18. Pippa
PIPPA
Concentrating on my book is impossible. I’m sitting on the loveseat next to Shemaiah, my feet tucked under me, leaning toward him, a blanket over my lap to keep me warm.
He’s got a foot propped up on his knee, a book in one hand, and the other arm stretched out behind me.
Letting the book fall to my lap, I glance up at the clock for the fifth time in as many minutes.
Shemaiah’s fingers brush against my shoulder as he twirls a lock of my hair. I rub my palm in slow circles over my heart. Pretend. This is just pretend. It’s so that anyone walking by the library will think we’re in love.
This touch is completely within the agreements we made, and yet, that reminder doesn’t stamp out the flutter of butterflies in my stomach.
I know better, having been in a position like this before.
At least this time there are no lies or false promises.
Shemaiah has been perfectly clear about what this is and what it isn’t.
And now that I know his story, I understand.
Still, I’m struggling to remember the rules, wanting to scoot closer, wondering what he’d do if I did.
It would be so easy to climb into his lap and let my lips find his.
A foolish thought.
Shemaiah wants our fake relationship to stave off Anna’s pursuit. He doesn’t want love, not after the experience he had before. And that’s fine. I’m not looking for love either. It only leads to heartache.
His stroke skims my neck once more. I shiver, a chill racing down my spine and collecting in heat between my legs.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
I shake my head, offer him a short smile, and lift my book. “I’m at a good part.”
“Oh?” He turns toward me, closing his own book. His gaze drifts to where his fingers play with my hair. “Read it to me.”
Caught in a lie, I read the first paragraph I see. “Instead of giving her the shoe, I kneel in front of her. ‘What are you doing?’ she asks. In answer, I slide my hand behind her knee and gently lift and bend her leg. She wobbles, hands landing on my shoulders for balance..”
“I thought you said it was a good part.” He gently tugs my hair, smiling.
“I’m getting to it,” I say, nervous because, as distracted as I’ve been, I haven’t actually taken in any of the words on the page. “Be patient.”
He laughs softly, and his fingertips resume their motion.
My skin tingles as I continue reading. “I gently slip the black heel onto her foot, then rest it on my thigh. My thumb grazes her ankle, and little bumps race across her skin. I do it again, a little higher this time, smoothing the single digit over the curve of her calf. Her breath hitches. When I look up, she’s staring back at me with something more than anger. Something hungry and challenging. ”
I pause and clear my throat, my heart tripping forward, quite certain I know where this is going now.
“What is it?” Shemaiah asks.
Mortified, and sure he can hear my heavy heartbeat, I shake my head.
“‘Do you know why I wanted to make a deal with you?’ I move closer, lifting her leg over my shoulder, making her skirt ride up. I give her time to push me away, to tell me to stop, but she doesn’t.
With my eyes still on her face, I brush my fingers along—” I stop, my eyes wide and my breath moving too quickly to continue.
Shemaiah’s hand curves around my neck, fingertips pressing into my skin with the hint of his nails. “Why did you stop?”
I turn my head toward him.
He’s moved closer, as if to read the passage along with me. If I lean forward only an inch, my mouth would press to his. But I don’t. “It wasn’t very good.”
He laughs, his hold releasing as he resumes combing his fingers through my loose hair. “I was enjoying it. I want to know what comes next. Keep reading.”
I snap the book shut, and Shemaiah laughs again.
The clock on the mantel chimes the hour.
The warmth of his touch disappears altogether as Shemaiah reaches into his vest pocket for his watch and snaps it open at the press of a button. “The boat should be here soon.”
Mrs. Darning sent a telegram yesterday saying she would arrive back on the island today. No mention of Tobias. No other information.
Shemaiah helps me stand, and escorts me through the house to the dock. He holds my hand in the crook of his arm as he explains his book and waits with me. I don’t want to admit that I like it. The physical contact soothes something in me, as does the normality of sharing stories we’ve enjoyed.
