pages, then he looked up.
“It’s really good.”
I looked at him, skeptically.
“It is! I really liked the joke about the Hawaiian Surfers Marine Corps storming up the beach to invade, but deciding to catch one more wave first.”
“You really liked it?
“It’s good, Caro.”
“You’d say that anyway.”
He smiled.
“Probably, but I happen to mean it. It gives people an insight into surfing and the Military way of doing things. It’s clever. There’s just one thing…”
I knew it.
“You’ve got a spelling mistake there: you’ve put ‘truster’ instead of ‘thruster’.”
“Where? Show me.”
He laughed. “Just kidding.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, imagine getting the thrusting wrong.”
He gaped at me as I lay back on the warm sand, basking in the sudden heat of his gaze.
“You are so beautiful, Caro,” he whispered, unwinding his long legs so he was stretched out next to me.
I grinned stupidly at him.
“You are!” he insisted.
He was leaning on one elbow, his head resting on his hand. Out here his eyes looked slate-green and his skin glowed gold in the sun.
“You’re the beautiful one, Sebastian. Beautiful inside and out.”
He blinked, surprised at my words, then smiled. Another chip of ice dropped from my heart.
“I think you should kiss me.”
The words were out before I knew what I’d said. I really meant them.
“I thought we weren’t going to … you know … until I was 18.”
“That’s right, but that doesn’t mean you can’t kiss me.”
“Really?” He looked delighted.
“Perhaps you’d prefer a written invitation?”
“Not necessarily,” he whispered.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his head down toward me, stroking his short, silky hair. His gentle lips touched mine and desire exploded inside me, rushing through my veins like quicksilver. A soft, wordless sound escaped him, and my tongue was in his mouth, savoring his taste, tasting his own desire.
My hands ran down his back and greedily pulled up his t-shirt. My fingers turned to claws as I raked my nails down his back, making him gasp. He leaned away abruptly and tugged the material over his head; then his naked chest was pressing into me, forcing me into the sand. Against my belly, his erection was taut.
God! How I wanted him. To renew the sensation of him inside me, to understand, to feel that I was desired and loved and needed.
He forced one leg between mine and ran his hand along my bare skin, up my knee, my hip, teasing the material of my panties, before moving up to my waist and then running his hand over my breast and squeezing gently.
I was desperate to take it further but I was held back by the thin edge of reason, and the knowledge that one more step would tip me into the darkness.
“We have to stop,” I groaned against his lips.
“No,” he gasped.
His hand moved determinedly under the thin fabric of my strappy t-shirt, stroking and caressing my breasts.
My breathing was becoming ragged, as if I was running.
Summoning my final ounce of will power, I pushed feebly against his chest.
“No, Sebastian.”
He stopped instantly, and with a soft moan, rolled onto his back.
“I want you, Caro,” he breathed out. “I want to make love to you. I want to make love to you forever.”
My breath caught in my throat.
I want that, too. So much.
I didn’t answer, but lay unmoving, feeling my body float back to earth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him adjust himself. I felt guilty for making him uncomfortable.
Hell, was there anything I didn’t feel guilty about?
“Is this what it’s going to be like for the next four months?” he said, sounding aggrieved.
“Or I could join a convent,” I muttered, almost to myself.
“I’d still find you,” he said darkly.
I smiled.
“Okay, no convents. Or monasteries, come to think of it.”
I fished around for a new topic of conversation.
“Tell me about this job you mentioned. When do you start?”
“I haven’t applied for it yet.”
“Why not?”
“I wanted to make sure it was okay with you first, Caro.”
I was surprised. Yes, that was the word, surprised and plain amazed.
“You … you were waiting for … what, my permission?”
“Well, not exactly.” He sounded puzzled. “So we could discuss it together and then decide.”
Oh. Like a real couple.
David never discussed anything with me; I simply received his Decree from on high.
“And you’ll be working the late shift? Well, that sounds fine to me.”
