Push and Shove

by C. L. Stone

  Mr. Blackbourne touched my elbow briefly, and it was enough to draw my attention away. I followed his lead. This time, he allowed me to walk a half step behind him, although his shoulders slightly hunched and his face was stern like he was uncomfortable. I couldn’t help it. I was completely out of my element. My eyes were everywhere, absorbing every detail of this excursion.

  The foyer of the country club had an array of dark woods and hanging deer heads with great antlers. The décor drew the eyes up to gold and crystal chandeliers. There were large paintings on nearly every wall of Charleston plantations. One particularly big painting looked like an overhead view of the building we were in, along with the grounds.

  There was another attendant in a formal suit standing at attention at an inner wide archway. His smile looked painted, forced.

  Mr. Blackbourne addressed him. “Pardon me, it’s been a while since we’ve been here. Could you direct us to the golf shop? I’m afraid I dragged my girlfriend out without advising her where we were going. She’d like a change of clothes.”

  Girlfriend?

  I tore my eyes away from paintings to stare at Mr. Blackbourne. I was behind him so I couldn’t catch his expression, just the edge of his cheek and the black rim of his glasses.

  I supposed it would make sense to say such a thing, and I couldn’t argue about it. The ruse was just terribly timed, and my thoughts instantly went to what North, or anyone else might think. I tried to ease my nerves as I told myself Mr. Blackbourne was trying to simplify the situation. It was probably the first believable thing he came up with.

  The fact that it was the first thing he thought of still made my heart flutter.

  “Of course, sir,” the young man said. He lifted his hand, pointing with two fingers down a hallway. “If you’ll head this way, you’ll find the golf shop to your left. There’s a small selection of appropriate attire.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Blackbourne said. He found my elbow again, tugging me next to him so I walked alongside.

  “Shouldn’t we head straight to where Mr. Hendricks is?” I asked. “What if he meets with someone and we miss it?”

  “I’m already listening,” he said. He tapped at his ear. It was the first time I noticed the ear bud, barely detectable unless you were looking for it. If I didn’t know him better, I may have assumed it to be a hearing aid of some kind.

  “If he’s wired, why did we have to follow him?”

  Mr. Blackbourne tapped a finger to his lips. He didn’t seem to mind me asking, but it wasn’t the right place. Who knows who could be listening?

  I followed Mr. Blackbourne through another archway and found a posh golf shop. The displays were mostly filled with the latest golf clubs, tennis clubs, bags and accessories, but there were a number of racks of clothes. Sporty casual. There were some bathing suits, and I wondered if there was a pool within the country club.

  I stood by Mr. Blackbourne, gazing at the racks, unsure of what to do.

  Mr. Blackbourne sought out the racks of women’s clothes. He threaded his fingers through some of the selection and in under a minute, he pulled out a pink polo T-shirt dress. He handed it off to me, ripping the tag off the cuff in the process.

  “Mr. Blackbourne...” I stammered.

  “The changing room is there,” he said, pointing toward the door in the far wall. “Put this on.”

  I glanced around, meeting eyes with a curious attendant at the register. I took the dress from Mr. Blackbourne, walking quickly to the changing room.

  I took my skirt and blouse off quickly. I held up the shirt dress. I hadn’t worn anything like it before. It was a deep shade of pink, with a white sailboat logo above the breast. I shoved the dress over my head. The lower hem fell to a few inches above my knees; the fit was perfect.

  How did he know my size?

  I didn’t know what to do with my clothes. I collected them in a heap and then stopped. I dropped them again so I could fold them neatly. I’d have to carry them around somehow. My shoes were black and as I put them back on, I thought they didn’t really match with the dress.

  I stepped out and it took me a full minute of scanning the gift shop before I spotted Mr. Blackbourne standing at the counter.

  Wearing tan slacks, a maroon polo, and a brown sports coat.

  I almost choked. The whole room seemed to still. I silently asked him to turn and focus on me, sure this was a trick.

  And when he did, I almost died where I stood, my heart thundering back to life.

