Pearls of wisdom by Ms. Hove:
Although physically you may feel ready for sex, sex can have significant emotional consequences. And because no two people are alike, teens should never rely on their friends’ opinions when deciding if the time is right. Having sex to impress someone or make your friends happy is bound to make you feel bad about yourself in the long run. Your own personal feelings and values are what matter most! Be true to yourself!!!
Up ahead, at the end of the hallway, Vivien saw Miranda and Charlie waiting for her at her locker. Something about the look on their faces made her hold back, pretending to be otherwise occupied as she checked the messages on her phone. This delay tactic was only temporary, however, and soon enough she was forced to acknowledge their presence.
“Are you guys waiting for me?” she asked.
“Yes. We’re staging an intervention,” Miranda informed her.
“A what?”
“An intervention,” Charlie repeated. “You know, a little chat to make you aware of your behavior.”
She exchanged textbooks and kicked the locker door closed with her foot. “I know what an intervention is; I just don’t get how it applies to me.”
“The fact is,” Miranda said with practiced solemnity, “we never see you anymore. Have you completely dropped us or what?”
She glanced up at the clock and fought the beginnings of an anxiety attack. If she didn’t wrap this up quickly, she was going to be late. “I wasn’t purposely avoiding you.”
“Well, we’re making you aware, right?” Charlie glanced at Miranda for approval. “Vivs, come on!” she pleaded. “We miss you.”
She felt a guilty twinge. Had she really lost touch with them? One way or another it always ended up being the four of them: Lauren and Nathan, Declan and herself. Now she could suddenly see it from their perspective. “I’m sorry, guys.” She reached out to touch Charlie on the shoulder. “I’ve just been busy lately. I’m sorry if you felt I was ignoring you.”
Charlie smiled, but Miranda looked skeptical. “Somehow you always have time for Declan and Lauren.”
“Yeah, I know but…” A wave of annoyance washed over her. “Weren’t you the one who was pushing me to get together with him in the first place?”
Miranda shrugged. “Obviously a mistake on my part. How was I to know that as soon as you had him you’d instantly ditch us? I never figured you for that kind of girl.”
“That is so not fair!”
Rolling her eyes, Miranda started off down the hallway, pulling Charlie along with her. “Whatever.”
Vivien quickly followed. “Hey! Wait a minute! What kind of intervention is this, anyway? You two accuse me of stuff and then just give up and walk away? What about the part where you offer me comfort and support? You’re supposed to try to help me!”
Miranda stopped and turned to face her. “It just hurts. It hurts that you don’t see it. That you didn’t even seem to miss us, like, at all.”
“I said I was sorry.” The bell rang for sixth hour. She could hardly stand still. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
Miranda hesitated. “I don’t know…make time for your friends. Your other friends.”
“I will. I promise,” she said, backing away. In truth, she was horrified Miranda had called her that kind of girl. Had she changed that much? She felt exactly the same as before. Except so much better. She felt happy, and loved. How could this be wrong? Why couldn’t she just enjoy it, without people like Miranda and Nathan trying to bring her down?
It seemed like no matter what she did, she could never win.
West Side Story was opening to a packed house. Vivien and Declan pushed their way through the crowd of students and parents and settled down in their seats. Lauren and Nathan had yet to arrive.
As she studied the playbill, she noted the names of people she knew and discussed their anticipated level of talent with Declan. Having seen previous performances, she knew that some of the students had virtually professional-caliber voices.
Long before Nathan’s bobbing blond head appeared at the end of their row, he could be heard calling out to friends he knew. The couple proceeded to bump their way down the aisle, knocking people’s knees and forcing them to leap to their feet. She took a deep breath and tried to quell the early stages of Nathan-hating that seemed to surface whenever he showed up.
“’Sup?” Nathan mumbled once he’d reached them. In his effort to high-five Declan, his jacket zipper slapped Vivien square in the face. “Vivs,” he said, completely oblivious.
She gritted her teeth. Why did he insist on calling her that?
“Wait!” Lauren called out. “Switch with me, Nathan! I want to sit next to Vivien.”
The auditorium lights flickered, indicating the show was about to begin.
“Sit down!” someone called from behind.
