The Concealed (The Lakewood Series Book 1)

by Sarah Kleck

  Communication Psychology with Professor Irvin Martin, I noted without finding anything special. But when the professor entered the room, I understood why all the girls had turned into tormented groupies. Professor Martin was a stunning man in his midforties who seemed to have stepped out of an advertisement for men’s clothing, and the girls openly adored him. Was he married? I looked over his hand, searching for a wedding ring. He was wearing a seal ring that looked like a family heirloom on his right hand. It was made of gold and on the level, oval surface was a smooth dark-blue gem where it looked like a crest was engraved. That was the type of ring you got when you were a member of an elite society, but it was definitely not a wedding ring. It would appear that Professor Martin wasn’t married, which also explained the girls’ behavior—they seemed to believe they had a real chance with him. I merely considered him likable, perhaps even a bit fatherly.

  That was it—the first day done, I thought after the lecture and said good-bye to Sally, who still wasn’t able to take her eyes off Professor Martin. Tired and cold, I made my way to the dorm, took my phone out, and called Mrs. Prescott to give her a report on my first day at Oxford.

  Only when I told her that my battery wouldn’t hold out much longer was I able to interrupt her flood of words and hang up. After arriving at the dorm, I freed myself from my coat and heavy boots and went to the bathroom. There I stripped and stood under the shower. For a long time I just stood there, enjoyed the pleasant warmth of the water, and reflected on the day. That hadn’t exactly been a successful start. First there was sleeping in, then that redhead, and, who could forget, the picture-perfect crash landing in the first lecture. Everyone had stared at me. Every one of them. But only one interested me: Jared Calmburry!

  What was it with him? So far, I’d never been that interested in boys but now I was astonished at myself. Why did he fascinate me so much? I felt a real urge to see him again. I tried recalling his perfect face, visualize his perfect traits—his indescribable blue eyes. How it would feel if he . . .

  What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t think this way about Jared—after all, I didn’t even know him. I vigorously shook my head to drive out these ridiculous thoughts. What was far more important: I had found friends. Sally and Felix even wanted to include me in their study group. At least something good had come from this strange day. The tension in my neck and shoulders relaxed as I rubbed my favorite, apple blossom–scented shampoo into my hair. When the water went cold, I turned it off, wrapped myself in a large towel and spun another around my dripping hair. Then I picked up my clothes, which I’d carelessly scattered around the room, turned up the heat and, after carefully brushing my long hair, which really was necessary, slipped a soft fleece blanket around my shoulders and sat down at the desk. I wanted to be better prepared for tomorrow.

  First, I took the unusable schedule out of my bag and transferred it to another piece of paper. Then I pulled the campus map out and tried to memorize it—especially the paths to the buildings in which my lectures and seminars were held. When I’d had enough of that, I sorted the papers in my folder, which were still in disarray in my bag. When I’d finished with that, I pulled out my laptop and opened the university’s homepage to inform myself a little about my professors. I started with Professor Irvin Martin, whose adventuresome life deeply impressed me, moved on to boring Professor Gallert, and then arrived at Karen Mayflower. My hands became clammy at the thought of her strange behavior. I clicked on the link to her CV. It chronologically described her impressive scientific training and career. It also listed several of her publications, works with titles such as From the Knights of the Round Table to Modern Democracy: An Anthropological Perspective; Avalon: A Psychological Approach; and Excalibur: Symbols of Power stood out among the litany of terribly dry-sounding book and article titles. I frowned. Apparently Professor Mayflower had a soft spot for early British mythology. I wouldn’t have thought that about her.

  Suddenly, there was an image in my mind. I saw her talking and gesturing at Jared. Jared Calmburry . . . There he was again, taking up all my thoughts. I inadvertently typed something on my keyboard and when my eyes returned to the screen, Google showed tens of thousands of hits for his name. I scanned the first few. Apart from the ubiquitous Jared Calmburry is on Facebook notices, I found the image of an ancient-looking family crest. But there was something else that drew my attention. Several newspaper reports with pictures of a burning plane wreck—judging from its size, it must have been a private jet—flitted across the screen. A horrible sight. How did Jared survive? It seemed impossible, judging from the pictures. But he did survive . . . and lost everything at the same time. A feeling I was all too familiar with. I was so terribly conscious of his loss that it felt like mine. I shared his fate. I felt his pain.

  Something was opening that should have stayed closed. Images flooded in. A crushed car. The chalk outlines of two people on the road. Zara, who held my hand as we stood before two black coffins, who forced me to look into her eyes when I could no longer breathe—no longer find air. Me . . . alone in front of another coffin. Dark brown. White lilacs in my hand. No! I hit my right hand hard against my forehead. One, two, three times. I attempted to drive out the images. Four, five. I forced myself to breathe deeply, fill my lungs, and attempt to calm down. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  I slipped these memories back into my little black box, carefully locked it and buried it deep inside. Deep. So deep that no one could find it. Least of all myself.

