House of Guardians

by Beatrice Sand

  With my head cocked, I go over the countless titles guided by my index finger: Ancient Greek Civilization… The Iliad… Greek Mythology… I am bored before I know it. “How did you know I was there?”

  “Where?”

  “In the Cakery.”

  “I didn’t. I was in the store across the street and I saw you coming out of that cake shop.”

  “That’s an antique shop across the street, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “What, you collect antiques or something?”

  “Not really.”

  I look over my shoulder and watch him observing me. “They have outrageous prices anyway.”

  He cocks his head. “Is that right?”

  “Hmm. A while ago I was looking for a silver terrine, and when I found it, I almost dropped it on the floor when I saw the price tag.”

  I think of the terrine I wanted to buy for Mia for Christmas. She loves antiques and her entire guesthouse is filled with that old junk—with and without gawdy flower decorations. I developed such an aversion to fake flowers that I promised myself I would only buy fresh, fragrant flowers once I live on my own. Eventually, I bought her some silk branches that looked very real, the terrine she will just have to buy herself.

  “I wish I was there to see it,” Sam grins.

  A weird feeling comes over me. “What were you doing in an antique store if you don’t like it?”

  “I was paying my mom a visit.”

  “Your mom?” I’m getting really nervous.

  “She owns the store.”

  I hang my head. When I look back up, Sam is looking at me and moving his brows rapidly. “Two and a half minutes left,” he informs me.

  I try to focus on the titles again, but I just can’t do it, not with him around. If I end up with a cookbook and a book on gardening, I wouldn’t be surprised. That’s how distracted I am by him standing there in his dark chinos and light blue dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves. So perfect and so present in the small aisle.

  “If you tell me what you’re looking for, I can help you.”

  “Ancient Greeks. I have to write an essay for art class.”

  “I gathered as much.” I hear him swallow. “What’s the topic?”

  “We can choose between art, sports, philosophy, and eh… mythology.”

  “Sports. The Olympic Games.”

  I stop abruptly, and Sam almost bumps into me. A spicy smell reaches my nose, and I walk on quickly. “No, me and sports are not a great match. Nor are me and philosophy, by the way. Too boring.”

  “The Olympic Games are fascinating,” Sam says, pulling a book from the shelf about gods and heroes.

  “I guess it’s between art and that god on the mountain.”

  Sam looks at me over the rim of the book. “Gods.”

  “Sorry?”

  He slams the book shut and puts it back in its place. “You said god, but in ancient times they had a pantheon, polytheism. So multiple gods. Twelve gods live on that mountain.”

  “Lived. I actually meant that brute, ehm… Zeus. Isn’t that the one who sits on a mountaintop with a trident, throwing around lightning bolts?”

  Sam casually leans against a steel bookcase. “Don’t let Poseidon hear you say that.”

  I have to laugh at his swift response. “You seem to know a lot about it.”

  He grins. “And you don’t, so I strongly advise you to drop mythology.”

  “Thank you for your keen observation, Socrates.” Somewhat offended I further examine the book titles. “Okay, so it’s not going to be philosophy, polytheism or sports. So we are looking for books about the ancient Greeks and their art.”

  Sam’s eyes fly across the shelves and he quickly collects some books. “This will keep you covered over the weekend.” He pushes the books in my hands, and I read the titles: Ancient Greek Art, A History of Greek Art and Art and Culture of Ancient Greece. I look at him discombobulated.

  “Right on time.” He gives me a dazzling smile and I melt.

  I place the shoulder bag in the front carrier of my bike and search for the key.

  “Never mind the key,” Sam says and kicks against my front wheel. He has walked me back to where I left my bike. “I don’t think you’ll get very far.”

  I bend over and squeeze the tire. I curse softly and check the sidewalk for broken glass, but I see no splinters or nails, or anything else that might have caused a flat tire.

  Sam squats and inspects the hole. “Your tire is slashed.”

  “What? On purpose?”

  “Looks like it.” Sam stands up. “I’ll drive you home, my car is parked close by.”

  We take a short walk to his car—a battered jeep—and Sam flings my bike into the back of the car as if it’s a sack of potatoes, before he gallantly opens the door for me. The passenger seat is full of water bottles and pieces of paper and is clearly being used as a glorified garbage can.

  “Do you live here?” I ask.

  His mouth curves up into a smile. “Sorry about the mess,” he apologizes, removing a CD from the seat. “Usually, my only passenger is Storm and he’s not picky.”

  I climb into the car and we drive off in silence. It’s starting to rain and the heavy drops are drumming on the roof of the car. I’m glad I’m not on my bike—for several reasons, actually. I remember my friends and can’t help but smile. So much for the boycott.

  “Something funny?”

  “I think so.”

  “You’ve got a nice smile.” He immediately turns his eyes back to the road.

  I watch him. He is unbelievably handsome. When he realizes I am looking at him, I quickly look the other way. “Does it ever stop raining here?”

  “Most of the rain here falls from November to March, so just be patient a little longer.”

