I text Emily again: Please. She doesn’t answer. I curse silently as we pull into a parking garage and I lose cell coverage.
The Melinda Carter Jones School of Archaeology is a square, four-story building marked by a bronze statue of what must be Melinda—a middle-aged woman wearing an old-fashioned skirt and blazer looking sternly into the horizon.
Just like his office at the park, my dad’s office is a mess of papers, books, and miscellaneous things—like pieces of pottery in different sizes and shapes perched on top of the credenza. As he shuffles through some papers on his desk, I touch the spine of the textbook he wrote five years ago, the one that earned him tenure at Rutgers.
The sound of classical music from my father’s cell interrupts the silence. “Hello,” he says and then almost immediately his eyes go blank and his lips tighten. For a moment I think it’s Emily, calling to tell him what happened, but then his lips thin and he says, “Did you want to talk to Paige, Heather?”
My stomach knots at my mother’s name. I haven’t considered it before, but if Emily tells, my mom is going to find out and she’ll start threatening to send me to counseling, or worse, bring up Aaron Dunning—tell me all over again how perfect he is, how he would give me another chance if only I asked.
“Okay. I see.” He pinches his nose wearily and looks down at the desk. “Why doesn’t this surprise me?”
I glance away. What’s left for them to argue about anymore? I wonder if it’ll ever end, or if, for the rest of my life, I’ll be the connection that allows them to keep hating each other.
Their conversation is short, mostly one-sided, and then my father hangs up. His eyes have a familiar hardness that I recognize from whenever he and mom fought.
“I have to step out,” he says. Pulling a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet, he hands it to me. “There’s a Domino’s down the street. Why don’t you pick us up a pizza and some soda and bring it back here?”
It isn’t a question; it’s an order. Before I can even ask where the Domino’s is, he dials a number on his cell and storms out of the room. I weigh the value of sulking against going for the pizza, and in the end decide that hunger wins.
The security guard in the building points me in the right direction, and five minutes later I’m standing in line at Domino’s. The few tables in front are filled with college kids, talking and laughing. Other kids are wedged into the corners, waiting for their orders.
I fiddle with my cell and try to ignore the table of guys at the table across from me. A week ago, I would have been flattered that they were checking me out, but after Jeremy, their gazes make me hunch my shoulders and pretend they’re not there.
When my order finally arrives, I pay for it and then step out into the warm evening. It’s dark, but not pitch, and the heat feels good after standing around in the air-conditioning. The street is quiet and empty, just a few cars, and I hurry down the block to the archeology building.
My father hasn’t gotten back yet, but I’m too hungry to wait for him. I sink my teeth into the first steaming hot slice, and my eyes close in pleasure. The pizza is spicy and tastes exactly like the Domino’s at home. For a moment, I’m back on the tomato-red microfiber couch, watching TV with my mom. I suddenly miss her so much more than I’m mad at her. I want to go home. I just don’t belong here. When my father gets back, I’ll demand that he book a flight for me.
Just as I am putting away my second slice and planning the details of my escape, he walks into the room. He’s sweating, and the tight, unhappy look still hangs around the corners of his mouth. He uncaps a bottle of water and takes a long, thirsty drink before reaching for a slice.
“Sorry I had to step out—the reception is terrible in here.”
His hat is gone, and his blond hair sticks out in all directions. There’s a smear of dust on his cheek, and his eyes look funny, the pupils dilated. “You okay, Dad?”
It seems to take a long time for my question to reach his brain, or maybe just for him to form the answer. “Yes,” he says, “everything’s fine now.” He doesn’t quite meet my gaze, though, and mops his face with the crumpled blue bandana in his pocket.
He picks at the pizza, and several times I catch him staring at me. My skin prickles. Something is different. “You were gone a long time.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I needed to sort through some things.” He puts his half-eaten slice on his napkin. “Remember those Friday pizza and movie nights we used to have?” He pauses. “Do you and your mom still have them?”
