The Roses Academy- the Entire Collection

by Tara Brown

  No, with Martin it'll be part of the act. The act of liking each other and loving each other. The act of enjoying his grunting on top of me, like my momma said was expected of me. Martin is refined and proper and a true gentleman. It's why I can't imagine him with Margery Banks. Not when I constantly have to hide my hillbilly Baton Rouge ways from him.

  A bead of sweat trickles down my cheek, just as the car lurches to a stop. I'm thrown forward.

  Ramón cusses in Cajun French and slams on the wheel.

  “It's overheated, cherie. I'll walk to the next house and call a tow and a ride.”

  I gaze around at the forest and greenery. We're miles from the nearest house. He took the shortcut he always takes when we stop by his grandmamma's house in the bayou. It leads through a swampy area with no real population.

  “Ramón, it's too hot to walk out there. You'll have to wait for nightfall. Stay in the shade of the car. You'll burn to death out there. It must be over a hundred today. Someone will come.”

  He smiles back at me. “I can't let you stay out in this. It's too hot. We'll both dehydrate if I don't go. Your greedy ass drank all the sweet tea.”

  I laugh and nod but I'm worried. I don’t want to be alone on the side of the road, and I don’t like him going alone into the woods.

  He takes his shirt off and leaves in his undershirt only. I grimace as the smell of his man-sweat fills the car. I lean my head out the window and wait. The side of the road is just thick woods. The old bent oaks, thick moss and bushes make it extra creepy. He walks away from the car, getting smaller and smaller until he's gone. The heat waves are coming off the pavement.

  I pull my head back in. I'm exhausted and needing my nap. I close my eyes and visualize what I want, just like Grandmamma Holt taught me to. I imagine I'm in my room with the fans blowing the air down on me in my thin nightgown. I have fresh sweet tea or lemonade next to me. The tall glass has ice in it and beads of condensation drip down the sides. The ice cracks in the heat and dilutes my drink. I take a refreshing sip. The ice clangs against the glass and burns touching my lips because it’s so cold. I sigh and lie back to try to sleep. In my mind I am cool and Bunny is around my throat protecting me.

  Chapter 2

  Lorelei!

  Wake up!

  Wake up!

  Danger!

  The icy voices stir me. I pull away from them shivering but then I hear someone else.

  “Miss, you all right?” It's a man.

  I sit up and sway. “Ramón?”

  My eyelids stick together.

  When I pry them open, I can barely see through my fuzzy eyes and it's now dark.

  I'm trembling and shaking. I rub my hands over my clothes and realize I'm soaked, like I've been swimming.

  My eyes are blurry and nothing makes sense. I'm aching from sleeping on my side. I peer around, confused. “Where am I?”

  My head feels thick and then it starts to pound. I wince and put a hand up to my drenched head.

  “Get her some water.” A man is at the window of my car. I'm still in the car, still on the side of the road.

  “Where's Ramón?” I ask a policeman I think I know.

  He ignores me but hands me the lid of a warm metal thermos. I put it up to my lips and sip the cool sweet tea inside. My throat feels dry and crusty. The tea forces its way down, like it's carving its path. He waits for me to finish and then takes the lid. The tea lands in my belly. It's an empty sick feeling. “Where's Ramón? My friend—er driver?” I ask again.

  Another policeman is at the window suddenly. He shakes his head and looks around. He is older and has a flashlight in his hands. “I don’t know. The man who found you is over there.” He points and goes back to eyeballing the car. He speaks to someone I can't see.

  “My friend? I need my friend. Y'all have to go look for him.” My heart races realizing he ain't here.

  He speaks over me to the other man. “There's fluid over here. Looks like the car overheated. It was hotter than a billy goat's ass in a pepper patch today.”

  “True dat!”

  They keep talking and I have no idea what's what.

  I open the door and stumble from the car, my stomach is doing flip flops. Walking doesn't help.

  Warm hands grip my sides and stop me from falling into the ditch.

  “Thank you,” I mumble, assuming it's another policeman. I turn my head, realizing how wrong I am. His face makes me blush. He’s a handsome gentleman, not a policeman. I can't imagine how I look. I'm drenched.

