I wait for him to respond, tension knotting in my stomach. Why should I care so much that he’s angry with me? I didn’t do anything wrong. Or did I?
“So there’s nothing between you two?” Marcus turns to me, his eyes probing mine.
“No.” I shake my head. “Until recently, I couldn’t stand him.”
“Really?” He stares at me a moment longer as if to be absolutely sure, then grins a little. “Then I apologize.”
“I forgive you. You should ask questions before jumping to conclusions, though.” I grab my coke and take a long drink, relieved.
Marcus doesn’t know me at all if he thinks I could like two guys at once. A vision of Dylan fills my thoughts. The day at the beach, when I caught him watching me. I felt something stir inside of me. I bite my lip and push it from my mind.
“Just be careful with him. He’s a perfect fit for St. Aquinas.”
There’s no missing the sarcasm.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s an elitist. Don’t tell me you haven’t picked up on it,” he says, slumping in his seat. “You’re going to be surrounded by others like him. Ella and Caroline, too.”
“That’s pretty harsh. You need to stop picking on my school.”
Katie, Suzie and Cloe are awesome. I have to believe there are plenty of others like them. But…what if I made a horrible mistake? Maybe I should’ve picked Trinity. What if these kids are as bad—or worse—than those I dealt with at Lexington High? I force the feelings of fear away. If it’s terrible, Sheldon and Bernard will let me transfer.
A moment later the theater goes dark as the previews begin. I glance at Marcus from the corner of my eye. My heart drops when I catch him watching me. He seems to be over his anger about Dylan. I smile and quickly return my eyes to the screen.
“Popcorn?” Marcus whispers, holding the container out to me.
As I reach for a handful of popcorn, our gaze locks and, this time, neither of us is in a hurry to look away. My stomach can’t decide whether to drop down to my toes or squirrel up to my throat.
“Here, why don’t you hold it.” He sets the bucket on my lap.
“Um…thanks.”
The movie starts. Marcus clears his throat and shifts in his seat, inching closer. My pulse quickens. I remind myself to breathe. I let a minute pass before I lean toward him. When our shoulders touch, I think my heart might burst, it’s hammering so hard. I close my eyes and pray my nervousness won’t bring on a fireball.
It’s impossible to pay attention to the movie. I’m too aware of him sitting beside me. Every movement he makes sends another shiver through me. When his hand reaches for popcorn, brushing across mine in the process, a thrill races through me. By his third reach, I casually extend my fingers so we touch again. The popcorn is forgotten as his hand grabs hold of mine. A tremor passes between us and I’m not sure if it’s him or me...or both of us.
I try to relax, but the movie turns out to be more of a thriller than I expected. Marcus laughs when I cover my eyes during a particularly intense scene. Later, he pulls me to him when the violence gets to be too much. I bury my face in his throat, finding solace from the blood and guts, relishing the feel of his arm wrapped around me. I want to press my lips against the tender skin of his throat, but chicken out.
On the drive home, all I can think about is whether or not he’s going to kiss me goodnight. Then he brings up the letters.
“Henry said he’ll have the box back to you in a week or so,” Marcus says. “He wants to study them.”
“If any of them wind up missing...” I warn. I tried to talk Persephone and Henry out of reading them. I should’ve known. It’s impossible to sway Persephone.
Marcus laughs as he pulls smoothly into a parking spot in front of the three-flat. “It’s Henry we’re talking about. He’ll have them back to you fully intact and in date order.”
“I need to ask you something.” I stare straight ahead, bracing myself. “In the one letter, my mother tells Jude that she spoke to Gram about him. She found stuff out about him. Did Gram know about Jude before? You talk about how she wanted to keep Jude away from me. Then…” I slide a sideway glance at him. “You and Jude spoke about someone that night at the three-flat. Jude said: ‘she’s dead. You’re no longer honor bound to her.’ Were you talking about Gram?”
Marcus purses his lips and nods, his eyes glued to the steering wheel.
