Into the Darkness

by Andrews, V. C.

  He paused and shrugged. “It means don’t do anything he would do.”

  “What?”

  He pointed to a pair of robins dropping from a tree limb to the lawn to hunt for worms. “The birds, remember? They gossip.”

  He kept walking.

  “You don’t make any sense, Brayden,” I called after him. “You’re infuriating!” I cried. He lifted his hand but kept walking.

  A moment later, I saw Shayne’s car approaching. When I looked back, Brayden was gone. It was as if he fled or disappeared before Shayne could see him. But I had to add another thing to my list. He seemed to be able to sense the future. I wondered if he could sense his own.

  I wondered if that was what really made him so sad and bitter.

  9

  An Unpleasant Evening

  “You’re looking better and better every time I see you,” Shayne said after he got out of his car to open the passenger door for me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Think I have anything to do with it?”

  I paused, pretending to give it great consideration. Then I shook my head. “No.”

  He laughed and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, but I was still distracted by Brayden’s appearance and disappearance. I hesitated before getting into Shayne’s car and looked toward Brayden’s house.

  “Anything wrong?” Shayne asked. He looked at Brayden’s house, too.

  “No.”

  I got in, but Shayne continued to look at the house and then headed around the front of the car to get in.

  “Anyone live in that house?” he asked, nodding at it.

  “A family recently moved in, yes.”

  “Doesn’t look like it. It’s actually an eyesore on the street. Is that where this new boy lives?”

  “Brayden Matthews, yes,” I said.

  “Well, I heard he doesn’t like going to parties. Ellie and Charlotte told me about him. Why is he so antisocial? Shy? Does he have an ugly scar? Maybe his family is hiding out. You know, like in the witness protection program or something.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “So? What’s the answer?”

  “He has a very ill mother to care for. His father is away a lot.”

  “Well, I’ll feel sorry for him as long as he stays away from you,” Shayne said, and then laughed. “Oh. My sister has been confined to her room, and her friend was sent home. She can’t have any friends over for a month,” he said as he backed out of my driveway.

  “What did you do?”

  “I told them how unpleasant she was to you and then sort of directed my father to what she had hidden in her room.”

  “I’m sure she’ll blame me.”

  “If she does anything else to bother you . . . hey, I like that necklace. Your father made it?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Do you want me to describe what it is?”

  “Sure.”

  I did, thinking of what Brayden had told me, but I wasn’t sure that Shayne was paying very much attention. Almost as soon as I finished, he said, “Mel Quinn’s parents went to visit his uncle. They’re not back until late tomorrow. He’s having a sort of house party tonight.”

  “I thought we were going to dinner.”

  “Sure. I mean, maybe we can stop by afterward.”

  “Is it going to turn out to be another Charlotte Watts party?”

  “Only three couples invited, and that includes us. There’ll be no fireworks except for the fireworks we make together. You know Mel? He plays third base.”

  I laughed.

  “What?”

  “You had better become a professional ballplayer of some sort, otherwise you won’t be able to identify your friends.”

  “Very funny,” he said. “Well, anyway, Mel’s a good guy. You know him.”

  “Not very well,” I said. Actually, I did know something about him, having heard him discussed by other girls. They said he had a sign on his bedroom door: “Check your virginity before entering.” Why would his parents permit it? I thought. But I had also heard rumors about his father having extramarital affairs. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather skip the party.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

  He looked at me as if I had gone crazy and shook his head. “Feeling? How can you have any feeling about it? You’ve never been to a party at Mel’s, have you?”

  “No, but that doesn’t matter.”

  “That doesn’t matter? Oh, I get it. You’re back to being Prudence Perfect, and so soon, too,” he muttered.

  “I am who I am, Shayne. If that discourages you, feel free to turn around,” I said.

  The look he gave me this time had no amusement in it, but no apology, either. For a while, neither of us spoke. Then he smiled. “Maybe you’ll change your mind after you have a great dinner.”

  I didn’t reply. It was a quick ride to Greenwood. As if he thought it might influence me to go to the house party, he talked about Mel Quinn’s athletic ability.

  “I don’t recall you being at many of the baseball games last year,” he said. He smiled. “I always look at the cheering section.”

  “I was at a few.”

  “What’s a few?”

  “Three.”

  “Now, what sort of school spirit is that? You don’t belong to any clubs or teams, either, do you?”

  “I help out at the store after school. It gives my mother time to do her errands. We’re not that busy yet that time of the year, so we don’t hire any part-time help.”

  “Such a serious family,” he said, wagging his head and smiling.

  “Isn’t yours serious about many things?”

  “My father, I suppose.” He thought a moment. “I don’t think I ever hear my mother talk about doing any real work. She never had a job. She met my father while she was attending college, and they got married about a month after she graduated. My maternal grandparents are probably richer than we are. My uncle and my aunt have summer homes in Europe and live in Montecito, California. Ritzy neighborhood. You ever been there?”

  “No.”

  “What about your uncles and aunts?”

  “I have only one aunt. She’s on the East Coast. We don’t see her and her family that much.”

