She tore her mouth from his to gasp for air. “You could never resist that, could you?” she said when she could talk again.
“I could never resist you. Not from the first moment you turned your ladylike attentions on me.” One hand cupped the back of her head and his mouth traveled over hers again as they treaded water together, their bodies moving in unison.
Elise shuddered. There was nothing hesitant about Sloane’s kisses now, nothing hesitant about the hardening of his body as it brushed against hers. Immersed in the water and in memory they clung to each other. Sloane coaxed her to open her lips, demanded this intimacy and Elise complied. Quicksilver flashes shot through her body as their tongues united, stroking, exploring, retreating only to renew their quest with more passion.
She was so hungry for this; it seemed that her body had been starved for years, denied of all satisfaction. A few kisses in the water couldn’t begin to quench the ache inside her that had grown and grown until it felt as if it might never be assuaged. Sloane was leading her somewhere she would soon be helpless to turn away from. He had always been able to do that; seventeen years of absence had changed very little.
“No more, Sloane.” She turned her head from his, fighting to free herself.
He pulled her closer, forcing her to tread water with him so that their legs tangled repeatedly. “Put your arms around my neck.”
“No. Let me go.”
Sloane could feel the softness of her breasts press against his bare chest, and he was overcome with the desire to touch her. He wanted to slip the simple one-piece suit down and fit his hands around her breasts to feel the smooth fire of her skin. He wanted to grasp her waist, then plunge his face under the water to seek the hidden contours with his mouth.
“Don’t fight me. You’re going to drown us both.” He hooked one finger under the strap of her suit and began to slip it over her shoulder.
Elise jerked at the new intimacy and struggled harder. “Stop it, Sloane.”
Sloane was drunk on the feel and smell and taste of her. He wanted more than he had a right to ask for, and he didn’t care. “I want you,” he whispered against her cheek. “Damn it, Elise. You can still make me want you.”
“What are you trying to do to me?” To her chagrin, she knew her eyes were filling with tears. “I’m not seventeen anymore. I know what year it is, even if you don’t.” Without another word she pushed hard against his chest, and when she was free she swirled in the water and began to swim back to the shore. Once there, she grabbed her towel and clothing from a low-hanging branch and disappeared into the jungle.
Sloane remained in the middle of the river, watching her retreat.
Afternoon homeroom was just a way to make sure the students who started the day in school also finished it. Elise checked the last name off her roll book and passed out the latest stack of notes to her students. Announcements were still sounding over the intercom when she sat back down at her desk. It was the end of the second week of classes, and the students were beginning to settle into the routines of high school. As soon as the last announcement was finished, the room filled with the excited buzz of prisoners who knew they were about to be released.
Elise began to grade a quiz she had surprised her classes with that day. The surprise test was a favorite technique of hers, a way to see if anyone was paying attention. The students didn’t know it, but her quizzes really figured very little in their ultimate grades. Luckily by the time they figured that out, the year was half over, and they’d learned how to listen.
Elise divided the quizzes into two simple stacks: good and bad. She would look at the bad ones to see if there was any pattern to the way those students were seated, possibly moving them away from others who had also failed. As she worked, she kept an eye on her homeroom to make sure that the end-of-the-day horseplay didn’t get out of hand.
Watching the social groupings of a roomful of teenagers was a fascinating thing. Now that a week had passed, the kids had begun to form cliques. There were the losers or the “late bloomers”—as Elise liked to think of them—who were too unattractive, too awkward or shy to be friends with the popular kids, so they became friends with each other. There were the rebels, a select few who proclaimed their individuality with wild haircuts and angry facades. There were the neatly dressed students wearing polo shirts with the correct emblem on the pocket who endlessly discussed student council business, and there were the popular kids who rarely wore the same outfit twice in the same month and spent their time discussing who was going to represent the sophomore class at the Get Acquainted Dance in three weeks.
And then there was Clay.
Certainly there were students who drifted from group to group; the boundaries were not yet so fixed that there wasn’t room for change. But Clay was the only student in her homeroom who didn’t seem to fit anywhere. He was an observer, the most entrenched loner that Elise had ever known in a group of teenagers. He seemed totally unaffected by the commotion, the maneuverings, the joys and sorrows of adolescence.
Elise wasn’t a big fan of the social climbing of the teenage animal. But neither was she stubborn or blind enough not to see the value. Adolescence was a series of experiences designed to teach pre-adults how to get along in civilized society. Part of that was learning how to function in a group. Clay was not functioning in the group because he had separated himself from it. It wasn’t just his ponytail or the fact that he was new in a school where most of the kids had attended elementary and junior high together. It was his obvious rejection of the whole experience that was causing the problem.
Elise had heard the whispers. She knew what was said about him behind his back and more and more often now to his face. He was that “different” kid, the most insulting thing one teen could say about another. The few times anyone had reached out to him in her presence he or she had been met with a polite but blank gaze. Only in his journals and in his poetry could Elise detect echoes of the pain Clay was hiding.
The bell rang and the students raced to the door. Clay was last, as if going home held no more joy for him than staying in a school where he was destined to be a perpetual stranger. Elise had avoided personal contact with him since Sloane’s accusations, but today she was too worried to care what Sloane might think.