“Great!” he said and turned on his side to look at me, smiling. “I’ll have to do some day shifts, maybe. The pay is shit but Ches said the tips are pretty good, especially from older women.”
I winced and his expression froze.
“I didn’t mean … I don’t think of you like that! Caro, no!”
But the genie was out of the bottle, a vintage one at that.
“It’s not far off the mark, Sebastian.”
He sat up, his face alarmed.
“Don’t say that! I love you so much, Caro. I … what I feel for you … I’ve never…”
He grabbed my hand and held the palm against his cheek.
I sat up, too, shaking sand from my hair.
“It is what it is, Sebastian.”
We sat in silence for some minutes.
I could tell he was mortified, wishing his candid words unsaid.
“So,” I said at last, my tone deliberately light, “no girls at high school who grabbed your attention? No cheerleaders waving their pompoms at you?”
He smiled ruefully, relieved, I thought for yet another change of topic.
“Not really.”
“Not really isn’t not at all. Tell me, I’m curious.”
He sighed. “They didn’t mean anything.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “I’m not jealous, Sebastian!”
But even as I said the words, I wasn’t entirely sure they were true. I remembered the hungry look of the surf shack girl and how much I’d wanted to punch her vapid smile into the back of her throat.
“What do you want to know?” he said in a resigned voice.
“It’s not important, honestly, I was just curious.”
He lay back on the sand, his eyes closed.
“It’s always been you, Caro. The first time I saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful girl that I’d ever seen. I thought you must be a princess, like Cinderella. It’s only ever been you.”
I was stunned by his reply.
Yes, a fairy tale. That’s what this was—a lovely fantasy. But somehow I couldn’t bring myself to care. I longed to run my fingers down his smooth skin, over his bare chest, across the defined muscles of his stomach. My gaze lingered on the waistband of his cut-offs.
“What about you?” he said, his eyes still closed.
“What about me what?”
“Did you go out with anyone before … before David?”
I didn’t really want to hear David’s name and certainly not from Sebastian’s lips, but it was a fair question.
“I dated a few times in high school—movies, bowling, that sort of thing. I met David when I was in my senior year.”
“My age,” he said softly.
“Yes.”
Where was he going with this?
“Did you … did you … sleep with him then?”
I really didn’t want to go there.
“Yes.”
“But you won’t sleep with me?”
“Oh, Sebastian! Please don’t do this!”
“But I don’t understand. You were my age. You just said so. How can it have been right then and wrong now?”
He sounded really angry and he turned his head away from me.
“Please don’t, Sebastian.”
My voice was suddenly hoarse with tears.
He didn’t reply.
I swallowed and took a deep breath.
“Because we were in Maryland and the age of consent is 16. It wasn’t illegal.”
“And that’s the only reason?” he muttered.
“Of course!”
He paused and then said,
“Are you still sleeping with him?”
“What?” I choked the word out.
His voice was barely a whisper. “Are you still sleeping with him? Now, I mean.”
This was ghastly.
“We share a bed, Sebastian, but we haven’t … had sex. Not since … you … since us.”
I thought that would be enough, but I was wrong.
“Are you going to sleep with him? While you’re still living there?”
He turned toward me, his face desperate.
“Will you, Caro?”
Appalled by the direction of his interrogation, I closed my eyes and spoke with a cold, controlled voice.
“The thought of David touching me is utterly repellent, Sebastian … but my husband is not a patient man.”
I heard him gasp.
“You mean he’d force you?”
Sebastian’s voice was horrified. I saw rage flare in his eyes; his expression scared me.
“No, not the way you mean…”
“You can’t, Caro! You can’t let him! Promise me you won’t let him touch you.”
How on earth could I keep that promise? I wanted to, desperately.
“I’ll try.”
He looked like he wanted to say more.
“Sebastian, it’s a beautiful day; we have a few precious hours left, please let’s not spend it fighting.” Or talking about David.
He took a deep breath. “When I think of him touching you, I just…”
“Please, don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
We paused, our lives at opposite sides of a gorge, a delicate tightrope stretched between us.
The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline Page 8