Love Lies Beneath

by Ellen Hopkins

  The prospect of marriage, I’m discovering, is simpler when love does not interfere.

  After Cavin leaves, Charlie comes over to help me crate the art. He’s not particularly happy about my plans to largely relocate to the lake. “Tahoe is nice and all, lots of recreation and everything, but you’re a cultured woman.”

  “The implication being culture is largely lacking in the High Sierras?”

  “Well, yes. I mean, what’s up there? Sports betting and chili cook-offs?”

  I don’t say, compared to Vegas—not to mention Idaho—Tahoe is a hotbed of culture. “What’s wrong with chili? Besides, there’s plenty to do. Renaissance Faires. Shakespeare on the beach. Music festivals. And if I need more, Reno is only an hour drive.”

  “Reno is a cow town.”

  “Well, I can always visit San Francisco anytime I like.”

  “So, you’re keeping this house?”

  The question of the week. “That’s currently under discussion. For now, yes.”

  “Will you still need me to check on things here?”

  “From time to time, although I’m hiring a security service, so probably not as often. What I will do for you, however, is put in a good word with a few busy people I know. You’re a treasure.”

  He grins. “That’s right. Be sure to mention how valuable I am.”

  Charlie demonstrates his value with the care he puts into packaging the art, sleeving it in cardboard before bubble-wrapping it. He carries each piece down to the Escalade, so I won’t have to do it on Tuesday, when I plan to leave. After his final trip, I invite him to stay for dinner.

  “My friend Cassandra is coming. I’ll introduce you, and tell her how valuable you’ve been.”

  “I’ll help you cook.”

  By the time she arrives, we have concocted a fabulous minestrone and Caesar salad. Charlie makes himself useful, mixing drinks and setting the table, while Cassandra and I chat in the living room.

  “Sorry I couldn’t make your party on Friday,” she apologizes. “Taylor was home on spring break, and I didn’t want to leave him there by himself.”

  “Why not? He’s going on eighteen, isn’t he?”

  “Exactly.”

  I think about leaving Kayla or Eli alone here in my house and understand what she means. “That’s okay. You missed a great evening, though, and you could have met Cavin.”

  “That almost swayed me. But the truth is, Taylor’s gotten into some trouble at school. He’s smoking. Drinking. Who knows what else? Oh, and there have been some cyberbullying incidents. They suspect Taylor, who denies it, of course.”

  “Cyberbullying? You mean like threats, or what?”

  “Not overt threats. I guess someone set up a fake Facebook page on Taylor’s computer at the school. Whoever that was posted on one of the younger students’ timelines, saying he was a fat pig and he’d better watch out or he might end up bacon. There were other things, too, of a similar nature.”

  “So if the page was set up on Taylor’s computer, they have good reason to believe he did it, right?”

  “Yes, except other people have access to it. It’s in his dorm room. That room is never locked. Anyone could go in there and do it. And if that person’s real target was Taylor, well, this would be one very sneaky method to get to him. Either way, there’s no proof.”

  “God, kids are cruel nowadays. Not only that, but devious.”

  “Kids have always been cruel. Think back. Our generation wasn’t much nicer. The difference was, we actually had to look into the eyes of whomever we wanted to call a fat pig. Now, social networking allows a sense of anonymity. That, plus privilege, is a deadly combination.”

  “Literally or figuratively?”

  “Either. Both.”

  Charlie informs us that dinner is on the table. He pours a spicy zinfandel, and I raise a toast to friends, old and new. “I’m hoping the two of you might form a mutually beneficial relationship. Or maybe you know someone who could use Charlie’s help, Cassandra? He’s been impressive. Not cheap, but worth every penny.”

  “You’re really getting married again, aren’t you?”

  I shrug. “Looks that way.”

  Now she lifts her glass. “To beginnings.”

  Which also means to endings. Maybe I should seriously consider selling this house, excise Finn and his family from my future completely. Who needs old complications when new ones are inevitable?

  As we start on our soup and salad, a question pops into my head. “Has Taylor ever told a lie so blatantly untrue that you couldn’t understand why he invented it?”

  “You mean like the time I smelled smoke, found him holding a lighter and a big burn hole in the curtains. He told me a burglar lit them on fire, handed him the lighter, and ran. He was about ten.”

  “Something like that, I guess. Only this just happened, and Eli is seventeen.” I share his story about Sophia, and Cavin’s absolute denial. “Why would Eli make that up? What’s the point?”

  “Shock value?” guesses Cassandra.

  But Charlie has a different theory. “Entertainment.”

  Fifty-One

  As much as I loved my time in the city, my home on Russian Hill was missing one very important thing. Cavin. The day before I returned to Tahoe, I did accomplish three important tasks. The first was to hire King Security Services to do random mobile patrols past the house several times a day. The second was to visit my accountant and discuss the financial implications of my upcoming nuptials. Finally, I talked to a high-end real estate company about possibly listing the house.

  The agent was quite excited by the prospect, and why wouldn’t she be, considering the possibility of a very large commission? She assured me properties like mine are rare and highly sought after. Despite the sagging market, the recession didn’t dampen certain areas, and upscale San Francisco is one of them. Comps have recently sold for upward of $5 million. She urged me to sign the listing documents right then and there. But I’m still weighing the pros and cons ten days later.

