“Yay!” Avi clapped as she bounced in her seat. “Someone’s coming over!”
The same stern expression remained on Gigi’s face as she stared at my father.
“He’s not coming to visit you,” I said to Avi.
Avi’s face fell for a moment and then it brightened. She trilled, “Siena and Thomas, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
Seven
Sitting up, I pulled my comforter around me. I dragged myself to the desk and turned on my computer screen. I had a history report due in a few days and hadn’t started it yet. I stared at the screen and yawned. I’d have plenty of time to work on it later, I decided, and stood and opened the drapes. It was a gray morning. I picked up my phone to check the weather. It would be overcast, windy, chilly.
“Perfect picnic weather,” I said sarcastically to myself.
As soon as I had accepted Thomas’s picnic invitation, I regretted it. Gigi was right; I never cared for him. All he had to do was say I was pretty and suddenly I want to spend time with him? That wasn’t a good enough reason. But in fairness to me, it was not the full reason. Avi was also right.
Thomas was the first person in years to want to spend time with me, so to turn him down would be ridiculous.
I went to my closet and pulled on some clothes. It was my week to take care of the chickens. I traipsed down the stairs and into the kitchen, where my father sat staring at his phone and drinking coffee.
“Good morning,” he said as I entered the room.
“Good morning,” I said.
I went past him and took my coat from the hook by the garage door and slipped on my rubber boots. Jackson came beside me and stretched lazily while I stepped into the dark garage and hit the light switch. He wandered near me, sniffing cubes of pine shavings. I put the shovel in the wheelbarrow and opened the wide garage door. Jackson trotted beside me; we left the gravel drive and went around the house, down the hill to the chicken coop.
He stopped and sat on the damp grass, and I went to the coop and opened the door. The chickens scuffled out as I went in, pushing the wheelbarrow against the opening. I took the shovel and began to fill the rusted wheelbarrow with the droppings spread beneath their roost. I pulled my sweatshirt over my nose to block the smell.
“Good morning.”
I jumped at the voice. I turned, allowing the sweatshirt to fall to its regular place. Luca was there, his own wheelbarrow loaded down with wood.
“I-I didn’t see you there,” I said, trying to slow my startled heart.
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be quiet or anything,” he said.
He pushed his wheelbarrow to the side of the chicken coop. The roof of the coop overhung the chickens’ area, and we used this spot to store our freshest cut firewood. It gave the coop a bit more protection and kept the wood from getting rained on.
“That’s okay,” I said, my heart still beating too fast.
Luca began moving the remaining pieces of firewood to one side. He was clearly aware of our system.
“Are you taking over firewood delivery for Jason?” I asked, watching him begin unloading the new firewood. Jason’s leather gloves covered his hands.
“Yeah,” he said. “I figured it was the least I could do to help him out. He already had enough to worry about before I entered the picture,” Luca said, sounding defeated.
“He doesn’t mind having you here.” I watched Luca lift log after log onto our pile.
“No,” Luca said, “he doesn’t. Aunt Sam found one of the good ones, as my mom would say.”
The mention of his dead mother brought a gloom over an already bleak conversation.
“He is a good one,” I said. “He’s like part of the family. We love having him and Sam around.”
“You do, don’t you?” he said, surprised.
My face must have shown the confusion I felt.
He answered my unspoken question. “When Aunt Sam moved up here and told us she was going to live on a plot of land in the middle of a giant estate owned by a wealthy family,”—he paused—“I guess I figured she’d be surrounded by snobby rich people who would treat her like a servant.”
I let my mouth fall open at the shock of his words.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, his body bent beside his wheelbarrow, hands on a piece of wood, eyes focused on me.
“Oh, no,” I said, recovering enough to speak. “Why on earth would a person be offended for being called a snob who treats those she loves as servants.”
“I didn’t say you did those things. I said I thought them. Like I told you, the truth isn’t anything like that.”
I turned from him, feeling offended. “That isn’t fair,” I said, deciding not to let it go. “It isn’t fair to assume a person is cruel because they have a little more money than most.”
He laughed and held his arms open. “You think this is a little more money than most?”
I stabbed my shovel into the pile of chicken poop in the wheelbarrow. “You’re a classist!” I said, and pulled the wheelbarrow out of the coop.
“A what?”
“A classist. You think people who are rich are bad simply because they’re rich.”
I emptied my wheelbarrow onto the active compost heap, its odor overwhelming me. I pulled the collar of my sweatshirt over my nose and quickly shoveled a thin layer of dirt onto the heap to deaden the smell. Luca stepped back and covered his nose with the wide fingers of the leather gloves.
Pushing the wheelbarrow, I stormed up the hill. Chickens were scattering in all directions. Luca ran after me and touched my arm.
“Hey,” he said, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I had those thoughts when I was a poor kid living in Florida with my poor single mom.”
“Oh, and now that you’re a poor adult living with your working-class aunt and uncle, you don’t believe that?”