“Eff off!” Nathan said. He took Lauren’s place, settling his feet comfortably on the seat back in front of him. The occupant turned and gave him a dirty look but said nothing.
“Hey, Vivs!” Lauren whispered breathily. Her eyes seemed exceptionally large and her smile stayed glued to her lips. The aroma of beer and bubblegum wafted past Vivien’s nose. “You guys are coming to Nathan’s after, right?”
“Um…”
The lights dimmed for good this time as the curtain slowly rose and she shifted in her seat, leaning as close to Declan as she could.
He grabbed her hand and placed his mouth over her ear. “Hope this doesn’t suck.”
As it turned out, the production was impressive, from the singing right down to the costume design. At intermission the four of them stood up and stretched.
“Well. That was…interesting,” Nathan commented. He turned around to glare at his seat. “My ass is killing me. This seat’s a piece of crap.”
Lauren yawned. “I’m sleepy,” she announced. “I’m gonna go grab a Diet Coke.”
“Get me something, will ya?” Nathan said.
“I’ll come with,” Declan said, sliding past Vivien.
Before she knew what was happening, she and Nathan were alone. He took a step toward her and fell back lazily into Lauren’s vacant spot. “Take a load off, Vivs,” he told her, gesturing toward the seat beside him.
She said nothing and remained where she was.
Nathan shrugged. “Enjoying the show?”
“Sure. It’s good.”
“Be a lot less of a snooze if Tony and Maria would loosen up and get it on. Who is that chick playing Maria? She’s hot.”
“Abby Scott. She was Ariel in The Little Mermaid last year.”
But Nathan wasn’t listening. “So tell me…how’re you gettin’ along?” he asked. “You know, with our little arrangement?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean have you given up on your delusions? About what went on at Riley’s?”
Her mouth fell open as she searched for a stinging comeback. “Have you? I’d have to say you’re just as delusional.”
“Is that so?” He smiled. “Say what you want, but I’m a man of my word.”
His coolness was unnatural. She, on the other hand, was starting to sweat. She moved cautiously onto the edge of the seat and said, “I have a great idea. Let’s just forget the whole thing.”
He looked at her with surprise. “Now why would we do that?”
“Because. It’s stupid. This whole thing is just…stupid. It makes no sense.”
Nathan said nothing.
“It was a big misunderstanding,” she went on. “That’s all.”
He thought about this. “I’m confused. Are we talking about you? Or me?”
“Both,” she told him, hoping to put an end to it once and for all.
He paused again. “I’m not so sure.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not so sure you’re right. About the ‘big misunderstanding’ part.”
She tried to speak but her mout
h was dry.
“You see, while you pretend to be looking out for your friend, I truly am. Declan’s my bro. It’s my job to make sure you don’t screw him over. Not to mention I know a little something about human nature, and…”
She waited for him to go on. Waited an exasperatingly long time. “And what?”
“You and Frenchie have something going on.”
She gasped despite herself. Nathan grinned. “He’s sitting right behind you, ya know. Over there.” He pointed.
Unable to stop herself, she turned to look. Lo and behold, there was Christophe, roughly ten rows behind, sandwiched between two teachers from the foreign language department.
“He keeps looking over here. At you.”
“He does not.”
He shook his head in amusement. “Man, are you in denial, or what?”
“I—”
“I’ve got your number. That’s all there is to it.” His expression changed. “Hey, I almost forgot.” Arching his back, he reached into his pocket. “Brought you something.” He took her hand, pressing a small square package into her palm. “Hope you’re being careful. It’s always a good idea to have protection handy.”
She looked down and sucked in a breath when she saw what his gift actually was. Panicked, she checked around to see if anyone had seen and shoved the thing into her jeans.
“Wait. Hold up,” Nathan said, shaking his head. “That was mine.” Fishing around once again, he handed her what looked to be a tube of lipstick. “Pepper spray,” he explained. “I think you’re gonna need it.”
Anger and humiliation bubbled up inside of her. She opened her mouth, but now Lauren and Declan were making their way back down the aisle. With no other alternative, she dumped the pepper spray in her purse and pretended to be lost in the playbill.