The wistful note in his voice almost gets to me, but then I remind myself that he made a choice, that he walked out on us.
“No,” I lie. He doesn’t still have the right to know what my mom and I do on Friday or any other night.
“I wish I had been there for more of them,” he says. “Especially last year.”
I glance up in surprise. The words are the closest he’s ever come to an apology. “Why weren’t you?”
He shrugs and shakes his head as if the answer is as much a mystery to him as it is to me. “I thought it would only make things worse.”
Strangely, I almost get that. Almost. I think about the last year. The cold war between my parents. The arguments that ended with my father getting into his car and driving away, presumably to his office. “How could that have been possible?”
He sets the slice of pizza down. I wait for him to answer, but he doesn’t. It slowly occurs to me that it isn’t that he’s ignoring me, that maybe, for the first time, he’s agreeing with me.
TWELVE
Emily
It makes me sad that I can’t be with Paige tonight, but not for the reasons she thinks. The funny thing is that I almost let her know today at lunch what’s happening with me, but then she told me about Jeremy. After that, I couldn’t very well blurt out that I was in love, could I?
Neither of us meant for it to happen, but who could resist him? It started in the ruins. Whenever I was around him, I felt like a giant butterfly. My heart beat like wings, and my bones thinned until they felt as insubstantial as paper. He could crush me in his hands without even trying. At the same time, I wanted desperately to be held. It was agony to be around him and hide my feelings. My name on his lips—Emily—could burn my skin worse than the sun.
The first time our hands touched accidentally, I felt a rush so strong I thought I would pass out or cry out. But I held it together and then, as soon as I could, I ran to another part of the ruins. Standing at the window, I looked down at the ribbon of river far below me and ordered myself to breathe, to get it together. He was older, brilliant, on the fast track. What chance did I have?
However, he must have guessed how I felt. In the information center, a few days later, I was buying a Diet Coke out of the vending machine, and he just happened to be walking by. When the can landed in the bottom tray, we both bent down to get it. This time, when our hands touched, they stayed that way for a long time. I looked in his eyes, and my heart pounded so hard it had to be audible to him. A few days later, he asked me if I wanted to get coffee with him after work.
After that, we began stealing every moment we could. Sometimes it was just minutes; other times—the ones we lived for—were longer.
I know what I’m doing is wrong, but I can’t help it. Being in love is an addictive drug. It rushes through your body and you’ll do whatever it takes to get it. You’ll lie to your parents, you’ll lie to your friends, and you’ll even lie to yourself. Because you have to have it.
I have a key to the park gate. The moonlight guides me to the cliffs. I walk quickly through air that wraps around me like Chinese silk. Just thinking of him—how he will undress me, how his breath will be warm and moist on my skin—makes me shiver.
I hear a rustling in the bushes—maybe a coyote hunting or a fat snake slithering deeper into the night. It’s dangerous being here. I’m not stupid. I grew up understanding what nocturnal creatures live in the desert. It’s not like I haven’t considered what could happ
en. It’s just that, when he tells me he can meet me, I can’t resist. To deny him is to deny myself oxygen.
I reach the first ladder and lift my leg onto the bottom rung. I don’t need the moonlight. I’ve done this many times. At night, heat radiates off the limestone like heat off a body. It seems to enfold me, to breathe with me as I climb higher and higher.
For a moment, Paige’s face flashes through my mind. How I wish I could tell her everything. I can’t, but I can make Jeremy Brown pay.
I reach the ruins. A soft yellow light flickers through the slit in the castle wall. The ache low in my stomach deepens, and my heart beats faster. This is our place—he’s waiting. I can’t see him, but I feel him.
I’m smiling as I step into the chamber. He’s there and worth every risk I’ve taken, every lie I’ve told.
“Ya’at’eeh alah alah,” I say, greeting him in the language we both love.
“Shi ayoo’nishi,” he replies.
“Shi ayoo’nishi.” I love you.