“No,” he said, the fingers of his glove still touching my arm. “Now that I’ve met you, I don’t believe it.”
“Whatever,” I said, pushing the wheelbarrow toward the garage.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” he called after me. “But I don’t understand why the opinion of a creep who watches you at night matters so much to you.”
He’d said the last part with obvious self-hatred.
I turned. “You are not a creep—at least not that kind of a creep,” I said, my voice angry as I released the wheelbarrow. “I have no idea what you’re doing, but I know you aren’t watching me or my sisters.” I spun around and continued pushing the wheelbarrow up the hill.
“Thank you,” he said, with such relief it startled me.
I turned to face him, the anger fading as I watched him walk down the hill. Jackson came to my side.
“I wonder why the opinion of a rich snob matters so much to him,” I said to the mutt, whose tail was wagging.
Together we went into the garage. I put the wheelbarrow back in its place, slipped my boots off, and entered the house. Avi and Gigi sat at the kitchen table discussing sentence structure, something I abhorred almost more than anything else. I snuck up the stairs and spent the rest of the morning not thinking of Luca.
***
A few minutes after one, Thomas texted and said he was on his way. A few minutes later I went downstairs. I didn’t want to take the chance of being upstairs and having one of my sisters, or worse, Gigi answer the door when Thomas arrived. My dad wasn’t home, so I wasn’t worried about him; I was the least worried about him, anyway. Lisieux would probably tell Thomas he was dull, Avi would act crazy, and Gigi would try to be polite, but fail. She wasn’t good at hiding her feelings and since she wasn’t a fan of his, it was best she not speak to him.
The doorbell rang. Avi appeared from nowhere, making loud kissing sounds as she raced me to the door.
“Hush,” I said, to scold her, and pushed her away from the front door.
She laughed as she ran off.
I pulled the door open. He was there, his soft brown hair falling gen
tly into his bright blue eyes. His clean-shaven face and warm smile made me wish I’d put on more makeup or at least worn the dress Avi had suggested. Instead, I was in jeans and a light blue V-neck sweater. He wore slacks and a long-sleeved button-down shirt and was somehow more handsome than he’d been yesterday.
“Hi,” he said. A picnic basket was looped over an arm.
“Hi.” There was a pause while I struggled to remember what else I was supposed to say.
“Can I come in?” he asked kindly.
“Sure,” I said, stepping out of the way.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” he said, and I realized he thought my lack of etiquette was because I was overcome by his presence, rather than my general lack of social skills.
“Oh, I …”
“It’s okay,” he said, his finger grazing my arm.
The touch of his hand distracted me. Did I like him touching me? I couldn’t tell.
“Your house is beautiful,” he said. He looked up to admire the artwork hanging above the grand fireplace which we rarely used.
“Thank you,” I said. “I guess it has been a while since you’ve been here.”
“My parents and I were discussing that,” Thomas said. “Mom said I was probably twelve or thirteen when I was last here.” The phone in his pocket made a noise.
“Do you need to get that?” I asked.
“No,” he said, ignoring the dinging.
He was completely focused on me, which was nice.
“Would you like a tour?” I asked.
“If you’d like to take me on one,” he said, stepping toward me. “I came to spend time with you, so whatever you want to do is good with me.”
Heat rose to my face. He was so close and his words were so sweet.
“My sisters will probably bother us if we stay inside much longer,” I said, apologizing.
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot they’re homeschooled,” he said. “Let’s not worry about the house tour. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time for that in the future.”
“Okay,” I said.
We stepped out of the house and I pulled the door shut.
“It was nice of you to come over today,” I said, trying to think of something to say while we walked around the garage, toward the backyard.
“It was nice of you to let me,” he said. “It’s beautiful out here.”
“All of Maine is beautiful,” I said. The gray gravel, strewn with the bright reds and oranges of autumn leaves, crunched beneath our feet.
“Not all of it, but most,” Thomas said. “Though your property is prettier than most places.” He admired the view of the fall forest and mountains which defined our property.
“It is beautiful,” I said as we entered my backyard.
“Here’s a gazebo, if we wanted to have lunch here,” I suggested.
“Uh,” Thomas said, and swiveled his head. “Do you mind somewhere away from spying eyes?”
I looked past him and glimpsed Avi’s head duck below the window in the kitchen.
“Sorry,” I said, embarrassed by my family. “Would you like to go to the beach—or, there’s a clearing that’s nice for picnics.”
I did not suggest the pond, which was our favorite fall picnic destination, at least before Luca moved in.
“I never pass up a chance to go to the beach,” Thomas said, gazing down at me.
“Me neither,” I said.
“One of the many things I’m sure we have in common,” Thomas said sweetly.
My face flushed.
After the heat in my cheeks went away a little, I said, “It’s about two miles. Is that okay?”
“Even better,” he said with enthusiasm. “I enjoy walks, especially when I’m with an interesting person.”
“You think I’m interesting?” I instantly wished I hadn’t said that. Nothing could reveal the uninteresting truth more than my own lack of awareness of being interesting.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he said gently.
