10. Chapter 10
10
HER
“S o the consensus is that there are no safe choices,” he said. “Either I stay and Maeve is in danger, or I go and we’re both in danger.”
He was stroking a very satisfied black long-haired cat named Millie—Milphidippa, formally—who had just the barest sprouting of red hairs on her paws. A tortoiseshell in disguise , Erica had pointed out, after which he’d observed that must be why she was named after the cunning maid from Plautus’ Miles Gloriosus.
So he must have read at least part of the book I’d given him. And for some reason, that made me happier than anything yet.
We lay side by side on the woven double hammock. My body was curled into the curve of his arm that Millie didn’t occupy, my head on his chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing, while his fingers traced star shapes on the soft strip of skin between my top and shorts.
Ironically, I had the same model of hammock by my own pool at home. But that I’d never shared with anyone, since there’d never been anyone with whom I’d both wanted to and been allowed to. Of course this pool was about one-sixteenth the size and unheated, meaning it was already too frigid to use, according to Milagros. But still, I liked it better. It seemed wilder, in a way, draped in palm fronds and liana vines and surrounded by agave plants, and a turquoise light that shimmered up from somewhere below like the glow from the underside of an iceberg. Also, when we’d arrived outside and I’d remarked that I’d forgotten my bathing suit, he’d said that he failed to see the problem, and I’d replied that I’d really walked right into that one, hadn’t I?
But the conversation had quickly taken a more serious turn, since the question about what to do about Maeve and who would do it still lay unresolved.
“Almost by definition, this isn’t the kind of situation that has safe choices,” said Milagros now, her bare feet tucked up beneath her in a wooden deck chair identical to the one in which Erica was sitting.
Although Milagros had now had three glasses of wine and Erica had had none, I sensed that they spent many nights here just like this, smoking, drinking, being couple goals, and thanking whoever that things were no longer shit.
“But it might not always be that way as I’ve sort of spent all afternoon not-so-subtly hinting to you,” Milagros continued. “If you stay, at least you have a chance. Running away all but eliminates it. I know nobody asked me, but I say, why not at least give yourself the chance? And give Erica’s people time to do what they do. If they aren’t making progress or you don’t like the way things are going, you can always regroup.” Her freckled face and blue-green hair were lit only by the torches and the light from the joint she had rolled immediately after she’d served us all a platter of tacos dorados, filled with pork carnitas—mushrooms for Erica—that she had spent all morning slow cooking.
I had thought he and Milagros had been joking, but it was true: he seemed far more familiar with weed than he did with tacos, despite having eaten about a dozen of them.
“What? University towns aren’t always about studying as you well know,” he’d said earlier in response to my surprise.
“Right, but you’re not supposed to—”
I cut myself off because he was holding the joint away from his face and laughing. “I’m not supposed to do a lot of things I do. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
And then I was laughing, too.
Now, with my head on his chest, nestled in the hollow of his neck, I not only saw everything as he saw it but felt every slight movement his body made—the deft click of his finger on the lighter, the soft orange glow that resulted, the inhale, the motion of his arm as he held it away from his body, and the slow exhale, the fragrant herbal smoke swirling around both our faces. The mention of studying had jogged something in my memory, but it had slipped away just as fast.
“You know what going back means for me,” he said to me. “It’s not just you in that house, you know. If only it were.”
“Yes. And going back to the status quo is not what any of us wants,” I whispered, my hand moving soothingly up and down his torso. “But at least we’ll know that the wheels are in motion. I think it’s Maeve’s best chance. And yours. And yes, it also means I don’t have to say goodbye to you yet. But you know that’s not why I’m saying it.”
“I know,” he said, dropping the lighter in the netting and inhaling again. “But even if you are, it’s okay.” He turned his face toward the stars. “Still, do you know how much easier this would have been back when nobody cared what I did?”
“I sure do,” I said. “But those days are over. Sorry.”
“Erica, how soon did you say you can have someone looking for her?” he asked.
“Tomorrow,” Erica replied. “Early. I’ve already made the calls.”
As he stared up through the smoke, a shadow crossed over his eyes, just for a second. But it was gone before my brain had enough time to register it was there, and now it was just his familiar clear gaze staring back at me.
