The Saints of the Cross

by Michelle Figley

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, just go on and tell me. You might as well.”

  “I want you to know that I did not intentionally keep this from you. It isn’t important to me or to Camilla anymore. It’s in the past. It’s not something to make a big deal out of—”

  “Tell me, Xander.” I exhale and give him a warning look.

  “This happened months shy of turning fifteen. We were hanging out at her house one Sunday afternoon while our parents were attending some fundraiser at the country club. Camilla wanted to listen to her dad’s old records up in the attic, so we took a bottle of McCutcheon from her parent’s liquor cabinet and went up there. We listened to everything from the Rolling Stones to the Beatles on an old turntable her father had kept from his college days. Camilla was dancing, and we’d had way too much scotch. The next thing I knew, she was kissing me. Everything happened so fast, it was over before I could even register what we were doing. What I remember most is that “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns ‘N Roses was playing. I was too wasted to remember much of anything else.”

  “So that explains the whole exchange between you and Christian at Club Trinity?” I say, and he gives me a perplexed look. “You know, when he played that song as we were leaving? There was a lot of hostility between you two.”

  “Yes, I remember,” he grumbles. “I know he was trying to push my buttons by dedicating it to you. Apparently, Camilla told him about it. Why, I don’t know.”

  “Because she uses it, and you, and the whole situation to make him jealous. And it works.”

  “That’s doubtful. Christian is not jealous of me in any way.”

  “He thinks you two still have something going on.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous,” he scoffs again, but I just shrug. He stares at me with a stern look in his eyes. Finally, he asks, “Do you think we have something going on?”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like she’s the most important person in your life. I can’t compete with that—with everything you two have been through. Your entire history together is completely intimidating to me.” I hadn’t had time to actually sit and consider this, but it’s true. It’s a bitter pill to swallow and it’s leaving a horrible taste in my mouth.

  “But—”

  “No, I mean it. I don’t want to get hurt again. I have to focus all my energy on finding my mother, not sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I’m done with that.” I say this to Xander, but really I’m saying it to myself. It’s becoming clear to me that I’ve got to get rid of everything in my life that could possibly distract me from finding my mother. I can’t be mixed up in some ridiculous relationship drama.

  Xander takes my hand across the table and looks pointedly into my eyes.

  “I never want to hurt you. I never will. Whatever you need from me, I will give you. Whatever you want to know, I will tell you. I promise you that from here on out. Okay?” He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, and I nod.

  “I just want the truth,” I say, but frankly I’m tired of talking, tired of reasoning, and tired of trying. “Do you, or do you not, still have an on-again, off-again romantic relationship with Camilla?”

  “I absolutely do not.”

  “Then why does Christian think you do?” I ask.

  “I have no idea. What happened back then was a mistake. It’s one of the reasons I don’t drink anymore, because I realized that I make exceedingly bad decisions when I drink. In the weeks after it happened, I was confused about where Camilla and I stood. She met Christian a couple days later, and it was as if nothing had happened between us. She was instantly crazy about him. Nothing has changed there. I guess I was hurt by the fact that she hooked up with him so soon after we were together. In my mind, I thought she loved me that day in the attic; but in reality, she didn’t. It’s true that she came back to me a few months later, after Christian cheated on her with another girl at Holy Cross. I may have been young, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew she was just trying to get back at Christian, so I told her no. I admit, it wasn’t easy, and she didn’t take the rejection well, but I don’t regret it.”

  “Did you love her?” I’m seriously trying my damndest not to sound jealous, but their relationship is burning me up inside. I’m fairly sure that my discomfort is obvious, because every muscle in my face is twitching from my heroic effort to maintain a neutral expression.

  Xander says, “I think I did, as much as any fifteen-year-old guy knows how to love someone. I still love her, but I’m not in love with her. I can definitely say that, now that I know the difference.” He raises his hand to caress the side of my face. Luckily for me, he doesn’t seem to notice the emotional firestorm going on right in front of him.

  I guess I have to be okay with his explanation, if I want to continue to see him. Christian was right: the heart wants what the heart wants.

  “Can we promise not to keep things from each other anymore, whether it’s intentional or not?”

  “Of course I promise,” Xander says.

  ***

  It’s just after midnight when Xander drives me home from the diner. The Virginia night sky is lit with starlight, which casts a magical glow over the passing countryside. When we arrive, the house is dark except for the dull-yellow porch light. Everyone must be in bed at this late hour. Xander and I sit in the Land Rover, staring at each other in silence for a few moments. The shadows dancing across his face accentuate the chiseled planes of his cheekbones and veil his golden eyes in dark mystery. When he leans over to kiss me, I meet him halfway. A mischievous spark lights his eyes, and I know instantly what he’s thinking. Our lips touch, and there’s a familiar sensation of white-hot electricity between us. My hands find the back of his neck as our mouths continue to search one another. His lips are soft, skilled, and sweet. My hands move up to the silky mass of curls that I find myself constantly fixated on when we’re together. I pull him closer to me. I arch my back, and his mouth moves downward, kissing my chin, then my neck, and finally my shoulder. I inhale a sharp breath when his hands slide up my thighs and under my skirt. A low-pitched sound escapes me as I exhale, and he smashes his lips to mine again.

