A set of hands came from above and locked onto my wrists. Warm, strong hands.
They pulled, and I went up. My skin rubbed against the cold, smooth fiberglass, and a chill shot through me to my spine. My arms felt like they were being yanked from their sockets. I slid over the top, my body rolling across the thin metal railing as I flopped onto the deck: Willow, the catch of the day.
My fingers traced the grain of the wooden deck gratefully. Trembling and gasping, I looked up. “Th- th-thanks.”
Axel looked pissed.
“May I ask, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Good to see he’s getting over the timid thing.
“Next time, could you just knock?”
This was a new Axel. One who spoke. One who could be sarcastic. One like—me.
He led me down the hatchway steps, offered me a seat on one of the two couches attached to the walls facing each other, and wrapped a blanket around me. Then he picked up a black T-shirt from the floor and slid it on, but not before I noticed some decent-sized slash marks across his chest and stomach—like he’d gone a few rounds with a box cutter.
After I warmed up, we moved to benches at his table, also attached to the wall. The benches were bolted to the floor.
“So, you always prowl around at one o’clock in the morning?”
“No, I never even leave my room at home, except to go to school. Kind of like you and this boat.” I remained a master of obnoxious observations.
Axel’s change in behavior might have had something to do with the citrus-flavored vodka he was kicking back shots of. He’d slugged down two in the few minutes we’d sat there. “Want some?”
I shook my head no. “How can you get liquor? You’re not twenty-one, are you?”
He laughed. “You kidding? You think they proof around here? I call up, and they deliver it for an extra ten. They’d sell it to a two-year-old if he had the cash and could make the call.”
“Do you realize you said more to me just now then in our whole first conversation?”
He tossed another shot down.
“Getting to know you now,” he replied.
Getting to know the bottom of the bottle was more like it.
“I’m eighteen, incidentally,” he said.
Behind him, behind me, and everywhere else were shelves and stacks of books. Only one side of the cabin—the galley—was bookless.
“You want something to drink?” he asked.
“I’ll take some tea.”
“A tea totaler, huh?”
“Well, I am fifteen.”
He laughed again.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Nothing. You’re right, you’re right. It’s just that all the fifteen-year-olds I’ve ever known—from Park Avenue to this dump—would never turn down a shot in favor of tea.” His words tottered a bit.
“Whatever,” I grumbled.
“Don’t get pissy. I like that about you.” He smiled, lopsided and dimpled.
Pretty heart-stopping.
He puttered around his galley, stumbling a few times, searching for the tea. The area was small, about the size of a closet. It was all done in shiny black granite.
Finally, he managed to put a mug of steaming tea in front of me. He threw the box of tea bags into a drawer.
“Safely stowed,” he said with a wobbly chuckle.
Actually, I felt a little shaky myself. You really knew you were floating on a sailboat. This was no fluttering. We were bobbing. Up, down; up, down.
Axel sat back down across from me and took another shot. He hiccuped, and then his face turned really serious.
“Not to sound parental or anything, but don’t ever do anything like that again. You could’ve been killed.”
He did sound parental, but his 80-proof breath overrode his voice. He took my hand in his and squeezed.
Jesus, is this the guy who could barely look at me before?
He sucked in some air, like he was getting ready. I could tell this was going to be an Aunt Agatha–type talk. That’s if Aunt Agatha ever decided to belt down a bottle or two.
“This yard is fenced in for a reason. At night, they lock the gate to keep trouble out. Don’t go looking for it inside.”
Yeesh, that was so an Aunt Agatha line. Delivered slurred and with breath that could halt a charging rhino.
“You’re awfully deep for an eighteen-year-old,” I said, uncomfortable in his ultra-tight grip. Off the deep end was what I meant.
What was really bugging me, though, was this bubbling chemical sensation inside—a powerful reaction, a connection. That and the feeling that I somehow knew Axel already.
“Yeah, well, I … I grew up in a hurry.”
He let go. I took a sip of my tea, just to have something to do with my hand.
The mug quoted Hamlet in purple Elizabethan-type print: “To be or not to be—that is the question.”
Uplifting mug.
“I promise I’ll be good, okay?” I said it a touch snottily.
I didn’t like being told what to do. Especially when it made sense.
“What were you looking for?”
“Huh?” I’d been checking out his weird salt and pepper shakers.
“Is this supposed to be Julius Caesar or something?” I fingered the white one in a toga with a wreath in his hair.
“Yeah, and the pepper’s Brutus. Corny, I know. They were a gift.”
“Was this mug a gift, too?”
“No, I bought that.”
He asked again, “What were you looking though my window for?”
It seemed so stupid now.
“I heard a cello playing. This was the second night. And when I saw your light on … I thought it might be coming from here.”
“It was.”
“It was?”
“Yeah, it was me playing. Why are you surprised?”
“I don’t know… . I guess you don’t look like a cellist.”
He sank his head into his hands, elbows on the table.
“What does a cellist look like?”
“Short hair, suit type of guy.”
