“No, that was pretty good. At least it rhymed.” I laugh. “But I don’t need convincing. I’ll try it. What do you want to free climb?”
“How about the old hotel? We’d have to wait until closer to twilight. A couple of hours. Then we’d be fine. We’ll get the elevator up to the eighth floor. I’ve done it before. There’s a window. I’ll show you.”
“The eighth floor? That sounds . . . high.”
“We can practise stuff until then.”
His words tug at my mind. Twilight. The eighth floor. I’ve done it before. A couple of notes play around with the lyrics in my head, tumbling over each other like autumn leaves. I pull out my cell to make notes. There’s a message.
Alec not surfacing,
the reflection in the water
of the sky above.
There’s no number. The message vanishes, but my head begins to pound.
“What’s up?” Alec gently touches my cheek.
“Just my cell. I got a weird . . .” I move back from him and rub my temples. “It was really . . . I don’t even know.” I check my cell again. There’s no message. “Let’s go.”
By the time we’ve driven downtown and walked along the river for a while, practising a few wall climbs and jumps, it’s late afternoon. We buy takeout coffees and sit on a bench with our hands wrapped around the warm disposable cups, occasionally looking up at the hotel. I pull out my phone and put in one earbud, giving Alec the other. Together we listen to Alvvays. The vocalist’s voice is high, subtle, nuanced, and I love it. After two songs, he takes out the earbud.
“You don’t like it?” I hold my hand to my chest.
“Well, it’s maybe . . . uh . . . maybe just a bit girly.”
“Girly? She’s got great lyrics. A gorgeous voice.”
“Okay, sure. She’s not all high-pitched and emotional.”
I jab him in the ribs. “You’re a sexist monster.”
“I’m a sexy what?”
“A sexist—”
He presses his mouth to mine. When we come up for air, he grins and says, “Can we climb now?”
At the hotel, a tall, thin guy opens the front door for us. A memory trickles into my mind. My mom and I came here, to this hotel lobby, and we sat here. I must have been nine. We drank hot chocolate and pretended to be rich and famous. At one point, she sat at the piano. That one, right there. She began to play, and the other people sitting around stopped what they were doing to listen. And then, just as I’m trying to remember the exact sound of her voice, the memory is gone. There is only the shiny hotel lobby, the burble of other guests and background muzak bringing me back to the present.
Alec is saying, “It’s about having three points of contact at all times.”
“What is?”
“Climbing. I was just telling you. I’m guessing you weren’t listening.”
“Sorry. I was just . . .”
He moves his thumb lightly over my cheek, resting it on my bottom lip. “Ready now for a climbing lesson?”
I kiss his thumb and nod. The elevator doors squeak closed; the motor whirs as it goes up. We’re reflected in the glass.
“Three points of contact. One hand, two feet, or two hands, one foot. But this isn’t hard climbing. Not at all—the pitch of the roof up there isn’t steep. We can take some pictures, watch the sunset. Ready?”
I nod. My stomach has a stone in it.
He takes my hand and says, “Nervous?”
“Not really.” My fingers lace with his. “Yeah. Totally nervous.”
My heart races as he kisses me. His tongue is rough, and his hand slides over my shirt, then underneath it to graze my belly button, then slowly upwards. My body responds, and I hear a groan escape my lips as he kisses my collarbone. A shiver runs along my arms.
The elevator dings. Alec steps back as the door whines open. I feel keenly the space where he was moments before. I want him to kiss me like that again. He pulls me into a carpeted hallway, where there’s a faint musty smell. At the end of the corridor is a window looking over the dusky sky. The setting sun is huge and orange. Alec pulls a screwdriver from his pocket.
“Always handy?” I joke.
“Yeah. Moments like this. Keep watch for me?”
I look over my shoulder, but no one’s up here. I imagine a security guy viewing us on a monitor somewhere, getting up, coming to stop us, but I hear only the hum of the fluorescent lights and the chime of the elevator now on a distant floor.
When I turn back, the window is open, and Alec is standing on the window ledge. “Ready?” he says.