  I make the mistake of opening my eyes. To my utter dismay, there’s Ethan standing just outside the car on the driver’s side, staring at us through the window, and looking like he just stepped out of a V.C. Andrews novel. I scream because of the shock and weirdness of the moment. Xander stops his maddening exploration of my body and sits bolt upright. “What’s wrong?”

  I nod toward Ethan, who’s still standing there, staring at us with the oddest expression on his face. Xander whips his head around and mutters an uncharacteristic, startled curse under his breath.

  “What do you want, Ethan?” I shout, as I straighten myself out and pull my skirt down.

  “Dad says it’s time to come in now,” he replies flatly.

  “Jesus! Okay, I’ll be there in a minute,” I bark. “Now get lost!”

  Ethan’s eyes narrow at me, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he turns around and casually walks up to the front door. I imagine he’ll be giving Dad a full report of what he saw in Xander’s Land Rover. Wonderful. The chastity police.

  “I am so sorry,” Xander says as he turns the car’s engine over. “I didn’t know he was standing there.”

  “It’s not your fault that my brother is a little creeper.” I laugh, but the sound is undeniably angry. I’m not angry because he saw us, or that he’ll definitely tell Dad. I’m angry that he interrupted us. “Little brat freaked me out.”

  “I didn’t mean to get so out of control,” he says in a serious tone. “Your driveway is not the place for that.”

  “Yeah, I guess I got a little carried away, too.” I say in a wicked voice. “There’s something about these curls that makes me do crazy things.”

  “Your curls are pretty amazing,” he says, touching my tousled hair.
r />   “I’m talking about yours, silly,” I say and grab his hand. He laughs and raises my hand to his mouth to kiss it.

  “I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow.”

  “You’re spending another Saturday with me?” I say in disbelief.

  “Of course. I promised to help you find your mother, and that’s what we’re going to do tomorrow and Sunday,” he answers.

  “Xander, what about lacrosse?” I am seriously worried that his involvement in the search for my mother is going to result in the loss of any collegiate recruitment opportunity for him. If he’s running all over the East Coast with me, how can he possibly have time to practice?

  “In the grand scheme of things, lacrosse is dead last on the priority list.”

  “I don’t want you to put your life on hold for me.”

  “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for your mother,” he says, and there’s no hint of teasing in his voice. He’s looking at me with wide, innocent eyes, and I can’t help but sigh on the inside. “There’s something you should know. When I devote myself to a cause, I do it one hundred percent. I don’t half-ass anything important to me.”

  “Promise me you won’t lose a scholarship over this.”

  “Evie, I don’t need lacrosse to go to college. My family has plenty of money to send me.” He leans over and plants a kiss on my forehead. “Didn’t you know I play lacrosse for the glory and the chicks? Now that I’ve got the chick, who needs the glory?”

  “Very funny, mister. Now get out of here before you get me grounded for the rest of my life,” I say, but lean over and kiss those sweet lips one last time.

  When I go inside, I hear Dad calling my name from his office. I go in, and he’s sitting in front of the computer with his reading glasses hanging precariously low on the tip of his nose. He pushes them up over the bridge as he looks up at me.

  “Did you want me?” I ask innocently enough, as I plop down in the arm chair facing Dad’s desk.

  “Hello, sweetie. Did you have a good time tonight celebrating your birthday with Xander?” Dad asks with a soft look on his face. I don’t detect an ounce of accusation in that question.

  “Yeah, we had a nice dinner and went out for chocolate cake at this little diner downtown.” Perhaps creeper boy didn’t tell Dad what he saw in the Land Rover after all.

  “I really like that guy—Xander. He’s been completely selfless with his time and energy to help us.”

  “I’m glad you like him. I think I’m going to keep him around for a while.” I can’t believe I’m talking boys with my dad.

  “What are you doing?” I ask and lean over the desk to see what’s on the computer screen, hoping the abrupt change in conversation isn’t blatantly noticeable.

  “I’m looking through missing persons databases in New York State. Listen, Evie, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  “I wanted to ask you what you think about telling Ethan and Emma what’s going on. It’s getting harder to find excuses about what we’re doing every weekend without them. Sooner or later, they’re going to get suspicious or figure it out on their own.”

  “I know. I was just hoping we would find her before we had to break the news to them.”

  We stare at each other in silence for a moment.

  “Let me tell Emma,” I offer, “and you tell Ethan. We could do it tomorrow. I’ll pick Emma up after ballet practice. I’ll tell her then.”

  “I’ll take Ethan out to lunch and tell him. We should meet back here in the afternoon for a family meeting.”

  I laugh a little inside, because we haven’t had a family meeting since the one back in Spain—the same one that started the avalanche that is now consuming our lives.

  “Xander will be with me. We’re spending the day searching outlying areas.”

  Dad gives an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “Fine with me.”

  I get up from the chair and cross over to my father. I bend down and give him a kiss on the cheek. He smiles up at me.

  “Goodnight, Dad.”

  “Good night.”