  CHAPTER 4

  The alarm clock went off at 6:00 a.m. Though I had fallen asleep early, I felt exhausted. I blamed it on the unfamiliar surroundings together with the events of the past months, which I still had a hard time dealing with. Still, I got up without pressing the snooze button, which was what I would normally do. Today I wanted to be safe and arrive too early for my first lecture rather than too late. I quickly went to the bathroom to get ready for the day. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, combed the tangles out of my long hair, and put it in a ponytail. Although I was much too early, I decided to go outside and look around the campus.

  A wonderful morning. The sun was rising with a strong red-orange glow on the horizon and revealed a clear, cloudless sky still carrying a few final stars from the previous night.

  The frost-covered branches of the many ancient trees, between which narrow footpaths wound, provided a sublime backdrop for the snow-covered buildings of the legendary university. A small, frozen duck pond on the banks of the Thames was behind the main building and completed the image. A winter landscape that could have come from a Grimms’ fairy tale.

  No one was out this early in the morning, and I enjoyed the quiet. Zara would have liked it here. The thought brought tears to my eyes. She wanted me to come here. Without her urging I would never have applied. She was convinced this was the right path for me.

  At that moment, I missed her so much it hurt.

  Suddenly, I heard rapidly approaching footsteps in the snow. A jogger. I turned around to see the dark-clothed runner coming in my direction along the footpath through the trees. He was only a few feet away and trotting in long, smooth strides. My breath stopped when I recognized his face. His eyes widened, as well. As if out of nowhere and without having felt a gust of wind or even a breeze, the snow whirled up a dozen feet all around me and robbed me of my sight. A second later, the white wall passed and the stirred-up snow gently settled back on the ground. Had I just imagined this? The runner slowed his pace until he stood in front of me. A moment later, as we stood opposite each other and looked into each other’s eyes, Jared said, “Why are you crying?” He asked this with such empathy my legs almost gave way.

  I answered as if in a trance. “I . . . I miss my sister.” It was the truth. Plain and simple. But why was I so honest with a complete stranger? How did he have this effect on me?

  At the sound of approaching steps in the background, I came to aga
in. I blinked—the first time since we had been standing opposite each other—and saw four more runners coming toward us. They wore the same running clothes as Jared. He must be the fastest of them and had gotten ahead.

  “I’m Jared,” he said when he noticed the other runners. I felt paralyzed. “What’s your name?” he asked, looking back and forth between me and the other joggers.

  “E—Evelyn,” I said.

  He smiled tenderly, baring a row of perfect white teeth. Then he turned and joined the other runners as they caught up with us. One of the four—the one with the darkest hair—gave me a disapproving look as he passed. Two frowned and the fourth, a large guy with green eyes, smiled. I stood there like a complete idiot and stared after them. What the heck had just happened? Why didn’t I have it together when Jared was around?

  Motivational Psychology with Professor Warden started at eight. I had almost an hour till then. I decided to get a coffee at a small café near the main entrance. It was one of these old-fashioned breakfast cafés with dark wood paneling, not some generic chain. Luckily it was open. A few students and professors yawned in line at the register. I ordered a coffee to go. When I was about to snap the white plastic lid on the rim of the thick paper cup, somebody patted me on the shoulder.

  “Good morning,” Felix said with a smile.

  “Oh, good morning,” I replied. I was happy to see him. Seeing him made me feel normal again and helped me sort my thoughts.

  “You didn’t sleep in today by the looks of it.”

  “No,” I said, smiling, “not today.”

  Felix ordered a coffee. “Let’s sit down.” He pointed to a small round table at the back of the café. I nodded—after all, I still had forty minutes until my first lecture.

  Felix did most of the talking, which was fine with me. He talked about his residence, about how it was impossible to get a wink of sleep there because of the constant parties. That’s why he did most of his studying in the library. Then he talked about his family. He told me he grew up in one of the most disadvantaged sections of London and his mother took a second job just to send him and his younger brother to an expensive school. The two were supposed to make something more of themselves than their alcoholic dad. Next, he started talking about his brother, and as I noticed the direction the conversation was taking—one I was eager to avoid right now—I looked at my watch and told him it was time to get going. Felix, who was also taking Motivational Psychology, accompanied me to the lecture hall, talking the entire way. It was pleasant just listening to him. Since I didn’t want to stop his flow, I only contributed an occasional “ah” or “hmm” to the conversation.

  He continued to chat undeterred after we arrived at the lecture hall, even when Professor Warden started to show the first slides. As much as I liked talking with Felix, I found it difficult to follow the lecture and concentrate on the slides the professor was projecting on the wall. Was it impolite to ask him to be quiet during the lecture? I was about to ask him whether it would be better to leave our conversation until later when from the row in front of us a redhead turned and hissed at him to shut his stupid mouth. I recognized that face right away. It was my special friend who had amused herself by sending me in the wrong direction.

  Suddenly, I wasn’t at all interested in following the class anymore but took a lively part in the conversation with Felix. I told him about my residence, described my room in detail, and explained what I liked about the building. Felix almost glowed with delight over the turn in conversation. Unlike the redhead, who repeatedly sent us angry glances.

  “How long have you been friends with Sally?” I asked after enumerating the peculiarities and delights of Gothic architecture.

