“I’ll bet you were.” I dragged myself up the four small steps.
“I had no idea you and Adam were such good friends,” she purred. Adam shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“I think you’ve been misinformed. We barely know each other.” My tone was ice. “Maybe you should vet your sources a little better.”
Jasmine threw her head back and gave her trademark shrill cackle. “Oh, poor Charli. You just can’t catch a break can you?”
I knew exactly what she was referring to – and it made me want to crush her like a bug.
Adam seemed to be having trouble understanding my about-face. “Charli, please sit down,” he said politely, motioning to a chair next to him.
“Yes, go ahead. I was leaving anyway,” said Jasmine, as if I needed her permission.
“No, I’m not staying,” I said.
Adam groaned. We’d been down this road before. I didn’t know how not to hurt him when flee-itis set in. I just wished it wasn’t playing out in front of a Beautiful.
“Of course you’re not staying,” he said. “You’re going to run away.”
Content that her evil work was done, Jasmine smiled. “I’m just going to leave you two to it,” she said, and tottered down the steps in her dangerously high heels.
Neither of us acknowledged her. Neither of us even looked at her. The look Adam gave me wasn’t kind, and I deserved it.
“Sit down, Charlotte.”
I sat.
“I can’t believe that’s its only just occurred to me that all the time we spend together is alone – which suits me fine. The problem is, I’ve been so wrapped up in you that I never realised we were hiding. I’ve just endured twenty minutes of interrogation from Jasmine.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing scandalous,” he said, matching my sore tone. “You never told me this was supposed to be a secret.”
“It’s not a secret.”
Adam pulled in a deep breath through his nose. “You’re reckless and impulsive, yet guarded and secretive at the same time. You can’t have it both ways.”
“You don’t know what she’s capable of,” I warned.
“Do you seriously think she’d ever get the best of me? I don’t think so, Charli.”
“You wouldn’t even see it coming.”
He shook his head, muttering something under his breath.
“Jasmine Tate is a twin,” I told him, right out of left field.
“Lily and Jasmine are twins?”
I shook my head. “She has a twin brother. His name is Mitchell and he is the reason I’m so jaded and mean a lot of the time.”
“I’m sorry Charli, but for what it’s worth, she never mentioned a word about it.”
“No, of course she didn’t. She’s saving it for another day.”
Adam reached across the table for my hand but I pulled away. “Beat her to it.” His tone was rough, like he was daring me to be brave.
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re worried about her telling me something, tell me yourself,” he urged.
I wished I could say there was nothing to tell. I hated that I had to suffer the indignity of explaining it to him, but if I didn’t, he might finally break and wash his hands of me.
The Tate family lived in a majestic-looking house on a huge vineyard on the south side of town. Their father had made his fortune producing wines that rivalled the best in the country. The Beautifuls seemed to think they were society debutantes because of it.
Mitchell was nothing like his sisters; his ideas were different. He moved into a shack on the property as soon as his parents, allowed. The epitome of free-spiritedness, he wanted to conquer the world by surfing every beach on it. He never played by the rules, never cared much about consequences; and I gravitated towards him because of it.
Our relationship was tricky to define. It was like a strange dance, always stepping sideways and never quite meeting in the middle.
When he and his best friend Ethan decided to embark on a journey around the world with nothing more than a couple of hundred dollars in their pockets, I had no right to object. We were friends and nothing more. But in the days before he left, when the excitement in him was brewing, the total hopelessness of it all started to crush me. I didn’t want him to leave. I toyed with the idea that it might have been because I loved him. Looking back, I think it was just that I needed to have him around.
The single biggest regret of my life occurred on the day before he left. I lied to Alex, telling him I was staying at Nicole’s, and headed to Mitchell’s place after school, convinced that I could make him stay.
“I was dumb enough to think I was enough to hold him here,” I told Adam.
“So you told him how you felt?”
I looked across the table at him, wondering how I was going to tell him I’d done something much worse.
“I spent the night in his bed – as if that was the very best I had to offer.” I paused, expecting him to stand up and leave. But he didn’t. I sucked in a sharp breath and continued. “I gave him every single part of me and he left anyway.” I looked into his eyes, expecting to see the revulsion I felt for myself. All I saw was concern. He was honestly good to the core. “His sisters found out. The whole town knew before I even got home.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That must have been horrible.”
“My name was mud. My name is still mud. It was a stupid thing to do and the only one who regretted it more than I did was Mitchell.”
“How do you know that?”
“Mitchell told Ethan, and goodness knows who else. Ethan told Nicole that he’d called me one of the biggest mistakes of his life.” I was surprised by how much it still hurt to say it out loud. “So now you know. Pieces of me aren’t missing. They’ve been smashed up.”
Adam reached across the table, palm up. I couldn’t respond. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“How heavy is your head, Charli?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re always claiming to know what I’m thinking. Your head must be so heavy, weighed down by both our thoughts.”
“I’d much rather guess your thoughts than hear them right now,” I muttered.
