by Molly Ringle
But then he picked one up, and nestled between the scrapbooks was a small flat box. He opened it and said nothing for a moment. Lifting out a delicate, bright chain from a nest of tissue paper, he said, “I think these are my great-grandfather’s emerald cufflinks. My mom and grandma looked all over the place for them.”
He, along with Shannon and me, turned and stared at Amber.
She only smiled and said, “You’re welcome.”
Still. She could have just struck lucky, right? Maybe she remembered seeing the scrapbooks when she looked under there once, playing at Laurence’s house all those years as a kid. Maybe they suggested ancientness and importance to her brain, and thus she imagined a person from yesteryear looking there. It didn’t mean anything.
And I knew she got the dunked-witch story from a book, so I was not terribly impressed right now. I was especially inclined toward grouchiness thanks to the weather--the grayest, chilliest evening an October could throw at anyone.
“There,” she said. “I see her.”
“Where?” The politeness wore thin in my voice.
“Floating.” She gazed ahead, eyes unfocused. “Above the ground. Like she’s in the water.”
Annoying and possibly fake, but still creepy. I glanced around the park as the twilight deepened. We had to walk back down through that dark vale to get home. The thought raised hairs on the back of my neck. “A witch?” I asked.
“Could be. Yes. Her thumbs are tied together. She’s looking up, trying to breathe...her dress is floating up around her...” Amber’s breath came fast. She looked distressed, as if she were watching a real, live drowning in progress.
I tried to think of something diplomatic to say--have her apologize to the ghost on behalf of a more enlightened people?--but then Amber snapped out of it.
With a blink and a head-shake, she widened her eyes and looked around, as if awakening to the modern city again. “Gone. Wow! That was a powerful one. Poor girl. She looked really sweet. Probably just a teenager.”
“Sucks,” I offered.
She nodded and hopped up. “Starting to rain. We better hustle. Come on!”
Like I was the one keeping us here. I climbed up on stiff legs and followed her down the slope through the dusk, my feet sliding in the mud, needles of rain striking my neck.
We were soaked by the time we slogged our way back onto Princes Street. Nonetheless, I paused when she turned toward the hostel. “You go on,” I told her. “I’ll go meet Shannon. She should be off work soon.”
Amber flicked a strand of hair out of her eye. Even with her eyeliner smudging in the rain and her coat’s fake fur collar matted and drenched, she looked like a model in an ad for face soap. “You sure? I could come.”
“Nah, go on. See if Laurence is home.” I forced a smile with all the meager acting ability I possessed.
It convinced her. She grinned. “Okay. See you soon!”
Chapter Eleven: Shannon’s Boy
I slogged up the steps of the McCreadie Guest House, rain running down my neck beneath the collar of my quilted coat. The thorough soaking had turned its powder-blue color into a gutter-puddle gray. I hoped complaining to Shannon would really be worth this “douking” from the Edinburgh weather.
As I reached the top step, beneath the stone overhang at the hotel’s front door, Shannon breezed out. She looked lovely and dry, her gray coat open over an orange V-neck sweater that would have made me look like a baby carrot.
“Hey there,” I said. “God, we thought it rained a lot in Oregon.”
She stopped, sizing up my state of wetness. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“I just got back from a seriously annoying ghost-hunt with Amber. I had to vent about it to you. Can we wait under here a while?”
She looked out at the street, chewing her lip. Her lip gloss looked fresh. “Yeah,” she said. “I was going to wait anyway. Thomas said he’d come by.”
“Oh, good. I’ll get to meet him.” I perched on the thigh-high stone ledge bordering the porch, if you could call it a porch. To my American mind, that word conveyed wood planks, bench swings, and lemonade. In contrast, the McCreadie Guest House’s porch was stone, stone, and more stone, with an empty potting box where geraniums possibly grew in the summer.