“Did Jude kill her?”
“I believe he did.”
More secrets. It takes a moment to find my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looks at me. “Because Persephone and Henry didn’t want me to tell you. They don’t happen to agree with me.”
I think back to the day he and I met in Aiden and Marcus’ apartment. “I don’t think he hated Gram.” He hated Momma. At the mention of her name, his expression grew dark and scary. I won’t forget that.
Marcus glares at me “Are you crazy? You heard what he said to me that night out front!”
I pull my hand from his, resenting his angry tone and fold my hands on my lap. “Persephone and Henry don’t think he did it. Look, I know he’s a bad guy. I saw what he did to you. It was horrible. I hate him for it. But my gut says he didn’t kill Gram.”
Marcus grips the steering wheel, fingers turning white. “You’re wrong.”
Anger boils inside of me. Everyone here tries to tell me what to do. What to believe. As if I’m incapable of deciding anything for myself. I’m sick of it. I open the door and jump out of the car.
“Lucy!” Marcus calls after me.
He catches up to me at the front door. My stomach is in knots for the second time tonight. “I don’t want to fight about who’s right.” He holds the door for me and follows me into the foyer. “We’re all on the same team.”
I peek up at him. “Then you’ll be open-minded about Jude until we have some kind of proof?”
“I thought you could be open-minded about Jude until we have some proof he didn’t do it,” he narrows his eyes at me. “You know…your grandmother was sure he would hurt you.”
“How? How did she know that?” I demand, fighting to keep my voice low.
“She didn’t share it all with me.” Marcus sounds deflated.
“You mean she kept secrets from you?” I’m unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice, but then I immediately feel bad. I don’t want to fight with him, and he’s right. We’re all on the same side. “How well did you know her?”
He takes a seat on the stairs and gestures for me to sit next to him. “You could say she saved me.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”
“My dad left me at Old St. Pat’s Church a few years ago. He didn’t want to deal with my unusual attributes.”
I was scared to say anything. His tone is conversational, but based on his hooded expression and the hard set of his mouth, this is difficult for him to talk about. “Your grandmother was friends with Father Bill and found out about me. She became my legal guardian and took me in.”
“But why do you live upstairs with Aiden? Why not live with Gram?”
“Because Aiden is different, too, or special as your grandmother liked to say.” His expression softens. “And she didn’t want people to know that she and I were connected. So we told everyone that Aiden and I were brothers.”
I scoot closer to him and hook my arm through his, relieved he doesn’t pull away. “But what’s the harm in people knowing she took you in?”
“She had her reasons.” Marcus rubs his eyes roughly. He looks exhausted. “That’s enough for tonight.”
He rises to his feet, pulling me up with him.
We stand there, watching each other. I feel that mysterious magnetic force again. I hold my breath as Marcus takes my face in his hands, leans in and presses his lips to mine. I remind myself to relax and breathe. I move onto my tiptoes, my fingers sinking into his hair. Marcus shivers as I run my fingernails down his neck. Clos
ing my eyes makes me feel less self-conscious. Finally. I’ve wanted this to happen since the day we met. He’s gentle. Tender. I press myself against him. Marcus pulls away. I panic for a moment, worried that I did something wrong or that it wasn’t good for him. Why else would he end it so fast? But then I see his slow smile, his smoldering eyes and I think he liked it as much as I did.
“Sweet dreams Lucy,” he says softly.
“Goodnight,” I whisper. I walk inside, closing the door behind me.
My first kiss. I lean against the door and close my eyes. My fingertips trail along my lips. It was the most thrilling moment of my entire life.
I stay put until I hear Marcus’ footsteps on the stairs. Bernard and Sheldon are already in bed, so I turn off the lights and lock the door. As I’m washing up for bed. I study my reflection in the mirror, checking to see if I look any different. Not much. My lips are a deeper shade of red than usual and my cheeks are flushed.
Closing my eyes, I make a wish that Marcus will kiss me again soon. Very soon.
