I didn’t say anything.
“You’ve got to fight back this urge to be Prudence Perfect. I thought you did a good job of it today on the lake.”
“I must be tired,” I said. “I’m not used to being in the sun all day. Just take me home.”
“But you wanted to go for a walk, I thought.”
“Maybe next time.”
“Right, next time,” he muttered. “You didn’t like your dinner at my father’s restaurant, and you don’t want to veg out at Mel’s with some of my friends. Two strikes.”
“Do you get a home run every time you’re at bat?”
“No, but I get a hit most of the time,” he countered. “C’mon. We’ll listen to music, talk . . . he’s got some good wine. I know now that you like wine and know what’s good. It’s really early. I don’t want to end our night like this.”
“We can sit on my porch for a while,” I said.
He looked at me, shook his head, and accelerated. He didn’t say another word until we turned into my driveway. He didn’t get out to open my door. He sat there staring at the steering wheel.
“You were sure different on the lake,” he said. “I really believed that this Prudence Perfect crap was just that, crap spread by jealous bitches.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I happen to believe that relationships are built slowly and carefully.”
“Relationships? I’m not looking to get married, Amber. I thought we’d just have a good time. Look around, will you? That’s what’s going on. Kids our age are having a good time. They’re not establishing lifelong relationships. Jesus, what are you, all of seventeen? This isn’t the Middle East or something.”
“I’m not looking to get married, but that doesn’t mean I can’t put some value and meaning into being with someone. Maybe everything you do is just another ball game to you, Shayne, but I like to think I’m playing in the World Series with whomever I meet. I think that analogy will help you understand.” I opened the door and got out.
“You have to win a lot to get into the World Series,” he called as he began to back out. I watched him drive off, speeding away and having to hit his brakes at the end of the street to make the turn. I stood there for a while, thinking. Was I being too prudish? Did I fit the name Prudence Perfect? Was I afraid that I would lose control, speed down that hill without brakes like Mom had said, and he would take advantage of me? Would that be so terrible?
The hens will be clucking now, I thought.
“You made the right decisions,” I heard, and spun around to see Brayden sitting on my front porch.
“What are you doing here?”
“I had a feeling you’d be home early. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Why did you have the feeling I would be home early?”
“You told me I had extrasensory powers, didn’t you? Why the surprise?” He stood as I walked up the steps. I looked at the lighted window. I didn’t hear the television but assumed Mom and Dad were both in the living room reading.
“Did you meet my parents?”
“No.”
“They didn’t hear you out here?”
“I wasn’t exactly noisy. You want to go for a short walk? You look like you’re wrapped pretty tight.”
I smiled and shook my head.
“What?”
“That’s what I first asked Shayne to do after dinner, go for a walk.”
Brayden smiled. “Well, let’s not disappoint your feet,” he said, taking my hand.
10
Eyes Behind the Eyes
“You know, Brayden, I think it would be nice if you told me a little more about yourself. After all, this is our second walk in the dark in a matter of days,” I said. “And I don’t mean general stuff.”
“What do you want to know about me? For a long time, my mother home-schooled me. We were on the go too much when I was younger, but no matter where we lived, what school I attended when I was in junior and senior high, I had top grades.” He laughed. “One school had something called Super Honor Roll, and I was one of two in my class. Most of the time, I was ahead of the other students because I read a great deal on my own. I never formed a serious relationship with television or Facebook,” he added, which made me smile.
“I haven’t, either, although my father tries to get me to watch old movies with him all the time, and often, I do it on my own.”
“I was told I was three grades ahead in my reading when I was first enrolled in a public school.”
“So, that’s why you’re so confident about being ahead or at least up-to-date with everyone here if and when your family decides to stay?”
“Yes. You’re reading Brave New World this summer. I saw it on the porch,” he added quickly. “I read that novel when I was twelve. Remember what Thoreau said about books?”
“No. What?”
“‘Read the best books first, or you may not have a chance to read them at all.’”
“So, you can thank Thoreau for making you the student you are.”
“Actually, I have to thank my father for most of this. He was always pushing books at me, bringing one home from a trip for me, telling me this one was essential or that one was more important than what my teacher was having me read. Whenever he was home for a long period of time, which might mean a week, he would talk about the book I had read or go over my math assignments with me. He actually taught me calculus before I was introduced to it in school.”
“Really?”
“Yes. My father was what you would call a child prodigy. He graduated from high school at the age of thirteen and acquired a bachelor’s degree at sixteen. He went on to do graduate work in economics at Harvard. There were many articles written about him. He worked in a government program by the time he was twenty. If you care to check it out, go on the Internet and look up Sanford Arlen Matthews. He has published ten books on various economic theories and concepts and one study of the great American depression.”
“You sound very proud of him,” I said as we turned the corner. I hadn’t realized how far we had walked because I was listening so keenly to every word.
“I’m proud of him as an economic genius, but if I were in a department store that had a section on fathers, he wouldn’t be my choice.”
