by Laura Preble
She bites her lower lip, thinking. “It’s lunch. You think he’ll stay till dinner?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t know. I’ll come up with something.” She turns to me, puts a hand on my cheek. “Don’t be afraid. We’re doing the right thing.”
The right thing. I guess. All I know is that I want to see Carmen, I don’t want to see McFarland, and I feel sick.
We come in the back door, and Warren’s in the kitchen making a pitcher of Margaritas. “Glad you got back okay,” he says over the whir of the blender. “David said you had some car trouble?” He pushes a button, knocks the frozen lime-green concoction off the sides of the glass container, and pours it into two waiting fishbowl glasses. “California people. They like their Margaritas. We’re having Mexican for lunch.”
“I didn’t know he was coming back,” I say as casually as possible.
Warren shoots me a glance. “Neither did I,” he says with a tinge of annoyance. “But David wants him to get to know our family.”
Jana squeezes my arm as she passes me. “I’m going to my room. To study.”
“What?” I squeak. I thought she was going to help me! “Can’t you stay down here with us? I’m sure he’d like to get to know you too.”
She grins wickedly. “I doubt that. I’ll peek in a little later, see how everything’s going. I’m not hungry anyway. And I hate Mexican food.” She stalks out of the kitchen, leaving me alone to face McFarland.
“Don’t worry,” Warren says as he hands me a frosty glass. “I talked to David, and he understands that you won’t be pushed into anything. I made it very clear.” He frowns, probably remembering what was no doubt a loud fight about this particular subject. I’m sure David didn’t let it go that easily. Well, things would be much easier now that I was going to get McFarland to go on a weekend getaway. Things would at least smooth out at home. I clutch the paper in my pocket where Magnus Karrell had written down the name of the place and time I am supposed to have McFarland…delivered. Christ, how was I going to make that happen?
I walk into the parlor and deliver the glass to McFarland. “Chris! So good to see you again.” He sips at the fishbowl. “Just like home. Your father knows his tequila.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just smile, hoping I look somewhat genuine. David saves me by saying, “Chris, sit down. We’d like to talk to you.”
I glance out the window. Hours to go before I see her again. For now, I sit, as instructed.
McFarland smiles, his brown, piggish eyes crinkling at the edges. I think of what Ben said, what Sam told me about the Cave, about how this man condemned people to live there. It’s hard to look at him. It makes me feel stronger, though, thinking about what he did.
“So, how’s school, Chris?” he asks, slurping up more Margarita.
“Fine.” I shift in my seat. I nod, as if there’s more to say, but there really isn’t.
David jumps in, of course. “Chris has one of the top GPAs at school,” he brags. “He’s very smart. I wanted him to get involved in some sports, or some social action work, but he’s so busy with his hobby.”
“Oh, what hobby is that?” McFarland cocks his head sideways, studying me.
“Astronomy,” I blurt out. I don’t really want to tell him anything about myself but it seems like the best way to avoid any more analysis of my grades or what I spend my time doing.
“Studying the stars, eh?” McFarland nods as if he approves. “Great. We have a fantastic observatory in California. If you go to Westhaven, I could probably get you an internship.” He nods again, as if his head is on a swivel. “Assuming, of course, that you have the good sense to go to Westhaven.”
They laugh as if someone has told an especially good joke. God, all I want to do it bolt up out of this chair and run away! But if this is going to work, if I’m really going to do anything meaningful with my life, I have to stay glued to this spot for the moment. I have to convince this man that I want to go somewhere with him. I’d pray for help, but I don’t think God would answer.
“You know where’s a great place to see stars?” Words tumble out of my mouth almost as if they are independent of my own thought. “Indian Lake. It’s a resort about fifty miles from here, gorgeous cabins, no ambient light. You can see billions of stars.” There. I put it out there. Let’s see if he takes the bait. My stomach is flopping around like a fish out of water.
“Indian Lake?” McFarland shoots a glance at David. “Sounds fun.”