  “I hardly see my uncle and aunt, but they have come up occasionally to see me play ball. From the sound of it, they might have been there more than you.”

  “Maybe.”

  He looked as if he had gone into a sulk for a while, and then he perked up again. “I haven’t decided on a college yet, have you?”

  “No.”

  “I have a full scholarship to USC. Did you know that?”

  “I heard you had offers, yes.”

  “That I do,” he said proudly, too proudly for me. “Here I am, one of those who don’t need any financial aid being courted by colleges. Oh, well, when you have it, so many want it.”

  “I think you need more lessons on that inferiority complex,” I said.

  He laughed. “As long as you’re the teacher, I’ll learn.”

  “Maybe I’m not as good a teacher as you think.”

  He didn’t answer. We pulled into the parking lot of the Salmon Bend restaurant. It was just outside of Greenwood and was, as Shayne would explain, actually built from what had been a large residence.

  “So that’s why there are all these separate dining rooms,” he continued as we approached the entrance. “I made sure we were in the smallest, most romantic one. I have my own table reserved, as you can imagine.”

  “Yes, that’s not hard to imagine,” I said, and he laughed.

  “How am I going to impress you if you take it all for granted?”

  “That is another challenge you might not meet,” I said. He held his smile, but there wasn’t any joy behind it, not even any glee.

  He opened the door, and the hostess immediately greeted us. It was clear that she knew who he was. I could see that he enjoyed the way she fawned ove
r us, over him, calling him “Mr. Allan” and leaving another couple waiting as she escorted us to our table in the dining room at the right. It had about six tables, and ours was near the window that looked out on a very large pond.

  “It’s a salmon farm,” he said as he pulled out my chair. “You’ll see there are a half-dozen different dishes made with salmon.”

  “Oh,” I said, unable to hide my disappointment.

  “What?”

  “I . . . my mother and I prefer wild salmon. It’s healthier.”

  “Ah, that’s just a bunch of garbage. Don’t believe it,” he said.

  The waitress, a woman who didn’t look much older than a high school student, hurried over to our table. She had short dark brown hair that looked as if someone just learning how to cut hair had done the hairdo for her. The ends were obviously uneven. I could see by the way her eyes brightened that she knew Shayne well and probably had a crush on him. She handed me a menu, nearly poking me with it because her eyes were so fixed on him, waiting for him, like some prince or young king, to bestow one of his handsome smiles on her. He looked up, flashed a smile, and took the menu.

  “What’s good tonight, Joyce?” he asked.

  “Oh, Chef has made your favorite, the wrapped salmon,” she said. It was as if I wasn’t even sitting there.

  “Well, he knew I was coming,” he said. She nodded, smiling so brightly that I had no trouble imagining that she had heard he was coming, too. “It is good,” Shayne told me. “He seasons it with just enough salt and pepper and coats it with Dijon mustard before wrapping it in phyllo dough and baking it. Healthy, healthy. Don’t worry about the wild and the farm thing,” he advised—more like ordered.

  “I’ll have the vegetarian platter,” I said. “No salad needed.”

  Shayne shook his head. “Give her what she wants, and give me the wrapped salmon. Serve them together. I won’t have any salad tonight, either. And Joyce,” he added, leaning toward her, “a bottle of my mother’s Chardonnay served the way you know how.”

  He reached up to touch her hand. I thought that if her eyes had been bulbs, they’d have exploded. She hurried off.

  “They’ll serve you alcohol?”

  “Joyce’ll get it for me. No one will notice. You’ll see why. Anyway, even if they do, they won’t say anything. You like white wine?”

  “Yes, we have it often at home, but . . .”

  “Stop worrying. My father has fifty-five percent of this place. Even if Maurice sees it being poured into a different bottle, he won’t say anything.”

  “Who’s Maurice?”

  “The manager. He’s seen it done before, actually, but when it’s the son of the majority interest holder . . .”

  I leaned back and looked at him. “How does it feel to be able to get away with so much more than other people just because your father’s rich? I mean, look at Charlotte Watts and how much trouble she’s been able to escape because of her father.”

  “That’s America,” he said. “Get used to it.”

  “Not the America I live in.”

  “Sure it is. I’m sure that if you got yourself into something, your dad would call on some influential people and get you out of it, too. He might even call my father or Charlotte’s.”

  I thought about it. He was probably right, if I did get into something serious somehow, but the realization didn’t make me feel any better. He could tell. The expression on my face was too revealing.

  “You’re not some kind of idealist, are you?”

  “No. I just have these funny ideas about fairness and equality.”

  He laughed.

  Joyce brought us the wine. She explained that she had someone in the kitchen named Brody uncork it and pour it into what looked like a large bottled water. Shayne gave her a five-dollar bill.

  “For Brody,” he said. She nodded and pocketed it quickly. “Excuse the glasses,” Shayne said when she poured the wine into the water glasses. “Taste it.”

  I did.

  “Well?”

  “Very good,” I said. I looked at Joyce. “Russian River Reserve?”

