Eri’s house is sprawling. A picket fence borders the sidewalk from the front lawn, and a curved slate walkway beckons us to the front door. The grass is lush, and a blooming cherry tree and varying colors of shrubs and flowering plants complete a picture fit for a postcard. The house is painted a cream color with accent colors of gray and navy. It has a cedar roof and a grand dark-wood front door. Eri continues around the house, though, to a side door, a more modest entryway, and pulls out her key. “My parents aren’t home yet.”
She doesn’t offer an explanation for their absence. Are they always home late? It’s going on six, so it’s not too late, but do they eat dinner together? Do they spend time with one another in the evenings? Is she alone every day?
“Oh. When do they usually get home?” I ask.
“Seven thirty most nights.” She walks through a mud room that is nicer than and almost half the size of my entire apartment.
“Who makes you dinner?”
“My meals are prepared for me by a chef my parents have on staff. He comes in the afternoon and cooks for us, then leaves it. I have to wait for them to get here to eat. We have a must-dine-together rule,” she explains.
“Well, at least you never have to eat alone,” I answer, attempting to keep her positive. I don’t want her to get too moody and brooding to the point where she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, but I didn’t think my comment through well enough.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Here I am complaining about family time when you eat alone all the time. Or do you?”
We’re in the kitchen now. She has stopped leading me through the house and turns to face me.
“No, that’s okay. I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean it to sound like I was telling you to be thankful for what you have. I hate when people do that. Just because you want to complain, doesn’t mean you think you have it worse than anybody else. And I don’t feel bad for myself, so you shouldn’t tiptoe around what to say to me. Tobias works late. I usually eat alone. But I like it okay. Seriously … complain.”
She laughs. “I don’t mean to. I just can’t—I mean, look at all this!” She gestures around the fanciest kitchen I have ever seen. It opens up to a family room. A formal dining room is off to the left, and what looks like a formal living room is off to the right. Marble tiles everywhere, lots of leather, a grand piano peaking at us from the living room.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a lot.”
“A lot of stuff? A lot of what?”
“A lot to live up to. What if I don’t want this? I mean, I guess everybody wants money, but I don’t want to work as hard as my parents do. I don’t want the years of schooling past high school and training abroad and the hours they keep and the stuffy parties and the fake friends and the social obligations. What are social obligations, anyway? They’re just fancy words for behave like everyone else, and keep up with the neighbors. How do you tell your ultra-successful parents you just don’t feel like working as hard as they do? That sounds so pathetic, doesn’t it? I might as well say, ‘Mom, Dad, I would like your permission to be a lazy slob when I grow up, please. Thanks.’” She presses her palms down on the granite countertop.
To keep her gushing, I have to make sure there is nothing about my face that says I am judging her or remotely disturbed by her emotional outburst. “What kind of life do you want, Eri?”
She softens. Most people do when they feel validated, and when you add their name at the end of a question. I don’t know why the name thing works, but it does.
“I just want time to figure it out. With parents on the fast track, there is never any time. Every goal has an age by which it should be reached. I just feel like I can’t breathe sometimes.”
“What are you going to do? Can you talk to your parents? Tell them how suffocated you feel?”
“Are you kidding? Never! My dad is already hovering around more. Quite honestly I can’t believe he’s not here. He’s been standing over me, asking for updates on my grades, coming to my academic competitions—which he never did before—and then telling me I need to be more aggressive, stand out more. He leaves me brochures for leadership councils and women’s academic fellowship retreats and performing opportunities. He won’t leave me alone! If I tell him I want time to relax, he may have a stroke. According to him, I am not working hard enough as it is!”
“What do you think you need to tell him in order to get him to back off?”
This is the magic question, the one that is the key to my mission. I need to know what she wants with her life right now and in the future. I need to find out what is holding her back, and I need to know why she believes her father’s incessant involvement in her life is causing her to perform below her potential at school. And then I need to Navigate Dr. Kuono to find out what is at the center of his suffocation of Eri. Once in, I believe I can manipulate Dr. Kuono’s memories in a way that will relieve whatever pressures he can’t help but place on Eri’s shoulders. And then, according to Tobias, Arashi Kuono can get back to whatever fabulous breakthrough he’s working on, the one that will, apparently, change the world of Seers as we know it and maybe get me some answers about myself in the process.
“I don’t know, Leesie. I don’t know. Right now, I just need to forget about it.”
She turns and walks through the family room and up the stairs. I follow her up and through the third door on the left. A music room, by the looks of it. It has an upright piano—I guess the baby grand downstairs is for company—several guitars, a violin, the cello, and table covered in sheet music. There are several chairs with music stands in front of them set up under a cluster of windows, and against the opposite wall is a loveseat. For the audience, I assume.
I take my seat and wait.
Eri sits in the chair behind the cello, grabs the bow, and turns a few pages of sheet music. She tucks the chunk of hair that always creeps over her cheekbone behind her ear. I close my eyes. I don’t know why, but after hearing her description of the sound this thing is going to make, I figure I should get in the moment. And she’s right. It is beautiful.
