“Girl, come on,” she said beaming as she looped her arm through mine and walked me into the house.
The den was as empty as it was the last time I was here. I didn’t even see Daisy, or the tall girl who I know had it out for me all along. A flame burned in the fireplace.
It was quiet. So much about this house always intrigued and frightened me. And every time I went inside, rather than getting used to it, I felt further and further away from any familiarity. It seemed darker and more vacant, yet the chills down the back of my neck were proof that eyes were watching from every corner, every shadow. I never heard a breath, but I could feel the warmth of a hundred breaths all around me. They were there; all of them watching as they were my first visit when I sensed them outside watching from the dark woods. Some things you just know.
I went further into the dim, spacious den and stood near the burning fireplace. Above the mantle, high on the wall a painting of a man and woman hung, framed in antique and exquisite beauty. The man was someone of great importance and power; handsome and dominant with flowing dark hair and scars peeking from the neck of his military coat. Scars on his unshaven face. Scars were probably all over his body. But he was still attractive, even though he looked to be in his forties and that wasn’t exactly my thing. The woman with him seemed much younger. She was so frail, so gentle and innocent with the softest cinnamon-colored hair.
I fell in love with their story and I didn’t even know who they were.
A shadow moved in the kitchen near the stairs. Daisy and two more faces were watching from the darkness. I half-raised my hand to wave at Daisy, but then just put it back down. I noticed more faces here and there, watching me from rooms to my left and right and from upstairs. I felt like a spectacle, but that was nothing out of the ordinary in the Mayfair house. It was the only thing I was used to.
“Where are you going?” I said to Zia.
She stopped near the kitchen entrance. “To make something to eat,” she said. “Isaac’s coming.”
My heart sped up in half a second.
Before I could respond, Zia disappeared around the corner and at the same time, there were footsteps moving down the stairs.
Isaac was coming...but so was Rachel.
The moisture evaporated from my mouth. Revulsion and fear; the only two things I felt for Rachel, devoured me.
This was not at all funny. I thought that Isaac wanted to talk to me, maybe to apologize and ‘explain’, but with Rachel in the mix, it could only mean one thing: they were going to apologize together. They were going to tell me that they never meant to hurt me, and that they were a couple, but Isaac didn’t know how to break it to me. He was going to admit he led me on and that it was wrong of him and that he was so, so sorry.
Rachel had every right to treat me the way she did. I mean, I would have gone about it less cruelly if it was me, but she had every right. I suddenly felt like the other woman. It was a horrible feeling.
Damien was an idiot and I couldn’t wait to tell him off.
Rachel descended the last step first with Isaac not far behind. She approached with a withdrawn, hateful reluctance almost as if every one of her steps were forced.
“I-I’m sorry,” I said as she moved forward.
She turned to glance at Isaac standing behind her. That hateful glare in her eyes and the way her mouth stayed tight and angry, kept me on edge.
Rachel looked back at me. “You’re not the one that should be apologizing,” she said. “That’s what I came down here for, even though you—“
Isaac stepped right up behind Rachel then; interrupting something she apparently was not permitted to say. The tension in the room suddenly thickened. Isaac growled, low and guttural, and Rachel’s hateful expression failed under a more controlled one.
“What you saw that day,” Rachel said, “was a lie.”
I listened intently, trying to not to let the shock show in my face just yet.
“Isaac was sick and messed up on meds and I took advantage of it.”
Already I felt the Idiot of the Year label attaching itself to me. The picture of what really happened was clearing up in my mind. My shoulders, stiff with every uncomfortable emotion imaginable, began to relax. “You set me up?”
Rachel hesitated. She didn’t want to tell me any of this. She would rather walk barefoot across broken glass.
“Yes, I set you up and I’m sorry.”
Though I knew her apology was as sincere as Jeff telling my mom he’d never drink again, that didn’t matter to me. Knowing the truth trumped sincerity.
My gaze met Isaac’s. I wasn’t sure what to say at this point. I felt stupid standing there, wordless and still so unsure of everything. I believed Rachel; nothing could take that away from me, but I was unsure of everything else: whether Rachel was going to jump me, or if Isaac was ever going to speak.
And then he did.
“Rachel and every other girl here,” he said, stepping past her and toward me, “know I’m...not the one for them.”
He chose the words very carefully
“And I never want you to feel again, the way she made you feel,” he added.
The faces watching from the shadows moved as if disturbed by Isaac’s words. From the corner of my eye though, I saw Daisy smile at me.
Isaac turned to Rachel then. She nodded once as if quietly acknowledging some secret demand and then she left the room. I had expected her to glare at me one last time, to threaten me with secret gestures, but she didn’t even look in my direction.
“But...I saw you kiss her,” I said in a soft whisper. It felt awkward having a discussion like this with others listening. “At least, I could have sworn....”
“I’m not denying that happened,” Isaac said, “but I don’t remember it if I did—Oldest excuse ever, I know, but it’s the truth.”
I did believe him.
