If this were British literature, Michael could lose himself in the lecture, or if Father Fazio looked more like Professor McLaren, good-looking and tanned instead of portly and pasty, Michael’s mind could wander in a different direction, but every few minutes, no matter how hard he tried to pay attention to the mathematical drivel about sine and cosine, his mind always wound up at Ronan’s doorstep.
Finally, he gave in and for the last ten minutes of class, he ignored everything his teacher said and thought about Ronan. Replaying in his mind Ronan pushing Nakano, whispering to Nakano, hugging Nakano, over and over again. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael could see Ronan try to smile at him. He’s acting like nothing happened. Maybe nothing did happen, Michael told himself. No, no, he saw it with his own eyes.
Why won’t he look at me? Ronan knew he had acted strangely yesterday, but he didn’t think he deserved the silent treatment. There were some things that Michael didn’t understand just yet, might never understand, but he had to know how he felt about him. He had never been so obvious in all his life. He had never before taken such a chance on exposing himself, but the moment he saw Michael’s beautiful face outside the cathedral, he knew the time had come. Their time had come, but now it appeared as if their time was already over. What in the world was going on?
Before the bell stopped ringing, Michael was already at the door. Ronan had to push past some students just to catch up to him. He wasn’t letting him get away, not after the risks he had already taken.
“Michael,” Ronan called out. “Wait up.” Instinct lost and Michael obeyed. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Don’t look into his blue eyes, Michael told himself. Don’t look at how shimmery they are and don’t give him the satisfaction.
“Is something wrong?”
All around them, boys hurried past, laughed, shouted, but the space between the two of them was silent. There was so much they both wanted to say to each other, but how to begin? How could Michael say what was really in his heart when he hardly understood it himself? He had lived such a sheltered life in Nebraska, so alone and lonely, that the first time he met a boy who he thought was interested in him, a boy that stirred within him a real passion, he made a fool of himself. He created a world that didn’t exist. He built a relationship based on a few conversations because he was so desperate to connect with someone else. It didn’t matter that in his heart and his mind he felt the connection was real. It didn’t matter that he felt a peace he had never known. It was all fake.
Michael shook his head. “No, why?”
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, Ronan thought. This boy was supposed to be his salvation. He had lived long enough, lived through enough to know the difference between finding someone who would be a fun mate and finding someone who would change your life forever. Michael was supposed to be the latter. He was supposed to be the one who would make his life, as unnatural as it was, feel normal. No, much more than that—feel astonishing and worth living. Why was he acting like this? Like none of that was true when Ronan knew, fully and completely, that it was.
“You’re, um …” Ronan suddenly became aware that they weren’t alone but in a crowded hallway. “Could we go somewhere and talk?”
Yes, Michael thought, let’s go somewhere where it’s just the two of us. Nobody else, no other students, no teachers, no Nakano. “No.” Michael didn’t mean to sound so blunt, but it actually felt good to be direct. “No, we can’t.”
This was new for Ronan, this feeling of defeat. But he was a survivor and he wasn’t going to give in so easily. “What about after class?”
His strong defense fading, Michael knew he had to break free from Ronan’s presence. There was something about him, something about his eyes, his cool smell, like mist on a lake, that he just couldn’t fight. “Maybe.” No, stand up for yourself, have some respect. “Probably not; I’ve got a lot of reading to do.”
He’s lying, I know it. I don’t know why, but I just know it. “More reading?” Ronan asked.
“Yes,” Michael said softly. “More reading.”
If only I hadn’t seen the two of them together, Michael thought, the anger building within him. If only I didn’t know that the boy in front of me, who held such hope yesterday, was the bearer of such misery today, then I could smile and flirt, or try to flirt, and say “Of course we could meet after class; there isn’t anything else I’d rather do.” And there wasn’t anything else Michael wanted to do, but to spend hours in Ronan’s company, but that wasn’t going to happen. It was that simple.
