“Well, is that him?”
“Oh, ehm, yeah.” What is he doing here?
“He’s cute.” I shrug my shoulders. “Well, what’s with the hesitation? I can imagine girls are waiting in line for him.” She winks at me. “If I were twenty years younger…”
“What about the ice-cream?”
“It can wait. I’ll clean up here first.”
I hesitate for another second before walking up to him.
“Hi,” I say terribly awkwardly.
“Laurel.”
Hearing him pronounce my name as though we were alone in the room is sending shivers down my spine. Lou stays with us, giving us no privacy. It strikes me that he is staring at Sam with awe, and for the first time, this professor in philosophy doesn’t seem to know what to say.
“Can I talk to you outside for a moment?” Instead of waiting for his answer, I walk outside to escape Lou’s burning stare.
I lean against the brick wall and wait for him with my heart pounding. And then he stands before me. I feel very naked under his penetrating stare—as though he is seeing right through my thoughts—but I try not to look down. I know what I need to do—protect myself from him. Boycott him. I am going to listen to Ava, Maude, and Renee, and to all those other girls that were rejected summarily. Someone can ditch me once, even twice, but I’m not going to give him a third chance to do that.
“How did you find me here?”
“Friday evening, community service, homeless shelter? It wasn’t exactly a quadratic equation.” There is a short silence. “Is that homeless guy always so nosy?”
“That homeless person has a name, that’s Lou and he is a philosophy professor. I guess he is full of questions.”
Sam smiles briefly. “A homeless philosopher… interesting. Of Greek descent by any chance?”
“Yes.”
He raises one eyebrow. “Really?”
“I am working, Sam. I need the credits and…” Your mother calls me a commoner.
I put my hands inside my blazer, and we look at each other in silence. Even though it feels amazing to have him standing right here in front of me, to see him smile, to listen to that slightly hoarse voice… I’m anxious as well. Who is he? What does he want from me? What is it with those guys and their weird behavior toward girls?
“What do you want from me, Sam?”
“I want you to go swimming with me.”
My eyes widen. I was expecting any number of answers, but not an invitation for a midnight swim. “Swimming? I am working.”
“Tomorrow.”
His characteristic dimple appears in his left cheek. It is so hard to resist him, but I can’t help myself, I’m a warm-blooded girl. Only a cautious voice in my head is about to ruin everything. They don’t treat girls with respect. “Is this some kind of a date?”
“I just want you to come swimming with me, but if you want to call it a date, that’s fine with me. Some of my friends will be there too.”
The crazy thing is that I didn’t even expect a normal answer. He remains enigmatic and inscrutable.
“I’ll pick you up by the end of the morning,” he says as if it is an already sure thing.
“I haven’t said yes.”
“That’s not necessary, it wasn’t a question.”
“I don’t really have a choice here, do I?”
He is standing in front of me, tall and imposing. His head slightly bent forward. I can smell his leather jacket mixed with some other, heavenly, scent. “No, we will spend the entire day together. No matter what.”
Holy smokes, he insists on spending a day—an entire day—with me, and he won’t take no for an answer. I blow a strand of hair out of my face. This is by far the most bizarre way I have ever been asked out on a date. “All right then,” I agree needlessly. Even in the twilight, I can see his eyes sparkle. “I have to get back inside.”
“I’m sorry I bothered you at work.” Sam takes a step back and lets me pass. “Need any help?”
I stop walking and wonder if I misheard. I probably did, but still I turn around to test him. “Actually, we could use some manpower. How good are you with a spoon and ice cream?”
“I happen to be very good with that, actually.”
“That’s great, because we have around thirty bowls that need to be filled,” I say laughing. “Two scoops each.”
He steps out of the shadow and gives my braid a playful tug, which makes his fingers touch my cheek—too short to call it a real caress, but long enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He bends over and says into my ear, “I’ll gladly scoop up ice cream for every single islander tonight if that makes you forgive my rude behavior.” He lets go of my braid and holds the door open for me. My God, he’s irresistible.
I shake my head and walk inside, feeling a little like I’m sealing my fate.
9
laurel
I can’t help being surprised when Sam turns up on our doorstep at the end of the morning. With a mixture of amazement and shyness, I let him in. He is wearing gray blue swim trunks and a half-buttoned white shirt, with his sleeves partially rolled up. His hair touches the collar of his shirt and sunglasses are hanging in the low opening. He is slim but muscular.
I feel uncomfortable in my sweatpants and could have killed myself for not choosing something better from my closet this morning. After all, I knew this was bound to happen—him showing up.
“You’re surprised,” he says, entering the hallway.
Sam Laurens is standing in our hallway, and for a second I wonder what’s wrong with this picture.
He puts his hands into his pockets. “You didn’t think I was going to show up,” he says matter-of-factly. He takes in the hallway and his gaze stops at the piano. Then he turns to me. “Do you play?”