My cell vibrates.
Dad:
What’s for supper?
Kidding—but where are you?
Eating cheese sandwich.
Lark:
Out with Alec.
Back soon. LU.
A new message appears, no number:
He strikes a pose
as if he’s on the cover of Vogue . . .
“Alec?” I say.
He’s not at the window. I hurry to look out. He’s standing to my right on a narrow ledge—maybe fifteen centimetres wide—that juts from the wall and is decorated with gargoyles. The cool evening air is like a drink of water.
“It’s beautiful out here,” he says.
I glance at my cell. The message is gone. This is weird.
“Come on, Lark.”
I put away my phone and pull myself out of the window, my stomach tight as a perfect lyric. Boom—racing heart, hot cheeks, eight storeys to the ground below, Alec Sandcross poised on the ledge. He shuffles a few steps, and so I do too, not looking down, my back pressed against the rough stucco. Then he steps up onto a higher narrow ledge, and I follow. He turns to face the wall, reaches up one arm, loose-limbed as a chimpanzee, and pulls himself up and over the overhang. Everything is quiet, and still. I hear a bump and scrape, and then both his hands appear, followed by his face.
“Let me get you over this bit.”
I hesitate. But there’s no way I can pull myself up like he did without help.
“I won’t let you go,” he says.
“Holy crap, this is scary.” I half turn on the ledge and reach one of my hands to his. His grip is strong. I grab his other hand, my body stiffening with the thought that if he lets go, I’ll die.
“Relax, Lark.”
Then everything happens quickly. He pulls, while I scrabble for a foothold, terror lurching like a drunk in my heart. My legs freewheel, but his grip is strong, and he tugs me easily over onto the roof. I scrape the skin on my stomach, and my belly chain snaps off, slipping over the edge, but I don’t care. The roof tiles are large, but the pitch isn’t steep, as he said, and from here, the rising moon hangs just out of reach. From here, it’s easy enough to get to the top, more a matter of crawling than climbing, but I’m trembling all over, refusing to look down, until we straddle the peak, legs astride, facing each other. We did it.
After my breathing steadies, I look down. Another pulse of excitement shoots through me—below, the city spreads out like a fabric patterned with buildings, cars, tiny people, and I am here, invisible, watching, flying above the city, adrenalin hot in my veins.
“Woo-hoo!” I cry.
“Told you,” Alec says.
He kisses me hard, his tongue warm and wet, and our knees press together. Something shoots through me—I haven’t felt like this before. God, I want him to kiss me more, kiss me harder. I become liquid. I don’t want to name this feeling, but the L-word floats through my mind, springing to my lips, which open more. Nothing has felt like this before. Nothing like Alec.
Nothing like this.
Day 13: late afternoon
The river glitters between the thick trees on its banks. Alec pulls down the blind and lightly pushes me onto the dark-grey cover of his tidy bed. It smells freshly laundered, but with a not-unpleasant undertone of sweat. St. Vincent—my choice—starts on “I Prefer Your Love.” I sit up to wriggle out of my jeans and throw them
onto the spotless floor. Alec kneels at the edge and pulls his shirt over his head. His toned abs flex as he leans forward to kiss the point of my chin, then the place where my collarbones meet, then the top of my breasts. I bite my lip, and a sigh involuntarily escapes me. I turn my head. Posters of scantily clad female climbers adorn the dark blue walls. A map of the world is lacquered onto his desk, and books line the shelves. The desk has a large computer and a laptop.
My hands play with his hair, and I say, my voice husky, “Are you sure your parents aren’t coming home?”
He props himself on his forearms. “They said they’d be out all day.” Quietly he adds, “You’re beautiful, Lark. And I love your name.”
The word love hums between us. Again. But it’s way too soon. He leans over me and strokes my hair, looking into my eyes, and the feeling buds in me again.
“Tell me—have you, you know, a lot?” I ask.
Amusement glimmers in his eyes. “Have I . . . you know? What would you mean by that?”
“Come on,” I say.
“Why?”
“I dunno. Curious.” I blush. “Not my business.”