“Bye,” Michael said. As he walked past Ronan, their shoulders brushed against each other. Despite his resolve, he could feel the excitement grow within him, in the pit of his stomach, such a strong sensation that now would just lie there with the rest of his anger and his frustration.
“Wait!” Michael stopped, but didn’t turn around. He felt that if he did, he would do something stupid like start to cry or yell and he couldn’t do either, not here, and there was no reason to, there was nothing between Ronan and Michael now except a few conversations and a magical meeting under the stars and in a rainstorm. That was it. That was all. “This is for you.”
Ronan handed Michael a piece of paper, actually more like parchment, folded up. When Michael took it, he made sure not to touch Ronan’s fingers either accidently or on purpose. There was no reason to touch him any longer. There might be a need, but there was no longer a reason.
“What is it?” Michael asked, trying to sound uninterested.
Kiss him, Ronan heard himself say silently. Kiss him and make him understand that there was a reason they met, there was a reason he came to this particular school out of all the schools in the world and they happened to be in the same place at the same time that first night. There are no coincidences. Ronan knew that; Michael had to learn. But he kept all that information to himself. “Just something I drew. I thought you might like it.”
“Oh, thanks.” Michael slipped the paper between some pages of his geometry textbook. He couldn’t look at it now; in fact, he couldn’t bear another second looking at Ronan’s face. “I have to go.” This time when he turned and walked away, he didn’t turn back even though he knew Ronan stood there waiting for him to do so. The strength of his conviction surprised them both.
The rest of the day was a blur, a cyclone of thoughts and impressions and feelings most all of which had to do with Ronan, but some featuring Mauro and even Michael’s mother. He wondered if she was happy wherever she was. But if she was never happy on earth, could she ever be happy off of it? During theology, his last class of the day, Michael wondered if he should ask Professor Joubert if a soul could find happiness by way of suicide, but somehow he didn’t think it would be appropriate since they were only just beginning to study the basics of the New Testament.
Michael did find it strange that his theology class was taught by a layman while his math class was taught by a priest. Seemed counterintuitive to him. In fact, he thought more of the teachers would be priests, given the school’s name, but even though many priests and monks lived on the property, most of the teachers were from the secular world. It actually didn’t matter; just by the names of the buildings and the artwork each one housed, spirituality, if not organized religion, permeated every inch of the campus. He liked this subtle approach and found it more effective in sparking his interest than the way he grew up, which was being forced to attend church every Sunday to listen to a fire-and-brimstone sermon. Maybe if he remained quiet and listened to the lessons the school had to offer, he would learn if his mother could ever find happiness.
While he would have to wait to find out if his mother’s quest for happiness was successful, he would no longer have to wait for his father’s return. When class was over, he noticed Headmaster Hawksbry standing outside the door next to his father’s driver.
“Howard,” the headmaster said, his fingers nervously tapping his thigh. “Looks like you’ll miss out on Mexican fiesta night. Your father h
as requested that you join him for dinner.”
It was hardly warm today, but there were tiny beads of sweat on the headmaster’s forehead. Little bubbles of fear, Michael thought. Why does he look so nervous? Maybe he doesn’t like to break the rules? Penry did tell him that while he was a “right fair mate,” he was a strict rules man who liked to follow the book to the letter, and according to what Michael had been told, new students weren’t allowed to leave the campus during the week.
“Is that allowed?”
Mr. Hawksbry took out a crisp, white handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and dabbed at the sweat. “Technically, no, but due to your circumstances we, um, felt it appropriate to allow this brief reunion. Your father’s assistant said he is only in London for a few days.”
London was about three hours away. “I’m going to London?”
Now he used the handkerchief to cover his mouth when he coughed. “No, no, he’s staying at a hotel here in Eden for the night. Your driver has strict instructions to bring you back here before eleven.”
