“What was I referring to?” he finished helpfully. I nodded. “Whatever it was you were just thinking about a moment ago.” This was said casually, but the way his eyes tugged on mine was not. As I located that particular thought, a ferocious blush spread up my neck and face.
“Oh.”
“It’s the same expression you had most of yesterday,” he told me smiling, “playing with the kids at The House of Hope.”
“It is?” I asked, sounding short of breath and panicked. Dominic heard it too, and honed in like a radio intercepting an enemy channel. I mustered every ounce of composure and said not the least bit disingenuously, “They’re very special to me.”
He nodded, still watching me too closely. “I know.”
We stayed this way, more of the unsaid passing on invisible tethers, until someone dropped a plate and the cafeteria erupted in jocular applause. I happily whirled around, surprised to see Samson Lyle taking a bow over a tray of upended food splattered at his feet. After a moment, he rose superiorly, soaking up what attention was left before quickly growing bored and put out by the inconvenience of needing to stand in line again. Looking over his shoulder, he raised both neatly groomed eyebrows at a woman on the lunch staff, gesturing in crude indication that she should clean up his mess. I sighed, grateful for the diversion and time to regain a semblance of normalcy.
Frankly, I didn’t know whether to be relieved, stunned, or terrified. What was I to make of Dominic’s examination? It wasn’t possible for him to have known I was thinking of him just now. Still, that he recognized the calming, grounded effect my kids have on me, while—thankfully not a mind reader—connecting the very same look to the thoughts I was having about him, left me feeling light-headed and in want of a chair to collapse in. It couldn’t be the same. It just couldn’t! Because if it was, then Dominic wasn’t just important, he was necessary. There were too many reasons why this was unacceptable, the first—alarmingly and amazingly the least—of which sitting about thirty feet away from where we stood, glaring at Samson Lyle.
I turned back around, conjuring what felt like an incredibly feeble smile. Dominic’s attention was rooted over my head, face pinched and hard like someone who has recently lost their appetite—ironically, I ascertained it to be a facsimile of Emily’s.
“A lot of winners at this school,” Dominic said dryly, a low hissing sound spit through his lips.
“Oh, Samson, you mean? Mm, he’s not Emily’s favorite person, either,” I mentioned, and actually found this to be somewhat of a small reassurance. Just so long as there was at least one person she considered to be less abominable than Dominic, then maybe there was still hope for a friendship to be built; on the other hand . . . Samson might be an impudent womanizer with very little, if any, redeemable traits, but he was nothing to Emily. Inconsequential and irrelevant. Dominic—whether Emily mistakenly thought their characters similar—was neither. He appeared in my life like a UFO in the sky, except as far as I knew, he wouldn’t be flying off into outer space at any moment. I hoped not, anyway. But not only was he to be a permanent figure for however long he chose to stay, he would also be sharing her friend. And while Emily was many things: intelligent, beautiful, witty, and virtually fearless; she wasn’t much for sharing the things she loved.
Coming to, I found Dominic full of pent-up laughter, watching me. One look at my face and he saw where my thoughts had been.
“So,” he began, a broad white grin stretching from cheek to cheek. Normally I enjoyed this, the way his skin creased, forming parenthesis around the corners of his mouth, making him look untroubled and happy. But even this was vitiated completely by the unknown. He hoisted up our backpacks, rolling out his shoulders one at a time. I held out my hand, offering to take mine, but he waved me away, still gleefully grinning. “On a scale of one to ten—one being not even a blip on her radar, and ten being my eyeless severed head delivered on a gilded platter”—I cringed at the ghastly visual—“what exactly am I in for right now?” He seemed disconcertingly blasé, not even a trace of latent worry in his eyes. If anything, there was the slightest bit of challenge blooming in the turquoise irises, black pupils dilating with excitement.
He looked away from me, and though I wasn’t brave enough to follow his line of sight, I believed I knew precisely where he was looking. He chuckled softly. “Should I be making out a will? Locating my next of kin?”