“Oh.” How sad, I almost said.
“I think I’ve suggested that he’s not very good at expressing his emotions. I’m sure he believes that emotions are a detriment, a weakness. They cloud good judgment. If he had the ears, I’d call him Spock from Star Trek. Occasionally, his humanity broke through.”
“Your mother must have seen more in him to marry him,” I said.
He paused and looked out at the busier street of Echo Lake. Then he turned toward another street that wasn’t a through street. He walked a little faster, as if he had seen something on the busy street that he wanted to avoid. I looked back, saw nothing unusual, and then caught up.
“Sometimes I think she pitied him more than she loved him,” he continued. “He became a kind of project for her, a small pile of clay she thought she could mold. It figures, she’s an artist. Despite the way he is, he loves her as much as he could love anyone and has tried to be more . . . human. He’s in awe of her art, and he is her biggest advocate. He’d do his best never to miss any of her art openings or award ceremonies. She designed the covers of five of his books, by the way. The publishers weren’t happy about it because they were a little esoteric, but he wouldn’t agree to a contract without her on it.”
“Well, that’s romantic . . . in a way,” I added, and he laughed.
“Yes, in a way.” He paused and looked at one of the houses on the cul-de-sac. “Your mayor lives here.”
“I know.”
“His wife takes her first lady of Echo Lake status quite seriously.”
“How do you know that?”
“You don’t follow the social columns in the Echo Lake Times?”
I laughed. “How do you do that? I haven�
�t seen the paper delivered to your house. I did see some groceries delivered there,” I added quickly. “Your mother came to the door.”
“Oh?”
“She looked like she was standing guard or something. She wouldn’t let the delivery boy bring the box in. She took it even though I could see that it was heavy, and she saw me.”
“Did she?”
“Yes. I waved, but she slammed the door closed.”
He nodded as if it was not a surprise.
“Did you tell her about me?” I asked.
“Not in so many words, but she knows about you.”
“What does that mean?”
“She senses you. Be careful,” he said, smiling. “Or you’ll end up in one of her paintings.”
“You make it sound terrible. I’ve seen her paintings on the Internet. I like them.”
“She’s changed her style lately,” he said.
“Oh? Like what?”
“Like nothing you’ve seen. I hope she’ll return to her more successful work.”
We continued walking silently for a while. I felt as if I was peeling an orange or unwrapping a package. Little by little, I was getting better at forming a picture of who he was, what his family was like. I thought about his mother again.
“What did you mean when you said your mother senses me? You make her sound like a hound dog or something.”
“If we go through here,” he said, ignoring me and indicating the space between the mayor’s house and the one on his right, “we’ll cut around and come out just behind your house.”
“Is this all you do all day with your spare time, explore the grounds around everyone’s home?”
“No. I’m also working on a book of poetry entitled The Eyes Behind the Eyes.”
“What’s that about?”
He nodded at the path. “Shall we?”
“Okay, okay, I’ll go. I’m sure you know your way around safely.”
He laughed and reached for my hand.
“Well?” I asked. “What’s your book of poems about?”
“I think we all have a second set of eyes that we don’t realize exists. Not even doctors know. Some psychiatrists might, but I haven’t seen anything written about them.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Well, with the eyes we know we have, we see what everyone sees generally. The same colors, shapes, events. But with the eyes behind the eyes, we see beyond, we see deeper, we see what’s really there. That’s why sometimes, when someone smiles at you, you don’t trust the smile. You don’t realize it, but your eyes behind your eyes see through the smile and know it’s not true. Some people have those eyes wide open, and some haven’t opened them at all yet. Mine are wide open.”
“That’s pretty deep,” I said. “What makes you so deep?”
He paused to show me that I had asked a good question. For a long moment, he just stood there thinking.
“I’m not sure if it’s a gift or a curse,” he began, “but you might say it was forced on me almost the way anything you inherit is forced on you. People always say they can’t choose their relatives. It’s supposed to be a joke, but it’s true. They can’t. They’re born into that clan or whatever. You’re born with so much you can’t change. Oh, there’s plastic surgery for the superficial stuff, but you are who you are. That’s what I believe. If you try to change that, you run into some serious trouble.”
“I don’t know anyone my age or even a little older, even a lot older, who talks like you do,” I said.
He shrugged. “As I said, a curse or a blessing. Not sure.”
We continued walking.
“I think it’s a blessing,” I said. He shrugged.
“So, why did you come home so early from your hot date?” he asked. When I didn’t answer, he paused again and looked at me.
“Let’s just say there was an attempt to change who I am and leave it at that.”
He laughed. We continued walking and reached a point where we were on the path we had taken from my house to the stream. I looked back toward it.
“Still can’t forgive me for leaving you?”
How could he see what my thoughts were, my expression, in this darkness?
“I was quite surprised and, to be honest, a little shocked and disappointed. Maybe a lot disappointed.”