The driver didn’t respond in any way; he just stood, hands clasped in front of him, and stared straight ahead. At least Michael thought he stared straight ahead. He was still wearing his sunglasses, so Michael couldn’t really tell. The same ones Nakano wore, quite fancy with thicker-than-usual arms. They were most definitely part of a British trend.
When he looked back at the headmaster, he knew that this time he wasn’t imagining things. Alistair Hawksbry was definitely nervous in the presence of his father’s driver. Michael didn’t really understand why, but he was sure of it. Could be the driver’s silence. He wasn’t the most chatty of chaps, which was the way Michael thought a Brit might describe him, and Mr. Hawksbry’s career was all about communicating. Weird, but maybe he just didn’t trust people who only spoke as little as humanly possible.
Luckily, the drive to the hotel was short, because during the entire ride Michael thought about Ronan. He kept thinking about how blissful it would be to have him sit next to him en route to meeting his father for the first time. The cool smell of Ronan mixing in with the crisp smell of cinnamon that wafted throughout the car, the two of them holding hands, sinking into the luxuriousness of the leather, the only sounds the soft violins and their breathing. They would steal a few kisses before having to leave their sanctuary, certain in the knowledge that Michael’s father would approve of his son’s choice. But none of that was going to happen now. When Michael got out of the car, he got out alone.
Vaughan was staying at the Eden Arms, a small boutique hotel that was little more than a bed-and-breakfast. It was also the only hotel in town, which was to be expected because, besides Archangel Academy, Eden was mostly made up of residential houses and a smattering of small businesses. It was mainly a picturesque snapshot of English countryside that Michael found so much more pleasing than the dreary flatness of Weeping Water.
“Son!” Vaughan exclaimed. “The uniform suits you.”
This time when father and son hugged, it was a bit more relaxed, partially because they were prepared this time and partially because they wanted their relationship to forge ahead and grow. Neither wanted to go back to the way things were before.
“So Hawksbry tells me you’ve impressed all your professors,” Vaughan said, sipping a glass of red wine.
“Well … I don’t know,” Michael said, unused to such flattery from his father.
“Don’t be modest. It isn’t becoming on us Howards,” Vaughan said with a loud laugh.
Michael took a large sip of his soda and decided to be honest. “I really like my classes a lot, so I guess my enthusiasm shows.”
“More than enthusiasm, son. Hawksbry tells me you’re already at the top of the list academically.”
Could that be true? “Really? I just got there.”
“Believe me, first impressions are all that matter. If you don’t grab them in the first meeting, you’ve lost them forever,” Vaughan declared. “Sounds like you grabbed them so hard they’re never going to want to let go.”
It was difficult to be in his father’s presence without the specter of his mother. He had heard so many things about him from her, either directly or indirectly, that he had created a persona of the man without ever meeting him. He got the feeling that his version was quite different from the one who stood before him now, but he realized only time would tell whose version was more accurate. One thing he would learn to get used to was that his father was full of surprises.
Just as Michael glanced over to the small dining nook and saw that there were three place settings and not two, there was a knock on the door.
“Right on time,” Vaughan announced.
For some reason Michael felt uneasy. Wasn’t this just supposed to be a reunion between father and son? “Is someone else coming?”
Vaughan opened the door. “Brania, come in. I’m so glad you could make it.”
The girl who entered the room was stunning. At only sixteen years old, Brania O’Keefe was already a young woman, beautiful, confident, and poised. Even though Michael didn’t grasp her beauty on an emotional level, he understood it intellectually. This was the type of woman men fought over. The kind of woman who would have ignited a bloody battle between the Inishtrahull islanders and the inhabitants of Islay. He saw her beauty; it just didn’t make him feel anything.
Vaughan, however, was quite taken with the girl and it was easy to see why. She didn’t really look like a girl. Her deep auburn hair was parted at the side and cascaded effortlessly down the sides of her face. Her skin was the color of alabaster. Michael thought it looked like the feminine version of Ronan’s, and in fact her eyes were the same shimmery blue. Her body was a multitude of curves, shoulders, breasts, hips, and contained none of the straight lines that Imogene possessed. Here was a woman who just happened to be sixteen.