“Tough. I’m going to tell you exactly what I’m thinking.”
I closed my eyes, and braced myself for the worst. He was too smart not to figure this out. I was damaged.
“Firstly, I’m annoyed with myself for being so polite to Jasmine. I was under the impression that she was just classless and dim-witted. I had no idea she could be so vile and cruel. Secondly, I’ll never believe you again when you tell me that you lack courage.”
I opened my eyes, confused, and focused on his dimple, unable to meet his eyes.
“I’m going to foul this up, Adam. I just know it.” My voice took on a strange edge of panic.
He leaned across the small table. “I’m not going to let us mess it up. If you want to keep this quiet, we will. And if you should change your mind and decide that you’re ready for the world to know how crazy I am about you, I’ll be there, shouting it from the highest point in town.”
When I wasn’t concentrating, I had a stupid habit of saying exactly what I was thinking. “You won’t have far to go. Gabrielle’s house is the highest point.”
“Great,” he quipped. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
I slid my chair back. “I have to go. I’m supposed to be working.”
Adam caught my hand as I passed him. “You’re so much more beautiful when you’re not tearing yourself to shreds, Charli,” he said quietly.
“I’ll try to remember that,” I promised.
8. Penguin King
The perfect weather managed to hold into the late afternoon. The fading sun left a bright pink streak across the cloudless sky. It would have been the perfect summer evening except that it was freezing and the end of June.
We turned off the main highway and negotiated the fou
r small side streets to get to Gabrielle’s home. The car crawled to a stop at the end of the short driveway, right in front of the pretty seaside cottage.
Nearly two weeks had passed since she’d made her invitation. Adam mentioned it only once. I made a vague promise to think about it, but in truth I thought about little else. The easiest way to simplify my time with Adam was to call a truce with Gabrielle. Shipping Jasmine Tate to the Sahara Desert would also have been simplifying – and possibly easier to do.
Gabrielle’s home was a small white brick house with a weathered red tin roof, neatly trimmed lawn and fussy cottage garden, full of plants that would have been bursting with flowers if the season was right. It looked like a fairy-tale cottage. I wondered how Snow White would feel knowing that a wicked witch had moved into her house, then felt guilty for the thought.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Adam, snapping me back to attention.
“Fairy tales actually. Do you know Snow White?”
“Not personally, no.”
“Hmm, you’re definitely not royalty then,” I replied, making him snicker.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Can we set some ground rules first?”
“Its just dinner, Charli. Do we really need rules?”
“Please?” My voice was pathetic and whiny but it seemed to work.
“What are the rules?” he asked, giving in immediately.
“Don’t leave me alone with her.”
“Fine.”
“And no speaking French. I’ll automatically assume you’re talking about me.”
“Anything else?”
I thought hard, making sure all my demands were covered. “No, that’s it.”
“Great. Can we go inside now?”
“I’m not sure I want to do this.”
“What happened to your courage?”
“You promised I wouldn’t need any courage. It’s just dinner right?”
“Exactly. So let’s go inside.” I studied his impatient face. He knew I was being ridiculous. I knew it too.
“Fine.” I surrendered.
***
Adam took my coat as I shrugged it off. My eyes darted around the front room, trying to take in as much as I could before the Parisienne appeared.
The cottage seemed much bigger than it looked from the outside. It was light and airy, with white walls and oak floorboards. Huge windows on the east wall boasted a view of the ocean. The sun cast a pink glow over the room and combined with the warmth of the open fire; I couldn’t help feeling a little more at ease.
Gabrielle breezed into the room, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Hello.” She smiled. “I’m so glad you could make it, Charli.”
I wondered if she thought I wouldn’t come. I knocked all prejudices aside, determined to play nice. “Thanks,” I replied, forcing a smile.
Gabrielle’s demeanour gave nothing away. The only hint of nervousness she showed was the fact that she was still wringing her hands on the tea towel. “I hope you don’t mind eating early. I teach an art class on Thursday nights so I have to leave at eight.”
“No, it’s fine.” I meant it. I welcomed anything that would make this ordeal shorter. Maybe she did too and that was why she had suggested I come over that particular night. “What sort of art classes do you teach?”
My intrigue was genuine. I wasn’t surprised that she was artistic – every fibre of her being screamed artfulness.
“Gabi’s a painter,” Adam announced proudly. It was the first time I’d ever heard him shorten her name. He pointed to a wall of framed paintings. “Those are all hers.”
Most of the paintings were landscapes. Some were places I recognised; others were places I had only dreamed about. They were undeniably beautiful and I stood staring at them for too long to pretend to be unimpressed.
“These are amazing,” I exclaimed.
“Thank you. It’s just a hobby.”
“You’re very talented.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, sounding embarrassed. “Please, excuse me for a minute while I check on dinner.”
I turned my attention back to the paintings. Adam stood behind me. “So what about you?” I murmured, “Are you artistic?” I knew he was perfect, strong and brilliant, but I’d never figured out what made him that way. My photography and my love of the ocean were my bliss. It bothered me that I didn’t know his.