“You know that if it gets to the point where only I can help my sister, I’ll go,” he said. “And I won’t think twice about it.”
“I know,” I said.
“But for now?” he said, giving me a slow, hopeful smile. “I’ll stay.”
I closed my eyes, relief flooding my body. There would be more time, which was all I was asking for, anyway. All I could ask for. Sure, we didn’t know how much time, but when had we ever?
“If you go, I want to come with you.”
He recoiled. “Over my dead body would I ever let you do that. And it’s not because I don’t want you with me because you know I do.”
“I know,” I said. “And I never expected you to agree. But I still want to. And I thought you should know that. In case it, you know, helps.”
“It helps. It doesn’t change anything, but it helps.”
“You know, Louisa,” Erica spoke up. “If you want to help the cause, I can find other things for you to do. I already have some student volunteers working with me on various initiatives. Even a few from the medical school. We meet here every Wednesday afternoon.”
“Really?” I raised my head. “I’ll do anything. Well, I mean—” I backtracked, recalling some of Erica’s previous “initiatives.”
“Don’t worry,” my professor said drily. “We’re not recruiting suicide bombers at the moment. These are all above-board, university-approved projects.”
“I’ll be there,” I said to Erica, motioning to him. He placed the still-lit joint gently between my lips. The more I smoked, the more I found it soothed my anxiety, though I knew I had to be careful. My family didn’t exactly have a good track record with this kind of thing.
I inhaled and exhaled thoughtfully before handing it back to Milagros, trying to recall the thought that had slipped away. “The exam!” I exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in the hammock and sending it swinging wildly, while a shocked boy and cat clung desperately to the rope.
“I can’t believe I never told you, considering o-chem is kind of the reason we—well, it’s the reason we’re here,” I said. “Obviously, when I found out, we weren’t exactly on speaking terms, but still.”
“Wait.” Now it was his turn to sit up, nearly flipping the whole thing over. That was game over for Millie, whose paws landed on the tile below with a tiny little meow of protest. “You mean you passed?”
“Yes!”
“Lou, that’s amazing!”
And here I was enveloped in the much-delayed hug and kiss of congratulations, the one I had imagined a million times. But never in Erica Muller’s hammock.
“Not that amazing. It was only a B-plus.”
“Are you kidding me? Do you remember when we started? You didn’t even know the difference between ether and ethanol.”
“Hey!” I protested. “I did, too.”
“Ah, that’s not the way I remember it,” he said. “Then again, I also remember you being naked most of the time, so maybe don’t rely on my memory. Anyway,” he added. “I’m proud of you.”
“You are?”
“Of course. And I always have been. And since I’m not running away, I can promise to say that more often.”
An hour later, I was feeling rather relieved and pleased and buzzed and high all at once, so it was only when I heard more jazz arpeggios drifting out of the living room that I realized he had disappeared with no explanation. Rather a habit he had. I wandered back in, but he had already left the piano. Instead, I found him standing at the bookshelf with a volume open in front of him. Glancing up, he slammed it shut hastily.
“You don’t have to look so guilty, you know,” I said as he slid it back into its place on the shelf. “You aren’t in trouble.”
“Not this time.”
I bent down to glance at the title: The Collected Works of W. B. Yeats.
“Poetry? You?”
He looked sheepish. “And in English. And nobody’s getting dismembered or baked in a pie and fed to a family member or anything,” he said. “See what you’re doing to me?”
From the doorway, Erica cleared her throat. We both turned around.
“It’s getting late,” she said. “And everyone here is on their way to being too tired, drunk, and/or stoned to take you back. So to quote another famous poet, if you’ve got to go, go now.” On her lips, the professor wore the knowing little smile I had first glimpsed during her office hours all those weeks ago. “Or else you’ve got to stay all night.”
HIM
“You know, I’m off duty right now,” I hinted, gazing past Louisa’s shoulder and out the kitchen window again, to find the moon still blanketed by clouds.
Well, shit. After all, it wasn’t too often I got a chance to lie back in a hammock with nothing to do but gaze at the wonders of space. Let alone with a beautiful girl relaxed and undone—and willing?—in my arms, one who miraculously didn’t hate me despite my having been a complete asshole to her for the past two days. And who just might have a future as a doctor, after all. And who was currently risking everything, up to and including that future, to help me find my sister.