Declan slid past her and handed her a box of peanut M&M’s. “Gotcha these if you’re hungry.”
She took the box, noticing a slight tremor in her hand. “Thanks.”
The second half of the musical was even better than the first and Vivien found herself temporarily transported to the streets of New York City, to the world of the Jets and the Sharks and the more intimate space of Tony and Maria’s love, nearly tearing up when Tony was murdered on the playground.
“That was so sad,” she said, once the lights were back on. The story reminded her of her sessions with Christophe. She snuck a look behind to see what he was doing (had he really been staring at her?), but the seat was empty and he was nowhere to be seen.
Nathan intruded on her thoughts, thrusting his face between Declan and her, saying, “So dude, if you wanna stop by, that’s cool. The ’rents are out tonight.”
Declan shot a cautious look in her direction before answering. “Yeah…uh, we’ll see you there in a few.”
Nathan patted her roughly on the shoulder. “Stellar idea for a Saturday night, Vivs.” Then he and Lauren headed off down the aisle.
“Ready?” Declan said. He stood waiting, her trusty bomber jacket held out for her.
“Yeah. Super. Let’s go to Nathan’s.”
They held hands as they walked through the parking lot. Once inside the car, Declan cranked up the heat and rubbed his hands together. “Cold,” he said.
“Uh huh,” she agreed through chattering teeth.
After they’d been on the road a few minutes she turned to Declan. “So…what’d you think? Did you like it?”
“I liked it.” He nodded reassuringly. “It doesn’t really matter what I do, though. As long as I’m with you.”
She laughed. “Who prepped you for the dating scene with all the corny lines? Patrick?”
“Nah.” He grinned. “I come up with these gems all on my own. What’s the matter? You don’t like ’em?”
“On the contrary. I love them.”
He smiled again. “Stop giving me shit, then.”
She gazed out her window as they waited at the red light. The Lakeview strip mall was still hopping. Several clusters of Eastbrook students were scurrying out of their cars into China Delight for a post-musical snack. Next door a girl was locking up at Summer Glow, the local tanning/piercing parlor.
“Do you think love can be more…more intense, in a different kind of place?” she asked, out of the blue. Christophe’s seductive talk about death and ecstasy was finally getting to her.
Declan looked over at her, perplexed. “I’m not sure I get the question.”
“Like Romeo and Juliet. Like how they have this love that’s amazing but not possible…on earth as we know it. Their only chance at eternal love is to find it in another world.” She paused. “In death.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy, Vivien. Do you know what a tragedy is?”
“Of course I know what a tragedy is.”
“A tragedy,” he went on nonetheless, “is an expression of human suffering. The lead character usually makes a bunch of really bad decisions that lead to disaster in the end.” He checked to see if she was listening. “So please tell me how a disaster—like being dead, for instance—could possibly make love better?”
“Aren’t you the expert,” she said. He shrugged. “But you’re missing the point.”
“Enlighten me, please.”
She sighed. “In art, nothing is black and white. The lines are blurred. And sometimes you can see a certain beauty in something that would otherwise be not so beautiful.”
He frowned. “So now death is beautiful.”
“No, see, you’re doing it right now. You’re labeling things in black and white. Death can be…seductive, alluring, mysterious…a whole bunch of things. We don’t really know, do we?”
“I think I do. How about bad, scary, painful…?”
“Yes. Yes. That too.”
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “When I read Romeo and Juliet, I was pretty much thinking they acted like a bunch of idiots in the end. They totally blew any chance of being happy together.”
She was silent. Then she said, “You don’t think maybe their love was…consummated…in death?”
He gave her a strange look. “As in sex?”
She was thankful the low light in the car hid her blush. “…yeah, kind of. They were able, finally, to be…complete. The idea is so romantic! Only in death can their desires be fulfilled,” she murmured.
“Where’s all this coming from?”
The question snapped her out of her trance. She laughed nervously. “An opera, Tristan und Isolde. I read it.”
“You’re reading operas in your spare time?” He waited. “I’m sorry, but no matter how you try and spin it, dying just plain sucks!”
“Believe me,” she answered quietly, “I know that already.”