* * * *
I wake up with a start, my entire body slick with sweat. It was a dream. Just a dream. I repeat the words over and over as images replay in my head. Dylan kissing me. Dylan kissing Rachel. All three of us in his bed. I groan, rubbing my eyes fiercely, willing the scene to stop replaying in my head. I shudder with disgust as it continues…until all I see is red. Blood. Rachel’s blood. I jump out of bed, then sprint to the bathroom and throw up dinner. I sprawl on the floor, a wet cloth pressed to my face. The cool tile feels good against my skin. I stay there for an hour or two—I’m not sure how long—until the trembling stops.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It’s the final week of summer break and Mr. Douglas makes a rare appearance, and summons me to his office.
“Lucy, have you enjoyed working here this summer?” He sits behind his desk while I stand across from him. “Have Ethan and Brandi been good for you? Mrs. Douglas?”
“Everything’s been great.” Other than the workday schedule that needed to be clarified early on, but I don’t mention that. “Ethan and Brandi are terrific.”
He nods, but it’s obvious his mind is somewhere else. His cell phone vibrates on his desk. “Excuse me for a moment.” He reads the message, types a response and then sets the phone down. He seems to be staring off at nothing.
I thought I was used to the luxury of the penthouse, but as I glance around his office, I realize I was wrong. The walls are covered in rich, dark wood and the floors are hidden beneath expensive rugs. There is a collection of glass paperweights and fancy pens on display in a locked glass cabinet. Even Mr. Douglas’ desk is decorated with intricate carvings.
“It’s French,” he announces in a subdued voice.
“What?”
“The desk. It’s French.” He must have noticed me staring.
“Oh.” I nod appreciatively. “It’s beautiful.”
He looks off again and the silence in the room becomes unbearable. If he’s trying to punish me for some reason, I wish he’d get it over with. “Is something wrong Mr. Douglas?”
He takes a deep breath and claps his hands once, rubbing them together as if it’s time to get down to business. “You start school in a week, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Would you be interested in working Saturdays during the school year?” He leans back in his chair, his eyes focusing on me for the first time. “Mrs. Douglas has a very busy schedule, as you know. We need the help and since Ethan and Brandi are so fond of you, we’d rather keep you on than bring in someone new.”
I’d get to keep seeing Brandi and Ethan. Plus, I can continue to save for a car. “Sure, I can do that. Do you mind discussing hours and pay now?” It’s probably tacky to bring it up, but I don’t totally trust him.
“Same hours, same pay?”
“That’s fine.” That still gives me plenty of time for fun on Fridays and Sundays. “Do you mind if we start next weekend? I have plans this Saturday.”
“That’s fine. I’ll let Mrs. Douglas know.”
His phone vibrates again, but this time it’s a call. His face scrunches with worry once he sees who’s calling.
“I have to take this,” he says, dismissing me.
As I turn to leave the office, Mr. Douglas swivels in his chair toward the window.
“Dr. Barker, thank you for returning my call. It’s about my son, Dylan.”
I leave the door open a crack and lean close, holding my breath. This can’t be good.
“He called me yesterday extremely agitated. He’s having hallucinations. Nightmares… Yes, I asked him. He insists he’s not using.”
Dylan on drugs? I think back. Did he ever seem high? Agitated? No. He’s always been with it and unlike Momma, Dylan has always had a killer appetite. What’s wrong with him?
“How soon can you see him?” Mr. Douglas is afraid. I hear it in his voice.
“Excellent. Thank you Dr. Barker. I called you because you’re the best.”
Since that day we took Ethan and Brandi for the bike ride, Dylan’s been nice. Terrific actually. I was so focused on that horrific dream, relieved by his absence over the past week, that it didn’t occur to me that something could be wrong. What happened since his last visit?
I find Ethan and Brandi in the playroom fighting over who’s better at a Wii racing game. I suggest they start the game over, and do a best two out of three.