“So here’s the thing,” I said. “Amber is not only infatuated with Laurence, but honestly thinks she has a shot with him.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Also, frankly, it worries me, some of the stuff he’s apparently done. Like wrapping her up in his overcoat--while he’s still wearing it--to keep her warm.”
Shannon peered at the rivulets dripping off the roof. “Well...that doesn’t always mean anything. He’s done that with me before.”
“But it’s platonic with you--you’re his little Shannon. I never had to worry with you.”
“That’s true. I mean, he’s hot in his way, but...”
I snorted. “Am I the only one who isn’t delusional about that? Anyway, what bothers me is she’s messing with our friendship--the friendship of all four of us, I mean. It’s been us four for our whole lives, and now she’s muddying it up.”
“I know. But things do change. We’re somewhere new, meeting new people, and...hey!” Beaming, she waved at someone behind me.
I turned and found a young man climbing the steps, holding a red umbrella.
“Hello,” he said. “Gorgeous day, isn’t it?”
“Thomas,” said Shannon, “um, this is my cousin Eva.”
I stood up from my perch and offered my clammy hand to Thomas. “Right. Hi. Good to meet you.”
He folded up his umbrella and shook my hand, grinning. He looked just like the digital photos Shannon had shown me on her camera, and also matched my mental picture of a British university student: blue eyes, baby-smooth cheeks, curly brown hair tumbling onto his eyebrows, not-quite-straight teeth, and a lot of wool clothes in earth tones. Quite cute, in fact.
“Finally getting to introduce you,” she said, sidling up to his arm.
“She’s a treasure, your cousin,” he told me. “Absolute savior. Our costume worries are over, thanks to her.” Yep, he was definitely English. Sounded like Orlando Bloom, not Gil.
“She’s a wonder with that needle,” I agreed.
Shannon glanced at him, eyelashes nearly batting. “He’s only being nice. I’ve never done costumes for a prestigious theater before. I’m a nervous wreck.”
“Babe, you’ll be fine,” he assured.
Already to “babe” stage, huh? I glanced from one of them to the other. Everything about their body postures indicated their throbbing desire to fly together and snog--which, according to Shannon, Thomas was quite skilled at.
Shannon cleared her throat. “Thomas and I were going to grab some dinner. Just a sandwich probably. Do you want to come?”
“Oh, no. Thank you. I’ve, uh, got some pretty awesome canned Scotch broth at the hostel.” I produced an inane chuckle.
“Let’s at least walk you back under the umbrella,” Thomas said. “Maybe we can convince you on the way.”
They didn’t convince me on the way--I was too determined not to be a third wheel. But I did learn, as we splashed along in an awkward clump beneath his umbrella, that Thomas was from a village near Canterbury (the south of England, I gathered), and was majoring in history here at the university. He only did the theater stuff for fun.
“Lucky thing I did, too.” He pinched Shannon’s elbow.
She giggled, then immediately shot me a repentant glance, as if apologizing for having an out-in-the-open love affair when I couldn’t.
I shrugged. She wasn’t the one cheating on anyone. Maybe I wasn’t either. What was “cheating” exactly, anyway?
It was a question I increasingly did not want to contemplate.
* * *
“You could have come with us to dinner, really.” Shannon’s lip gloss had worn off, and the misty weather had fluffed her wavy hair. She still wore her coat; she had appare
ntly jogged straight up to our room after returning.
I set aside the British music magazine I’d been reading. “Nah. Very unromantic. Here, tell me how it’s going.” I scooted over on my bunk and patted my mattress.
Shannon shucked her wet coat and shoes, and climbed the ladder. “Okay.” With a sigh, she settled down next to me. “I really like him. Really, really. He called me his girlfriend last week. I’ve never been so happy with anyone.” She turned worried blue eyes to me. “I don’t know if it’s just the accent and it’ll wear off. Could it just be the accent?”
I folded down a corner of the magazine cover and twiddled it between my fingers. “Accents are pretty hot.” I coughed and zoomed into a question less related to Gil. “Have you told your family about him?”
She shook her head, looking at her lap.