“But what about the girls I saw you with today?” I let my expression become slightly defensive and accusing.
A slim, knowing smile spread carefully across Isaac’s face as if my obvious jealousy pleased him in some way.
“My sisters,” he revealed. “Shannon and Elizabeth.”
I felt so stupid. For a second, I couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes.
“Adria,” he said to me, “you did nothing wrong.”
“Look at me,” he added after a pause.
I raised my eyes.
Isaac started to explain further, but then took hold of my hand. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”
The tremors were back, making my whole body tingle uncontrollably. I had already forgiven Damien and Zia and even apologized profusely in my mind for thinking such harsh things about them.
It was a great relief to step outside and get away from everyone listening. I pulled my sweater tight in the front and covered my hands with the sleeves. I think he had started to put his arm around me, maybe to keep me warm, but he backed off at the last second. I tried once more to use those elusive super mental powers of mine, but still to no avail.
“Where are we going?”
“Harvey’s Coffee,” he said. “We’ll take my car this time,” he added as he walked me to a standalone garage on the other side of the house.
He opened the door for me and I got inside. A couple of beaded black necklaces hung from the rearview mirror. His car smelled strongly of cherry air freshener and there were a few empty water bottles in the floorboard.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said, hopping into the driver’s seat. “Blame Zia; she drove it last.”
“At least you have a car,” I said. “I’m still riding a bike.”
We pulled out of the garage and away from the Mayfair house. I secretly looked over at him, glimpsing the delicate yet strong set of his jaw, the unfathomable beauty of his eyes. I couldn’t believe I was with him at that moment. A million thoughts were swimming around inside my head, but most of all I tried unsuccessfully to tame a dozen new emotions.
Harvey’s was a cozy coffee
shop with booth seats pressed against the large windows and a couple of small round tables placed throughout. Other than Isaac and me, there were two other customers inside, both of them sitting with their noses buried inside a newspaper and a laptop. Only one barista was behind the counter and she greeted us along with an offer to try the newest iced coffee blend. I never liked coffee much, but had always loved the smell of it. Isaac ordered it black for himself.
“Come on,” he urged, “you should try something. I’ll get you a small one if you want.”
“Ummm, sure, thanks. I’ll have whatever that was she said.” I couldn’t remember what it was, but it wouldn’t have mattered; I knew nothing of coffee lingo. Alex had been the Starbucks lover of the two of us.
We took our drinks to an empty booth seat and Isaac sat across from me. I never would have taken him for a coffee hermit; he didn’t look the stereotypical part, but then he didn’t exactly order any of those fancy drinks, either. I decided he probably never actually sat inside this place and this was just a necessary exception.
Isaac was even more striking in the light. I tried not to look at him directly too much, but I was noticing more about him. He was unlike any teenager I had ever met; reserved and mysterious, dangerous and devastatingly gorgeous. All qualities combined that often make a person irresistible. But there was more to his rough exterior than I had noticed before. Scars. Like in the painting over the fireplace mantle, Isaac had more scars than the average teenager. One noticeable on his throat, several on his hands and wrists I saw when he took his jacket off and laid it on the seat. I wondered about his chest and back; instinct told me there were probably scars there too.
Then I noticed one thing that should have been questionable all along: was he really a teenager? He didn’t go to school and was apparently older than Zia, but I really had no idea....
“Did you graduate already?” I said, taking a sip from my straw. The drink was surprisingly good.
“Graduated last year,” he said.
“So...you’re like eighteen now?”
“Turned nineteen in July.”
Two years older than me, that was good. Older, which was kind of mandatory in my book, but close enough to my age I didn’t feel like I was infatuated by a pervert. I began wondering how Beverlee and Uncle Carl would take this, since he was officially an adult.
Isaac raised the coffee mug to his lips and blew away steam rising from the rim before taking a sip. When he placed the mug back onto the table I reached out and touched his hand. “Where did you get this scar?” I said, turning his hand over, palm down. The scar had been deep, cut straight along the top of his hand between two knuckles. But then all of the visible scars he had seemed to be deep.
“That one and these here,” he said as he pulled the neck of his shirt down. “I got from falling through a sliding glass door.”
I winced. “Oh god, I can’t imagine what that was like.”
“Excruciating.”
He pulled up the sleeve of his left arm. “And this one I got in a motorcycle accident.”
“One of those,” I said smiling.
He smiled right back at me, which was quite charming. I had never really seen him smile before. Not like that.
“One of what?” he asked.
I played around with him first, taking a longer than usual sip from my drink and then fingering the straw, sloshing it around in the blended ice.
“Come on,” he laughed impatiently, “one of what?”
“A scar junkie.”
“Never heard that before.”
“Some guys think scars are their battle wounds. They sit around in circles comparing size with other guys and showing them off to girls.” I really didn’t think of Isaac that way, but it was fun to harmlessly tease him about it.
Isaac laughed again. “Well, you asked me about my scars, so that label doesn’t fit me, does it?”
“Nah, I guess you’re safe.”