The wind careening off the lake is a touch warmer than yesterday. Springtime is in the air, and the wilderness sprouts with vibrant color. Climbing ivy, once dormant, now green, crawls the walls of the manor. But grey clouds pepper the bright blue sky.
“Looks like rain later,” Shemaiah says.
I cross my arms to block out the wind.
“We should have gotten you a sweater.” He drapes his jacket over my shoulders. He’s always doing that—making sure I’m warm enough, taking care of me in subtle ways. I’m struck once more by his generosity. Over and over and over, Shemaiah has given to me.
“Would you like me to get one for you?” he asks.
“No.” I take his hand. His gaze dances down to where I’ve initiated a link between us. “I don’t want you to go.”
He nods and puts an arm around me.
We see the puffs of smoky-steam first, gray wisps rising on the horizon in intervals.
Next, the brass smokestack appears, followed by the hull and the cabin.
The sound of it chugging across the lake’s expanse is followed by the clank of the metal and gears as the boat cuts though the water. A horn blasts, announcing its arrival.
In the distance, I see Mrs. Darning standing in the bow, facing the island. She’s dressed in her severe black attire, with a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and her silver hair concealed under a hat.
“Where is he?” I ask her the second the boat docks. An urgent ache settles in my bones as I look around, trying to see into the cabin.
Mrs. Darning picks up her satchel and steps onto the rickety dock, taking Shemaiah’s offered hand. “He wasn’t in New Caldon.”
“Then where is he?” I demand, on the verge of angry tears.
Her expression is impassive. She shrugs and offers no further explanation.
“We’ll find him.” Shemaiah places a comforting hand on my back before turning his attention to Mrs. Darning. “Why did you come back without him?” His tone is sharp in a way that satisfies my growing anger.
“The next new moon party is tomorrow. I assumed I’d be needed. I’ve been gone quite long enough.”
“You didn’t complete your task.”
She glares right back at him, matching his stare with her own. “I sent Gray to Briarton to check there.” Mrs. Darning picks up her skirts and turns toward the house.
“It’ll be alright.” Shemaiah’s thumb rubs across my wet cheek, making me realize I’m crying.
Where else could Toby be? It hasn’t been that long since he visited me at The Sanatorium. Where is he?
Darning sets a brisk pace back to the house, and I struggle to keep up on the broken path covered in brambles. There’s so much more I want to ask her, but I’m suddenly weak. All my hope rode on Tobias being on that boat.
“Wait,” I call out, but Mrs. Darning doesn’t slow. I trip over a cracked brick. Shemaiah catches me just before my knees hit the ground.
“I thought Ruby was hiring a groundskeeper,” I grumble, irritated with the world.
“She did, but there’s a lot to attend to.” Before I realize what he’s doing, Shemaiah scoops me up and cradles me in his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping you from twisting an ankle.”
Mrs. Darning is well ahead of us, already at the door, but Shemaiah doesn’t rush his steps.
I huff, but don’t complain. Truthfully, I’m tired, and the crushing disappointment of not being reunited with my son only adds to the fatigue.
My eyes sting with tears threatening to drown me, my body heavy with illness and despair.
I need to leave the island and find my boy myself, but I know none of the Roans will want me to do that.
And traveling feels so daunting and unwieldy.
I should rest first.
Despite all the uncertainty, disappointment, and worry, I feel safe in Shemaiah’s arms. A dangerous feeling. But I tighten my hold around his neck, wanting to take whatever comfort I can, while I can.
He promised to help me find Tobias. It’ll take a bit of convincing to get him to let me go, but I trust him to help in whatever way he can.
Usually I would avoid relying on someone else, but for the moment, resting in this partnership with Shemaiah offers me the support I need.
I’m so tired of holding myself up all on my own. So tired.
He adjusts me in his arms, and I rest my head on his chest as his steps slow, almost like he isn’t ready to reach the house and let go.
Or maybe I’m just not ready for it. Some part of me wants to stay right here forever.
But now that I know Tobias isn’t coming, I know what I have to do.
I need to leave Roan Island and find my son.