  Casual Mr. Blackbourne was severe perfection. The way his soft brown hair was cropped close to his head, his high cheekbones and dark lashes against his fair skin, the angle of his jaw... he was still the polished diamond, but the softening of his attire stirred something deep inside me in a new way.

  I adjusted my posture before I set off to meet him at the counter.

  His eyebrow cocked as I approached him. He studied me in a harsh sweep. There was a twitch in his eyes as he focused on the shoes. He turned around and picked up a pair of brown wedge sandals that had been waiting on the counter next to him. He passed them over. “Wear these.”

  That little twitch at seeing the mismatching shoes rattled me, embarrassed for not getting an immediate approval. I obeyed him, slipping on the shoes that fit my feet exactly.

  He took my old clothes and shoes and stuffed them into a golf shop bag. “Pardon me,” he said to the attendant at the cash register. “Could I leave these with you until we’re finished?”

  The attendant agreed, taking the bag behind the counter. Mr. Blackbourne tucked his fingers around my elbow and guided me back down the hallway. I hadn’t even seen him pay, but the attendant didn’t say a word. It felt like we were stealing the clothes.

  He seemed to know where he was going, his face was very intent. When we were in the quiet of the hallway, I thought I could hear a voice, a whisper. I realized it must be from the earpiece he was wearing. He was listening to Mr. Hendricks.

  We turned a corner, and I stopped short when I realized we were facing a very busy dining room. A hostess stood by a podium. Her eyes swept over our clothes. There was a slight nod to her head, as if this met some sort of standard. I realized the clothes were meant to gain access to this particular section of the country club. She turned to Mr. Blackbourne. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “We actually prefer the balcony,” he said. He pointed to where there was a door, and several empty tables sat overlooking the driving range.

  The hostess nodded and asked us to follow. My bones shook about as much as my heart did. I scanned the room, not spotting Mr. Hendricks.

  When we were outside on the balcony, the hostess pointed to a table, but Mr. Blackbourne pointed to another, one angled oddly at the windows but still had a view of the range before us. Mr. Blackbourne put his hands on the back of one of the chairs, pulling it from the table. He eyeballed me.

  I eased myself into the chair just as he adjusted it. I ended up facing the driving range. He sat next to me and had a view looking in the window of the dining room.

  When the hostess left us, we were immediately waited upon. We were given water glasses and a basket of homemade dill crackers along with some sort of herb dip.

  “We know what we want,” Mr. Blackbourne said, waving away the offered menus. “I’ll have the steakhouse and...” He turned to me nonchalantly. His hand found my knee, fingertips brushing along my skin until he grasped it gently and then squeezed as if trying to gather my full attention. “You prefer the cobb, don’t you, sweetie?”

  My lips parted and my cheeks flushed with heat at both the sentiment and the way he smoothly behaved as if we’d been there a million times before. I held my breath and nodded. He smiled back at the waitress, who recited our order for his approval and disappeared behind the door to the dining room.

  With him touching me, I didn’t have the sense to ask what cobb was.

  When she was gone, I blew out a puff of air. I think it was finally settling that I was p
laying hooky with Mr. Blackbourne at a country club. I would never have pictured it in a million years.

  Mr. Blackbourne released my knee and sat back. His eyes seemed to be on me, but his focus was elsewhere. I realized he was staring behind my head toward the windows. When his shoulders rolled back, I caught the outline of his frame from the polo shirt. The top was partially unbuttoned, and I got a glimpse of the dip at the base of his neck and a little further down. I had to force myself to shake off the desire to stare.

  “Well?” he asked.

  I tried staring at his eyes, but it was pointless, as he wasn’t focusing so it felt weird. “Pardon?” I asked.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened this weekend or are you going to make me ask Mr. Lee?” His tone had changed. The previous sweet-talking and doting boyfriend voice was gone. This was Mr. Blackbourne, Academy-trained group leader.

  My cheeks wouldn’t stop heating. “What happened?” I asked, feigning naiveté, which was pretty easy to do under the circumstances; so much had happened over the weekend that I wasn’t sure if he was referring to something specific. Instead of looking at him, I stared behind him, finding it easier to address the half-occupied driving range.