Two hens scattered as we neared them. “I didn’t know you had chickens,” he said.
“We’ve only had them a few years. We like them, though,” I said.
“I bet,” Thomas said, turning behind him to look at the chickens as we entered the trail. “I’ve always wanted chickens, but my mom keeps saying no.”
“It took lots of begging to convince my dad. Eventually, my grandmother got some without asking. She said it was easier to beg forgiveness than get permission,” I said.
Thomas laughed. “I’ve always liked your grandmother.”
I was silent, afraid if I spoke I’d say something about how much she didn’t like him.
After an awkward pause, I said, “My dad likes them now.”
“That’s what I keep telling my mom. Once we have them, she’ll like them. She says I’ll just be home for another year and then she’ll have to take care of them.”
“She might have a point there,” I said.
“Yeah, she kind of does,” he said, with a tender upturn of his lips.
We walked in silence, the warm sun illuminating our path.
“Where does that lead?” Thomas asked when we came to the start of the trail leading to Luca’s house.
“Our neighbors’ house,” I answered.
“Neighbors? I thought your family owned all of Maine,” he said, joking.
I giggled. “Just this little section,” I said. It was no use pretending otherwise.
“This is definitely not a little section. Who are your neighbors? Do I know them?”
“I doubt it. Jason has lived here his whole life, but he doesn’t do much with people in town. He works hard, then comes home. His wife Sam is great, but I doubt you know her, either. Her nephew, Luca, just moved up here.”
“Oh, those are the caretakers,” he said, nodding his head in understanding. “My dad told me a couple lived out here and helped with the land. I didn’t expect you to refer to them as neighbors.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“I guess I thought of them more as employees than neighbors,” he said.
“We don’t think of them like that,” I said quietly. I felt a remnant of the anger from my earlier conversation with Luca. “They help us and we help them. That’s how neighbors are.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “I heard your dad lets them live there for free, so I assumed they worked for your family.”
“How did you know that?” I asked, confused by how he knew anything about Jason and Dad’s lease agreement.
“It’s a small town and an even smaller parish,” he said. “You must realize you and your family are the focus of a lot of conversations.”
My face flushed red. “No, I had no idea,” I said with shock in my voice. It never occurred to me my family would be the subject of conversation for anyone, especially those we rarely, if ever, spoke to.
“Really?” Thomas said, surprised. “You live in a castle completely isolated from the rest of us.”
“Exactly! Why would people talk about people they never see or talk to?” I said, embarrassed by being the focus of town and parish gossip.
He switched the picnic basket to his other hand. “I guess that’s the reason,” he said. “People talk about what’s mysterious and interesting, and your family, with its large estate and hidden lives, are both mysterious and interesting. Most of us could never imagine having so much wealth, and if we did, I guess we’d flaunt it. But your family doesn’t. Aside from Avila, you’re all fairly quiet. Even your dad, who owns half the town, he’s totally down to earth.”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” I asked, feeling like Thomas was insulting my dad, though he wasn’t. He was simply trying to explain everyone else’s fascination with my family. It wasn’t his fault people talked about us.
“I’ve never been the one to start talking about your family, but I should’ve told people to stop and I didn’t,” Thomas said. “I’m sorry. I guess I was as curious
about you and your family as everyone else.”
“Is that why you’re here?” I said with disappointment I couldn’t hide.
He stopped, and I stopped a few paces later and turned back to face him.
“Siena, I’m sorry. The truth is, part of the reason I came out here was because I was curious, but the main reason was because I wanted to get to know you better, and that’s the truth. I swear.”
He stood staring at me, his eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he said.
I started walking again. “It’s okay,” I said, only partially meaning it. What else could I say? I was foolish for not realizing his interest in me had little to do with me.
“I’d probably be curious about you and your family if the situation was reversed,” I said, though that wasn’t true. I rarely took interest in the inner lives of other families.
“Thank you for understanding,” he said. “Though if the situations were reversed, I doubt there’d be much for people to speculate about. My parents aren’t humble and they don’t downplay what they have.”
“I’ve always liked your parents,” I said, thinking of the man and the woman who were always so friendly and welcoming every time I was around them.
“Oh yeah, they’re great,” he said, rubbing his head. “And they totally love you. I just meant that other people knowing they have stuff has always been important to them. So, if we lived out here and had all your family has, people would definitely be aware of it,” he said with a lighthearted tone.
Everything he said was nice, but something about his words and tone made me think that if his parents liked stuff and money so much, their son likely did too.
Perhaps he wasn’t here solely because he was curious or because he wanted to get to know me better. Perhaps there was some part of him—a very small part, I was sure—that was here because of my family’s money.
He smiled at me as we walked. I returned the gesture, hoping his expression was more sincere than mine.
Eight
Wild rosebushes lined the area between the forest and the beach. The aroma of the roses, mixed with sand and salt, evoked a sense of peace.
Awakening Page 6