“Mr. Howard, thank you so much for inviting me,” Brania said. “It was very thoughtful.”
“Nonsense,” Vaughan said, erasing the thought with a wave of his hand. “When your father told me he had to cancel our meeting and you got caught in the cross fire, there was no way I could leave you to fend for yourself.”
“He’s very grateful as well and he told me to tell you that whatever terms you want on the deal, consider them done.”
Vaughan smiled like a man who had gotten exactly what he wanted. “Your father is an honorable businessman.”
Michael had a jolt. This was what Ciaran must have felt like when he was speaking with Ronan at St. Joshua’s—a third wheel, unnecessary. He would have to remember to apologize. But first it was his father’s turn. “Forgive me for my lack of manners. Brania O’Keefe, this is my son, Michael Howard.”
“Hello,” Brania said. “And welcome back.”
Michael realized his father must have told her that he was born in England but grew up across the pond, as the natives say. “Thank you, it feels good to be home.”
What didn’t feel good was Brania’s hand. Yes, hers was soft and delicate, but Michael much preferred the strength of Ronan’s grip and how his hand almost covered his own.
“May I freshen up before dinner, please?” Brania asked.
“Of course, dear, right in there,” Vaughan said, pointing to the door past the kitchen.
She could spend an hour in the bathroom freshening up and he still wouldn’t find her as attractive as Ronan. Funny, he thought, he’d been here for less than a week and already he was able to admit more about himself than ever before. He liked acquiring this self-knowledge. It made him feel more in control of himself. He was amazed at how suddenly that control could be stolen away.
“Brania is the daughter of the wealthiest real estate mogul and land developer in Great Britain,” Vaughan whispered. “And the girl I’d like you to marry.”
Even after they had begun eating their first course, a thick tomato soup, Michael was still reeling from his father’s comment. Marry? Was his father insane? First of all, he was only sixteen, and
even if he was inclined to marry, which he wasn’t, a wedding date wouldn’t be set for another five, maybe ten years. It was a bit premature to tell your sixteen-year-old son you want him to marry a girl he just met, a girl whose company he had been in for less than an hour, especially when your son had no intention of ever marrying a girl. Michael would have thought it was hysterically funny if he hadn’t caught the undercurrent of seriousness in his father’s voice. He truly wanted Michael to marry Brania. Well, that wasn’t going to happen, so Michael told himself to just get through the dinner and this whole evening could be forgotten.
Once he made the decision never to see Brania again or discuss the topic with his father, he was able to relax a bit more. Until they were just about to eat their steaks and Vaughan’s cell phone rang.
“Excuse me, you two, this is Tokyo. Problem with an overnight delivery at the factory; shouldn’t take too long.”
In spite of the rumbling in his stomach, Michael took a large bite of steak. If he was chewing, he couldn’t talk.
“I think it’s sweet,” Brania said.
So much for not talking. “The problem in Tokyo?” Michael said, trying not to speak with his mouth full.
Brania smiled a bit condescendingly. “No, silly, our fathers trying to set us up. It’s sweet. A bit old-fashioned, but sweet nonetheless, don’t you think?” Brania’s tone of voice matched her smile. She was definitely a girl who was reared in a lofty circle. Her actions, however, were a bit more primitive. Peering at Michael, she used her tongue to flick a drop of blood that clung to her fork, swallowing it as if it were a thick piece of meat. Please, God, don’t let her be flirting with me, Michael prayed. When Ronan did it, he was nervous, but also excited. Now he was just downright unnerved.
He swallowed hard and felt the unchewed piece of steak travel down his throat with difficulty. “I don’t think that’s what they’re trying to do.”
Brania smirked haughtily and let her fork fall onto her plate, disrupting the air with a noisy clang. “Don’t be a child. We both know what they’re doing. Do you have a girlfriend?”
Unnatural Page 11