  Joyce looked at Shayne, who was smiling.

  “I didn’t tell her,” he said.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Joyce said unhappily. She put the basket of bread down.

  “Could we have some olive oil?” I asked.

  “Good idea,” Shayne said. Joyce sauntered off.

  “What is she, your private waitress here?”

  “She likes taking care of me and my guests. I tip her well.”

  “I have the feeling she’s hoping for more.”

  “They can hope,” he said.

  “I feel sorry for her. She should have other goals in life.”

  He laughed, but she returned quickly with the olive oil. As soon as she left again, he reached across the table to take my hand. “Didn’t you have a good time on the lake today?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I thought you and I were really getting along.”

  “Who says we’re not?”

  “You just seem suddenly different, more like you were before we went to the diner last night,” he said. “Matter of fact, I felt that as soon as I picked you up.”

  “I don’t know why,” I said, but I couldn’t help wondering myself, because I knew it was true. Maybe it had something to do with Brayden. I hardly knew him. He was a tight ball of complications, for sure, but every time I had any contact with him, it had an effect on me. The truth was, he was still in my head from the short conversation we’d had just before Shayne arrived.

  “You don’t relax enough,” Shayne said, nodding to himself as if he had landed on the right answer. “You think and worry too much. Get over it. Let’s just have a good time. You’ve got to let your hair down, let go sometimes and howl at the moon.”

  “Why is that something a boy always says?” I asked.

  “Oh, there are girls who tell other girls the same thing. I’m sure you’ve heard it many times.”

  “What does that mean? ‘I’ve heard it many times?’” I asked, taking my hand back just as Joyce brought my vegetarian dish and his wrapped salmon.

  “Is there anything else you need?” she asked.

  “Not at the moment,” Shayne told her. “Stay close just in case there’s some sort of an emergency.”

  She widened her smile, glanced at me like someone who wished she could make me evaporate, and walked away.

  I started to eat and sipped some wine.

  “This is so good. You should have ordered it,” he said, savoring his salmon and perhaps overdoing it to make his point. I ignored it.

  “So,” I continued, “what did you mean about my hearing that many times?”

  “C’mon, you know how most of the other girls think of you, Amber. I’m not telling you something you don’t know. Anyway, who cares what they think of you? Surprise them. Make them eat their hearts out,” he said, chomping away at his salmon dish and drinking his wine. “Have a wild time.”

  The vegetarian platter wasn’t very good. Some of the grilled peppers and the eggplant were overdone. I was sure the chef gave it the least amount of his attention. He probably resented someone choosing something so blah and simple over his specials. Shayne poured me more wine. I was filling up on that and bread.

  “I could order you something else,” he said, seeing how I was playing with my food.

  “No, that’s all right. I’m not that hungry.”

  “Wrong way to be in a place like this,” he said, going after every morsel of his main dish. He drank all of the wine in his glass and poured himself some more. Then he sat back. “Mel’s ordering in some pizzas, if you get hungry later.”

  “I told you that I’d rather we not go there,” I said, pushing my plate away.

  “Well, what do you want to do, just go home?” he countered with annoyance on his face. He looked at his watch. “It’s early.”

  “Let’s just go for a walk.”

  “A wal
k? Where?”

  I shrugged. “You could take me home and we’ll take a walk.”

  “You’d rather do that than go to Mel’s and party?”

  “We enjoyed nature today. Why not stay with it?”

  He stared at me a moment and then shook his head.

  Joyce came hurrying over. “Finished?”

  “Yeah, tell Chef he outdid himself, but he needs to work harder on the vegetarian dish,” he said.

  She smirked and took my plate. “Dessert?”

  “No. We’re going for a walk,” he said with the tone of someone who was being led to the gallows. He took out a twenty and a ten and put them on the table. “There’s your tip. You know how to handle the rest,” he added.

  She smiled.

  He stood up, and I did, too. After she took her money and walked off, I asked, “What about what your father told you?”

  “What?”

  “About paying the bill.”

  “Oh, he just says that when someone else is around. Forget it.” He reached for my hand.

  The hostess rushed over to be sure we had enjoyed everything. “Have a good night,” she told him.

  “We’re trying,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  She gave him a knowing smile that told me he had brought other girls there, girls who were probably far more compliant.

  “You don’t really want to just go for a walk, do you?” he asked when we got into his car.

  “Not unless you want to,” I said.

  “Good. Then we’re off to Mel’s.”

  “No. We’re off to my house. You’re off to Mel’s.”

  I could see him fall into a sulk very quickly. It was obvious that Shayne Allan was someone who almost always got just what he wanted, especially from any date.

  “I tell you what,” he said after a while, “why don’t we go to Mel’s, and if you don’t like it, we leave. How’s that? You might just have a good time!” he added, the frustration palpable.

  Brayden’s half-joking admonition resonated: “Don’t do anything he would do.”

  Why was I remembering that and giving what he said any credence?

  “You don’t believe whatever my sister told you, do you? She hates anyone else having a good time, because she’s so miserable most of the time.”