  “Five months of rain?”

  “Hey, the good news is that it’s never really cold and the summers are relatively dry.”

  “Relatively?” I ask somberly. “So basically, what you’re saying is that it also rains in summertime, you’re just trying to put a positive spin on it?”

  He looks at me with narrowed eyes. “You do know that you are born on an island mostly covered by rainforest? That means rain, a lot of rain.”

  I briefly consider my ridiculousness. “Maybe I do know a little something about an ancient rainforest, but it just slipped my mind.” We burst out laughing.

  Quickly and with an agility that makes me think it’s all he ever does, Sam changes my tire.

  “Martin, my dad, insists that you stay for dinner.” I point to my bike. “As a thank you for fixing my bike.”

  Sam turns on the faucet and washes his hands. “What about you?”

  The abrupt counter-question catches me by surprise. “I would like it if you stayed.”

  He turns off the water and grabs the towel. “Then I’ll stay.”

  We walk from the shed to the restaurant and choose a table by the window with an ocean view. This is so weird.

  “Do you eat here every night?” Sam asks.

  I laugh. “No, I usually just get take-out.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

  “It isn’t.” I stare at the mountains across the water. The summits are hidden in a blanket of clouds. “We all do our own thing. It’s very different from what I’m used to—impersonal.”

  “And in the Netherlands, did you have a family life in spite of your dad living here?”

  For a second, I feel a tingle in my belly. I have never before heard a guy ask such a grown-up question. “I lived with my aunt and uncle and their sons. My aunt insisted that we always eat together at the dinner table. She was very strict about that. No eating in front of the television, no cellphones, and no elbows on the table. No one was allowed to leave the t
able until everyone was finished.” I smile at the memory. “My cousins would love it here.”

  “You miss it.”

  I nod. From the corner of my eye, I see Renee approaching our table. Her face has an icy expression.

  “Why are you sitting here with him?”

  “Sam is staying for dinner. Why…”

  She looks at Sam.

  “Hello, Renee,” Sam says calmly.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks harshly.

  “Renee!” I yell at her. “Someone slashed my tire and Sam drove me home.”

  “Hmm,” she answers indifferently. “Have you seen my mom around?”

  “She’s not in the guesthouse?”

  “No. Do we have food in the fridge?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you stay here?”

  She looks Sam up and down. “No, thank you.” And she’s gone.

  I clear my throat and glance nervously at Sam, who watches me reassuringly. “Sorry about that,” I say.

  “There’s no need for an apology.”

  “I just found out recently that she dated your friend and… is it true what he did?”

  “He broke up with her, yes,” he admits.

  “While she was still in the hospital?”

  “Please, I know it sounds bad, but don’t judge him.”

  “He abandoned Renee at the exact moment when she was laying there in a corset brace, Sam. How can I not judge him?”

  Then our dishes, salad, and bread are brought to our table. We begin to eat in total silence.

  “You’re probably wondering how this family got the way it is,” I ask to avoid the awkward silence.

  “I believe I understand.”

  “My dad was always working, pursuing his business, his dream. And my mom… My granddad was a chef as well, and my mom always said that she would never marry a chef. They are never home and…”

  “Laurel, you don’t have to explain,” Sam says quietly.

  I don’t know why, but I feel an urge to tell him about myself. Still, somewhere deep down I know he can’t be trusted and I stop talking. Besides, Renee probably explained our family history to Don, and Sam already knows about the passing of Renee’s dad and my mom.

  “What are you doing after this school year?” I eventually decide to ask. A neutral question and better than this terrible silence. While I wait for his answer, I patiently listen to the background music. It’s Norah Jones, our standard music.

  “Medicine,” he answers after a while. As if he just made the decision. I get the feeling that he finds it just as hard to talk about himself as I do.

  “Wow,” I say, sincerely impressed. “I assumed you would be doing something with music.”

  “I want to, believe me.”

  “Then why medicine?”

  “That’s what is expected from me,” he says plainly. “My parents are not really the follow-your-heart type. It may seem that I am free to make music and perform, but in the background, they are planning my entire life. My dad is a physician. You can imagine what our dinner conversations have been about ever since I was a little kid. I am brainwashed.”

  “Well, if it makes any difference, I think it’s very noble of you.”

  He has an attractive smile and I feel a sting in my belly. He is so different now than the other night at the beach—so timid.

  “Everything all right, people?”

  I cringe at the sound of Martin’s voice. I had hoped he wouldn’t have time. “Sam, this is my dad, Martin. Dad, this is Sam, from school.” The men shake hands and I see Martin frown briefly.

  “Thank you very much for dinner, Mister Harper. It tastes excellent.”

  “That’s good to hear, and please, call me Martin. We like to keep things informal around here. Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”

  To my horror, Martin pulls up a chair. “Don’t you have some dishes to check up on?” I can’t hide my annoyance.

  Sam chokes and takes a sip of his water.

  “Can’t your old man take a five-minute break? I won’t keep you long, or embarrass you.”

  “That would be a first,” I mutter.

