“Wyatt?”
She stood behind him now. He didn’t need to look up to know that. He’d had that connection with her, right from the start. The one that kept her in his consciousness and made him know approximately how close she was at every moment of every day.
“Oh, Wyatt.” Edy reached around him and turned off the faucet. “You are making such a fuss. It’s nothing. We’re friends. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Edy, I—”
She peeled his fingers from the counter and laced his hand with hers.
“Forget it. I grew these things and forgot to tell anyone. Even Hassan reacted to them.”
Wyatt stood, thoughts cleared. “Did he now?”
Edy shut off the faucet. “He did. And you should’ve seen my dad. It was like he wanted to get back in the car, circle the block, and try again.”
A reluctant smile crept to Wyatt’s face. “It’s just . . . you were so beautiful before. To see you now . . .” Wyatt swallowed. “Is to want you.”
There. He’d said it. The only secret between them: that he was bewitched by her, that a fierceness within demanded her for him, enslaving him to this want. He knew nothing but pain and urgency and greed. She had to see now, what she did to him.
Edy laughed. “You’ve been in this dark house too long,” she said. “Flip on a few lights. Better yet, wait until school starts and you see one of the “it” girls. Then you’ll remember the standard for beauty.” She pinched his nose.
Always, Wyatt thought. Always so dismissive.
~~~
Leaving again. With a single week until the official start of school, Wyatt stood before Edy, imploring, face contorted in disbelief and inching toward an ugly sort of panic. “What do you mean you’re leaving? You just got here!”
He stood opposite her with the fence surrounding his house separating them. He couldn’t understand it. They’d spent so much time apart, endured by a single lifeline: a cell phone. Now that they were together, she would leave him again, with a smile mocking his pain.
“Oh, don’t be so grumpy.” Edy prodded him with a finger. “We’re just going to the Cape for a few days—”
“Seven. You’re going for seven days.”
“Fine. Seven. But we haven’t been to the summer house in forever. And I could use a vacation. SAB was brutal.” Edy shrugged. “Anyway, Daddy brought it up—saying he needed a respite and what with Hassan’s birthday coming up . . .” She took in his pouting face. “You can’t blame me for wanting family time.”
Family time, Wyatt thought, as his gaze lifted to a mammoth-sized Hassan chucking suitcases in the trunk of his father’s Benz. Hassan looked up, locked a mocking gaze with Wyatt—and smiled.
Low life. He had good luck in droves.
Edy’s father stepped out of Hassan’s house and went to help with the luggage. A few words were exchanged; both had their attention on Wyatt.
“If we didn’t go now we’d have to wait a whole year,” Edy said. She grabbed Wyatt by the arm, seized by excitement. “Oh, and wait until you see what they’re getting him for his sixteenth birthday. You will not believe it.”
“I’m sure I would,” Wyatt said.
Edy’s father stepped to the edge of the Pradhan yard. “Sweetheart? Come here for a minute.” His tone was even; warm, despite the scowl he wore. Hassan stood next to him, unreadable, waiting.
Edy shot Wyatt a look of apology. “Daddy?”
The lines in his face deepened. “I don’t believe I’ve properly met your friend. And I do believe I just asked you to come here.”
Edy started forward, glanced back at Wyatt, and tilted her head for him to follow. Panic seized him in rigor-mortic fashion.
“No! Why?” he hissed.
“’Cause you’re a boy. Come on. If you hesitate, he’ll think you have bad intentions.”
“But Hassan’s right there.”
“Which is why you need to come. To him, avoiding Hassan is nearly the same as avoiding him. Now hurry.” She cautioned a glance at her father. “Tell him your name and give him a firm shake. Look him in the eye when you talk. It’ll be okay.”
She bustled across the street.
Wyatt smoothed his clothes and took a deep breath. This should have been what he wanted, the next natural step. Meeting a girl’s father was a good sign, a sign of seriousness. He should welcome the opportunity.
Wyatt walked over.
“Hassan tells me that you all spend a great deal of time together and have done so for quite a while.” Edy’s father looked directly at her. “He also says that neither he nor the boys know Wyatt very well.”