A quiet moment passed between us. I think maybe we both knew that getting the obvious out of the way first would be the best way to go about things.
I sloshed the straw around in my drink some more.
Finally, Isaac spoke up.
“The girls that live in my house,” he began, looking right at me, “they aren’t all that bad, just...young.”
If you say so, I thought.
“My sisters would never treat you the way Rachel did, but the rest of them, they’ll get over it.”
“Get over what exactly?”
I pulled my legs up and sat cross-legged in the booth, my hands folded together atop the table.
“You,” he said.
I glanced up at him, feeling a sudden nervous sensation swimming around in my chest.
“They could just sense it,” he went on, “before I could I think, that...well, they could sense the attraction.”
It was my turn to speak, but I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. If I misunderstood what he was trying to say, I wanted to be the only one of us that knew it.
I needed a quick diversion.
“I’m not trying to be nosey,” I said, taking the topic slightly off course, “but why do so many people live in your house anyway?”
“We’re a large family,” he said. “I have five blood sisters and three blood brothers. Each of us has a friend, or girlfriend, or whatever, who my father has allowed to stay with us.”
“And who does Rachel belong to?” I said, as if she were a stray pet.
Isaac laughed a little and sipped his coffee. “Definitely not me,” he clarified. “I think my sister Shannon brought her in.”
“Then who did you bring?” I regretted the inquiry, fearing it would be a girl.
“Zia,” he answered.
That definitely caught me off guard. It made me feel good though that since it was a girl, that it was Zia. On the other hand, it worried me more. The last admission I wanted from Isaac was that he and Zia used to have a thing. Zia was my best friend, other than Harry, and I wouldn’t know how to deal with that.
“We met in New Hampshire,” he began, “she was homeless and I talked my father into letting her stay with us.”
“So, you two weren’t...,”
“No,” he laughed, “we’ve always just been friends. Anyway, she brought Dwarf and Damien in and Dwarf and Damien brought Cara and her sister in. You get the idea.”
“Well, your dad must be a really caring person to take so many people in like that.”
Isaac rolled my straw wrapper into a tiny ball between his index finger and thumb. “Truth is,” he said, “my father could do without so many being around all the time, but...well, it’s just the way of things.”
“The type that can’t say no,” I said.
Isaac shrugged.
“Hey,” I continued, shifting my body to sit more upright instead of so slouched, “where is your dad, anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around.”
Isaac slowly took another sip of his steaming coffee and set the mug softly onto the table.
“Very busy man,” he replied. “He’s in and out, but has too much to deal with to be hanging around here.”
I didn’t sense any animosity for his father’s constant absence, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
“Does he even live here?”
“Oh, yeah he lives with us,” Isaac said, “but even when he’s here he keeps to himself. Aramei needs a lot of care and he’s the only one she fully trusts. Or, I should say; he doesn’t trust many to take care of her.”
Aramei. I remembered that name from my first visit. Zia had left me with Isaac to help take care of her.
“Is she...” I paused, hoping to find the way to ask without offending Isaac, “...sick, or handicapped? Is she your sister?”
“No, no she’s—Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. We really shouldn’t talk about her.”
I left it at that, but really I was so curious that I squirmed anxiously inside my skin.
I was s
urprised how easily the conversations came and how natural it felt to be around him.
Customers came and went, but we hardly noticed. In my mind, we were the only two people in the world. I loved the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way his dark gaze met mine, which made me feel like a little girl all over again. I felt on air with Isaac, like I could do anything and he’d be right there with me.
Normally, I never liked to be alone with any guy, or in the company of one even with Alex close by. I wasn’t scared of them—that would be ridiculous—they just made me uncomfortable. Usually they read into things the wrong way, or assume too much. Like the time in seventh grade when I offered Blake Sooner a pen in English class because he didn’t have one. Next thing I know, he’s asking my friends personal things about me. Then there were always those guys too confident for their own good. Smile once just to be friendly and instantly they think it’s an invitation.
All my friends were into boys long before me.
It was true that I was what my mom called ‘a late bloomer’. I was born one week late, decided I wasn’t ready to walk until I was over a year old, got my first bra when I was fourteen (and still can barely fill one) and had my first kiss just last year.
Around Isaac, I felt like a new girl. I kind of hated it, but that was just my pride screaming at my happiness. And for the first time in my life, I was ignoring the pride and letting life happen.
Gotta let the walls come down sometime.
“So where’s your mom?” I said.
His charming smile faded and the mood grew dark.
He wasn’t going to answer at first. I sensed a major urge to withdraw completely.
“I don’t have a mother,” he said with a secret harshness.
I should have let it go right then, but I was too slow to realize such things.
“But everyone has a mom,” I said, urging him on teasingly.
Only after I said that did I understand how much Isaac did not want to talk about this.
“Her name is Sibyl—haven’t spoken to that woman in years.”
“Sorry I brought it up,” I apologized. I put my lips to my straw this time only to look as though I was doing something.
“No, it’s okay,” he assured me. “Sibyl made her own choices.”