  “I give orders to the boys to let you rest, and you walk in Monday morning looking like a train wreck. Something happened.”

  “Do I look that bad?” I said quietly, hurt that he thought me a wreck in any instance.

  He blinked hard and his eyes readjusted, focusing on my face. “There’s shadows under your eyes again,” he said softly.

  I reached up, touching briefly at the soft skin of my lower eye lid. I’d had a moment where I thought I should ask Gabriel for assistance with more makeup and hide the shadows, but I had a feeling this was the completely wrong answer. Hiding my tired state wasn’t what he wanted.

  I didn’t have another answer to give him, because the alternative meant avoiding the boys altogether to allow rest, and even then I wasn’t sure that would work. I’d be stressed, worried about what was going on at school, especially now.

  He breathed out slowly, refocusing on the window behind me. “Have you been eating?”

  “Yes,” I said, with more confidence than the last time he’d asked me the same question. That was mostly true.

  “And taking the vitamins?”

  “I’ve been trying. They make my stomach hurt.”

  His eyes briefly focused on me again before returning to the window. “Mr. Coleman mentioned they were testing the vitamins with you.”

  “Can’t I just eat more food?” I asked. “I don’t suppose we could skip the testing.”

  “Like you’ve been skipping sleep?”

  “Not on purpose,” I said. “There’s—”

  “Always a reason,” he said. He sighed, sitting back a little.

  This completely distracted me. I hated feeling like I’d let him down when it was my own health, something I should worry about, not him.

  But looking at him caught my attention. The way his glasses sat along his nose, his face splashed with sunlight, the shape of his face was clearer. There were shadows underneath his own steel eyes. “Not to deflect,” I said softly, “but I don’t believe I’m the only one not sleeping well.”

  This time when he looked at me, he held my gaze. There was a challenge in it. I held my ground. Maybe I hadn’t made all the right choices this weekend, but I did what the boys told me to do and I did the best I could. Would he have me do things any differently?

  “Miss Sorenson,” he said, and parted his lips to continue, but stopped short when the door to the dining room open behind me.

  The waitress returned with a steak and side salad for him, and a chicken salad for me – I gathered that must be what cobb meant. She planted steak sauce and a tiny tin pitcher with salad dressing in front of us and asked if we’d like anything else. Mr. Blackbourne was quick to dismiss her with a thank you, and she seemed happy that he was pleased.

  When we were alone again, Mr. Blackbourne jerked his napkin from the table, unfolding it and dropping it into his lap. “Did you learn anything valuable this weekend that I should be aware of? I got a partial report from Mr. Lee regarding some of the more pertinent events.”

  “Did he tell you about my sister and her party?” I figured he had, since he’d been the one talking to them when they were at the hospital.

  The corner of his mouth dipped. He focused on his steak, cutting it into pieces. “I understand you talked with her about the party. Will she cease this behavior?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “She somewhat agreed to no big parties at the house. Kota mentioned she doesn’t recall doing any drugs. I don’t think she’s the type. She’s influenced by Danielle, though. I don’t know what they might do next, but they don’t really listen to me. Her promise might not hold.”

  “One more party would be two too many,” Mr. Blackbourne said.

  I speared at my salad, taking small bites without relish. It looked delicious and I was hungry, but the conversation was making my stomach turn, though it couldn’t be avoided. “Nathan wants me to move out of the house. He says it’s too dangerous to stay any longer.”

  “He might be correct,” Mr. Blackbourne said, but his attention was diverted again. His head was still, but his eyes darted back and forth, looking behind me. It was difficult not to turn around to see what he was looking at. “Your parents may no longer be a threat, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t return. And before that happens, your sister and her friends may put you in a position you don’t want to be in, requiring us to move you to a safer location.”

  I focused on a cherry tomato, impaling it. I slid the fork against the side of the plate, letting the fruit fall back into the lettuce. “Nathan wants me to move in with him.”