He considered that. “Well, I do own a suit.”
His eyebrows creased in thought. “I think I left it back at the town house, though.”
“You look more like … like a rock star.”
He leaned back and gave me a tired look.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ve heard it all before. Let’s not bring Mr. Morrison into this conversation, okay? We’ll let the dead stay dead.”
“Okay, sure,” I said. “It’s just that I’m really into Jim. He’s kind of like … ” I looked into my tea, embarrassed. “He’s kind of like my only friend.”
“That must make for some exciting conversations,” Axel said.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Hey, I made you smile. What do you know, I’m good for something.”
He took a shot to celebrate and slammed the glass down.
“I’m sure you’re good for more than that.”
He shrugged, like he wasn’t sure at all.
“I’m making that my mission,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m making it my mission to keep a smile on your face.”
This guy was loco. “Good luck with that.”
Before, he wouldn’t look at me. Now, I couldn’t break away from his stare. “Why do you care if I smile or not?”
Axel passed his shot glass back and forth a few times between his hands. “I feel like we’re kind of the same.” Suddenly, he sounded dead sober. “There’s this … kindred spirit thing going between us. You feel it?”
I’d felt it the moment I saw him. That, more than anything, had been what had sent me running. Who could stand still for a jolt like that? Now it sizzled, this current running through me. But admit to it … ?
I leaned back, shifting my shoulders and trying to relax the knot in the back of my neck. It made me uneasy, being kindred spirits with
a manic-depressive nut job.
But his eyes were relentless, and I couldn’t deny it.
“Yes,” I finally replied.
“Well, I … I don’t want to see you lose your chance.”
“To do what?”
“To enjoy life … to walk around with a smile.”
“Are you saying that you have?”
He stretched his arms out and cracked his knuckles, staring at them.
“Yeah, maybe I am.”
Good lord, his mood swings were making me dizzy. Axel was eighteen, handsome, and rich. What the hell is his problem?
“I think you’d better lay off Hamlet for a while,” I said. “And vodka, too.”
“The play’s the thing,” he whispered.
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I didn’t.
He snapped out of his trance and looked at me with a sly, drunken smile. “Here’s the deal. If you’d like to hang with someone who’s actually breathing, I’m available. You’re the first person I’ve felt inclined to talk to in a long time. But no more comparisons to Jim Morrison. I have enough of my own shit without dealing with his.”
He held out his hand.
“Can you handle that?”
I shook it.
“I can handle that.”
The real question seemed to be, What was it HE couldn’t handle?
* * *
Axel could certainly hold a conversation drunk.
We talked for a long time, about books, mostly. I’d turned a decent number of pages in my life, but he’d read me under the table.
Shakespeare was his favorite. He had the entire collection, leather-bound.
Axel said that Shakespeare had explored every emotion—and that he’d said everything there was to say. According to Axel, everything after Shakespeare was regurgitation. Poetic rehashing.
“You know,” I said, “I’ve always thought they should use Lady Macbeth’s ‘out damned spot’ line in a commercial for a laundry stain remover.”
Axel considered that. “Hmm. Or for a carpet cleaner ad, maybe.”
I glanced out the window, and my eyes practically bulged out of my head. The sun was rising!
“Oh my God, my aunt’s gonna freak!”
I jumped up and looked frantically for the sneakers I’d kicked off. I only found one.
“I gotta run.”
Clutching my footwear, I rushed up the steps and out the hatchway. Axel’s head popped out after me.
“Hey, Cinderella, catch.”
He chucked my other sneaker at me.
“No more wandering around in the dark. You want my phone number?”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“Then just fluff up your pillow, go back to sleep, and see me in the morning.”
“I don’t have a pillow.”
“You don’t have a pillow?” he repeated. “Wait a sec.”
He dropped below, then reappeared a few moments later.
“Here,” he said, chucking me a pillow in a navy blue case.
I pawed into the feathers, pressed them against my chest.
“Thanks.”
I climbed down the ladder to the dock.
It sure beat the way I’d come up.
8
Light My Fire
I ran across the dock toward the barge. It didn’t take long to regret not stopping to slip my sneakers on. The pads of my feet scraped over rough, splintery wood, and I felt the pinch of entrance wounds.
My toes curled against each ladder rung as I climbed, sneakers tucked under one arm, pillow tucked under the other. I lifted the iron latch and pulled the heavy door. Inside, a violin played. I was too late.
The music stopped at the door’s creaking. My turn to face the music.
“Willow? I thought you were asleep on the couch.”
Aunt Agatha noticed the sneakers and pillow. Then she focused her eyes on me: “What’s going on?”
“I … um … ” Hmmm, this doesn’t look good, does it? “I couldn’t sleep, so I went on an expedition.”
Aunt Agatha used to pick me up on Saturdays and take me out on what she called “expeditions.” From going to the museum to picking up baloney at the deli, everything was an exploration, an adventure to her. Like I said, it’s all in how you look at things.
She stared at me, wordless. Not a good sign.
I shifted my filthy feet.