“Shit! That didn’t come out the way I—”
“It’s OK. I get what you were trying to say. I guess I was just feeling…it was dumb.”
“It wasn’t dumb. But I’m not planning on waiting ’til I die to experience eternal love.”
His words hung in silence.
“Hey, Declan,” she said suddenly, “let’s not go to Nathan’s. My mom’s out tonight. There’s no one there.”
He lifted his gaze from the road ahead, staring at her intently for such a length of time as to make her nervous for their safety. “You’re sure?” he said finally.
She nodded, chewing on her lower lip.
He continued to study her as he signaled left and altered directions. “Guess Lauren and Nate’ll have to fend for themselves tonight.”
“What’re you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Vivien replied. “I’m lighting the fire. I thought we could hang out here in the family room. It’ll be more cozy.”
Declan nodded, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the sofa. “OK. A fire sounds good.”
She cranked the knob to the left and instantly the bright orange and yellow flames leapt to life.
“You’re not actually lighting it, you know. You’re turn
ing it on. I’ll bet you have absolutely no idea how to build a fire, am I right?” He walked over and stood next to her. “It requires these long brown objects one can find outdoors. I believe they call them logs.”
“Very funny. I’ll have you know we have bonfires every summer. At Miranda’s lake house. So…so I’ve watched someone build a fire.”
“Right.”
“I suppose you know how, though?”
“Sure. It’s easy.”
“You say that about everything.”
“Yeah, well…” He shrugged.
“Easy for you, maybe,” she muttered, throwing a blanket and two sofa pillows on the floor. She patted the space beside her. “Make yourself comfortable. You want anything to drink?” She ticked off the choices on her fingers. “Diet ginger ale, diet cola, reduced-sodium tomato juice, and coconut water.” Declan made a face. “Don’t ask me. My mother swears the coconut water burns calories or something.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.” He lowered himself down beside her, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I like this.”
“Tell me more about your brothers,” she said after a moment. “Your stories are so funny.”
“Like what?”
“What it was it like being the youngest in such a big family?” She’d always wanted to be part of a big family. More brothers and sisters meant you’d never be alone.
“I got the shit kicked out of me on a regular basis, that’s what it was like,” he told her. But after a moment of proper reflection he managed to come up with several entertaining stories about his youth. Like the time his brothers took him to the county fair but forgot to bring him home (he did get to ride in a police cruiser, though, which elevated him to supercool status among all the other seven-year-olds in the neighborhood). Or the time Patrick and his friends bet him ten bucks he couldn’t eat a stick of butter (which he promptly threw up, but won the cash anyway). Or the time he and his brothers snuck away from the dinner table at the country club, deciding on the spur of the moment to construct an obstacle course in the lobby. “You don’t have to be a genius to recognize that scenario wasn’t going to end well,” he chuckled.
“What happened?”
“Well, I was actually winning—at least that’s how I remember it—’cause I was small enough to crawl under all the chairs and stuff. But then at the end of the course, we had to jump off the highest point on the stairs, over two footstools and some tree-like plant…and, well, let’s just say the tree was my downfall.”
“Wow. I can’t believe your older brothers made you do that.”
“Oh yeah, they thought it was hilarious. Until I got up and my arm was bent in the wrong direction. Needless to say, our parents were not pleased.”
She half gasped, half smiled. “You sure were an accident-prone kid. How many different times were you in a cast?”
“I don’t know.” He did some mental calculations. “At least five.”
“Boys,” she said.
He shrugged innocently. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Any good accidents as a kid?”
“Good?”
“Yeah, you know…ass-kicking…wicked awesome. That kind.”
“Well, I got stitches. Twice. Once on the back of my head”—she spun away and pointed—“when Marty McCullen ran into me on the playground. With his teeth.”
“And just why exactly did this Marty kid sink his teeth into the back of your head? Was he part vampire or something?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “He was running and yelling at the same time, I guess. And he wasn’t looking where he was going. He never even said he was sorry.”
“Stupid Marty McCullen.”
“Stupid Marty,” she agreed. “The second time, Charlie and I were jumping back and forth between her twin beds. I missed and hit my eyebrow. See?” She tapped over her eye. “I’ve got a scar. There’s no hair there.” She checked his expression for approval. Her face fell slightly. “Not quite ass-kicking, are they?”