  “Out of the question,” Mr. Blackbourne said. He planted a piece of steak into his mouth. He finished his bite, swallowed and took a sip of water before continuing. “You can’t move into his house right now. I think you’ve met his father. You’re to stay away from him at all cost.”

  “Nathan wants us to get an apartment near where Silas lives.”

  Mr. Blackbourne shook his head. “We’re not prepared for it. There’s no way you two could afford an apartment together without working way more than you should, even at the diner. Neither of you can drop out of school right now. He’s under Academy obligation and if you drop out, the state will look at you more closely. Working around school hours right now would be impossible. You’re already wearing yourself out.”

  I bit my lip, turning the tomato over with my fork, rolling it around in my plate. He was right. When he put it like that, I realized how impossible it was. Nathan was obligated under an Academy request to work undercover at Ashley Waters and neither one of us could afford an apartment on part-time incomes and keep up with everything. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” I said in a small voice.

  I felt the steel in his stare, even as I focused on my salad. A silence fell. I couldn’t imagine anything he could say. I couldn’t move out on my own without getting a full-time job and I couldn’t do that if I needed to stay in school. I wasn’t safe at home, even without my mother there to punish me like she used to. I was stuck.

  I caught movement from the corner of my eye on the driving range and turned to focus. Mr. Hendricks was walking out with a set of clubs slung over his shoulder. Another man followed beside him. They set themselves up, dropping golf balls onto the mats at their feet. Other golfers stood next to them, but the mats next to them were vacant. They were close enough that I could see what they were doing, but too far away to catch any facial expressions or too many details.

  Mr. Hendricks wasted no time and started swinging at balls, hitting them down the range. The man next to him started talking.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Mr. Blackbourne. It was my turn to stare over his shoulder. Why didn’t he warn me they were heading out?

  “They’ve been talking about golf all throughou
t lunch,” Mr. Blackbourne said.

  “Is this a waste of time?” I asked. “If all they talk about is golf—”

  “The man with him is Superintendent Crowley,” he said. “Take a good look at him.”

  I focused, noting the dark curly hair surrounding a bald spot that was forming on the back of the head. When he turned his face to address Mr. Hendricks, I caught a large hook nose on his otherwise average face. “So he’s Mr. Hendricks’s boss?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “They work together. So how is it they’re spending an afternoon with each other and work hasn’t popped up once during their discussions? The superintendent didn’t even ask him how the school was doing. Not a word.”

  I didn’t have an answer for that, but kept my eyes on the two men now. Mr. Hendricks had stepped up, smacking several balls downrange. Mr. Crowley talked. He only paused when the ball sailed out. When the ball landed on the green, Mr. Crowley turned back to Mr. Hendricks and he started talking again. “Are they talking about golf, now?”

  “He’s telling Mr. Hendricks how to perfect his swing.”

  I stared hard at the back of Mr. Hendricks’s head and tried to focus. “His ears are turning red. Either he’s getting warmed up or he’s irritated.”

  I caught the flicker of the corner of Mr. Blackbourne’s mouth rising just a millimeter. “He hasn’t said anything for thirty minutes. I don’t think he’s very happy with Mr. Crowley’s company.”

  I watched Mr. Hendricks swinging at the golf balls. If Mr. Crowley was telling him how to perfect his swing, Mr. Hendricks was completely ignoring it. He stood the same way every time. The ball flew in almost the same direction and landed about the same distance. “Is golf supposed to be fun? Or relaxing?”

  “It depends on the person,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “For some people, it’s light competition. It’s popular for business colleagues. Lots of business deals are conducted on a golf course.”

  I broke my gaze from Mr. Hendricks and the superintendent, focusing on the other players. There was a woman not too far from them who was alone, and hit the ball at different angles down the range. She was pretty, wearing a short sporty skirt and a slim fitting polo shirt. Behind her were more men lined up along the driving range. Small groups talked amongst themselves. Some weren’t hitting golf balls at all. They simply stood with water bottles or cups in their hands, staring off at the greens. On occasion they watched the woman. They chattered. They smiled. They nudged each other’s arms.