At this, a not-at-all rational swell of emotion surged up, lodging uncomfortably in my throat like a grenade about to explode, so unexpected and intense, I was taken by surprise by the extremely ardent reaction. I felt my eyes widen with horror. Deprived of all equanimity, I strode past him and began walking away in the direction we had come.
“Foster.” When he said my name, I knew it was an apology. This was all it took for one tear to bubble up and out. It trickled shamefully down my cheek.
“I’m sorry.” I laughed. It was hoarse and too loud, and abysmally counterfeit. Surreptitiously, I reached up, wiping the tear away with my knuckles. After more failed attempts at laughter, I tried to explain—tried being the operative word. “I don’t—I don’t know what just happened. I think . . . I think maybe I’m still worked up from last night. I’m sorry. I’m fine. I just need a min—”
I broke off, jumping as Dominic’s hands closed around my shoulders. He squeezed, thumbs pushing gently into my shoulder blades and massaging for the briefest of seconds. My heart was already racing; however, his touch shamed the sturdy drumming, turning it into that of wild stallions. As he spun me around slowly, so as not to endanger me of myself, the flame inside me ignited. His touch was kerosene, instigating a flush so hot I worried I might swoon or possibly smolder into ash. Quickly, I snuffled back the moisture in my eyes, determined not to have a meltdown outside the cafeteria. I inhaled a shaky breath for courage just before we came face to face. Dominic swayed back and forth, coaxing me into eye contact. I didn’t want to; I was utterly humiliated, to the fault of no one but myself.
“Foster.” I heard both a command and a request in my name deeply spoken. “Please don’t lie to me and tell me you’re fine.” I swallowed, stalling a moment longer. Then I threw my eyes—heavy as boulders—up to his and hoped they didn’t fall right back down. It never would have happened, I realized. He held my gaze firm. “You’ve been worrying about Emily and me since this morning, haven’t you?” And before I could answer, “What is it you’re most concerned about?”
I opened my mouth to give him an answer, and again found the truth to be a cloud, vaporous and refusing to be pinned down. “I don’t—I don’t know,” I whispered, looking away.
Dominic ducked his head, tracking me until I was once more looking into the solidness of his eyes. “Yes—you do,” he said softly, but firmly. “Tell me. Whatever it is, I just want you to tell me. There isn’t a wrong answer.”
I nodded. Raising a hand, I pressed three fingers firmly into my temple and began rubbing in small, counterclockwise circles. I hoped by stimulating the area, clarity would abound and I might be able to give him a definitive answer. This, like most ambiguities, was easier said than done.
Interpreting my extended silence as a refusal to supply an answer, he sighed, changing tactics. “Do you want me to eat somewhere else today?” he asked plainly. It was a genuine offer; I saw no petulance or anger in the question. “Would that make it easier for you? Give you a little time to adjust to things?”
For a moment I got no further than opening and closing my mouth, like a feeding goldfish. “D—do you—do you want to sit somewhere else? It’s completely fine, if you do.”
“That’s neither the question, nor is it important right now,” he replied a little curtly, bending his head to bring our foreheads a couple inches closer. Again, I had that feeling of being swallowed; his eyes, two pools of clear blue water drank me in. “I asked you, Foster,” he said. “It will be hard for you, I know, to consider your own feelings for a change, but I need you to. I don’t want you to think a
bout me, or think about Emily or Jake, or anyone else. You. Would you prefer I find somewhere else to go?”
I had to admit, it would certainly solve my more immediate concerns, though do nothing for any of the others. Plus, the thought of him being close enough to see, but not close enough to see, sent something akin to dyspepsia rolling crudely across my abdomen.
“No. I don’t,” I said distinctly, unwavering. The corners of his mouth lifted up the tiniest of bits. “And I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen—what you’re in for. I’ve—I’ve never been in this situation before. I think that’s it,” I realized. “I don’t know what to expect and that scares me.”
He breathed deeply, blinked, and released the air through his nose. “Let me make sure I understand this before I go any further. It’s only Emily and me you’re concerned about, right? You want us to get along? Be friends? Your being upset has nothing to do with you and me, right?” I looked at him for a long moment, trying to comprehend how he could think such a thing.