“Your business. A few others. Only one who—I guess that meant anything.”
“Who was that?”
His face clouds. “Sharbat from school.”
“Yeah, I knew you guys dated.”
He draws a mountain range over my chest with one finger. “Her parents didn’t want us to be together; they’re pretty old-fashioned. They broke us up. They made her leave the school. It was . . . it was pretty bad. But I’m over it now. And it’s led to good things . . . like you.” He kisses my shoulder. “And that’s when I really got into climbing. Which gave me a huge new focus. I want to travel, see the world . . . climb this.” He points at one of the posters of rock faces. “I mean, it would be awesome to be able to do that one day.”
The front door slams. Alec turns off the music, and we both start hopping around the bedroom grabbing our clothes.
I hear a woman whimper, “Please don’t.”
“Wait here,” Alec says. He zips up his jeans, yanks his shirt over his head and rushes out of the room and down the stairs.
He isn’t quick enough to stop me overhearing a man shouting—like, really yelling—“What the hell, Karen?”
I get my shirt on. Alec says loudly, “Lark’s here.”
Alec’s dad clears his throat. “We’ll talk later,” he says, clearly directed at Alec’s mom.
I check my makeup in my compact and smooth my hair—in the semi-darkness of Alec’s room, my hair seems even blacker than usual. When I come out of the bedroom, I try to act normal. Like I’m not coming out of Alec’s bedroom. Like hearing Alec’s dad shouting isn’t awkward.
Alec’s parents stand by the front door, looking up at me as I come down the stairs. His mom is tall and slim. She wears amazingly high heels, skinny jeans and a white cashmere sweater. Her blond hair is immaculate and her golden gel nails gleam. From her flawlessly made-up face, her very pale eyes assess me.
She smiles and air-kisses my cheeks. “Hi, Lark, a pleasure.”
Alec’s dad is hugely tall and built like a garden shed—boxy. He wears a grey suit and a navy tie. His dark eyes are exactly the same as Alec’s. He’s clean-shaven, with close-cropped hair.
He puts a hand forward for me to shake and says, “You are just as beautiful as Alec said.” His voice is jovial and friendly. “Call me Scott.”
My hand seems tiny held in his. He has a gold ring on his little finger. The spicy smell of his cologne wafts over me.
“Um, thanks,” I say, as he releases me. “Nice to meet you both. I should probably go, though. I’m supposed to be working in—oh, uh—ten minutes ago.”
“Where do you work?” Scott asks.
“D’Lish over on Temperance. It’s close to my house. Great coffee.”
“Well, come by again sometime, Lark. Have supper with us—right, Karen?” He turns to Alec’s mom.
She says, “Absolutely. Alec has been talking about you.”
I would be thrilled if it wasn’t all so . . . tense between everyone.
Alec doesn’t meet my eye; he just mumbles a goodbye. As soon as the door shuts behind me, he messages.
Alec:
Sorry. Meet after ur done work?
Lark:
Course xox
I grab my longboard from the front porch. I’m wearing clothes for a warm day, but it’s surprisingly cool. I’m pulling on a hoodie when I hear Scott yell, really yell, “I saw that girl come out of your room! I’m no idiot.”
“Not now, Dad.”
“Who do the pair of you think you are?”
I’m late for work. I shouldn’t be listening at closed doors. I swallow hard and then scoot away.
Lucy gives me a dirty look when I get to D’Lish, where the tables are stacked with cups and plates, and there’s a long lineup. People sit eating desserts, chatting, checking their cells. The low evening lighting illuminates the series of photographs of the river that have just been hung. I clear tables, while Lucy deals with the customers. The whole shift is crazy, and it’s not until after we’ve put the Closed sign on the door and said good night to the last customer that I even get a chance to apologize for not being on time.
The beads on her multicoloured headscarf jangle as she shakes her head. “I’m gonna take a five-minute break.”
“I’m sorry. Really.”