I lean my head back against the wall and take a deep breath. The sound, the tearful moaning coming from her cello, by her hands, is the single most freeing tone I have ever heard. I am twirling to the music. In my head, I am flying, soaring over land and water that once held me captive. I am moved by the way the low notes reverberate in the pit of my stomach and the high notes make my eyes sting. I am moved by the fact that I am physically moved. She was right. This is the music of the heavens.
I open my eyes to watch her. She sways gracefully at times. Then, when the music gets more intense, she frowns, and her movements are jerky and forced. She is somewhere else, though. She looks more relaxed than I have ever seen her, and yet more intense than ever.
She puts her bow down and looks up at me.
“Eri, that was everything you said it was. The most beautiful sound I’ve heard.”
“Oh, thanks. I’m glad you liked it.” She fumbles with the music again. She seems all at once a little self-conscious and unsure again.
“Eri, I know I don’t have the answers for you and I wish I could fix it all, but can I just say that while you play, it seems like you are pretty free. I mean, what if you focused more of your time on your music? Maybe that would help.”
“It does. And I do. I use it as an escape. But it has been invaded. It’s not mine anymore. It’s now something that I compete with. Performances all over the East Coast and a bunch more coming up.”
“Oh.”
“Look, thanks, Leesie. It means a lot to me that you came and you listened and now you are trying to help. And the truth is, I will be fine. How many people would die for my problems?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t convince yourself that because you don’t have it as bad as so many others, you can’t want more. Sure, there are tons of people with heart-wrenching problems that you or I would never make it through, but everyone has a right to w
ant something else, to want something more. You just have to make sure you never complain to the wrong people. Like someone struggling to make ends meet would not want to hear about your fear of the constraints of success.”
She laughs. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Eri gets up and walks toward me. She has a we-better-get-on-with-our-individual-evenings look on her face. She knows her parents are coming home soon and is obviously not into the idea of my staying to meet them. I do have to gain access to Dr. Kuono, and soon, but I am not ready yet. I need to know what Eri wants, what she needs from her father to be happy and content. Scratch that. I need to know what she needs in order to jump on the fast track. I need to know what will spark a drive in her that will enable Dr. Kuono to back off of her and get back to focusing on work. If I don’t manipulate the memory that will transform Eri’s father into what she needs him to be in order for her to be successful, the cycle will just continue to repeat itself. And my mission will never end.
But then again, I could stay.
As soon as the thought creeps into my head, I have to shove it away. This is exactly what Tobias says I have to work on. I am not supposed to be getting over-involved, over-attached. I am supposed to get in, complete my mission, and get out. I cannot afford to forget that.
Seers do not remain with their mission subjects. And they do not abandon a mission. The Seer would be ostracized. A target of outrage from the entire Seer operation. Considering I have no family, no one else, and this Seer community is all I’ve got, that’s a lot to lose. Not to mention the supreme loyalty Seers have to their Preceptors. Once a connection is made between Seer and Preceptor, that bond is to come first.
“I better get some homework done before they come home. He’ll probably ask to see it or spend the rest of the evening watching me study.”
“Sounds like a blast. Yeah, I better get to work, too. I had an awesome day today, Eri. You and Daisy are quite the talents,” I say as I head down the stairs towards the main foyer.
“Thanks.” She holds the front door open for me. “Leesie?”
I step down and turn to her.
“You’re a good person.”
Huh? Where’d that come from?
“Um … thanks?” I give her a look that should tell her I have no idea where she’s going with this.
She smiles. Backs up. And closes the door.
Okay, well, all right, then. Am I destined to be left with nothing but a ton of questions after I hang out with these people? What gives, man?
The walk up Delaware Ave. back to the academy should offer the perfect opportunity to clear my head. It is such a beautiful night, the perfect no-jacket night with just the right light breeze. The sky is clear and full of stars. As I walk past beautiful home after beautiful home, I wish this were my neighborhood. I wish, again, that I could stay here. So much for shoving that thought away.
I pass the front of the academy and turn after its left wing to the student parking lot. Mine is the only vehicle remaining. I am caught up in how much I love the look of my truck when I notice something that shouldn’t be there. A figure? Is someone leaning against my truck? The figure turns to face me. Oh, crap. Not now. It’s Luke.
Chapter
What is this? Is his special gift knowing when to lean against a vehicle until I show up? No. Obviously I would show up at Daisy’s car. We had plans. And my truck? I’d say it’s a safe bet that I’d be here sooner or later to claim it. So he wanted to be sure he saw me before I went home. Before tomorrow. Why?
No better way to find out than to ask him.
I walk around the front end to the side he’s leaning on.
“Hey,” I start.
“Hey.” He’s trying to read me, gauge how I feel about his being here. And why wouldn’t he be unsure about how I would take it? He’s in an empty school parking lot waiting for me against the driver side door of my vehicle. So I can’t even jump in and take off. It’s dark and he’s waiting for a girl like some kind of psycho stalker. Sure, I feel great about this.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I wanted to see how today went,” he says, looking my face over, reading me still.