“No,” I replied, a little stunned. “No, of course not. Why would it?” He closed his eyes, then opened them halfway. They fluttered like moth’s wings, sweeping downward, ever so lightly inside the alcoves above his cheeks.
“I just needed to ask that,” he said, nostrils flaring as he released another long breath. “After what happened this morning with Emily, I thought about how selfish I was—forcing myself on you by just showing up on your doorstep. It was inconsiderate and impulsive and I didn’t think. If you had time, maybe you could have found Emily before . . . before she found us,” he finished with a humorless laugh. “And now with lunch, I’m doing it all over again.” He sighed and pulled a hand slowly through his hair, staring at me for a moment before he resumed speaking. The way he inspected my face gave me the feeling he was searching for clues.
“Foster.” His arm dropped, a rueful smile appearing in its stead. “The thought did occur to me that you’re too polite to tell me to go away. And though I’d like to think that I’m not the kind of person who goes around assuming things—like rides to school and us sitting together at lunch, it’s quite obvious that’s exactly the kind of person I am.” He rolled his eyes. Moved by agitation, he threw his hand once more into his head and buried it. “So”—he huffed, looking terribly serious with his thick black eyebrows looming low; however, the locks of shiny dark hair exploding from his closed fist softened the countenance of formidability, considerably—“if at any point, you change your mind—decide you would rather not have me there, I—I just want you say it, okay? No listen, please,” he said, adamantly rejecting my interjection. “These are your friends, and they have every right to be pissed off at me right now. Honestly, if they weren’t skeptical, I would wonder if they were really all that good. A little hazing is exactly what’s in order. And Emily hasn’t done anything I wouldn’t expect someone who cares greatly about her friend to do. But most of all you need to know that this—this is my problem—not yours. You didn’t do anything wrong—I did. This is my wrong to right, Foster. And I will right it, you can trust me on that.” He stood back, tall and noble and so handsome my knees began to wobble.
“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he said, letting some of the tension out of his jaw. “I just want you to be yourself and do whatever you would do if I weren’t here. Can you do that? Can you trust I won’t make things more difficult for you?” I knew there wasn’t even a slim possibility I would be able to act as if Dominic’s presence was a regular occurrence, so I chose to acknowledge the second question, mainly.
“Yes.” I smiled, both reassured and reassuringly. “Also . . . Emily . . . she can be unrelenting at first, especially if she has reason to distrust you—but she and Jake really are the most wonderful people I know.” Technically, Jake and Emily were the only people I could consider “knowing,” but still this was all true.
“I believe it.” He nodded once, with alacrity. Continuing to nod, he added, “I like Jake a lot. We had a chance to talk after—after you were hauled off and taken prisoner this morning.” He chuckled quietly and stared down at the floor for a moment, thinking. A smile flickered on his lips. “You’ll have to tell me later how that went—your talk with Emily.”
Slowly, his gaze rolled upward, his wry expression indicating he very much suspected my reaction to this request. He laughed when this proved correct, but didn’t press the issue further. Should the time come, I decided, I wouldn’t withhold information from him; however, I had no intention—whatsoever—of reminding him or being the one to initiate that conversation.
“Jake was honest,” he went on explaining. “He told me, more often than not, Emily goes off the deep end when she’s mad, but mostly it’s because she cares too much. I get that . . . I can be the same way, actually.” He paused, an amused look crossing his face. “I have a great deal of respect for someone who’s willing to tell their friend they’re making a mistake. It’s not easy to do. But it’s the people that aren’t afraid to hurt your feelings and have theirs hurt in return that end up being the best friends you can have. It’s cliché, but the truth hurts, so it better come from someone you know loves you. Emily’s only doing what she thinks is right by you,” he said decidedly. “Time. It’ll just take some time.” Somewhere in the last couple of minutes I had relaxed considerably. What Dominic said made sense and I actually found myself modestly hopeful and optimistic about the situation.