“Nah,” he agreed. “But they’re cute.”
“Cute?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “In a girly kind of way.”
“You!” She gave him a shove. He pretended to fall onto his back as she spun around and straddled him, sitting smugly directly over his groin.
“Ugh,” he choked. “Could you maybe scoot down an inch or two?”
She readjusted. “Better?”
“Much. Whew!” He flopped his arms to the sides in mock submission. “I never knew you were so quick. So tough.”
“Oh, I am,” she boasted. “Keep that in mind the next time you want to call me girly.”
“But you are a girl, right?” He reached up and grabbed her hands, sandwiching them firmly between his own. “God, I hope so, or...”
“Or what?” She fought against him, attempting to push his arms down, but they wouldn’t budge.
“Or I’ll have to execute you,” he said determinedly. “I must defend my honor. I’m a man’s man, in case you hadn’t noticed. I can’t have that kind of thing getting around.”
Their little wrestling match continued. “Oooh, I was hoping you were secure enough in your manhood to cross the line now and then. I like a guy who’s not afraid to wear pink. A guy who watches Olympic figure skating—and likes it.” She raised an eyebrow. “No?”
He suddenly slipped out from beneath her, toppling her and pinning her arms to the floor. “Not a chance.”
She looked up in surprise.
“Now make me some food, woman. I’m hungry.”
His face was serious. And he did look hungry. But she suspected it wasn’t for food. They were both breathing quickly. At last she smiled. “Are you really?”
He relaxed his hold. “Well…what’ve you got besides coconut water?”
“Veggie burgers? Melba toast? Carrots and hummus?”
He looked at her as if she’d just rattled off a list of toxic ingredients.
“How about a sandwich?” she said. “We have some turkey and lettuce and stuff.”
“Real turkey?”
She grinned. “Yes. Real turkey. Now if you’re finished with your testosterone show, could you kindly get off? I can’t breathe.”
He jumped to his feet, pulling her up with him. “Don’t act like you weren’t impressed. You never saw it coming.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not clueless. I took a self-defense class at the Y.”
He looked her up and down. “Really. What do you weigh—ninety? Ninety-five pounds?”
“Never ask a girl how much she weighs.”
“My point is,” he said, suddenly serious, “it doesn’t matter how many classes you take. You’ll never be a badass.”
She tried to reply, but he spoke over her. “I mean it. Any dude who’s got a pair could have his way with you in less than a second.” The thought made him scowl. “Stop walking alone at night. Get yourself some pepper spray.”
She stared back at him, her mouth falling open.
“What?” he said.
She tried to laugh it off. “It’s nothing.” She reached for his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”
In the kitchen Vivien laid out the ingredients and Declan got busy creating a triple-decker masterpiece. Taking a seat on the countertop, she watched him eat in wonderment.
“What are you looking at?” he mumbled, standing in the middle of the kitchen, chewing. A chunk of tomato landed on his lower lip and he wiped it away with his sleeve.
“Do you ever sit when you eat?”
“Not often.”
“I read somewhere that if you’re eating, like, a piece of meat, you’re supposed to chew it around forty times before swallowing.”
“Forty? Come on.”
“I’m serious. If you don’t chew your food properly, the stomach can’t digest it. And then it has to produce more gastric acid in order to dissolve it. Which leads to burping and, um, passing gas…” She grinn
ed. “All avoidable if you just sat at a table and chewed.”
“Are you implying that the way I eat makes me full of gas?” he said midbite.
“Maybe. You connect the dots.”
Tossing his crusts in the sink, he brushed off his hands and rested them on his hips. “I don’t care for your tone, Miss Allen.”
She giggled as he walked over and leaned into the counter, pressing himself snugly between her legs. “Now I’m in the mood for dessert. Something sweet.”
“Uh-oh,” she said. “I sense another cheesy one-liner coming up.”
Declan ignored her and began to sing, “She put that sugar on my tongue, she’s gonna gimme gimme some, she put it right there on my tongue…”
“Lovely. I hate to tell you this, but you might want to add singing to your ‘things-I-cannot-do’ list.”