“Why not?” I asked. “Worried it’ll fizzle?”
“I don’t know. It’s been almost three weeks--we hit it off the first night we met--and I don’t have any serious complaints yet.”
“None? Really?” I could think of a few about Gil, if you pressed me. Tony too, for that matter. Jeez, anyone. I was an expert troubleshooter when it came to my fellow humans.
Shannon gazed at the green ceiling, and shrugged. “He likes rugby, which I don’t entirely get. But he doesn’t mind if I sit on the couch and sew instead of watching, so it’s workable.”
“Wow.” I couldn’t say much else. Shannon sticking with a boy for nearly a month so far was unheard of. Not her fault, of course. I blamed her sparse relationship history on her family, one hundred percent. She hadn’t dared to commit more than a scant portion of her time to any boyfriend yet, and as a consequence, no boyfriend had stuck around. Maybe now that she was finally thousands of miles out of their grasp, she could relax and properly fall in love.
Have I mentioned I envied her?
She turned to me, smiling, and heaved a contented sigh. “I feel so happy all the time. It’s really dorky.”
I nudged her with my knee. “It’s awesome. He’s adorable.”
“We’ll hang out more, okay? All of us.”
“Absolutely.”
“What about you and Gil? How’s that working?” She tilted her head, ready to absorb my confessions in turn, ever the good friend.
I dug my thumbnail into the magazine’s spine. “Oh...we mostly just go sightseeing. Sometimes shopping or whatever.”
“It’s not too serious? It’s not going to break your heart when you have to go home?”
I smirked, making a show of rolling my eyes. “Over him? Please.” But my stomach wobbled as I spoke the words. Damn it. I didn’t want Shannon’s warning to come true, but it looked likelier every day. At the end of this, I’d either have to break Tony’s heart, Gil’s, or my own. Or some combination of the above.
Crap, crap, crap.
“Poor you,” said Shannon. “You must miss Tony.”
I tipped my head to rest on the wall. All my limbs felt watery and weak. “Life’s really not the same without him.”
Well, no one could say I was lying.
Chapter Twelve: Discovery
“I had a dream about you last night.” Gil’s cold nose and warm lips nuzzled my neck.
“Oh, yeah? What was I wearing?”
He pulled his purple ski coat across our laps, and edged closer to me on the bench. “I’d best not tell you if I’d not like to get slapped.”
I smoothed his hair aside so I could nip his earlobe. “If it turns out I was naked, I’d say that’s a normal dream for anyone with healthy hormones.”
“Mm. Good to know I’m healthy, then.”
Tingling with pleasure at the image of Gil writhing in his sheets over me, I began kissing his neck.
As his breathing accelerated, his hand swept down across my breast and squeezed my hip. Our bench sat upon one of Waverley Station’s platforms, visible to anyone who walked by, but at least the coat over our bodies hid the specifics of where his hand went, even if it didn’t hide my devouring his neck.
“Careful. You left a mark the other night.”
“Wear a scarf.”
“Cheeky.” He intercepted my mouth to give me several of the slow, tongue-flickered kisses I liked best. He tasted like the orange gum we’d bought earlier. The air smelled of train engines mingling with cold Edinburgh night air, a blend that had become almost erotic to me.
He massaged my thigh, thumb sliding toward the inner seam of my jeans. The purple coat was sliding off, but a recent departing train had left our platform relatively quiet, so we didn’t bother fixing our cover.
“Feels good,” I murmured.
“Aye. Shame we’re stuck on a bench and not somewhere a mite more private.”
“Things do get...frustrating.”
“Christ, don’t they just.”
Something of a groan in his words made me bold. My hand ventured downward, fingers walking along his belt loops, his front pocket, his zipper...
He caught his breath, resting his forehead on mine. “Aye, you see how it is.”