  “What are you up to tonight? Are you going out? To the movies, or whatever you young people do these days on Friday nights? Oh, no, that’s right, you need to go to the homeless shelter.”

  I quickly check the time. I completely forgot about the shelter.

  “Hey, Sam, do you have a roof over your head?” I hear Martin ask.

  “Actually, I do,” Sam answers, as if it’s a normal question.

  “In that case, this is a very special moment. Normally my daughter only hangs out with hobos.”

  “Really?” Sam’s curious glance makes my heart skip.

  “She even knows them by name. What is the man’s name again, honey? The one you like so much? Lou?”

  “First of all, they’re not hobos, they’re homeless, and second of all, I don’t do it for fun, it’s mandatory volunteering.”

  “Right.” He turns back to Sam. “I’d better get back to my pots and pans and all of the pinheads that can’t tell the difference between a bell pepper and a chili pepper.”

  Sam bursts into laughter and I can’t imagine that he really thinks that’s funny. Martin’s lame jokes are always at the expense of someone else, never himself.

  “Who knows, I might see you around, Sam, and thanks again for taking her home. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem, Martin.”

  I close my eyes and wonder how it is possible that Martin and Sam got so chummy in just a few minutes.

  After dinner, we go out into the rain-soaked garden, and Sam leans against the railing of the terrace while I talk to him about anything and everything. He listens carefully to my prattling as though I were reciting a poem. I’m distracted by something in the distance. “Whoa,” I say.

  Sam doesn’t turn around. “Spectacular sunset?”

  “Spectacular rainbow. It’s perfect.”

  Sam looks over his shoulder and freezes, as if he has never seen such a natural phenomenon in his life. He looks back at me, a dark glow has appeared in his eyes. Is it fear?

  “I have to go,” he says out of the blue.

  “Oh, yeah. Of course.”

  Nervously, he runs his hand through his hair. “Thanks for dinner. I really have to go, I’m sorry.”

  He reaches for his car keys and I can feel my back tightening. He is going to just up and leave me again.

  7

  laurel

  I kick off my sheets and search for sweatpants and sneakers. The bedroom walls are closing in on me, and I am driving myself crazy with questions I simply can’t answer. What I need is fresh air to clear my head, so I can start writing my essay. The time is suddenly flying by way too quickly.

  When I am dressed, I walk into the kitchen for my daily fix.

  “You’re up early.”

  The unexpected voice startles me. Martin is sitting at the kitchen table in his bathrobe, going through a newspaper. I can already smell the freshly brewed coffee. “Hi Dad, you too.”

  “Full house tonight, no sleeping in for me today.”

  I reach for two mugs and grab the coffee pot from under the machine.

  “Are those running shoes you’re wearing?”

  I chuckle. “I’m headed to the beach for a walk.” I place the stoneware mug in front of him, as he calmly folds his newspaper. I dread what’s next, knowing this is just the typical setup for it.

  “Have you already decided where you want to go to college?”

  Here we go. I pull out a chair. “Dad, first I need to graduate.”

  “Do I need to be worried?”

  “No.”

  “What if you are too late to get into a good school, honey?”
>
  I take a sip of coffee and grimace. I stand back up to get the soymilk. I guess we are having this conversation. “In that case, I’ll come work at the hotel for a year.”

  “You really want to spend a year of your life behind a reception desk?”

  I pour the thick vanilla-colored milk into the inky coffee. Martin may be a magician with ingredients, but making coffee is not his best virtue. I turn and lift the mug to my mouth. “Maybe, if I am really nice to Mia, she’ll let me arrange silk flowers for the lobby.” I take a sip. The coffee tastes slightly less horrible.

  “Laurel Harper! Stop acting so childish!”

  Stunned by his outburst, I look at his stern face and realize that humor isn’t going to get me anywhere. I don’t remember him ever raising his voice to me, but then again, I spent most of my life without him.

  “We are talking about your future here. That’s not something to joke about. Isn’t there a career counselor at school or some test you can take?”

  “I did all of that back in the Netherlands.”

  “And… what was the result?”

  “That I am artistic.”

  “Can you elaborate a little?”

  “I have a vivid imagination, I look at things in a different way, I don’t think in straight patterns, and I have an adventurous attitude.”

  “And that is in line with which profession?”

  I stare into my coffee. “Adventurer, writer, equipment operator.”

  For some time, the hum of the fridge is the only sound in the room.

  “What would you be going to do, if you had stayed in the Netherlands?”

  “Something with seals, I think.”

  He releases a deep breath and stares at the ceiling as if hoping to find the solution there.

  “It will all be okay,” I reassure him. “You’ll see. You don’t have to worry, you’ve got your own problems to deal with.”

  “You are my problem.”

  “There is no problem.”

  “Renee has already enrolled.”

  That remark makes me both angry and sad. “And Renee also has a dress for prom, Renee is already studying for finals, and Renee has an amazing, sporty boyfriend who gets good grades… When will you ever accept the fact that I am not like her?”