  “You’re safe.” He holds me to his chest. He’s a dream. I'm sure of it. Like nothing I have ever seen before. Dark soulful eyes. Distinctive brow. Soft-looking lips. Chiseled jaw with a slight cleft in the chin. Dark hair that's styled but not like a businessman's. Thankfully, it's also not fluffy and in his eyes like a boy's would be. The long hair of my generation is a crime.

  He looks young, but something about his face tells me he is older than I am, maybe by a lot.

  He’s confident and bold. The way he touches me, like he has a right to do so, makes me feel funny. No one touches a young lady.

  “Are you all right?” He seems distracted, or maybe inconvenienced, as he scouts around, no doubt for someone else to take care of me.

  I want to say yes. Instead, I rip from his arms and lose my stomach in the ditch behind me. He holds my hips pressed against him. His hands are on my waist as I retch and heave and my exhausted body convulses.

  “She has the heat sickness. We need to get her to the hospital,” someone says.

  “Did anyone call an ambulance?” the man holding my hips against his body asks. Our pose would be indecent, if not for my vomit pelting the rocks below with sweet tea.

  “Nope.”

  His grip tightens. “Well, that’s really helpful. My driver called and told you there was a girl unconscious in a car and you never thought to call an ambulance? I will take her myself.” The man's voice grows angry. I throw up once more and my legs start to buckle. He lifts me off the ground.

  “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry,” I repeat, wiping my face.

  He seems incredibly angry as he holds me in his arms and carries me to a car. He places me in the back seat and speaks softly, “The hospital, Ben.”

  My eyes flutter. “Sir, I'm terribly sorry.”

  He holds me to him and puts the back of his hand on my forehead. He smiles at me and the anger seems to be gone. “You have a fever.” He pulls me into him. I think for a second he has kissed the top of my head as he strokes it. I'm sure I'm mistaken. Strangers don’t kiss the tops of girls’ heads, not ones that look like him. “You have no need to be sorry. You're sick. I’ll take care of you.”

  I try to pull away from him, but I have no strength. I lick my lips and swallow the things trying to escape my mouth when I speak, “My driver, Ramón. Did you see him?”

  He shakes his head and continues to hold me to him. “We never saw him, just your car broken down on the side of the road. Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know. To get help. The car broke down. We was stuck.” I don't correct my poor English. I'm too tired.

  “What time was that?”

  I shrug and hold back a burp.

  He kisses my head again. I knew it, he kissed my head. My heart starts to race, but I'm on the verge of passing out. I don’t have the energy I need to freak out.

  He murmurs softly into my hair, stroking it, “Just rest, my dear. We will have you right as rain in no time.” Did he just call me dear? I must know him and not remember. He's too familiar.

  My stomach flutters. I don't fear him. Not the way I should. I'm uncomfortable with him kissing my head though. If I wasn’t struggling to keep the contents of my stomach where they should be, and completely feeble to boot, I’d move away from him.

  “It'll be okay. We're almost there,” he whispers and strokes my head some more.

  The driver stops the car and opens the door for the man. They help me out. A small amount of relief f
ills me when I see the doors of the hospital.

  The man lifts me up and carries me toward the light of the emergency ward. In the vivid lights, I'm stunned when I see his face. It's dreamy and sexy in a way that makes the knots in my fragile stomach tighten. The muted glow of the streetlight did nothing for him. He was incredibly good looking there. Here in the fluorescent lights, he is stunning. His dark eyebrows furrow over his dark eyes when he looks at me. The corner of one of his lips lifts into a lazy grin that contradicts his eyes. I attempt to grin back, but suddenly I see him in flashes. My eyes are fluttering again. I can’t get them to open completely. When I gain control of them again, I see a nurse running to us.

  “Lorelei? Honey, is that you? Is that Lorelei Huntington?”

  I can barely lift my head to see Mrs. Kirsch. She puts a hand to my head. “Honey, you have a fever.”

  “She has heat sickness. We found her on the side of the road in a car, passed out. Her driver left her there.” His voice swims in my head. I want to defend Ramón. He would never have just left me there. Where is he?