I slip into his arms and breathe him inside me, trying to pull the essence of him into my lungs. His strong hands tug the hem of my tank top. I shiver as he lifts the shirt over my head and tosses it to the ground. His smooth hands span my ribcage and then feel for the clasp of my bra. His touch is electric, moving higher, molding to me, burning me up from the inside, igniting the part of me that has no shame, no control, only this overwhelming need.
Closing my eyes, I press my hips against him. “Hurry,” I whisper.
THIRTEEN
Paige
When I walk into the kitchen the next morning, my father is hunched over his coffee, scowling at the paper. I accidentally clang my spoon against my cereal bowl, and he about takes my head off.
The explanation is in the sink—a wine glass with a purple stain at the bottom. The empty bottle’s in the trash. He’s hung over. This is new. Does he know about me and Jeremy and it’s driven him to drink? If so, why doesn’t he say something?
His bad mood continues at the park. He lectures everyone on preserving the integrity of the ruins—basic archeology 101—and reminds us that being inside the ruins is a privilege, not a right.
“Glad you could join us, Mr. Brown,” he says as Jeremy slips into the back of the room.
I look away but not before Jeremy flashes a smile at my father. “Sorry, Dr. Duke—car problems.”
“I’ll see you in my office immediately after this briefing.” His tone promises that this is a conversation Jeremy won’t want to hear.
A sick feeling fills me. I look around the room for Emily, but don’t see her. I know she’s here because I saw her Prius in the parking lot. It seems a pretty big coincidence that my father is angry, Jeremy is late, and Emily is conspicuously absent.
My father finishes the briefing, and the group breaks up. Jeremy leers at me as he passes. There’s no hint of apology in his narrow face. It’s more of a smirk, like we share a secret. I feel a rush of hatred for him.
“Paige,” my father adds, “Stick around, please. I’ll talk to you after I’m done with Jeremy.”
I nod, but the tone of his voice tells me that, like Jeremy, I’m in trouble. As soon as his back is turned, I push past everyone else and head for the exit. I’m pretty sure Emily is avoiding me, but I know her. If she’s hiding anywhere, it’s in the ruins.
The sun has risen, but the temperature hasn’t reached its full strength. I jog down the path, trying to get to the ruins before anyone else. I need to know what she told my father. My legs are strong from soccer, and it almost feels good to tear down the path, as if I can outrun the conversation my father and Jeremy are having.
I’m sure Jeremy is telling him how I led him on, how he thought it was a game we were playing. He’ll make me look like a tease or, at best, a troublemaker. My father will probably believe him. See it as my way of acting out, of finding another way to hurt him.
So what? It shouldn’t bother me. Let Jeremy say whatever he wants. It isn’t like my dad has any power over me anymore. It isn’t like I care what he thinks of me.
I climb the three ladders in record time. At the top, I’m breathing hard and soaked in sweat, but I’m still upset enough to keep going. The full sun hasn’t hit the ruins, and the shadows in the windows are deep.
Inside, I scan the gloomy darkness for Emily. She isn’t on the second level, so I crawl up through the tunnel between the floors. She isn’t on the third level, either.
“Emily?” I say loudly, but there’s no answer. As I listen in the silence, the hair on the back of my neck stands straight up. The walls seem to press a little more closely around me. “Emily?” I call, but softer.
Chamber by chamber, I search every inch of the ruins, every dark passageway. I use my cell, but it does little to illuminate the deeper rooms. I can feel a heaviness—a certain stillness in the air that doesn’t seem right. I keep stopping, looking over my shoulder, and listening.
It’s exactly like the hide-and-seek games that we used to play, especially the ones at night, when the moon was full. We would always hide where we knew it would scare the other the most to search. The fear, after all, was the purpose of the game.
“Emily! Where are you? I’m not kidding!” I yell as I climb into the fourth-floor chamber. It’s huge, empty, half-dark, half-bathed in the morning light. The walls look torn, wounded by the railing half-pulled from the limestone walls.