  The Glenbrook house wears my artwork well. It surprised me, actually, although we either need to install track lighting or find a way to let in some natural light. I talked to Cavin about removing a few evergreen branches closest to the place. There are strict rules about cutting down entire trees—something about erosion and Tahoe water clarity—and this, plus skylights, would be a decent compromise. Anything to fight the slight sense of claustrophobia living in the woods initiates.

  I do love waking up in the morning and cracking the sliding glass door to let in the frosty, pine-scented air, and the cacophonous call of the Steller’s jays. I’m usually up before Cavin, unless he’s got an early surgery, and I’ll have coffee ready when he comes stumbling into the kitchen, hair tousled and hanging, too long, over his eyes. He looks more woodsman than doctor that way, and it’s sexy as hell.

  Primitive.

  Masculine.

  Arousing.

  Love crashes into me then, a megawave engulfing me until I think I just might drown in a tide of longing. It’s ridiculous, really. I’m glad I’ve got the time and energy to invest in this experience, not to mention perspective. One thing I’m sure of. This isn’t infatuation that I’ve indulged in before, and this is something completely different.

  It hasn’t, however, totally disintegrated my flirtatiousness. Cavin recommended a local gym, and I chose a personal trainer based on (1) his familiarity with rehabbing sports injuries, and (2) his rather striking physique. I have no need for “outside services” but don’t have a problem admiring a little eye candy while I work out. Between physical therapy and the stationary biking I’m doing at home, I’m exercising an hour and a half every day. By June, I’ll probably still limp a little, but I should be able to dance at our wedding.

  I finish up at the gym around three, and by the time I get home, Cavin’s car is already taking up space in the driveway. He’s earlier than expected. I go on inside, but before I can call out a greeting, I hear him
talking on the phone.

  “A year? Goddamn it, Melissa! Can’t you take him with you?”

  I can’t hear her reply and have no idea what this is about, but a name materializes in my brain. Eli.

  “Well, do you have any ideas about another school, then? I guess he can stay here for the summer, but we have to do something with him in the fall.”

  Definitely Eli.

  “Fine. I’ll look into it. When do you leave? I’d like to reach an agreement before then.”

  This sounds like a problem requiring hard liquor. I go to the bar, pour a couple of sidecars, and hand one to Cavin as he hangs up the phone. “Thought maybe you could use this.”

  “Hope you made it strong.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Eli got expelled.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, technically, he’s been asked to withdraw. Expulsion would make it almost impossible to enroll him in another school. Melissa and I convinced them it was to their financial benefit for him to leave ‘voluntarily.’ ”

  “I see.”

  “Yes, well, to complicate things further, Melissa will be heading to Dubai next week. Her husband was appointed to the embassy and they’ll be gone for at least a year.”

  “Meaning Eli is moving in here.”

  “Through the summer, yes. We’re looking into another boarding school, but he’ll have to finish this semester at Whittell High School.”

  “Kind of late in the year to start a new school. Can’t he finish up online or something?”

  Cavin looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “And have him here all day, every day?”

  Good point. “May I ask what he got expelled—er, asked to withdraw—for?”

  Cavin takes a big gulp of his drink. “Remember the thing about someone hacking the school computer and changing grades? Turns out it was a fairly lucrative business, and one of Eli’s customers had a change of heart. After that, there were some incidents of cyberbullying. Do you know what that is?”

  The Athenian is, indeed, a very small community. “Actually, yes. In fact, I heard about the incident from my friend Cassandra, whose son goes to school there. Eli was responsible?”

  “They believe so. Can’t prove it because it was someone else’s computer, but the kid who was picked on the worst is the one who turned Eli in.”

  “None of what happened was considered criminal, though?”

  “Fortunately, no, or at least not prosecutable. Apparently cyberbullying is only a crime if it involves overt threats of violence, posting sexually explicit pictures, or taking photographs of a person in a place where privacy would be expected. Whoever set up that fake Facebook page, and I have no doubt it was my son, was informed enough to not do any of those things. As for the grades, the headmaster just wanted the problem to go away.”

  Probably embarrassed a teenager could so easily defy their system. “So, when will Eli be moving in?”

  “Anytime. He had to pack up his stuff and have it removed from the campus today. Melissa signed the paperwork on that end this morning and expects me to enroll him here. I’ll contact the high school tomorrow, and if it all works out, he’ll start on Monday. Unless, of course, you want to homeschool him.”

  “Uh, no thanks. Don’t think that’s my calling.”

  It’s not my calling to parent, either, especially not a difficult kid like Eli, but I don’t really have much of a choice. Anyway, acting the part of coldhearted stepmother is probably wiser than trying to be his friend. Maybe fairy tales got it right.

  Cavin takes a deep breath. “I don’t understand the kid at all. At his age, succeeding in school meant everything to me. I knew I wanted to be a doctor, and my sights were set on accomplishing that goal. What is wrong with him?”