Warren sweeps into the room. “Ready for some chips and homemade guacamole?” He presents a ceramic platter filled with salsa, crispy chips, and the creamy green spread. Seems like a good time to escape.
What to say? How can I make it sound believable and still get away from this crocodile? “Hey, I have to call Andi...we agreed to work on our project over the phone at…uh…” I check my watch, “Now. So, I’ll be back as soon as we’re finished.”
Before David can object, I bolt upstairs like something is chasing me. I hear him say, “Chris is very responsible about school. A great student.” Right.
Upstairs, I knock at Jana’s door, and go right on in. She asks, “What did you tell them?”
“Study date with Andi. On the phone.”
“That won’t buy you too much time.”
“I know.” I pace like a tiger in a too-small cage.
“Dude, you’re going to wear out my carpet. Sit down.” She pats the bed next to her. “I have an idea for you, for later. You need to get out after supper, right?” I nod. “He might have left by then, but if not, I’ll come down and give them some sob story about how I need you to help me with this essay I’m writing.”
“Who’s going to believe that you’d want help with an essay?” I moan. “You don’t give a flip about school.”
“Okay, okay. What then?” She closes her eyes and bites the inside of her cheek, her standard thinking pose. “Hmm. Wait. Maybe…yes. Genius.”
“What?”
“You tell him that after supper, you’re going with me to Bible study at a friend’s house. How can they argue with that?”
“Bible study. That has got to be the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard, Jana. You and me? Bible study?”
But after I go back downstairs (milking the “phone call” for a solid 45 minutes), it becomes clear that McFarland has no intentions of leaving. We polish off lunch, we talk about church issues, we talk about college. He manages to awkwardly find his way to the kitchen twice while I am alone (once getting water and once just trying to escape.) Dinnertime rolls around; Warren, who I know is fuming at the imposition, insists we order a pizza, which we do. It arrives, we eat it, and I watch nervously as the day slips into night.
Jana walks down the stairs looking for supper and I nod to her in what I hope will be a clear sign that yes, I was down for Bible study. She grabs a slice of pizza, folds it in half, and devours it, strings of cheese hanging from her lip. “Hey, so, Chris,” she says, her mouth full. “Isn’t it, like, six o’clock? We have that thing to go to, don’t we?”
“What thing?” David asks.
“Book club,” she says, smiling broadly. “I know, who would’ve thought that Chris and I would share a love of books, right? But we’re trying to bond, you know. Before he goes off and gets married or something.” Jana wipes her hands on a napkin, then grabs another piece of pizza. “So, we’d better go. We’re walking, right? Need to stay fit.” She pretends to stretch.
At this point, I want to kill her. It is so obvious that there’s some sort of scheme here that only an idiot would fail to see it. But David smiles. “Well, that’s really nice, Jana. I’m glad you and Chris are getting along so well.” He turns to McFarland. “See? They are just such blessings.”
Warren, who is draped over the sofa and clearly has a tequila buzz, grins at us. “Book club. What are you reading?”
Jana stares at me. I’m really the only one who ever picks up a book, so I blurt out the only thing I can
remember reading in school: “Night by Elie Wiesel.”
Warren sniffs. “A little light reading, huh? Well, godspeed kids. I prefer the romance genre, myself.”
That’s it. We’re free, as impossible as it seems. The three men start talking about some cooking-related thing, about some kinds of pans or something, as Jana and I slip out the back door. She squeals gleefully. “That was awesome!” she says. She kisses my cheek. “You go have fun.”
“Where are you going? Shouldn’t we come back together?”
She snorts. “I’m certainly not going with you. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”
“That’s not enough time—”
Jana puts a finger to my lips. “You can’t risk staying out too long. One hour. Tell her I said hello.” She skips with me to the end of the driveway, out of the circle of the porch light, then darts down the road toward town. I continue on into the thicket of trees.