“Clay? Can I see you for a minute?”
He came to her desk and stood quietly, his hands clasped behind his back. Elise allowed herself the inevitable reaction to him. Yes, he was Sloane’s image. Yes, it would have been wonderful it he’d been her son instead of the son of some commune member with no maternal instinct. But he wasn’t. She was only his teacher and his friend. It was as the latter that she spoke.
“Clay, I’m worried about you. You don’t look happy.”
A new expression flickered over his face. Elise could have sworn it was amazement. Did the boy find it so strange that someone would notice how he was feeling?
Clay’s face quickly resumed its careful mask. “Thank you, Miss Ramsey, but I’m fine.”
“I don’t believe you.” Elise stood and came around to perch on the edge of her desk so that she could be closer to him. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be happy. I’d be wishing I’d made some friends, or wishing I didn’t have to work so hard to catch up, or even that I was back in New Mexico.”
“There’s nothing there to go back to.”
“But you’ve wished you could.”
His nod was slight but perceptible.
“It’s hard to make so many changes at once. I’d like to help, Clay. And I’m sure all your other teachers feel that way.”
“Mr. Cargil wants to help so much that he’s trying to send me back to ninth grade.” As soon as he’d said the words, Clay clamped his lips shut as if he wished he hadn’t opened his mouth.
Elise didn’t let Clay see her anger. “Mr. Cargil is giving you a hard time?” she asked, lowering her voice.
“It’s all right. I can handle it.”
Elise suspected that nothing
was further from the truth. Clay Tyson had entirely too much to handle in his life as it was without having to absorb the venom of a man who looked at him and saw his father. “Tell me what he’s doing, Clay.”
Clay shrugged.
She used a tactic she didn’t like but knew would be effective. “Shall I ask the other students in your class? They’ll be glad to tell me.”
“He’s just after me,” Clay conceded. “I’ve had people after me before. I know how it feels.”
“What does he do? Insult you? Pick on you? I could talk to him.”
“If you talk to him, it’ll only get worse. Besides, other than announcing every day that he’s got my number and won’t take any funny business, most of what he does is subtle.”
“Like what?” Elise couldn’t believe Clay had been singled out as a troublemaker before he’d had a chance to prove himself one way or the other.
“He asks me questions he knows I can’t answer. He sticks to the reading assignments with the other kids, but with me he hops around to other areas and quizzes me on them. He seems to love making me look stupid. Then he shakes his head and rambles on and on about my terrible education and how I shouldn’t be in high school, that junior high might even be too difficult.”
“In front of the other kids?”
“He calls me up to his desk, but they hear.”
The worst part of this was that Elise could believe what Clay was saying. Bob Cargil was generally a rather harmless hypochondriac with limited understanding and sensitivity. But there was a streak of something darker inside him. If he felt threatened, he was capable of fighting back with any weapon. And for some strange reason, Bob saw Sloane and Clay Tyson as threats.
“I’ll see he stops,” Elise said, her mouth set and her chin tilted.
Clay’s face relaxed a little, but he shook his head at her words. “Once, when I was about seven,” he said, “a new kid came to live in the dome where I was staying.”
“Dome?”
“Geodesic dome. Destiny had seven big ones. I lived in one of them until I was ten, then I moved into the big house. Anyway, this kid was older than I was, but he liked to pick on me. So every chance he got when nobody was looking or the person who was looking didn’t care, he’d do something to me. Once he hit me with a big stick and I fell and lost a tooth. At first I just tried to stay away from him, but finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. So I went to Jeff, the guy who was in charge of everything, and I told him what was going on.”
Elise was amazed at the atypically long reminiscence, and she nodded, afraid to break Clay’s spoken thoughts.
“Jeff got the kid who was bothering me off to one side and gave him a long lecture about how to treat people. It was a good lecture. Afterward the kid had to shake my hand and promise not to bother me anymore. And as soon as everyone’s backs were turned, he redoubled his efforts. Only by then, everyone was sure it had been taken care of, so whenever I complained they told me to bug off.”
Elise didn’t know what to say. She wanted to cry.
“He kept after me for two more years until his parents moved off the ranch and took him with them.”
Elise swallowed the lump in her throat. “And you’re afraid that if I talk to Mr. Cargil, he’ll pretend he’s going to stop. Only then he’ll make it worse for you.”
Clay looked relieved that she’d understood. “It just wouldn’t help me any.”
“Then what can I do?” She picked up a pencil and bounced it on her knee. “You may be right about what’ll happen if I interfere, at least at this point, but you can’t handle this by yourself. Not with everything else you’ve got going on.”
“I’m just studying harder, trying to catch up with everything I’ve missed.”
“You didn’t have much history at Destiny Ranch, I take it.”
“Jeff, the guy I was telling you about, didn’t believe in history. He said it was all lies. He said the only truth was in the present.”
“What do you think about that?”
Clay smiled a little, and for a minute he looked like a fifteen-year-old boy was supposed to look. “I’m not sure the present has much truth in it either.”