“I see.” My heart thudded in my throat as I explored through the denim. I’d done this with my ex, Wilson, but never with Tony, which made it more wrong than ever. But even guilt transformed itself into excitement now. My light touches brought moans from Gil, who buried his face against my neck. The purple coat slid completely over to his side, leaving a clear view to anyone who happened to be standing in the right place. But surely there was no one near enough at the moment--at least, no one who’d care.
“Someday when my family’s not at home,” Gil whispered. “I’ll let you know. We can be there on the bus in twenty minutes.”
I squeezed him. “All right.”
Gil smiled, then his gaze flashed past me. He cleared his throat, and gracefully moved my hand away. “Right, we’re being watched.”
“Oops,” I giggled, and glanced back after a few seconds, expecting either a couple of snickering kids or a shocked ninety-year-old.
It was neither.
It was Laurence.
My heart lurched to a halt. My hormonal buzz screamed for a retreat, and vanished.
He stood on our platform, within easy shouting distance, wearing his long brown overcoat and a green knit hat. The look on his face was almost pain. A second later I reinterpreted it as a mix of surprise and disgust. No question about how much he’d seen.
“Crap,” I muttered, and jumped up.
“Who’s that, then?” asked Gil.
“Laurence. Give me a second.”
I ran to him, not daring to invite Gil along. This was not the evening for introductions. Laurence watched me, stock still, hands in his coat pockets.
“Okay,” I said. “Stop looking like that. We don’t usually do this.”
He smoothed his facial muscles back into their more common expression of skepticism. “No? Just every few hours or so?”
“Look, I know things got carried away. But, please, I’m begging you, don’t tell anyone.”
“I already said I wouldn’t tell Tony, though if you get any more public with it, he’ll find out from CNN.”
“I don’t mean Tony. I mean, I do, but...”
“Or maybe BBC America. They might be interested. A heart-warming tale of cross-cultural romance...”
“I mean Amber and Shannon. They don’t know it’s gotten this far.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “It’s so evil you don’t even want your best lady-friends to know?”
“Not evil, just...” I groaned, rubbing my eyebrows with the heels of my sweaty hands. “Damn it. Why the hell were you here, anyway?”
“One of the Japanese girls at the hostel left tonight on the train. I helped haul her luggage.”
“Aren’t you a saint.”
“Well, I don’t grope people in train stations, if that qualifies me.”
I lifted my head and glared at him. “Fine. I feel bad, okay? What you saw is pretty much the worst thing I’ve ever done, even though
it’s hardly high treason. But I don’t expect mercy from you, so go ahead.” I flung my hand toward the ticket windows. “Go tell whoever you’re going to tell. Get it over with. Then pack off to your fancy east-coast university, and leave me in peace.” I turned and stomped toward Gil, who was tactfully gazing the other way as if quite intrigued by the empty train tracks.
“Eva.” Laurence’s voice cut like a lash, quiet though it was.
I stopped, and looked at him.
“You and I may not act like it,” he said, “but we are friends. Right?”
“I thought so.”
“I’m concerned about what you’re doing. So I’m telling you. Like a friend.”
I stared at my shoes. My lower lip pouted by itself. Somehow his statement of grim concern made me want to cry, when all his relentless teasing hadn’t.
“There, I’ve told you. Enjoy the rest of your...whatever.” He turned and walked away.
* * *
Gil had a bus to catch within half an hour. I walked with him to Princes Street, relating the ugly conversation.
“Hmm.” He didn’t even slow down. “Well, if you’re sure he won’t tell.” Gil had a habit of treating incomplete phrases as full sentences.
“He probably won’t tell; he’ll just hold it over me.”
Gil hooked his elbow through mine as we crossed a side street. “Don’t worry about it. Buy him chocolate biccies on occasion and such.”
Easy for him to shake it off. He’d never even met my boyfriend, and had no loyalties to worry about. I, however, had to face Tony again someday; and if he found out I had deceived him and I had to look him in the eyes after that...
“What’s it, nearly November now?” Gil asked, his tone turning more considerate. “When do you go home?” He threw his arm around my shoulders.