This made him laugh. “But seriously, got anything good? Cookies? Ice cream?”
“Mother doesn’t do sugar,” she answered. “But I happen to know she’s only human, and her greatest weakness is Marshmallow Fluff.” She tapped the cupboard behind her. “Check in there, behind the coffee cups.”
Declan opened the cupboard and pushed aside several rows of mugs. “Aha! Found it.” He set the jar down beside her, looking pensive.
“What?”
“What am I supposed to put it on?”
“Just grab a spoon and eat. That’s what I catch my mom doing when she thinks no one’s looking.”
All at once he gave her a devilish look. “I have an idea.”
“Do you?”
He lifted a hand to tug gently on the hem of her shirt. With a sideways glance he said, “Why don’t you take this off?”
She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “What?”
“Your shirt,” he said, with more authority this time. “Take it off.”
“I can’t do that!”
His eyes searched hers, that look of hunger burning once again. “Do me a favor. Don’t say no. Tonight you’ll only say yes.” His fingers began working on the top button. “No one’s here,” he said softly.
She held her breath.
Two buttons.
He paused. Their eyes locked. “Just you…and me.” His voice was barely above a whisper. The fingers recommenced. Lower and lower they crept, her shirt parting above until at last it hung loosely, revealing the delicate pink ribbon in the center of her bra.
Again he paused. Warm hands slid beneath the fabric and over her shoulders. Light as tissue paper, the shirt dropped to the countertop.
Her heart was beating so violently she was sure he could hear it. His hand moved once more to hover over the satin bow. “This too,” he said.
“No” pounded on the door, then tried the windows. She pressed her lips together firmly, thwarting its escape.
His light touch tickled her as it crept around her ribcage. No fumbling. It was done in an instant, bra joining shirt in the discard pile.
Goosebumps erupted as a tremor ran through her. Instinctively her arms flew up to cover her chest in a scarcely adequate X. “Turn off the lights,” she said.
He shook his head, coaxing her arms away. “I need to see. I’ve decided how I want to eat my dessert.”
Her eyes widened as she grasped his plan. “N—”
“Shhh.” His finger touched her lips. “Not allowed, remember?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll start here.” He tapped the delicate protuberance of her collarbone. “Just…let me…”
How he’d managed to get her half-naked, pinned against the kitchen cupboards, was beyond her. She’d never done anything like this before. But for once she wasn’t going to freak out. Without a word, she let out a sigh and closed her eyes.
“You and me. Just us,” she heard him say again.
Her body tensed with his touch and she began to shake. His warm hands steadied her as he gripped her shoulders. She wanted to focus on the sensation of his touch, but at the same time she had the inexplicable urge to run and hide. His lips brushed against hers, back and forth, then descended slowly down her throat.
After a while he lifted his head. “Is this OK?”
She opened her eyes. Her cheeks steamed, her feelings far too complicated to put into words. It was all she could do to simply nod her head. “You forgot to turn off the lights,” she whispered, pointing to the ceiling.
“I didn’t forget.”
She frowned slightly but let this go.
“Now,” he said, “I’m not finished.” She swallowed. He dipped two fingers into the jar of fluff, coming away with a sizable glob.
“Where are you going to put that?” she asked, her voice cracking midquestion.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed, his tone serious. “I’ll do all the work.”
With mild trepidation she obeyed. This time he was not so restrained and went straight for the main attraction(s). She couldn’t help squirming beneath his exploratory maneuvers. The mere thought of his tongue sliding over her skin made her begin to pant. Gradually, she gave herself permission to relax and enjoy the peculiar (and not unpleasant) sensations of his highly skilled mouth.
At last he came up for air. Pressing his forehead to hers, his warm, sugar-coated breath washed over her. “You’re killing me,” he groaned.
She smiled self-consciously.
“Want to move back to the fire?”
She nodded, even though she felt anxious about what he’d want to try next.
“What are you thinking right now?” he said, uniquely tuned in to her. As usual.
“I’m thinking—”
“Liar.”
“But I didn’t even say anything!”