Elise restrained herself from giving him the fierce hug he deserved. Why couldn’t this boy have been hers? He needed so much, and she had so much to give. “Clay, I want you to come to me if this gets any worse. I’ll have the principal interfere if he has to, but in the meantime, I have an idea. We’re going to get you a history tutor.”
Clay was suddenly the image of his skeptical father. “What good would that do?”
“You can read all you want, but you need somebody to help you select what’s important and question you on what you’ve read. Another student would be best because he’d know what someone your age is expected to have learned.” Elise was pleased with her idea. If she could get the right person to help Clay, she might be helping him find a friend too. It was certainly worth a try.
“I’d rather not.”
“Will you just try it for a little while? I think it could help.” Elise could see Clay struggling. He liked her, and she knew he didn’t want to ignore her advice. But the idea of having someone help him went against his better judgment. Clay had received so little help in his life that the concept was as foreign as American history.
“I’ll give it a try,” he said finally.
“Good, I’ll let you know as soon as I find someone for you.”
“Are you going to tell Sloane?”
“It would be better if the news came from you. I’m sure he’ll approve.” Elise watched Clay leave, raising her hand in a slight wave as he vanished through the doorway. Then she stood to gather the rest of her quizzes to take home and grade.
Tell Sloane? She allowed herself a grunt. No, she wouldn’t tell Sloane she was trying to help his son. She hadn’t seen him in the days that had passed since their moonlight swim, and she intended to continue trying to avoid him. What was it that Clay had said? History was lies and the present didn’t have much truth in it either? The statement might not apply to everything, but it certainly applied to her relationship to Sloane.
Where Sloane Tyson was concerned history and memory and present experience were a curious blend that could be absolute truth or complete lies. And as Elise turned out the light and closed the classroom door behind her, she knew she was much too confused to tell the difference.
That evening Elise put the finishing touches on a chicken and artichoke casserole and popped it back into the oven. The casserole was one of Amy Cargil’s favorites and one of the few things Amy’s picky father would eat without complaining. Elise stepped out into the dining room and checked over the table setting. She was rearranging a display of lavender hibiscus when the doorbell rang.
“Hi, sweetie.” Elise gave Amy a big hug, then stepped back to examine the low-waisted knit dress that showed off Amy’s nicely developed figure to perfection. “You look wonderful. We made the right choice.”
“Thanks for helping me pick it out.”
Elise offered her cheek for Bob to kiss and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you could come,” she told them both.
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Bob said gallantly. “Your cooking beats mine any day.”
Actually they all knew that Bob seldom cooked. Either Amy made something or they ate out. Bob seemed to feel that domestic skills were strictly in the female domain. For Amy’s sake, Elise tried to have them to dinner as often as possible.
“Well, I made something you both like,” Elise said. “Bob, why don’t you fix yourself a drink while Amy and I finish the salad?”
Bob settled in the living room with his eternal Scotch and water and the national news, and Amy followed Elise into the tiny kitchen. “Elise,” Amy started when her father was out of earshot, “I’ve got a date tonight after dinner. Will you help me get out of here without a fuss?”
“Is your daddy giving you trouble about the boy?”
“No, it’s Gregory
Thompson, the pharmacist’s son. Daddy likes him as well as he likes anybody. I think he just doesn’t like me leaving him alone. He doesn’t want me to go out with anyone.”
Bob was becoming more rigid, more irritable all the time. Elise thought of her conversation with Clay earlier in the week, and she thought of her own mother. Jeanette Ramsey had got worse as she’d grown older, too. Whatever positive qualities she’d had seemed to disappear with the passing of the years. Elise had taken the brunt of her moods. She was determined not to let the same thing happen to Amy.
“I’m on your side, sweetie. I’ll keep him entertained while you’re gone. I might even let him beat me at Scrabble.”
“Thanks, Elise. I knew I could count on you.”
“Can I count on you for something?” Elise asked, turning to face the girl who was like a daughter.
“Anything!” Amy said with heartfelt enthusiasm. “Always!”
“I need to find a history tutor for Clay Tyson. He’s not doing well in one of your daddy’s classes, and I think a tutor is just what he needs.”
“Clay Tyson?”
“Do you know him? I know you’re not in my English class together.’’
“Actually I’m in his history class. He sits right in front of me.”
Elise tried to read the tone of Amy’s voice, but she was unsuccessful. “His father and I were friends many years ago,” she explained carefully. “I like Clay a lot, and I want him to do well in school. He’s very intelligent.”
“My father can’t stand him. He’s picking on him in class.”
There had been a part of Elise that had wondered if Clay was imagining Bob’s harassment. She pushed down her anger and tried to be fair. “Does Clay give your dad a reason to pick on him?”
Amy shook her head. “Not that I can tell. He’s a quiet kid, hardly says a word. He acts like he’s from another planet.” She picked up a carrot and took a sizable bite, crunching it with small, pearly teeth. “But he doesn’t do anything that would bother anybody. Just listens and tries to answer when he’s called on. I’ve helped him a few times when he doesn’t seem to know what to do.”
Season of Miracles Page 10