And yet.
Do you think you’re going to get lucky again?
Louisa had said I had a gambler’s soul. She must be right because here I was doubling down on a losing hand, again. What else could explain my delusion that what we had in that hammock, in this house, could ever be real? As if my agreeing to stay meant some kind of happily ever after when literally no part of it involved happy, or ever, or after?
There are no safe choices. Well, no shit. The choices were between being a slave and (probably) being dead.
In my experience, days that started off shit didn’t improve with time. But this one was only getting better.
So maybe I wasn’t losing as badly as I’d thought. And here she was, standing there with crossed arms, brow furrowed unreadably. Was she annoyed? Scared? Disgusted? Aroused?
Was it time to raise the bet again?
I figured I had about ten minutes to figure it out and make my case before Erica would be back in the kitchen wanting to know whether we wanted a lift back to campus—or seven hours in heaven.
“I mean, I’m never really ‘off,’” I clarified. “But I’m not doing late nights. No one is. The housekeeper has been staying up for a few hours in the evenings, but that’s it. She’s probably already in bed.”
“Are you saying you think we should stay?” she asked. “And do what, exactly? Hmm?”
“Well, um—” Was there any way to explain this that wouldn’t make me look like a complete perv?
“You should see the look on your face,” she said with a giggle, coming closer. “Here, I’ll do it for you.” She reached up with both hands to smooth the stray locks back from my forehead, where my own hand had been about to go. “Of course I want to stay. And Daddy isn’t back until the day after tomorrow. But we need to think about this carefully.”
I closed my eyes, leaning into the feel of her cool hands running through my hair. Even with chips in her manicure and cuts on her fingers, it felt better than any touch in recent memory. I leaned my elbow back against the counter. Her posture mirrored mine as we racked our brains for any possible roadblocks.
“Daddy said he would tell the housekeeper that we were going to campus.”
I looked up at the clock. “At this hour, though? From what I’ve observed, nothing happens on a university campus this late except drinking and sex, and we haven’t exactly disproven that.”
“But if she’s already in bed like you said, she won’t notice. Until early tomorrow, anyway. And we’ll be back by then.”
“All right,” I said, like I was going to argue with her about this. “But your mom—”
“Won’t be an issue, either. Not at this hour,” she said, glancing at the wall clock. “Trust me.”
“And the maid—”
“Also won’t be an issue.”
“Oh, shit.” Speaking of issues. “You didn’t kill her, did you?”
“No,” she said huffily. “Not that I didn’t briefly want to. But she informed me I don’t have any reason to.”
“Did you believe her?”
“Yes. But I never really doubted it.” Her reassuring smile obliterated my brief nervousness. “At any rate, I think I’ve defanged her. So if there ever was a night—”
“It would be tonight,” I finished, and the silence hung there, infused with meaning.
She nodded. “But there are still no guarantees.”
“Look,” I said, taking one of her hands, my scabbed-over fingers caressing each one of hers, slowly and languidly, each one the reminder of the promise we’d made when we’d agreed to only shed one article of clothing at a time.
Someday soon.
“I know you’re used to guarantees. But my life doesn’t have any. It never has. So it’s your call. Whatever you choose, that’s what we’ll do.”
Her eyes—gray as the cloud cover beneath their long lashes—looked down at the floor and then flicked up. One little word was starting to feel as strong as the force of gravity.
“Yes or no?” I asked.
But the decision was already made. It had been made weeks ago, at her bedroom desk, over that complex matrix of chemical reactions, in the microscopic interplay of heat and light, in the pull of a subtle glance, the friction of an accidental touch. It had been made in those moments when I would patiently wait for an answer, listening to our hour ticking away, until she got her head together and gave me one.
And so she did. “Yes.”
The smile broke over my face. I’d never say it, and I hoped I hadn’t pressured her, but I also hoped she knew which word I’d been praying—praying? Okay, praying—to hear.
“Oh,” I said, glancing up. “There’s one problem. They only have one spare bed. Don’t worry, though.” I nodded with resignation. “I’ll take the sofa.”
She stood there, dumbstruck.
I laughed as I gathered her into my arms. “You should see the look on your face.”