Wyatt caught it. That flash of scalding anger as it crossed Edy’s face. She gave it to Hassan and made him hold it. This wasn’t an introduction, that look said. It was an ambush.
“The boys don’t know Wyatt well because they don’t want to,” Edy snapped.
“Perhaps there’s a reason for that,” her father said.
What had been said before their arrival? What sort of seeds had Hassan planted? Or had he said little, leaving Edy’s father to drag together pieces that didn’t quite fit, to leap to his own conclusions?
Edy’s father eyed Wyatt in increments, scrutinizing and analyzing, storing away.
Suddenly, Edy’s advice nudged at him.
“Mr. Phelps, my name is Wyatt Green. I go to school with Hassan and Edy. You’re right. I should have come over and introduced myself sooner. I accept the blame for that entirely.” He offered a hand, willing his voice to steady.
Her father shook, firm.
“And what is it your parents do, Wyatt Green?”
He should’ve expected that question. But he hadn’t.
“My father works at an auto parts store,” he admitted. “And my mother’s a cashier at Shaw’s.”
The longest of pauses followed.
“I see.”
He shot a look at the Green house, dilapidated, yes, but still worth a formidable sum.
“And what are your grades like, Wyatt?”
He stood up straighter. “Very good, sir. My father says he doesn’t know where I get it from.”
He probably shouldn’t have said that. But then Mr. Phelps laughed, uproariously so, and it made Wyatt smile.
“I like to meet Edy’s friends sooner rather than later,” her father said. “At your leisure, schedule an evening for you and your parents to come over for dinner, so that I can meet the people my daughter is being exposed to. Likewise, you’ll have the opportunity to meet my wife. We’ll do it on a Sunday, since the Pradhans are over, and it’s festive then.” He cast an absentminded glance at Hassan. “Until then, until we’ve all had the opportunity to meet, my daughter won’t be venturing over to your property, nor do I expect to find you on mine. And even after we’re acquainted, I don’t expect to find you on my premises when adults aren’t around. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes sir,” Wyatt whispered.
Nathan Phelps would wait forever for the chance to meet Wyatt’s parents. Forever and a winning lottery ticket later if Wyatt had his way.
Edy’s father strode back into the Pradhan house.
“Jeez,” Hassan said with a derisive eye on Wyatt. “Why not pee yourself and get it over with?”
“Shut up, you,” Wyatt snapped and headed back for his house.
He went no further than his yard, where he stood watch in silent suffering. Edy and Hassan, teasing and laughing, slipping into one house and tearing out the other. No boundaries, no limitations on either. Edy and Hassan, a touch here, a shove there, fingers laced, a smile. No notice of Wyatt, both close and far, watching until the moment they departed. Edy in the backseat of the Pradhan car with Hassan, without a wave of goodbye for Wyatt.
Thirteen
The Pradhan-Phelps vacation home was a pea green windswept clapboard, two stories of rickety wood in the old Cape Cod style. Buried deep in the tangle of brush, rock, and high beach grass, the old house tilted east, threate
ning to slip into the sea with a strong enough wind. But like the houses around it, it was old—older-than-America old, and would no doubt be there long after them.
The layout of the house was simple. A steep set of stairs led to an elevated front porch, and the porch right to the foyer. The entrance dumped into a den, often ignored in lieu of the spacious accommodations upstairs. Exiting that den, a turn left would head for a quaint dining room with fireplace, the kitchen, and finally, the back porch. The view from the rear porch was that of high grass followed by a steep drop to their own stretch of beach, and beyond that, the Cape Cod Bay. From the front, it was the Atlantic in the distance. Bedrooms on the first floor belonged to the parents—Ali and Rani’s on one side, Nathan and Rebecca’s on the other. Once upon a time, the Phelps occupied the first floor and the Pradhans the second, but as the children aged, the commotion kept up was cause enough for a change.