I shake my head, and for the first time I am able to smile. “Not really. It’s an old piano. It’s more of a decorative piece.” I still need to collect my stuff, and wonder if I should let him wait in the living room. Mia is busy checking out guests this time of day, and Martin is probably walking around the house like a zombie. I heard Renee come home last night after a night out and I think she is still asleep. I don’t want to think about what would happen if she ran into Sam in our living room. “Maybe you’d like to…”
Martin steps into the hall. His face lights up when he sees Sam. “Ah, Sam, right?”
“That’s right. Good morning, Mister Harper.”
“Martin.”
“Dad, Sam and I are going swimming today.”
“You couldn’t have picked a better day. Coffee?” he asks Sam.
“Dad, we need to get going.”
Sam looks at me. “We have some time.”
“Good,” Martin says, guiding Sam into the kitchen. It looks like he is about to drape an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Then we’ll have time for a little chat.”
He’s got to be joking! I follow them into the kitchen. Martin is definitely not small of stature, but Sam’s presence dominates the entire kitchen.
“Then, ehm, I’ll go get my stuff.” I shoot Martin a warning look.
I run up the stairs. To be honest, I haven’t packed anything yet because I was afraid I would jinx myself and Sam would stand me up. Now I regret my silly superstition and quickly pull a beach towel from the closet, grab sunscreen from a shelf, and cram it all into a jute shoulder bag. In a drawer I find the pink bandeau top I had planned on wearing, and I carefully consider what else to wear. I choose cut-off denim shorts, a white tunic—I don’t even want to think about him seeing my horrible scar—and I grab a pair of Havaianas. I gather my hair in a low ponytail, brush my teeth manically and run back into the kitchen. I wonder if Martin has already succeeded in embarrassing me again.
Stunned, I stand on the threshold. The men are sitting at the kitchen tabl
e and talking to each other as though they were best friends. Frowning, I walk up to them. “We’re going, Dad.”
“Where are you guys going exactly?”
“To the Old Wolf Lake,” Sam explains. “We’ll sail across the lake and have some food and drinks. Maybe take a swim.”
“Laurel, there’s a bowl with salad in the fridge, you can take that with you.”
“All right.” I walk toward the fridge. I notice a hunk of bread on the kitchen counter and I wrap it in some foil.
Martin is getting up from his chair. “How are you getting home, young lady?”
I’m not. I will probably be left behind and you will never see me again. I peek at Sam through my eyelashes.
“I’ll bring her back home, Martin,” Sam answers, way too maturely for his age. He looks at me with a smug look. “Right up to the front door.”
“Excellent!” Martin says.
“Should she be home at a certain time?”
Hello, I’m right here! I can hear you…
“Is it going to be that late?” Martin wants to know.
I think about what Sam said about wanting to spend the entire day with me. And I am sure that is what I want too. “It’s Saturday,” I say quickly.
“Eh, okay, in that case, no sooner than twelve midnight please,” he jokes. “Five past twelve is soon enough.” He gives me a kiss. “Enjoy your day honey, and try not to fall overboard.”
Rolling my eyes, I push Sam out of the kitchen.
“Did you rent a boat?”
“No, I own a boat. Well, it’s more of an old sloop to be exact.”
Sam is driving the car with his left hand. His elbow is resting on the edge of the driver’s side window and with his other hand, he is fumbling with a CD case. I stare at his long, slim fingers and then purposely shift my gaze outside.
We have left the shore, and jagged hills appear in front of us. I follow the winding road going uphill. On either side, there are huge conifers that seem to touch the turquoise sky. The ground is covered in deep green moss and ferns. It is beautiful out here. How could I have lived here and not remember this?
“Wolf Lake, you said?” Worried, I give him a sideways glance. Sam has put on some sunglasses with a gold frame and brown lenses, and his eyes are hidden from me. I hope he keeps them on all day, because it makes me a little less nervous. I put my own glasses on as well.
“Yes I did, seventeen minutes ago in your kitchen. Do I need to turn around?”
“That depends on the local fauna.”
Smiling, he looks back at the road. “Storm will be there.”
“Hmm, that’s hardly reassuring.”
“Don’t worry, he likes you.”
“He… he likes me?” I stumble. Since I can’t see his eyes, I am not sure if he is messing with me.
“Yeah, he does, and if needed he will protect you.”
A warm sensation flows through me. “You think?”
“I’m sure of it.”
His words caress my ego—Sam’s dog protecting me… The problem is that I am not afraid of anything, except for his dog. And maybe a little of its master.
After going up and down for a while, the road suddenly opens up and my breath stops when I see a boomerang shaped lake enclosed by a thick forest of pine trees.
At a fallen fir, Sam turns left. A tree stump—higher than I am—sticks out of the ground. The huge trunk is leaning sideways pathetically.
“Six years ago, a severe storm ravaged the island and felled a lot of old trees,” Sam explains. “They snapped like matchsticks. Can you believe that?”
I can and I feel my throat closing up. I know all about that infamous storm that cost Renee’s dad his life six years ago. It was about the same time I lost my mom—also because of extreme weather. Stormy weather seems to be a curse in both of our families.