“I was on the back deck, and I heard music.”
Still nothing but a stare. Freaky.
I went on: “It sounded like a cello.”
“A cello?”
I knew that would grab her.
“Yeah, so I saw a light on in a boat and went on an expedition to see if the cello player was in there.”
And I nearly got crushed and drowned. What would Lewis and Clark say?
Aunt Agatha continued her newfound grimness. Not one twinkle surfaced.
“I may have been too hasty in granting you carte blanche, Willow. I thought I could trust you not to abuse your freedoms.”
Talk about a crushing blow. Now I could only stare.
“When I allowed you to come and go as you pleased, I foolishly assumed that it wouldn’t be under cover of darkness.”
She pointed the head of her violin at me.
“There are myriad reasons why you may not wander around the yard at night. Must I explain further?”
“Actually, Axel gave me the same sp … talk.” With a wandering speech pattern.
“Axel?”
“He’s the guy who was playing the cello.”
“Someone named Axel was playing the cello?” She scratched her head. “Did he play it well?”
I shrugged. What did I know about cello playing?
“Sounded good to me.”
“He lives here?”
“Yeah. On the sailboat Perchance to Dream.”
Her eyebrows raised.
“Do you mean that hippie boy?”
“Yeah.”
“Amazing!” She laughed. “Just when I thought there were no more surprises to be found. Life’s a miracle, is it not?”
I shrugged again. Whatever.
“And the pillow?”
“Axel gave it to me when he heard I didn’t have one. He threw it to me when I was leaving. Really.”
I followed her gaze to my toes.
“I lost track of time when we were talking … about books.”
That got her. She liked books almost as much as instruments.
“And when I saw the sun rising, I ran out without my sneakers on.”
She shifted in her chair.
“I don’t consider what you did an expedition. It was more like an attempt at suicide. I don’t want you roaming the yard at night again. It’s fenced in for a reason—to keep trouble out. Don’t … ”
“Go looking for it inside,” I finished. “Yeah, I got that. Axel said the same thing.” I failed to mention his drunken slur.
“Did he?” She smiled broadly. “Invite that boy over. I’d love to play duets.”
* * *
I figured I owed it to Aunt Agatha to put in some hard labor, so instead of going to sleep, I washed up and got changed. My feet were riddled with splinters. I’d heard somewhere that you were supposed to let them work themselves out. Sounded better than picking at my skin with tweezers. I put on two pairs of socks to make walking a little less painful.
Oy, I was a wreck.
I was scraping away at wood strips when, to my indescribable joy, Craig sauntered in. I couldn’t help noticing his tight muscle shirt. God, I needed to poke my eyes out with a mahogany strip.
Then he opened his mouth: “Yo.”
“Yo.” I could play that game.
“Good morning, Craig,” Aunt Agatha sang. “Dear hearts, I have to make some phone calls. I’ll be back in about an hour.”
My heart sank in direct proportion to the broadening of Craig’s smile.
“No problemo, Aggie,” he said, with a wink at me.
<
br /> I thought about heading out, but I’d have to deal with this guy sooner or later. Might as well be when I was operating on zero sleep and standing on throbbing feet. The day was already totaled.
“Toodle-oo, chums,” Aunt Agatha called as she pushed through the door.
She couldn’t have been more than two steps out when he moved in right next to me, exuding lust like a caveman.
“I been thinkin’ ’bout cha.”
He should’ve been thinking about grammar.
I took two steps back and grabbed a piece of wood.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do.” The understatement of the year.
He lowered his sunglasses and seemed to study me—if he had the brain capacity to study anything.
“Why ya scared a me?”
I held the long strip across my chest.
“I’m not scared. I’m just busy. No time to chat.”
“You one a doze goody-goodies?”
He came close again and stroked my cheek, slowly. He may’ve been a moron, but he sure wasn’t bad at touching.
My mahogany shook in my hands, but I didn’t move away.
He smiled. “Ya want me ta teach ya ta be bad?”
He really needed to learn some dialogue. Still, I let him touch me again. Was I desperate or what?
My heart pounded so hard I thought it would break down. His face came closer, in slow motion.
His lips pressed on mine, and I allowed it.
His hands gripped my back, pulling me tight against him. Still, I allowed it.
I felt terrified. I felt repulsed. But more than anything, I felt a blinding need.
His hands slipped under my shirt, against my skin. I wanted him to stop; I wanted him to go on… .
He slipped his tongue in my mouth. It slid around. A thick, slimy slug. Uggh!
The spell broke. I shoved the wood I was still clutching against his chest, pushing him away.
“Whatsamatta?”
“Nothing. I just—I just didn’t sleep much. I’m tired.”
“Yeah?” He ran his finger down my cheek again, sending a chill through me. “Ya let me know when you’re not tired, ’kay?”
I stared at him, knowing I should say something scathing.
“’Kay.” Nice going.
I went back to stripping my wood. But my mind kept going back to the other kind of stripping I’d almost done.
Saved By The Music Page 4