With a haphazard toss of her suitcase to her bed, Edy hollered at Hassan that it was time for a swim. She fought with the latch on her bag, nearly shredding her nail, before throwing open the lid and rummaging for her one-piece. Once found, she changed in a rush of hands, eager to catch the last bit of rays before nightfall. As children, they’d douse themselves in New England waters and knew of nothing that felt more like home.
Edy had a new suit, a halter variation that ran black, smooth, and taut against her body. Her old one, a peeling and yellow standby, had no space for new breasts, nor the tidbit of bottom she’d earned. Barefoot and ready, she thundered down the hall to Hassan’s room and shouted at the sight of him. He stood in swim trunks at the window, gaze on the rough terrain below.
“What are you doing?” she cried. “Let’s go, you sack of nothing!”
Edy pounced onto his back, giggling, giddy as she wrapped arms around his neck and legs around his waist, beating him like a dead horse.
Hassan broke from whatever daze he’d been under and stumbled, laughing. Twisting as if to peel her straight off his back, he pawed to free himself. But with each swipe of long, strong arms, Edy bounced and bounded to stay clear. He would not evict her so easily. Eventually, he went still.
“Edy, stop. Come on. Get down.”
“Uh uh. Since you didn’t get me once you were ready, we’re going out like this. We won’t get separated again.”
She hollered “giddy up” and smacked him upside the head, bouncing up and down on his back. How rare and delicious a thrill to have the upper hand.
“You’re not listening. Get off me. I’m not kidding.”
She didn’t care if he was kidding or not. Edy belted a “yeehaw” before he careened to one side. Laughing, she clung to him, body molding to his back in desperation to stay aboard. He was used to being the stronger one, the one in control, but he simply couldn’t shake her free. She clung to his neck, flattening his back. Who knew when she’d have a moment like that again, a moment to subdue the mighty Hassan Pradhan?
“Damn it, will you get off me?”
He pitched to one side and slung her to the bed, rough, and she bounced off in a roll to the floor.
She looked up into dark and furious eyes.
“The next time I tell you to get the hell off me, you get the hell off!”
Hassan stormed from the room, cursing, and slammed the door on his exit.
When Edy found Hassan again, he sat at the shore’s edge, staring out at foaming waves beneath a cobalt sky that stretched on to oblivion. His arms wrapped his legs and his knees touched his chin as a light and fanciful breeze danced in his hair and sprayed his skin with Cape Cod Sea. Edy stood, transfixed, taking him in, reluctant to approach. He’d never yelled at her. A lifetime of broken possessions, mutilated clothes, things taken, and he’d never yelled at her. Yet, never had he looked so beautiful.
Hassan looked up, sensing her, and offered a faint smile. When she returned it hesitantly, he patted the stretch of sand next to him.
Edy sat. “I’m sorry, Hassan. I should’ve listened. I should have got off when you—”
“Forget it. I’m a jerk. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
Their world turned in silence, waves lapping, stars twinkling. They were far from home, and home was exactly where they were. Her home wasn’t a place. It was a person. It was there with him.
He leaned back on elbows, face to the heavens, and gave way to the heaviest sigh. It looked like he’d been holding it forever.
“I’m supposed to believe in reincarnation,” he said.
“You don’t believe in a lot of things you’re supposed to. Not in their way, at least.”
The corners of his mouth quirked, making Edy want to snatch his smile and pocket it.
“Have we always known each other?” Hassan said.
Edy looked at him. “Uh, yeah. You know that.”
He turned back to the stars. “I mean, before now. Before this life. Did I know you then?”
She considered. Considered the possibility of something other than what she’d been taught. Considered the possibility that the tether between them was timeless, destined, irreversible. And once he’d given life to the idea, nothing else seemed possible.
“Yes,” Edy whispered. “I think so.”
Hassan covered her hand with his. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so, too.”
They contented themselves with the soothing sounds of the shore.
~~~
Hassan rose at dawn and ventured to his open window. Thin white linen billowed from it, no match for the seaside wind. From his bedroom, he had a half view of a craggy, sloping shore, overrun with knee-deep wild grass. On that morning the sky hung like steel, a listless, uniform gray as the first of drizzle began to fall.