“They just leave the trees like that?” I ask with a thick voice.
Sam glances sideways and looks at me in silence for a few seconds. “Fortunately yes. The trunks could bring in a lot of money, but they’re also very nutritious for the soil. This way, a new generation of spruce will grow in time.”
“That’s great,” I answer.
Sam nods absentmindedly. He leaves the main road in favor of some dirt road, and finally we bounce down a narrow trail.
“Is this an alternative route to the harbor?”
“To my house, I live by the lake.”
My eyes widen. “We’re going to your house?”
“Do you mind?”
I think of his mom and imagine that she would mind more than I do. “No, I don’t.” I take in the surroundings and wonder if they live in a tree house.
Sam stops the car in front of a house that actually does look like a tree house. The log cabin, supported on sturdy stilts, is constructed with logs from top to bottom and surrounded by tall, rugged spruce and cedar trees. “This is it.”
I reach to open the door, but Sam appears next to my door and lets me out. From behind the front door, I can hear the horrible sound of nails scraping on a floor. A shiver runs down my spine.
“Someone really needs to go outside,” Sam says. “Ready to face Storm? He is going to react very enthusiastic. He already smelled you.”
“As long as he doesn’t jump.”
Sam has not yet opened the door fully, but Storm squeezes himself through the narrow opening and comes toward me. Sam immediately gives him a command and Storm sits down with a growl. I gently scratch him between his ears and his grunting turns into a soft squeaking sound. I can see Sam frown.
“Don’t your parents walk him?”
“I live alone.”
His remark makes me both relieved and extremely nervous. I follow Sam trough a small hallway into a cozy living room. Not only does it look just as natural and rustic as the outside, it smells that way as well—like a hint of freshly sharpened pencils.
Sam walks over to a sliding glass door and Storm nearly runs him over. “Easy,” he says.
I let my eyes wander around the room. On one of the walls hangs an impressive moose antler and on an armchair lies an acoustic guitar.
A wooden photo frame catches my eye. It is a picture of Sam with his parents—I think—and now I am certain that the elegant woman in the antique store really is his mother. Sam looks like he is about ten years old in the picture. His skin is tanned and the contrast to his white blonde curls is striking. His hair is much darker now, and there is almost nothing left of the cute curls, but his face is still just as perfect—although the little boy’s angelic smile has changed into a strong, masculine face. Then I notice something strange—Sam’s parents both have pitch-black hair. In the background, I can see part of a white pillar and a temple, and I suspect that the picture was taken during a summer vacation in Greece or Italy.
“If you keep standing there all day long, you’ll miss all of the beauty over here,” Sam calls from the deck.
Quickly, I walk over to the deck. Storm has disappeared. “You have a nice place.”
“Thanks. I love being here, I’m not much of a city person.”
“I just saw that picture of you as child.” For a second he seems unnerved, and I am not sure if I should continue. “Are those your parents in the picture?”
“Yes,” he says, a little humorlessly.
“You used to have white hair, who did you get that from?”
“My dad.”
“Your dad?” I ask surprised.
“George—the man in the picture—is not my biological father.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“That’s okay,” he says softly, “as I said before, my life is complicated. George has raised me since I was born and I consider him my dad.”
“Have you ever had contact with your biological father? I mean, do
you know him?”
Luckily he smiles again. “Yeah, I know who he is, but we’re not really on speaking terms.”
Sam doesn’t elaborate, and I decide to leave the sensitive topic where it is. I understand how he must feel. With bated breath, I walk to the end of the deck. The view of the steel blue lake and the surrounding pine forest is breathtaking. The sun is shining brightly and the water sparkles.
“Amazing…” I almost feel tears welling up at the sight of all this unspoiled beauty. “If you told me right now that there’s a metropolis just a few miles away, I wouldn’t believe you.”
Sam just stares at me, and I turn my head to the small beach where I spot Storm—once again standing at the water’s edge, stock-still. Suddenly, I get the feeling that Sam must be terribly lonely out here. “How come you live here alone? Where do your parents live?”
“They live downtown, above the antique shop. This log cabin is actually theirs, but it’s too small for the three of us. They sometimes stay here during the holidays or when they want to escape the hustle and bustle of the city.” He laughs. “That is, if I’m not here. My guitars drive them crazy.”
“Is that the reason you went to live here?”
“Yeah, it is. One day, it was just the last straw for them. We had spent the summer here and were about to head back to the city. They insisted that I left my guitars behind. I told them that if the guitars stayed, so would I. I’ve never left and I don’t think I ever will.”
“Your parents are open-minded.”
Sam laughs scornfully.
“Do you have any siblings?”
“Nope, it’s just me. Come on, let’s go.”
“I thought your friends were also coming?”
At that exact moment, a group of noisy people appears on the beach.
10
laurel
The engine hums as Sam steers his old sloop across the water. His unbuttoned shirt catches the wind and I gaze at his glowing, bronzed chest. It looks like it feels smooth. When I spot a brown nipple, I blush and quickly look the other way.
House of Guardians Page 8