“I think you’re right,” I agreed, sliding a hand into my pocket to discover a thread ball about the size of a cumquat. I blushed, realizing that this whole time I must have been tugging the loose threads from my scarf and tucking them into my pocket—an odd and very bad habit I took to doing when I was especially anxious or stressed, and sometimes just very bored. I was neither of those at the moment, however, and wanted to enjoy this feeling for as long as it lasted. The next few words were uttered in somewhat of a plea to Emily, even though she was nowhere near enough to hear them. I concentrated as I recited the words, willing them to be true. “It may take some time, but eventually she’ll see how kind, thoughtful, and incredibly sw—” I met his eyes, which were rife with amusement and expectation. “Sw-ell,” I finished, breaking the word into two syllables. At this he laughed and surprisingly, I did to, not nearly as embarrassed as I thought I should be.
“Yeah? Well, I think you’re pretty swell, too.” Somehow he managed to take the same word I’d just said and make it sound infinitely more flattering. “And though I know you probably will anyway, I just have to remind you that you don’t have to worry,” he reiterated, pursing his lips. “In fact, I have every confidence Emily and I are going to get along great—once she doesn’t want to fillet me.” I had an easier time laughing at the vulgar image, not as fearful that it held the possibility of being premonition. Still, the uncertainty of the future nipped at me. Nothing quite as puissant as it had been standing twenty feet from their table, but not entirely allayed either.
“You’re really not worried at all?” I wanted to believe this was due to confidence and not an injudicious underestimation of what Emily was capable of when she gave herself a goal to meet.
He gave me a dry look. “I see you’re already doubting me.”
“No, it’s not you, I promise.”
“Mm.” He raised his chin, meeting my eyes with understanding in them. “Emily, then?”
I nodded, to which he did the same in return, slowly moving his head up and down as if he were following a rhythmic waltz in his head that began each time on the one-count. As he did this, something resolute crossed his features; a hardness not born of malice, but of determination, taking shape all along his jaw, lips, and more than anywhere else, his glowing blue eyes.
“I understand,” was all he said.
As if called by the nearness of the future, we both turned our heads in the direction of the cafeteria and inhaled deeply, as if tasting and sniffing the air for flavor and mood. We remained that way, quiet for a moment, the sounds of
eating and talking providing the soundtrack to our thoughts. I felt—rather than saw—Dominic move beside me. I peeked up to find him gazing straight ahead, scratching his chin thoughtfully and a smile stretched wide across his expressive mouth.
This, of course, meant one of two things—or it meant neither of them.
Chapter Twenty-two
And here we were again.
A cool breeze carrying the scent of brine and the sensuous aroma of Sweet Pea filled the air, stanching the smell of the freshly prepared food with its potency. Naturally, my eyes wandered, searching for the explanation to the overpowering, yet pleasurable smells. And there, a long ways from where we stood on the opposite side of the cafeteria was the answer; two thirds of the window-wall was completely missing, a hole in the shape of a perfect square, the only evidence another wall had ever been there. The view beyond this open space was just a touch brighter and more vivid than the lucent glass beside it. And while it didn’t take me by surprise, the sights rivaling those of a tropical island postcard hadn’t—and never would, I suspected—grown any less enchanting than my first day at Shorecliffs, a little over a year ago.
The sky was a very light powdery blue, quite dense for its pallid color. I saw not one single cloud marring its creamy complexion. From such a great distance above, the ocean was silent, though only just barely. Its color was a much deeper cobalt, yawning across an expanse of hundreds, possibly thousands of miles to the next coast; it sparkled luminously, as if an enormous tube of white glitter had been spilled from the heavens, too buoyant to sink. In the midday sun, the cliffs were a very ordinary dark yellow, still breathtaking, but incomparable to what happened to them just before sunset. They glowed. The view from my balcony at home faced a mountain. To see the ocean, I needed to intrude my parent’s space. Instead of doing that, I would make the short drive up here on the weekends, when the campus was vacant, possessing that eerie silence that all places ordinarily filled with people have when stripped of all signs of intelligent life. No more than a couple minutes later, though, all of that was behind me—literally. Warm under a blanket and nestled into my favorite bench on campus, I could do no more than stare admiringly, awed by the cliffs like sheets of copper rolled out along the dampened coast, almost burgundy where the sea spray stained the arenaceous rock.
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