  “Friends? I’m not sure I’d call us that. More like frenemies—half friend, half enemy. She always tries to outdo me. It turned into a regular competition during our first trimester over who gets better grades,” he said and added with a smug grin, “usually I win.”

  When the lecture was over—I had to admit with embarrassment that I heard next to nothing and my notebook was empty—the redhead swung her horrendously expensive bag over her shoulder and would have hit my face if Felix hadn’t blocked it at the last second.

  “I told you at the start,” he said a little louder than necessary, “they need getting used to.” Again, we were rewarded with an angry look. I thanked him for intervening. She surely would have given me a black eye with her dumb bag.

  The remainder of the morning was pretty quiet. Felix accompanied me to most of my classes and, when we went together to the dining hall, I discovered just as we were about to sit down that Sally was sitting with some people farther up front at the huge table. She waved at me with a laugh.

  “Look, there’s Sally. Let’s sit with her,” I said and lifted my tray. Felix showed little enthusiasm for sitting with the others but followed me, anyway. The three girls and two boys with whom Sally sat at the table were involved in an animated discussion about the British government’s integration policy and only nodded a greeting at Felix and me as they continued their heated debate.

  “Are you following Evelyn’s every step now, or what?” Tact was really not Sally’s strong suit.

  “Oh, shut up,” Felix said. I had to suppress a giggle.

  “Should we meet on Thursday?” Sally asked me.

  “Thursday?” I asked and tried to remember if I’d forgotten something.

  “We always meet on Thursday to study. And since you’re part of our study group now . . .” She shrugged.

  “Of course. Where?”

  “We meet alternatively at one of our places. It would work at my place. My mom has a late shift at the hospital, so we’ll have a few hours of peace and quiet.”

  “Aren’t you living in the dorms?” I asked.

  “No, I grew up in Oxford and still live with my mom.”

  “Oh. Good, then we’ll go to your place on Thursday. Do I need to bring anything other than my papers?”

  “I would say lots of patience if you want to follow Felix’s endless digressions,” Sally said, nodding in his direction. She really didn’t miss an opportunity when it came to provoking him.

  “You mean your incessant digressions,” he said, annoyed. Sally rolled her eyes and turned to me again. “Are you going to be in Personality Disorders later?”

  “No, I’m taking Psychology of Emotions with Professor Ginsburgh. I’ve got Personality Disorders on Friday,” I answered after checking my schedule.

  “Well, Felix, then you’ll have to make do with me during the next hour,” she said. He raised his eyebrows and shot Sally a warning look.

  “What?” she asked, being coy. “You’re in the right place with Personality Disorders, my friend.”

  After exchanging phone numbers, I left and was rather happy to be able to fully concentrate on my course. I arrived at the building on schedule—thanks to my time spent studying the campus map the evening before—and climbed the stairs to the entrance. I was about to enter when I was suddenly left breathless. Right under the stone arch stood . . . Jared Calmburry, holding the heavy wooden door open for me. My mouth dropped open, and he had a breathtaking smile on his immaculate face.

  “Move along!” an impatient voice grumbled behind me, and I was pushed by the cluster of people who had been lining up behind me. I hadn’t noticed that I was blocking the entrance. I hurried past the amused Jared to get in, sat down in the first place available, and immediately looked around for him.

  “Is this seat free?” My heart stopped. Suddenly, he stood next to me, pointing at the chair to my right, which I was using to rest my things.

  “Oh . . . sure,” I said and grabbed my coat and bag so he could sit down.

  Pull yourself together and don’t stutter like an idiot. He had caught me so off guard at the door that my hands were still trembling. I prayed he didn’t notice.

 
“Please excuse me for running off so fast this morning,” he said with a satiny voice and looked me in the eye. The indescribable deep blue beyond comparison.

  “Are you a runner? I mean, do you run competitively?” Oh man, couldn’t you have thought up a better question?

  “Half-marathon and marathon,” he said without turning his gaze from my eyes.

  “Wow,” I said, impressed. I admired anyone who could complete a half-marathon, let alone a full one.

  “I run a little over six miles every morning with my teammates,” he said.

  “And you’re the fastest one.”

  “Usually,” he said without sounding like he was bragging. “What’s with you?” he asked. “Do you run, too?”

  I frowned. Me and running? That had always been torture for me in gym class. “No, running’s never been my thing,” I said, causing him to smile. “I’m more of a swimmer.” I was forced to smile as I remembered how startled my dad was when I simply stripped off my water wings as a two-year-old and swam free. Those things were more of a hindrance than a help to me. I felt better in the water than on solid ground. The carefree feeling of lightness and the loving caress of the water on bare skin was . . . simply wonderful.

  “Water is my element,” I said and smiled at Jared. His eyes widened and he looked at me as if I had just slapped him.

  “Did I . . . say something wrong?” I asked, confused.

  As if he needed to concentrate, Jared shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Then he looked at me again. “No,” he said and averted his eyes. At that very moment, Professor Ginsburgh entered the hall and started the lecture.

  Jared made no attempt to converse and attentively followed the lecture. I glanced at him every few minutes and was completely unsettled by his sudden change of mood and had no idea how to behave. A few times I nearly talked to him but couldn’t muster the courage. It’s like he wasn’t aware of me.