I’m shaking with anger now—that she not only betrayed me, but now she’s hiding, forcing me to wander through this graveyard in the cliffs looking for her. I turn slowly, studying the emptiness, my heart beating harder.
Maybe, I think, we’re playing the game, only this time she’s started it. And if so, then Emily has chosen the place I’ll fear the most to look for her—the basement chamber.
It seems cruel to think she’d put me through that, knowing what she knows. But I can see her thinking that unless I face my fear of going down there, I’ll never get past it. It’s all bullshit, I think.
Anger strengthens my resolve. I’m not doing it. Not playing her game. If she’s waiting for me down there, she’s going to be waiting a long time.
Walking to the front, I stare out at the valley framed by the giant stone oval window. Far below, I see a group of people approaching the ladders. I know it’s my father and the other interns. My face gets hotter, and my stomach knots with dread. There’s still time to avoid my dad and Jeremy, but I’ll have to hurry.
At lunch, I hike out to Whale Rock and spend a long, hot hour waiting for Emily. She doesn’t show, and as the day stretches longer, it seems clear that Emily is avoiding me out of guilt. She must have told my father; she knows she betrayed me. She thinks I’m mad, which is correct. However, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk to her. She owes me that.
I forgive u. Just tell me what u told my dad.
I stare at my cell, willing it to light up with her response, but it doesn’t. Like a fugitive, I stake out the information center, lurking among the racks of T-shirts and cheap souvenirs, skulking around the museum, waiting for Emily and ready to bolt if it’s my dad or Jeremy.
By six o’clock, when my father comes down from the ruins, I’ve pretty much given up on her and resigned myself to face my father.
“Where have you been?” My dad steps into his office and sets his sweat-stained hat on top of a pile of books on his desk. “I texted you five times.”
To my relief, his dusty, sunburned face looks more tired than angry.
“I know. I’m sorry. Have you seen Emily? I’ve been looking for her all day.”
“No.” He drags a metal chair from against the wall closer, and the sound makes me cringe, like he’s scraping his fingernails across a chalkboard. “Paige, we have to talk.” He sighs deeply. “Maybe you already know what this is about.”
I focus on his hair. Sweaty now, a shade darker than blond. When he was younger, he was what was called a “towhead,” which used to make me laugh and think of tow trucks.
“She told you.”
He draws back a little, his brows furrowing in surprise. “Yes, but I didn’t think you knew. She said she planned to talk to you about it tonight. I didn’t want it to come as a complete surprise.”
Why would Emily talk to me tonight? I look at him, puzzled. He’s fingering an empty spot on the fourth finger of his left hand. When he had a ring there, he used to twist it around and around. “What are you talking about?”
He hesitates and then pushes hard at the skin on his jaw. “Your mother, Paige. She’s getting remarried. To Stuart.”
For a few seconds, my mind refuses to understand what he just said. I want us to be talking about Emily, but then it sinks in. Stuart—the short, balding guy with the overbite and weird laugh—is marrying my mom. “Her boss?”
It’s a stupid question. Stuart Lowe is not only a partner at the law firm where my mother works, but also is the attorney who represented her in the divorce.
My father nods. “I know this comes as a shock, honey, but—” He runs his fingers though his hair. “—now that I’ve had more time to think about it, this could be a good thing for you.” His expression softens. “So go easy on your mom, okay?”
I blink at him. Inside I’m shouting, Are you crazy? Do you think you can drop this bomb on me like this and expect me to “go easy?”
Standing up, I shove the chair behind me so hard it bangs into the computer table. Surprise flashes in my father’s eyes.
“Go easy on Mom? What about me?” I don’t wait for him to answer. “Why are you even bothering to tell me? It’s obviously all decided.”
“Calm down,” he says, which only makes me madder.
I sweep the stack of his books and papers off his desk with my arm. As they crash and scatter, I run out of his office. It’s after hours, so the lights are dim in the main room and the lady who sits behind the register is long gone. I tear past the exhibits and T-shirts, past Mrs. Shum’s curtained-off exhibit.
Bone Deep Page 7