“You’ve been late three times working with me in the last week. But that was crazy late. Let me guess—you were with Alec.” She holds her hands together, fingers pressed, and lets out a slow breath. “Give me five minutes. I’m exhausted. It’s been soooo busy.” She opens the oven and takes out the breakfast muffins for the morning, filling the back kitchen with the warm smell of bananas and toasted oats. “It’s not a big deal. I’m obviously just jealous I’m not getting it.”
“But I am sorry. And I’m not getting it.” I grin at her. “Yet.”
Lucy leans against the counter and her eyebrows dance. “Ooooh!” She opens her pack of cigarettes. Even though she hasn’t yet lit one, the strong clove smell drifts over.
“It’s not just that,” I say, and she giggles. “I mean . . . he’s so . . . he wants to do all this stuff, like travel and climb famous rocks. I just . . . what am I trying to say . . . I guess . . .”
“Are you in love?” She giggles again. “You’re utterly in love. I haven’t seen you like this.”
I beam. “And he’s hot. So freaking hot.”
“That is very true.”
“Go smoke. I’ll clear up in here.”
“One thing, Gooey-ball . . . try not to get so distracted by Alec you forget about the rest of us. Okay?”
“As if I would.”
She pops the end of a cigarette into her mouth. “When I get back, tell me more about you nearly getting it.” She goes out, and I place the muffins on a rack to cool. I put dishes and pots in the dishwasher and run hot water to start wiping the countertops. A weird feeling that I can’t shake rises through me. I’m a little unstable, a little dizzy. Figuring I’m hungry, I grab myself a cookie, but it doesn’t improve anything. I’ve got Anika, Boh & Hollie playing on my cell, and normally “Peace of Mind” makes me feel calmer, but I’m jittery, my mind filling with images of the lake on that day. The weight of Alec as I kicked to the shore. The wet, snaking reeds. Annabelle’s blue lips.
While I clean up, I dial the hospital. I’ve called two other times recently, but reception at Pediatrics kept telling me the family isn’t taking any calls, and Suzanne hasn’t answered her cell.
A woman answers on the first ring, sounding monumentally bored. “St. Mary’s. How can I direct your call?”
“I, um, I want to come visit a patient. Her first name is Annabelle. Annabelle Fields. She’s in a coma. She’s a little kid—”
The woman cuts me off, and two seconds later the phone rings and is answered by a tired female voice. “Hello?”
“I hope I didn’t disturb you. Sorry,” I say.
“No. I wasn’t asleep.”
“Suzanne? It’s Lark. Sorry. I’m really sorry—God, it’s late,” I babble. “I thought I’d get Pediatric reception.”
“No. It’s sweet of you to call. I wish I had better news. There’s no . . . there’s no change. Oh . . .” A sob travels through the cell. “I find it hard to sleep. Just in case she wakes . . . I want my face to be the face she sees.”
“Maybe I could help. I could come by later this week, and watch her,” I say. “With Alec, perhaps.”
“Sure. Maybe.”
Mechanically I wipe down the countertop. The silence stretches. “I’m sorry I dived for Alec first . . .” I blurt.
“Lark, there was nothing you could have done differently that day.”
“I blame myself—”
She chokes back a sob. “Lark. Don’t torture yourself. Anyone would have been dazed in that moment. You reacted in a perfectly normal way.”
“But I could have moved more quickly, saved them both. I don’t know—”
“If anything, I’m the one to blame.” We’re both silent. “Look, Lark, I need to sleep. But do come. If we’re still here, come . . . How about Tuesday? Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good night, honey.” She ends the call.
Lucy comes in. “Thanks for clearing up.”
During the call, I’ve done more than I realized, so we’re nearly finished for the night. Lucy gives me a hug, and the smell of clove curls off her clothes and hair.
She says, “I miss you, you know, now you’re all loved up. But I’m happy if you’re happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Maybe Alec wants to come with us tonight? I wanna get to know him better. This guy who gets you loved up.”
“Tonight?” I ask.
“Nitrogen Vice? At Lydia’s?”
“Oh yeah.”
“You forgot?”
“No. Course not. I’ll ask him right now.”
Me and Me Page 3