I run through the field behind the house, breathe, breathe, try to be invisible. Focus in the dark, trying to find the path to that tree. Leaves crunch, cold wraps around me like a frozen coat. I stop, heart pounding.
“Chris?” A small voice whispers.
She’s there, huddled next to that tree, and I fall on her like waves on a beach. I drink in the scent, the feel of her hair, the softness and warmth of her skin, will my fingers to memorize the contour of her waist under a scratchy woolen sweater. “I didn’t know if you’d come,” she whispers. Her words are caresses.
“You knew I would.” How could I stay away? She’s my hope. The fire that burns in me now. She woke me up, and she’s here…still here. She isn’t running from this. From me. How could I ever run? How could I ever deny this?
I lift her into my lap, wrap my arms around her, settle my face in her neck as if it’s always meant to be there. I am so afraid and so full of joy, afraid to breathe and afraid not to breathe. I want to melt into her even as I want to run screaming from the woods, to pretend this was all a nightmare. But it’s also the most real dream I’ve ever had.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?” She looks up, the moonlight silvering her face.
“What do you want to do? When you grow up?”
She laughs. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
She inches up so the top of her head is at my chin. Her hair, all jasmine and woodsmoke, tickles my lips. “I guess….I always wanted to write. Books, you know.”
“Me too!” I stroke her hair. “But I don’t really write very much. I read a lot.”
“I love to read.” She snuggles closer. “Who’s your favorite?”
“Ray Bradbury.”
She sits up, startled. “Fahrenheit 451?”
“Absolutely. And The Chronicles of Narnia. I love those books.”
She laughs, delighted, as if I’ve given her a Christmas present. “I used to disappear into my mom’s walk-in closet, wishing Aslan would take me away,” she says. “I spent so much time in there. I started to smell like moth balls.”
It feels good to laugh with her, so good.
“What book would you be?” She asks. “I mean, if you had to memorize one, like in Fahrenheit?”
I blow my breath out, and see a cloud of steam in the starlight. “Wow. I don’t know. I haven’t ever thought of it. Have you?”
“Yes.” She grins. “I’d be a Jane Austen book.”
“Ah.” I touch her cheek. “A romantic.”
“She said, ‘What is right to be done cannot be done too soon’.” Her smile eases into a thoughtful, worried expression. “The problem is knowing what is right, isn’t it?”
When I look at her, there is no doubt in my mind about what’s right. I could pretend to forget when she’s not there, just a little, but with her bright eyes and her…her essence there in my hands, I can’t ignore it. This is right. I glance up toward the house; I feel my body slump against the tree.
She follows my line of sight to my back porch. “He’s there, isn’t he?” She pushes me away slightly so she can see my face. “McFarland?”
In sparse moonlight, her face is a tapestry of shadow and light. “Yeah he’s there. I made an excuse to get out. I can’t stay long.”
She holds me at arm’s length. “Jana told you? About the group? The plan?”
“Yes,” I murmur, pulling her to me. Press a kiss to her lips, drink in the smooth, soft wetness of her tongue, stroke the silk of her hair. But she stops me again.
“And?”
“And what?”
“What are you going to do?” She gazes intently at me, eyes shining silver.
“You mean, am I going to lure him into a trap and run away with you?” I settle back against the rough bark. “Are you thinking it’s a bad idea?”
“No.” She shakes her head, smiles lazily, caresses my cheek with one finger, and that alone sends electricity zinging into my chest, into my pants. Desire, swift and undeniable, washes over me; I don’t want to control it.
“It is a bad idea, probably.”
She nods and smiles. “Where are you supposed to be right now?”
“Book club. You?”
“Meditating.” She lightly kisses my lips, soft, so soft. “So, Mister Bryant, you’re willing to leave all this and run away with a perfect stranger?”
“Perfect. That’s true.” I absently caress her hair. “I’ve never felt like this, about anybody.”
She turns, grins at me. “You mean like stars are zipping around inside your veins?”