“That’s my point.” He took a step back. “Fine,” he said, when she offered nothing further. “If you don’t want to share, I will. I was just thinking how much better you’ve made my life. How I can’t imagine my last year at Eastbrook without you. As long as I can remember, my Grandpa was always telling me luck was my shadow, that it would follow me wherever I went.” His eyes shone as he smiled. “He was right.”
She did her best to hold his gaze, but it went too deep. She faltered and looked away. “No,” she said. “It’s me. I’m the lucky one.”
They lay on the blanket, arms and legs entwined. He had removed his shirt—only to be fair—and the light from the fire gave their skin a warm, iridescent glow.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m not cold.”
His finger traced her lips as he stared into her eyes. He bent to kiss her, and his hands began to move more assertively over her body. Her nerves hummed like high tension wires.
Stealthily, craftily, his fingers meandered. Numbed by kisses, it was several minutes before she realized he’d managed to unfasten her jeans. And now he was sliding them down, down, down to her ankles.
And off.
Almost at once, the mood was broken by the crackling sound of a plastic wrapper.
With a gasp, she bolted upright. Declan knelt at her feet, his shape a dark silhouette against the fire. In his hand was the condom.
“That’s not mine!” she blurted, pointing an accusatory finger at the tiny square.
Silence followed. Declan said nothing, but his fingers worked nonstop, flipping the package over, end upon end.
Her eyes remained glued to him, waiting for a reaction. She was acutely aware of her nakedness and tried to yank the blanket up from underneath her.
“Whose is it, then?” he said finally.
She pulled the blanket more tightly around her. “It’s…it’s Nathan’s.”
He frowned. “Nathan’s.”
At once she realized how ridiculous this must sound. “It’s a long story.”
More silence. “For once I wish you’d tell me the truth.”
A nervous laugh escaped her throat. Tell the truth? But she had. She’d told him everything that mattered. They were doing just fine, weren’t th
ey? She loved Declan. She was really and truly in love with him. “Declan, I swear. It’s not mine—”
“All right! It’s not yours.” His shoulders heaved as he sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m just…I’m confused.” He paused long enough for her to count ten pounding heartbeats. Then he said, “Whenever I feel like I’m getting close to you, you pull this…this…” He shook his head in frustration. “And all of a sudden I’m right back where I started. We can’t…I can’t keep doing this, you know? Tell me, what are we doing here?”
She dropped her head in her hands, but she could feel him watching her.
He groaned loudly and chucked the condom across the room.
She flinched. She felt suddenly nauseous. She was losing it. Losing him. And for what? For Christophe? Something was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong! The real question was not what were they doing, but what had she done? Her throat tightened and her eyes welled up. She leapt to her feet. “I have to go,” she said.
She scooped up her jeans and began hunting frantically for her bra only to remember that the rest of her clothing was still sitting on the kitchen counter. “Crap!”
“Are you all right?” His voice was thin, uncertain.
“I have to pee,” she said, slightly hysterical. “Just gimme a sec, OK? Sorry!” Swiftly, she disappeared into the kitchen. She grabbed her things, not bothering to put them on, and spun around, remarking absently on the presence of her mother’s purse hanging over the back of a chair. Skittering down the hallway to the safety of her own room, she retreated even farther within, slamming the bathroom door soundly behind her.
Once inside, she turned the lock, tossing her clothing on the toilet seat. Her hands shook as she gripped the rim of the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself like a mantra. It appeared to have some effect. After several minutes she managed to get her breathing under control.
Who was this girl in the mirror? she wondered. It had seemed the right decision to change her ways, to embrace adventure. But what kind of idiot sets her sights on the expert trail with no experience whatsoever?
Tiny patches of blue fuzz appeared where the blanket had stuck to the sugar-glue residue on her chest. She pivoted this way and that, appraising her breasts in an attempt to see them as Declan would. He’d wanted her. The desire was plain in his eyes. And they weren’t half-bad, she allowed, even if the left was noticeably larger than the right. But she’d ruined it. Maybe forever. She covered her face with her hands. Then spread her fingers, peeking through. “Help,” she said aloud.