  I turn back but the lights blend together, making one long sheet of brightness I can't stand. My stomach turns again when I attempt to sit up to see their faces.

  “Baby, it was over a hundred out there today. My hair was sweatin’. Who are you?” Mrs. Kirsch sounds angry.

  “Mr. Whitlock, at your service.” The way he says “Whitlock” sounds foreign. In fact, all his words sound foreign. I thought he was a Yankee but now I see he’s a foreigner.

  The ceiling tiles and bright lights flash. My eyes are fluttering again.

  “Are you a friend of the Huntingtons?” Her nasally voice sounds feisty.

  “No. No, I found her on the side of the road.”

  I lose the conversation in the flashing and the fluttering. I'm moving. In the flashes the tiles change. The motion is making me sick again. I turn my face and get sick down the side of my cheeks. It’s dripping onto his arm. If I wasn’t nearly unconscious, I would be mortified. I will be tomorrow—if there is a tomorrow. Please God, don't let there be a tomorrow.

  I allow the darkness, that has threatened to come and fill my eyes, takeover. It's been wanting to since I woke. I've never been as exhausted as I am. Not even when the icy whispers stop me from sleeping.

  My eyes roll into the back of my head and I'm out like a light within seconds of not fighting it.

  When I wake, I can smell my momma. I would know her scent anywhere. It's custom-made by Dior.

  “Lorelei, darling. Are you awake?”

  Force is required to pry my eyelids open. I glance around the hazy, dim light.

  “Momma?” I whisper.

  Her cold delicate hands squeeze mine. She must be worried if she is touching me. “It's mother, dear.”

  “Lorelei, honey, you awake? Lordy, you look like something I drug out from under the porch.” Mrs. Kirsch is here too.

  I smile at her and nod. “I feel about that way.” My throat crackles like an old witch's.

  I’m in less pain, but still disoriented.

  “You want a drink, honey? You must be spittin’ cotton by now.” Mrs. Kirsch busies herself pouring water and fixing my blankets.

  I can't help but notice the way Momma is sitting, wearing an ivory cardigan and her pearls. I smile when I see her. Her blonde hair is coifed perfectly. She dressed up to come to the hospital. I bet she never even rushed. She's here for show.

  My hand aches from a strange cold stinging sensation. I think I'm making the sparks and shoot a fearful look at my momma. She frowns at me. I glance at my hand and feel relieved when I see it's a needle and tubes running from my arm. I haven’t had one of these since I had to stop eating to fit in my grandmamma's vintage gown for cotillion. I had to stop eating and drinking for two weeks. Momma made the nurses use one to feed me for the entire time. At least Ramón snuck me food.

  Where is he?

  “Ramón?” I mutter through a croaking thick throat.

  She smiles softly and tilts her blonde head. “You need a drink.” She’s hiding something. Something terrible has happened. Her cold eyes have only filled with emotion once, when my grandmamma died. They are a picture of how they were then. She was tremendously fond of my daddy's momma.

  She dusts her skirt and straightens her back when she speaks with a perfect smile, “You scared us, darling. We were terribly worried about you.” If I had the strength to roll my eyes I would. She points to the handle at the end of the bed. “Lift the bed for her, Marianne.”

  Mrs. Kirsch walks to the end of the bed and cranks it in jerks until I'm sitting halfway up.

  “Drink, darling?” Momma eyes the glass of water next to her, as if she’s above passing it to me.

  I nod and try to swallow my spit to test my throat out. It’s like sandpaper.

  “Marianne, pass her the water.”

  Mrs. Kirsch walks to me and passes me the glass. I sip from the straw and try not to take too much in at once. I don’t want to throw up again.

  The thought of throwing up brings back a memory. I cringe. “Ahhhhhh.” I sit up, horrified. “Oh no. Oh no. Oh my good lord.” I swallow and look past my momma.

  “What dear? What is it? Are you in pain?” she asks.

  I look at Mrs. Kirsch in a panic. “Did I really—er—well . . . throw up on that man?”

  My momma puts a hand to her chest. “Lorelei, that is not amusing.”