“Sorry,” he said. “It couldn’t be helped.” He sounded very sincere and very sad.
“It’s all right. I got over it, but . . .”
“But?”
“I didn’t get over my dream.”
“Which was?”
“That you kissed me. You didn’t sneak a kiss when I was asleep, did you?”
“No, but I had the same dream,” he said. “Probably at the same time.” He stepped closer.
Over my shoulder, the moon slipped between two soft gray-blue clouds and washed his face in a silvery light that made his eyes dazzling. He hesitated just as he had that first day when he had reached for my hand. I could see the desire but also the fear. It wasn’t like the fear of a boy who was unsure if the girl he was about to kiss would reject him and embarrass him. It was a different sort of fear, the fear of someone who thought he might fail and, as silly as it sounds, miss my lips with his. To help him overcome the hesitation, I moved forward, too, and we did kiss.
It was the kiss in my dream, the same kiss that felt as if his lips had settled on mine and formed themselves perfectly to fit my mouth. I could feel that same excitement flow into me, softening me but causing me to want more from his kiss. My hands went to his shoulders, my arms tightening so that he wouldn’t step away. And when he did, I pulled him back.
“Amber,” he whispered. “Wait.”
Wait? I thought. That’s what Prudence Perfect would do, would want, and might even say, but not me, not now. I stepped toward him and drew his lips back to mine, eager to feel him slip his kiss from my lips and to my neck. I moaned and turned my body even more into his. He embraced me and held me close. I wanted him to feel the thump of my heart, the warmth of my breath on his neck. He stroked my hair, and then he suddenly stopped, shook his head, and turned.
Without another word, he started away.
“Brayden, what’s wrong?” I called.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, not looking back. He looked down like someone who was ashamed. “You’d better go home.”
Before I could reply, he disappeared into the shadows.
I stood there, confused and disappointed. Before I could take another step, I had to calm myself and feel the passion in me reluctantly retreat to that corner of my heart where it had been resting and waiting to be nudged into action, demanding that every part of me come alive as it had never come alive. The woman who waited to be born inside me moaned in despair and frustration.
I followed him into the darkness, walking softly, listening for his footsteps, hoping that he had decided to turn back and come to me in the shadows, but he didn’t. I stepped into my backyard and gazed up at the lighted attic in his house. I didn’t see him or his mother, but for a few long moments, I stood there, anticipating him looking out and down at me. Instead, the lights suddenly went off, and the entire house fell into darkness, silhouetted by the moonlight like something his mother might have painted with only black and gray swallowed in the silvery glow. A lone crow settled on the roof and sat as if it were on a great nest waiting for something as dark and eerie as itself to be born.
I walked around to the front of my house. The television wasn’t on, but my parents were surely waiting up to see how my date with Shayne had gone. They would both be reading and waiting. I was so confused about the night’s events that I was afraid to enter the house. What would I tell them? That I’d had a disappointing date but met our new neighbor and gone for a romantic walk? The stunned looks on their faces would only add to my own bewilderment.
I sucked in my breath and walked into the house.
“I thought I heard a car pull in a while ago,” Dad said when I steppe
d into the living room. Mom turned to anticipate my answer, too. “We thought we heard it leave earlier. Where have you been?”
There was no lying about it, I thought. “I did arrive earlier, but I went for a walk with Brayden,” I said.
“Who?” Dad asked.
“The boy next door,” Mom said, smirking at him.
“Oh, right. But . . . I’m confused. Didn’t you go out with Shayne Allan?”
“I did. We went to dinner.”
“In Greenwood,” Mom said, nodding. “So, what about that?”
“It was all right. Nothing special. He wanted to take me to a house party afterward, but I didn’t want to go. I’m afraid he doesn’t take rejection well.”
They stared at me almost expressionless.
“You must have heard about Charlotte’s party.”
“Yes, we heard late in the day,” Dad said. “You didn’t say anything, but we weren’t worried about you being involved in any of that.”
“I could have been,” I said. “You can get blamed sometimes by just being there.”
“She’s right, Gregory,” Mom said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “Why did you go on a walk with the new neighbor when Shayne brought you home?”
“Brayden was out there, and I thought a walk would do me some good.”
“Nature boy,” Dad said. “When am I going to meet this descendant of Thoreau?”
“I’ll try to get him to come to the store tomorrow, maybe.”
Mom shook her head. “But you sounded like you had a very good time on the lake with Shayne today when I spoke to you earlier,” she said. “Didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“So?”
“It’s complicated,” I said.
Dad turned to Mom. “It’s complicated? Please translate again.”
“I think she needs to digest it all herself because it’s all happening fast. Girls are . . .”
“Complicated,” Dad said, nodding.
Mom winked at me to let me know it was all right not to keep explaining, but I knew she was planning to talk to me a lot more about it all.
“Were you busy?” I asked, hoping they would say very and ask me to come in tomorrow, even though we had Mrs. Williams.
Into the Darkness Page 17
