Chapter Twelve #2
We walked up the dark wood stairs to the door of his room.
He hesitated a moment and then turned the knob.
The room was small, with a simple double bed, a dresser, a bathroom on the left, and a small cooking area on the right.
The window to our right on entering was unusually large, stretching almost from floor to ceiling, and it offered a sweeping view of the bay.
The soft glow of the evening bathed the water in a gentle haze.
We walked right up to it, drawn by the quiet majesty of the view.
He didn’t put on any bright light; there was no need.
For a moment, the world outside felt like a quiet dream, untouched and eternal.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Exactly what you said. Amazing view.”
“For something like this. I’ve slept in a lot worse, especially when I first started traveling.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen. I got a job on a cruise ship drawing caricatures of the guests. I was able to do some seascapes during the day.”
“Sixteen? Your parents let you?”
He smiled. “I had a fake license showing me as eighteen. I ran off for a while.”
“What happened when you returned?”
“My father started charging me rent.”
“What?”
“It was all right. Made me more ambitious.”
He stared for a moment.
“The moonlight is dancing on your face,” he said, and touched my cheek. Then he put his arm around me and gently turned me toward him, fully embracing me.
We kissed, and the feeling rippled down my body, making me feel absolutely naked, every part of me touched. His lips were on my neck and then pressed below. He lifted me gently and took me to the bed. Then he stood and took off his clothes. Naked, he knelt to take off mine.
His kisses moved as smoothly as his paintbrush.
It actually gave me the feeling he was drawing me, outlining me and then filling me with his passion as his lips caressed the nipples on my breasts and his body pressed closer to mine.
For a long moment, we just stayed that way, breathing hard, anticipating each other’s touch.
Then he kissed me again, but hesitated to do more.
“How many days again until you’re eighteen?” he whispered.
“Four,” I said.
“I can wait.”
I felt a deep disappointment, but the way he moved and the way we satisfied each other put it on pause. For minutes afterward, we lay there, breathing heavily. The moonlight fully illuminated Bar Harbor and lit up his room.
“Better get back,” he said, and reached for his clothes while handing me some of mine. In silence, we got dressed. It seemed like hours had gone by, but it had hardly been that long. Minutes later, we were walking to the pier.
We were both silent on Grandfather’s boat as it returned us to Birdlane, but before we reached the pier, I turned to Kyle and asked, “Did you hesitate to please me or to protect yourself?”
He smiled. “I was waiting for that. I knew you would ask it. It’s one thing for a girl who is underage to be sexually active, but when an older man is involved, the law steps in, and it can get very unpleasant, not only for him but for the girl.
I mean, some things should be public and some should not. Sound right?”
“All this logic seems to take away from the romance and the mystery,” I said.
“Not for long,” he replied, and kissed my cheek.
I leaned against him on the ride up the hill to the Crest. When we arrived, he asked if I was still staying home from school.
“Absolutely.”
“Then we’ll spend the day talking art,” he said.
He kissed me good night at my bedroom door. I went in, not sure how to feel. I sat on my bed and thought about Jamie and our time at the oak tree. We had been hot and heavy, as they say, and then suddenly he’d said, “I’d hate to think that I was taking advantage of you.”
“You’re not,” I’d told him.
I had wanted him, but he’d looked around and said, “This isn’t the place I envisioned for it. I want it to be ours, everything… ours.”
Ironically, I had called him a hopeless romantic. But Jamie’s hesitation was truly different from Kyle’s. Kyle’s was more practical. I wasn’t sure which I liked better.
I didn’t stay home from school the next day; I stayed home the next two days.
Each day was exciting. Kyle took me along on his journey to create the portrait of the Crest, and every moment along the way, I learned more about art.
At dinner, we talked incessantly about the experience.
Grandfather roared with laughter at our enthusiasm.
My father was like a child forced to attend church service.
Whenever he could, he tried to turn the conversation to the company, but it was always more of a complaint.
Kyle actually annoyed him one night by comparing him to his father.
Grandfather was amused, but Daddy, as usual, left to do his own things, go his own way.
When Kyle returned to Bar Harbor to work at the gallery, I attended school, looking forward to his next trip to the Crest, for my birthday.
Anna was preparing a wonderful feast for us.
I spent time choosing what I would wear.
I wanted to look older, and after I pondered and pondered, it suddenly occurred to me to look at some of Mommy’s things that had been placed in a guest room closet.
I found her sequin-stitched bodycon dress, with short sleeves and about knee-length. It fit me perfectly, as if it had been waiting for this moment.
I stood before the mirror, brushing my hair so it looked closer to Mommy’s.
In her jewelry box, I found a perfect pair of her earrings to match, and when I fastened them in place, it was as if a part of her lingered with me.
I also found a pair of her shoes that not only were stunning with the dress but fit as though they had always belonged to me.
By the time I walked out to the dining room, Grandfather, Kyle, and Daddy were sitting there.
As I approached, it was Daddy who had the biggest reaction. His eyes widened, and he actually stood up, looking like he was losing his breath.
Grandfather spoke for him. “I thought for a moment your mother was approaching the table,” he said.
Looking at Daddy, I realized he really had loved Mommy, and she had married him, so there must have been something between them, something they had lost, and maybe that was what made Daddy so bitter all the time. I smiled and took my seat. Daddy sat, still not talking. He looked dazed.
“I think I should present my present now,” Kyle said, and reached to his side to bring up a framed picture he had painted of me. He placed it on the table. In the picture, I was standing on the cliff of the Crest and looking toward Bar Harbor.
“Very nice,” Grandfather said.
Daddy looked at it. “What’s it cost?” he asked.
“Cost?” Kyle looked at me and then back at him. “What do you mean? I mean, there’s the materials.”
“Not much, then,” Daddy said.
“Well, it took me a number of hours,” Kyle said. “Normally, I would get about five thousand for a picture like this.”
“Five thousand? Dollars?”
“Yes, sir. Art is a very valuable investment.”
“How’s that?”
“Old artists and their works could bring in millions. With time, they gain value. They don’t lose value. It’s not like the stock market.”
“Too much for me,” Daddy said. “I’ll stay with the stock market.”
“When did you ever leave it?” I asked.
Daddy shot me a sharp, angry look, but I didn’t look away.
Anna started to serve dinner, almost as if to stop any more of an exchange between Daddy and me.
Daddy had a way of making birthdays seem ordinary, even his own.
“Stores and card companies created holidays,” he told me once. “Underneath everything there’s a profit-and-loss layer.”
“What about happiness?” I asked him.
“Profit is happiness; loss is unhappiness,” he said.
I felt sorry for him, but I would never dare say it. It would say itself in time.