They’re crabbier than usual. It doesn’t take long before they confess they’re upset that they won’t see me now that summer’s over. When I explain that I’ll see them every Saturday, they nearly knock me over with hugs. To celebrate, I suggest we bake a batch of cookies.
In the kitchen, I ask Charlene for help finding the ingredients. She frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take full responsibility.”
Some of my favorite childhood memories were when Gram and I baked together. I want to share that with Ethan and Brandi. Charlene helps me locate all the ingredients, a mixing bowl, the electric mixer and a rubber spatula.
While the cookies bake, Ethan and Brandi peek through the glass oven door. My thoughts drift to Gram, recalling days we spent baking together. She worked so hard to teach me things, like baking, and she always made it special and fun. My heart suddenly feels like a lead weight. Lola. The least I could do for Gram is to rescue her beloved raven. I need to get inside Jude’s house. It’s time to pay him a visit.
Two hours later, the kitchen looks as sparkly clean as it did before we started. The cookies are packed in Tupperware dishes and the kids are brushing their teeth.
Before leaving, I update Mrs. Douglas on the new Saturday schedule. She’s surprised and relieved that Mr. Douglas has already talked with me about it. After hugging Ethan and Brandi goodbye, I head out the door. Climbing in the back seat of the Town Car, I scream, alarmed to find Dylan sitting there.
“You scared the crap out of me!” I snap, my heart thrashing against my rib cage. I notice Arnold’s not in the front seat. I recall my dream. Dylan kissing me. Dylan kissing Rachel. I keep as much space between us as possible.
“Sorry, Tennessee.” He slouches against the seat. Something’s wrong.
He smells sour, like stale beer. “You’ve been drinking?”
“How old are you anyway?” he asks bitterly. “Are you a goody two shoes about everything?”
He’s back to being Dylan the Jerk.
“Get out of the car, Dylan. I have to go home. Or I’ll go inside and let your dad and stepmom know you’re out here.”
“My dad’s here?” He sits up straight, his eyes wide.
“For the first time this summer, he came home early from work. Want to know why?”
He looks at me curiously.
“He’s worried sick about you. He thinks you’re using.” I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m sure he’d love to know you’re drinking.”
“Please, Lucy
, don’t tell him,” he begs. “If Alana finds out, she won’t let me see Ethan and Brandi.”
“Fine.” My clasp my hands in my lap to prevent them from fidgeting. “Then tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m in some serious trouble.” He slumps back against the seat. “It has nothing to do with drugs.”
“I didn’t think so.” The dark circles under his eyes scare me. “Dylan…tell me.”
“Almost a week ago I was in the bathroom,” he begins. “I was standing in front of the mirror, half-way through my shave when…”
He closes his eyes and shudders.
“I watched as I—my reflection—pulled the blade out of the razor and hacked at my throat. My reflection was bleeding like crazy. It hurt like hell. I started screaming. I was sure I was going to die.”
He rests his hand on the seat between us, a look of desperation in his eyes.
“I must’ve blacked out. I woke up on the bathroom floor. There was no blood.” He shakes his head. “Just a headache from the lump on the side of my head. And the razor in the sink, where I dropped it.”
Could someone have slipped Dylan drugs without telling him? Rachel comes to mind. Or maybe he dreamed the whole thing?
He looks at me, pleading. “I know what I saw, Lucy. I was killing myself.” He covers his face with trembling hands.
I can’t handle seeing Dylan—the tough jock—so terrified. “Your dad said you’ve been having nightmares, too.”
His hands drop to his lap. His face contorts into something awful.
“Yeah. I had a dream where I killed my family. I shoved them out the window of my dad’s office, first Alana, then my dad, then Ethan, and Brr-r…,” he breaks into sobs and for a moment, I recall that Momma only got emotional when she was drunk. I push those thoughts away and focus on Dylan.
“That’s insane. I know how much you love Ethan and Brandi!”
He chokes, tears streaming down his face. He swipes at them.
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