All at once she found herself wishing rather fervently that she was someone else. Someone who wasn’t constantly screwing things up. A carefree spirit. And the image of Lauren’s million-dollar smile popped into her head. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. And it was. For hadn’t it been only a short time ago that she’d been looking at Lauren with pity for falling for a jerk like Nathan Dorsette?
But here, quite possibly, she’d made an unforgivable error. Lauren might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but at least she wasn’t cracked.
Why, oh why had she ever wormed her way into Christophe’s life? She’d been desperate, greedy. And incredibly stupid.
Christophe. With the flitting apparition of his face in her mind, the strangest, most unsettling feeling overcame her. As if she’d been granted access to a different dimension and she could smell—she was almost certain—that specific blend of cologne and cigarettes that was unique to him and him alone. Her jaw went slack, and with a quick intake of breath, the hair on her arms levitated. Standing motionless, she eyed with suspicion the soft waves of the shower curtain as reflected in the mirror—a sandy seascape she had selected in the doldrums of winter. Was there—could there be the hint of a shadow behind it?
She laughed nervously, shrugging it off. All the same, she quickly redressed and then stood glaring indecisively at the curtain, listening for the sound of breathing but hearing only an intermittent drip from the showerhead. She wanted to throw it open and expose the stranger who lurked behind—Norman Bates? Immediately she reconsidered. In the end, her innate chicken instincts won out and she fled the bathroom without looking back.
Marching purposefully down the hallway, she was determined: from now on she’d be somebody different, somebody better. She’d been living life backwards, using all her energy to protect a relationship that made her feel bad. She was ashamed of sneaking around, weary of Christophe’s demands, and worst of all, appalled by what she had done to Declan.
Yet as she passed Ramona’s door, a faint alarm bell went off in her head. Doing a double-take she stopped dead in her tracks.
The purse.
She’d spied her mother’s purse as she tore from the kitchen in the grips of a panic attack. At the time it hadn’t seemed out of place. But now? It most definitely did. If Ramona was out, the purse would be out with her.
And the door. Why was the door closed? It was never closed (unless she was in there) because this made the room excessively cold. Unless she was in there. Had Vivien been messing around with Declan—yikes! Nearly naked?—while her mother was actually here on the premises, only a hop, skip, and a jump away?
A second, equally disturbing thought occurred to her. Maybe Ramona was in there…not alone. She and what’s-his-face were having their own intimate moment. Ugh! The thought made her stomach turn. If this was true, she needed to warn Declan. They needed to get the heck out of here.
She began marching down the hall again.
Wait. Shouldn’t they be making some kind noise? Talking, laughing, grunting at least? Why was the place eerily silent?
She spun around and headed back, placing her ear to the door and listening. She heard talking. She jumped back, ready to bolt. But then she reconsidered and listened once more. The sound was the TV, not live voices.
Without quite knowing why, she extended her hand and turned the knob.
The news was on. An attractive platinum-blonde correspondent was in the midst of delivering a sober commentary on the rise in violent crimes in small town America, rattling off a string of statistics to support this breaking news story. The (other) blonde anchor was doing an excellent job of looking alarmed. All Americans should be alarmed, she was saying. “Our children are not safe,” yet another blonde chimed in.
She took several steps farther inside. A mummified shape lay on the king-sized bed, illuminated on and off and on again in the flickering light of the television. She crept closer. “Mother?” she said.
The figure didn’t stir.
Alarm bells rang out once more, louder, with greater insistence. “Mom!”
Silence.
Terror set in. She rushed to the bed, grabbed her by the shoulder, and shook. “Wake up! What’s going on?” Ramona’s head lolled about her neck like a rag doll, her jaw slack, skin the color of ash.
Vivien recoiled in horror as one long, bloodcurdling wail rose from the depths. “Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no—”
“Vivien?”
She turned. Declan stood in the doorway, his arms spread wide in a gesture of both helplessness and readiness.
Yes, thank God, he was still here. She’d nearly forgotten about him. But it was all too awful to put into words, and rather than speak, she covered her face with both hands.
His eyes darted from her to the bed and instantly he seemed to comprehend. He began to move. He was coming, yet he was not. Her vision blurred, the picture closing in on itself until two lone pinpricks remained.
And then everything went black.
Twenty-One