“Yes.” I kiss her lightly. “Exactly like that.” I gaze at her silhouette. “I don’t even know what you like, or really anything about you. Isn’t that weird?”
She grins. “No. Not weird. Love isn’t facts. But anything you want to know…just ask.”
I laugh. “I should know the basics, at least. When’s your birthday?”
“October 8th.” She tilts her head sideways. “Yours?”
“April 15th. Tax day.” She laughs, which is the best music. “David planned it that way.”
She caresses my face. “Who was your first?”
“My first what?”
She smiles shyly and turns away. “You know.”
“Oh.” My face feels hot. “Uh…I guess I don’t have one. What about you?”
Her eyes shine, reflecting moonlight. “I was hoping it might be you.”
We’re quiet then, and I concentrate on the patterns in the night sky. “Are we making a huge mistake?”
She doesn’t answer immediately, but clutches my hand more tightly. Finally, she whispers, “I’ve spent my whole life afraid. If the only way I can stop being afraid is to run away, I’ll do it. What is right to be done cannot be done too soon,” She frames my face in her two small hands. “Romeo and Juliet got married in three days.”
“Look what happened to them.”
She laughs, sweet music. Then she looks more serious.
“Their world killed them,” she says. “Their world wouldn’t let them be together, even though they knew from the first time they touched. I think I love you, Chris. I really do. I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen, and I don’t want this world to kill us.” She kisses me, and I melt into the warm sweetness of her breath, her lips, her body. After several heartbeats, she whispers, “This could be our last night together.”
My heart picks up. She slides a hand down my body, and I tense. Sweat breaks out on my brow.
“I want to,” she whispers. Her hand dips below my waist.
“You want to what?”
She lifts the sweater over her head, revealing nothing but round, creamy breasts, perfectly formed, pink rosebud nipples that harden in the cold night. “Oh,” I manage to say weakly, staring. “You want to…”
“Yes.” She folds her legs around me, and any resolve I felt melts away.
“I…I don’t know how,” I whisper, panicked. “We shouldn’t--”
She grabs my shirt, pulls it recklessly over my head, and she rubs against me, warmth on warmt
h, skin on skin. God…I’m going to explode right now. I can’t stop. I’m caught up in the moment; she’s right. I could die for what I’m about to do. We could be caught…I can’t die a virgin.
She tugs at my jeans, pulls at them desperately, shoves me against the tree, and straddles me, a conquering princess.
Sinking into her, plunging into the unbearable warm electric sweetness, holding her to me, melting into her so I can’t tell where her skin begins and mine ends. She moves, dancing so slowly, covering my neck and face with kisses, swipes of her cotton candy tongue, breath in my ear, shining curtain of hair brushing my chest. She moves faster, faster, and my world is only this, this moment, this space, this amber sunset electric haze wave of love and longing and all the desire I’ve never felt in this world, pushing, pushing, harder, harder, until we arch into the night sky, sending sparks flying across star trails, grasping, sweating, clinging—breathing slows, a bit at a time, like music on the carousel, slower, slower, until we stop, stay, stay, willing a moment to stay frozen.
I hold her. She holds me. Warm salt tears, hers, tickle my chest, catch the cold in the air, and I imagine they freeze into diamonds. “Please,” she whispers.
I kiss her forehead.
“Please. Let’s go. Let’s just run away right now. Forget McFarland. Forget everyone. Let’s go.”
“No.” I know now. I understand.
This isn’t wrong. My body can’t lie. God made me this way. This is right; we fit. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m telling the truth.
Chapter 9
“When can I see you again?” I whisper into her hair.
She moans. “Let’s just stay here and build a tree fort.” She checks her phone. “We’ve been here too long already. You go first.”
“What are we doing to do?”
Carmen smiles, and gazes into my eyes. “We’re going to be together soon. I think we need to be really careful before then. God, I want to see you—I want to disappear with you into a hole in the ground and just….but we have work to do. So, until then...” She lightly kisses the tip of my nose. “Here.” She presses something into my hand.