  I turn and head for the door, but just as I grab the knob, Dad says, “Oh, and a little less hanky-panky in the driveway, okay? You’re going to traumatize your siblings.”

  It’s true what they say: you won’t die from embarrassment. But if it were possible, I would have dropped dead in my dad’s office right then. Instead, I turn to him and with a slight grin say, “Yes, Dad.”

  Then I run for the safety of my bedroom.

  CHAPTER 19

  Xander and I spend the morning in Alexandria searching hospitals, morgues, and shelters, just as Detective Drago advised us to do. We post flyers with my mom’s picture anywhere they’ll let us, from shop windows to gas station men’s restrooms. People barely glance at the photo when we thrust it in their faces. It’s a lovely photo of her, taken during the time we lived in Japan, but I know the picture is probably not how she looks now. I still have hope that someone will recognize her. Surely, someone must’ve seen her while she was here. I’ll keep looking for her, no matter how long or how far I have to go. I’m not confident that she’s still in the DC area, but I’m not confident she isn’t, either.

  At one o’clock in the afternoon, we park Xander’s Land Rover near the Franconia Metro Station and take the train downtown to collect Emma from her ballet class. We’re about fifteen minutes early, but we stealthily slip into the studio and take seats in the corner where we can watch the dancers unnoticed. They’re rehearsing for the company’s Christmas production of the Nutcracker, which is an annual fundraiser for a local children’s hospital, performed at the Kennedy Center.

  Emma has won the part of the Sugar Plum Fairy, and I watch as she skillfully leaps, pirouettes, and glides across the floor. Her face is a study in serenity, and her arms float gracefully around her as she moves, her feet landing in silent perfection as if she dances on a cloud. Seeing her in her element gives me a whole new appreciation for my baby sister. Her confidence, her dedication, and her maturity are evident in the way she carries herself. In the beautifully delicate features of her face—the naturally red lips, upturned nose, and sage-green eyes—I see that she’s not concentrating on what her next move should be. Rather, she’s feeling the confluence of the music and her body. She’s lean and powerful, like a young, spirited filly. Seeing her like this, it’s hard to believe she is a thirteen-year-old child and not a seasoned prima ballerina.

  Suddenly, I’m stricken with guilt, not only for hiding the information about our mother but also for the way I’ve treated her over the years. I’ve always thought of her as a youngster, not my equal. In my mind, she’s still that tiny girl who excitedly tagged along everywhere I went, until one day I pushed her away from me. I’m praying that when I tell her the truth about our mother and our father, she’ll realize that I do now see her as my equal.

  I whisper to Xander to meet me back at the metro station. I’ve decided to take Emma where we can talk privately. I’m going to walk with her to the World War II Memorial, the place where I’ve sought refuge in the calming sound of the water formations so many times since we’ve come here. It’ll probably be quiet there today; everyone will be in the malls shopping for the holidays.

  As I’m watching Emma in awe, Xander leans over and kisses the side of my mouth, and then disappears through the door before I can say anything else.

  When the instructor announces the end of practice, Emma glances over toward the waiting area and appears genuinely surprised to see me. She trots over to me with a puzzled expression on her face and plops down on the empty seat that Xander just vacated.

  “Hi. Dad didn’t tell me you were coming today,” she says around raspy breaths.

  “Well, I wanted it to be a surprise,” I answer. “I want to talk with you about something.”

  Her face crinkles, and she says, “Oh. Okay. Just a sec. I’ll go get dressed.”

  I take Emma to get hot chocolate a
t the café next door. Then we walk the five blocks to the memorial, passing by the Washington Monument, the whole time discussing the ballet and my plans for college. I haven’t really decided what to do, because I don’t want to leave DC until I find my mother. But I can’t tell Emma that fact just yet. Instead, I tell her that I’m still weighing my options. She informs me that she wants to go to college where she can double-major in ballet and medicine. I laugh to myself at the resulting mental image: Emma as a ballerina doctor, going on rounds in a pink tutu layered under a white lab coat, entertaining patients with her graceful pirouettes and leaps.

  When we arrive at the memorial, I show Emma my secret place to hide and watch the crowds go by. We take a seat on a slab of stone tucked back in a corner of the memorial.

  Emma looks intently at me and says, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “I want to talk to you about what’s been going on around our house.”

  “Does it have something to do with why you and Dad have been gone every weekend? And why you don’t know what you’re going to do about college? And why Xander seems to be around all the time lately?”

  This kid doesn’t miss a beat. She gets that from me, most definitely.

  “Yes, actually, it does.”

  “Evie, are you pregnant?”

  My mouth drops open.

  “What? No,” I practically screech. “That’s what you thought?”

  She simply nods and shrugs. She takes another sip of her hot chocolate and says, “Well, thank God you’re not. I’m not ready to be an auntie yet.”

  “I’m not ready to be a mommy yet, so you’re safe for a while, kid,” I say and playfully nudge her with my elbow. “Wait, how does Xander fit into that scenario?”

  “I thought he was the daddy,” she says, as if that conclusion was a no-brainer. I make a huge mistake and take a sip of my cocoa right before she says, “Ethan said you were having sex with him in the driveway last night, so it made sense in my—”