  At his age, I was all about a singular goal, too—survival. But that’s a story I’ve yet to share with Cavin, and probably never will. “Privilege, that’s my guess. He’s never had to work for anything, really. I see it in my niece, too, although not to this extent.”

  Then again, how much do I know about Kayla and what she does in her spare time? I believe she wants to succeed as an artist, but mostly because Mel says she does. And as far as illicit activities go, I know about a couple she wholeheartedly embraces. So why couldn’t she be a cyberbully, or a hacker, or a cheat?

  “Work,” says Cavin. “That’s a thought. I think maybe a summer job is called for.”

  “Good luck with that. Meanwhile, let’s worry about his finishing his junior year. Academically, I assume he’d be ahead of his public school peers?”

  “One would think so.”

  “You have surgery tomorrow?” Thursdays, he generally does.

  “Three. Spring skiing has been generous this year.”

  “So how will you find time to get hold of the high school? Is there something I can do?”

  “Lady, I love you. Do you know that? Yes, you could call and find out what paperwork they’ll need.” He finishes his drink, reaches for mine. “Another?” He goes to the bar and refreshes our glasses. “Funny, but this is the first time it’s ever been up to me to enroll my kid in school. I have no idea how to go about it.”

  “It can’t be that hard. What reason should I give for his leaving the Athenian?”

  “Private-school burnout?”

  “Fair enough.”

  I’ll come up with something a little more creative.

  Turns out, dealing with a school’s administration isn’t much different from dealing with any other bureaucracy—a little bullshit goes a long way. I have to work my way around not being an actual parent/guardian. “Almost stepmother” doesn’t count for much, but I’m well practiced in the art of persuasion through manipulation. The school secretary doesn’t stand a chance.

  “I just love this kid!” I gush. “I can’t believe his mom would desert him and run off to the Middle East for an unspecified amount of time. It was hurting his schoolwork, so we decided to bring him up here, where he could be close to us, to finish the year. I know it’s unusual, but we thought it would be for the best.”

  “There are only eight weeks left in the semester. Have you considered a virtual academy?”

  “Well, yes, but he’s just such a gregarious kid, we weren’t sure it would be good for him. I believe he’s well ahead academically.”

  “Okay. Let me see if a counselor is available to talk to you.”

  By the time I leave, I have an enrollment form for Cavin to fill out, and a checklist of paperwork they’ll need—birth certificate, immunization record, transcript. The counselor is looking forward to speaking to Eli ASAP to help put him in the right classrooms to ensure his success. And I am invited to join the PTA.

  Mission accomplished, I head to the gym, push myself especially hard. Exercise, I hear, is good for stress relief. And yes, I’m tense about the approaching hurricane. It has blown in by the time I get home.

  Fifty-Two

  Adjusting to life with Eli in the house has been difficult for everyone involved. Well, everyone other than the teachers at Whittell High School, whom Eli seems to have charmed. Of course, they don’t know about the real reasons he has come to them so late in the year. One of the conditions of Melissa and Cavin’s joint final “donation” to the Athenian was that certain information be kept confidential.

  Eli can be charming, no doubt about that, and I allow him to think he has me fooled, too. The way to play a player is by making him believe, without a doubt, he has you played. And hey, maybe he does.

  The space between him and his father is thick with friction. The two barely speak, and when they do, the tone is cool. Distant. Affectionless. Cavin has every right to be angry, but shouldn’t the anger cool at some point? And why is Eli so indignant? He started this thing.

  I finally get the chance to talk to him about it sans his dad’s presence a couple of weeks after his arrival. Cavin is still at his office when Eli comes in after school. I’m in the kitchen, working on a seafood stew. />
  “Hey,” he says. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Bouillabaisse. You like?”

  “Who doesn’t like bouillabaisse? Want some help?”

  “Of course. You do enjoy playing chef, don’t you?”

  He goes to the sink, washes his hands. “Actually, yes, I do. It’s creative. And relaxing.”

  “Have you given any thought to doing it professionally?”

  “You mean, like as a career?”

  “Why not? Do you have anything else in mind?” I hand him a knife and an onion. “Dice that into fairly small pieces, please. Oh, and do the same for three stalks of celery?”

  He reaches for a cutting board. “Actually, other than maybe doing something techie, I have no solid plans for the future. Not sure Dad would appreciate my going the culinary route, and Mom would freak out completely.”

  “I don’t see why, especially if you don’t have your heart set on medicine or law or something. Top chefs earn substantial salaries. Maybe you could even open your own restaurant.”

  “That would require school.”

  “There’s a Le Cordon Bleu academy in Sacramento. One in San Francisco, too.”

  “As you know, I prefer the city by the bay.” He winks. “You gonna let me stay in your house? Maybe Dad would pay you rent.”

  “Let’s not put the cart in front of the horse.”

  “A return to the land of clichés, eh, or maybe the kingdom of idioms?”

  This kid is a study in contrasts. “May I ask you something?” I pour olive oil into a large saucepan, put it on the stove to heat.

  “Sure.”

  He watches me add the chopped onion and celery, plus the garlic I’ve sliced. It hits the hot oil with a fragrant sizzle. “Stir that, would you please?” I hand him a wooden spoon.