Reasons existed for everything, his father would say. For the earth turning just so, for a flower blooming there instead of elsewhere. For them having names like Ali and Hassan, despite their being Hindu.
A reason even for the rain he saw now.
It was good, his father would say, even if he couldn’t see the how or why in the moment. All things worked to a purpose, he insisted.
The distance from their property to the lighthouse was a mile. Since he could do that without sweating, Hassan decided to head for Pilgrim Lake, adding two miles of running along the bay’s edge.
When Hassan headed out, it was with a steady pace, an easy gait, and an appreciation for the morning breeze and the gentle, unassuming rainfall.
A decade ago or more, he and Edy would catch mussels, clams, and oysters at Pilgrim Lake. Their mothers used them for stews, curries, and chowders, sometimes the dads ate them raw. They’d dig them up by the fistfuls, Edy and he, and back then, for Hassan, even that was a competition. He’d get three for her every one, announce his superior shell fishing skills, and then hand them over when her eyes began to teem with tears.
Edy.
Damn her. Even her name was a loaded word. But then again, it always was.
Hassan had had his first fight at age six, when a guy named Joey grabbed Edy’s behind. When he found Joey, he lodged fists in his mouth, making sure there were tears in his eyes, too—despite the kid being two years older and two inches taller. On that day Hassan realized two things about himself, and they were the only two things he ever knew for sure. One was that he would protect Edy no matter what. Two was that he had one hell of a temper.
There could be no counting the number of fights he’d started in the name of Edy Phelps, whether she wanted them or not. A misspoken word, a wrong touch, her tears for any reason, and his fists swung without question.
Time to redirect. Thoughts of Edy, wrong thoughts of Edy, were exactly what neither of them needed. Yet, he returned to them constantly. And not because of the teasing curves she’d sprouted in her sleep. He was worse, far worse off than that. He only wished hormones could explain his problem.
When Edy had left for the summer, his mind had gone rogue. Twice, he thought of calling and demanding she come home. But home to what? Him messing with other girls? Tri
pling up on the running, the weights, the desperation of it all? More girls, more drills, more parties, more anything, anything in the hopes of drowning out her.
But it didn’t work. It never did.
By the time Hassan returned home rain fell in sheets, blinding him, dead set on drowning him. He regretted pushing for the lake as the sky darkened, yet he remained too stubborn to veer from his predetermined path. Stubbornness was his mantra and the difference between a damned good running back and a guy soon cut from the team. Thankfully, any son of Ali Pradhan would be both pigheaded and unreasonable, the unquestionable fruit from the vine of his father. Knowing everything had its perks.
Hair plastered to his scalp as the rain soaked through to the boxers. With his clothes clinging and dripping, Hassan retreated to the upstairs bathroom to change. Once there, everything he wore fell to the floor with a plop.
Shivering, he turned on the shower, cranking up the heat for relief. When he stepped in, liquid burned his feet, so he retreated long enough to adjust the temperature. He found a decent medium, returned, and let the water stream over him in heated currents, warming and cleansing as he relished the warmth. Eyes closed, he scrubbed his face and neck and back with thick foam, and before long, began to croon a sultry, begging R&B tune he’d heard on the drive up. Something about spending all his time loving the pretty girl on his mind. He got into it, hitting notes but mostly missing, scatting and moaning as if in concert. The bar of soap became his mic, the drops of water his audience. Only when the shower ran cold did he end his performance and step out.
He looked around for a towel and saw he didn’t have one.
Great.
With a swallow, Hassan peered into the hall, first left toward the bedrooms and then right toward the common area. It was early, maybe seven, but seven wasn’t early enough to guarantee that no one would see him. He was on the second floor, which was a good thing, since he and Edy had it to themselves. Hassan imagined his father discovering him in the hall, naked as he swaggered for the bedroom. He’d be torn between reluctance in attacking his nude son and a pressing need to shake him till Hassan fell still. No doubt he’d choose the assault.
Love Edy Page 15