“How today went? You’re on my truck because you want to know how my afternoon at the farm went?”
“You went to Eri’s after, didn’t you?”
I have to get to the bottom of this Luke and Eri thing.
“Yes. She played the cello for me,” I answer matter-of-factly as I watch him frowning.
“Did she tell you anything?”
He is really grilling me. What the heck does he think of me? That I have some ulterior motive? That I don’t truly care about Eri? Well, I do have a motive, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have her best interests in mind, which I believe this mission does.
“Like what?” I am playing dumb all the way. If he wants information from me, he is going to have to work for it.
“Did she talk about her parents? Her dad?”
He doesn’t seem to like that I am defensive and tight-lipped. His voice is pinched, and his body is tensing up even more if that’s possible.
“She talked about a bunch of things, Luke. I didn’t realize I had to report a play-by-play to you if I spend time with Eri in your absence. Did I sign some sort of contract that I am not aware of? Did I not get the memo?”
I know giving him attitude could be dangerous, considering how hot and bothered he is right now, but I have a limit to how much annoyance I can take before I lash out and want to blow someone’s hair back. But it has the opposite effect. He suddenly becomes aware of me. That I am a person. One who will challenge him if I have to. It’s like before he was talking to me as a subject, someone lower than he is on some level.
Luke answers me after a deep breath that smoothes his brow and relaxes his shoulders. “Leesie, I just worry about her. She is so undecided right now. And you’re confident. Strong. I was worried you might tell her to fight her father’s wishes. That you would tell her to fight for what she wants. Only I am not sure she knows what that is yet. Or that she is strong enough to fight for herself. She’s so sensitive to how others feel. I don’t think she is the type of person who can challenge people regardless of how it may hurt them.”
Strong, confident? Thanks. The type of person who can challenge people regardless of how it may hurt them? Does he think that of me? Am I that type of person?
“Are you saying I would try to convince her to do that? To hurt her family? I don’t have one, so how could I possibly have any idea how to respect the feelings of its members? Is that it?”
I don’t really believe he thinks that of me. I haven’t been cold or unfeeling in the short time that I have been a member of this group. But I want him to back all the way off. I want him to see me as someone with my own set of feelings and sensitivity. Maybe I want to appear a little vulnerable. Just a little … but why? So that it might occur to him to protect me instead of Eri? Is that it? Am I jealous of how attentive he is to her? But then I think of having someone traipsing all over town scowling at people and interrogating them on my behalf. Gag me. I would throw up. I’d rip my own eyelashes out before I’d allow someone to guard-dog me.
“I don’t think that. I don’t. I’m sorry—” He leans toward me slightly. His eyes are pleading now. He doesn’t want to insult me. I can see that.
Fine. He doesn’t think I am cold and heartless. He just worries about his friend being influenced by her strong, confident, and ultra-wise new friend. Okay, Luke. You can have some answers.
“She talked about her dad, yes. I asked her what she needed to be content and happy. She couldn’t answer. She played her cello for me. I left. I offered her nothing. No advice. Frankly, I don’t have any answers or suggestions to give. I don’t know what she should do.”
Yet.
But once I figure out the answers, I will be fixing her father for her, so don’t worry, Lukie. I’ve got this.
“Oh. Okay. And, look, I’m so
rry about all this. This ambush. I was going to say something to you about it this afternoon, but I got distracted. And then Eri was there, wondering what I was doing. It just didn’t go the way it was supposed to go.”
“No?”
I make eye contact and hold it as I say this. I want him to acknowledge the moment we shared this afternoon. The great name exchange. Was that something to him? It was surely something to me.
“No. I got … caught up… .”
He’s all mine now. He is definitely not thinking about Eri anymore.
“Caught up in what?”
I’m totally leading him. Like a lagging dog on a leash.
“In you.”
There’s that deep breathing again. His chest rises and falls. His jaw clenches. But he makes no move toward me. He remains leaning forward, turned toward me with his butt and right hand on my truck. I am facing him. My left hand rests on my truck too, dangerously close to his.
I give it another second, leaving his words lingering out there. But still he doesn’t move toward me. No touch. No kiss.
“I better let you get home.”
And that’s it. He looks past me, drops his hand from my truck without so much as brushing mine, straightens up, and walks away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he calls with his back to me.
I don’t bother to answer. I will not talk to a guy’s back. You walk away, that’s it. No more conversation for you. What’s worse is my little power play is pointless anyway. Like he cares if I didn’t answer him. He walked away! He is obviously done with me for the night. This guy is infuriating. His intensity is unpredictable. He is hot and cold. He is toying with me.
But truth be told? I like it more and more all the time.
Chapter
I drive aggressively on the way home, taking out my frustrations on the highway. I am determined to control something right now. My speed, who’s in front of me, which route I’ll take. I am currently controlling so little in my life that I am reduced to this. Eri is still a mystery. My relationship with Luke grows more and more complicated. I have to constantly worry about reporting to Tobias. I need to sit in my chair and sketch out a plan.
Seers Page 9