  Mrs. Kirsch ignores her and smiles at me. She fights an amused look and nods subtly.

  My momma takes my water and drinks it. “Dear God!” she sighs dramatically. “You frightened me half to death. Don’t say throw up, darling; say emptied your stomach or spit. Throw up isn’t ladylike.”

  I put my hand over my eyes and scream.

  Mrs. Kirsch puts an arm around me. “Lorelei, honey, stay calm. Screaming ain't gonna change the fact you got sick on a man, a very attractive man. Ooouuuie, he can read me a bedtime story any old time.” she snickers.

  I twitch and shake like a wet dog. “No. No. No.”

  Momma does the usual and cares about her reputation. “Oh, darling, no. Not a gentleman we know?”

  I could cry but tears aren’t coming. My eyes just burn.

  “Leave—both of you. I want to be alone.” My voice is hoarse, but I manage to point at the door. I'm exhausted and feel disgusting. Being mocked ain't gonna improve my mood.

  Momma squeezes my hand again. “I’ll be back to collect you with your father, whenever they decide to free you.” That is a lie. A servant will be collecting me. I don’t even know why she pretends with me. I’ll spend a lonely week in this hospital. I smile and know Emily will come. I, at least, have one family member. Maybe I will be able to sneak down to Ramón's room too. If he's even in the hospital.

  I ask them as they leave the room. “Where is Ramón?”

  My momma's eyes dart. That is the secret she is keeping from me.

  She glances at Mrs. Kirsch who lowers her head and leaves the room silently.

  Momma licks her lips. It’s a nervous habit. She doesn’t usually allow herself nervous habits. She doesn’t usually allow anything, but when she's stressed or unprepared, her old habits sneak through.

  Her back becomes rigid as she gathers herself.

  “Out with it.” My eyes narrow.

  Her bright-blue eyes turn to stone again. “He never made it.”

  I frown. “He never went to war, Momma! He went for help. What does that even mean—he never made it?” My tone is spiky and sharp.

  She licks her lips again. Twice is extra bad.

  “I know you're ill, but ‘Momma’ makes you sound like trash, Lorelei. I won't have it. It means . . . his body was found in the woods near the car. He was”—she shivers and puts a hand in the air to stop me from grilling her—“attacked. He died out in the woods. An animal attack.”

  My body has no coping mechanisms for a moment like this. I have never been allowed an emotion beyond shame. I don’t know
which emotion fits into this slot.

  He was the brother I never had—I will never have. He is, no wait, was the man in my life. He was my constant. My heart burns.

  When I was a little girl and the whispers came to me, he believed me—only he believed. He and his grandmamma.

  When I got older and my heart was broken into a million tiny pieces, he was the man who held me while I cried. Sickening guilt slams me when I remember trying to imagine his hands in my blouse. It was the last thing I did in his presence. My eyes burn and sting and still no tears are produced.

  A man's voice interrupts my silent panic attack, “Oh, I'm sorry I've come at a bad time.”

  My throat is closed and my chest weighs more than my lungs can lift. I want to cry out, but the beautiful Mr. Whitlock is standing in the doorway of my room. I have been raised better than to cry in front of a stranger. Especially one I have already thrown up on.

  My momma turns and smiles. I can hear the country charm mixing with the elegant voice of Mrs. Huntington, “Why you must be the savior. The man who rescued our precious young Lorelei.”

  “I am just such a man. But it seems I've returned to find her not as well as I had hoped. I shall wait in the hall.” He smiles at me but my eyes are frozen in horror and agony.

  Momma puts a hand on his bicep and smiles at him. “I will accompany you. Lorelei needs a moment.”

  I NEED MORE THAN A MOMENT. I NEED A MIRACLE.

  I try to take a breath and calm myself, but I can't.

  I'm hyperventilating.

  The room shrinks to a pinhole and my eyes can't see anything through the small dots they have become. I lose myself in the blackness and pain as the cold whispers blow in my face.

  Danger, Lorelei!

  I don't have time to fear them. I pass out.

  When I wake again, a warm hand is over mine. It grips me tightly as if it's pulsating.