“Not at all,” he replied at once.
“So what do you do, Adam? What’s your bliss?”
“He studies too much, and he reads,” said Gabrielle as she laid dinner plates on the table. “And when he’s not doing that he’s running up the beach or doing some other excruciating form of exercise.”
“Gabrielle, tais-toi, d’accord?” hissed Adam. I nailed him with my glare, reminding him of our ground rules.
“You promised,” I whispered.
Gabrielle giggled. “What did you promise her, Adam?” she asked, concentrating on the table setting.
“He promised me that you would only speak English tonight.” I kept my eyes fixed firmly on Adam’s, too intimidated by Gabrielle to look at her. “I don’t understand French and I don’t speak French. I am my French teacher’s worst nightmare.”
Gabrielle took me completely by surprise by laughing. “You have no idea.” She changed the subject tactfully. “I cooked salmon, Charli. I hope you like fish.”
“It’s my favourite actually,” I replied, completely truthfully.
“Adam, why don’t you show Charli around?” suggested Gabrielle. We walked down the hallway and he paused at a door, ushering me ahead of him.
“This is your room?”
He nodded.
It looked too lived in to be a guest room. To the left was a wooden desk, roughly painted white in keeping with the rest of Gabrielle’s shabby-chic furniture. It was scattered with heavy textbooks and well-worn novels.
“So this is what you do with all your spare time?” I asked, thumbing through a thick book.
“Somewhat,” he replied.
“You’re on holiday. You study on holiday?”
“Some of the time.”
I set the book back down and moved towards the window.
“What else do you do?” I quizzed, pulling the curtain to peek outside.
“Not much. It’s a very small town.”
I smiled at him and he smiled back before quickly looking away. “You must do something, Adam.”
“Do you really want to know what I do?”
I nodded.
“I count down the minutes until I can see you. I have even resorted to watching daytime soap operas just to distract myself.” He looked sheepish.
“Soap operas?” I grinned.
“And cooking shows,” he added, making me laugh.
“You need a hobby,” I teased.
“I have one in mind. I’ll show you if you’d like,” he said.
The fact that we were in Gabrielle’s house changed nothing about the way my body reacted when he came near me. My knees went to mush and I was sure that she could hear my heart from the kitchen.
“It’s outside,” he murmured, planting a kiss on my lips, so soft that I couldn’t be sure he’d actually touched me.
We bypassed Gabrielle by sneaking out the back door. Adam led me across the lawn to a shed in the back corner. The shed – not much smaller than the house – was in a terrible state of repair. The corrugated iron structure was rusty, and I was doubtful that he could open the door without it falling off. He proved me wrong, and flipped the old-fashioned light switch.
“A boat?” I choked in disbelief. “You bought a boat?” I ran my hand along the hull.
He laughed. “Apparently she came with the house. I’m thinking of restoring her.”
The old wooden sloop, perched on dodgy wooden trestles, looked to be about five metres long and was covered in layers of weathered blue paint. A messy pile of rigging and an ancient mast lay on the ground.
He was certainly ambitious.
“What do you know about boat restoration?”
He walked around the structure, running his hand along the gunwales. “Absolutely nothing. But I’m a fast learner.”
I didn’t doubt him for a second. “Do you know anything about boats in general?”
“My dad used to take my brother and me sailing when we were kids. Nothing as grand as this old maiden, though.” He patted the boat, gazing at it with the same expression he liked to stun me with.
“You can sail in New York?”
The surprise in my voice made him laugh. “You can sail in New York,” he confirmed. “I’ll take you sailing on the Hudson someday,” he promised, stepping sideways and taking me with him. He danced me around the dilapidated old shed, waltzing to silent music, laughing. “Down to Battery Park, past Ellis Island and across to the Statue of Liberty.”
“We can do that?”
Our dance slowed to a stop. “I’m pretty sure we can do anything, Charlotte,” he whispered, before leaning in to kiss me.
Even the softest kisses he bestowed on me burned down to the tips of my toes. Finally we broke apart, because we had to – wooden boats were flammable too.
“Did you know this boat is special?” I asked, pointing in the general direction of the boat behind me as I tried to regulate my breathing.
He chipped a few flecks of paint off with his fingers. “It will be, as soon as I can get all of this paint off.”
“It’s already special.”
Adam’s attention turned back to me. I never got tired of seeing him smile.
“I get the distinct impression that you know something I don’t, Charli.” His formal vocabulary didn’t surprise me anymore.
“Call it a hunch,” I said, grinning. I’m sure my lack of refinement when it came to choosing my words didn’t surprise him either.
Spotting a crate full of old tools, I picked up a screwdriver. Scraping it along the side of the boat, I peeled away layers of paint.
“Charlotte.” Adam groaned. “Please don’t hurt the boat.”
“Underneath the paint it’s almost perfect. No rot or decay…strange for an old boat like this, don’t you think?” I ran my fingers along the wounded wood.
“What does that mean?”