A Season of Eden (12 page)

Mrs. Christian smiled and came toward me, her delicate hand covered with jewels outstretched. “Yes, I recognize the dress. Concert choir?”

I met her in the middle of the room. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Christian.”

“Thank you.”

“You stayed after.” James started toward us.

“I just cleaned up a little.” I took a deep breath, admiring him up close for the first time in thirty-two hours. Just looking into his eyes filled that ache I had inside with warmth. “And I wanted to congratulate you. The concert went really well, don’t you think?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it did. Everybody was great.”

I noticed his mother inching backwards toward the door. She laid a hand on his arm. “I’ll wait in the car, James.

Eden, a pleasure my dear.”

“You too,” I said. I couldn’t believe she was being nice enough to leave us alone. I wanted to jump up and down. I clasped my bag tight instead. “She’s so talented, coming in and playing like that. Wow.”

He nodded. His face looked relaxed for the first time that night. He let out a sigh and pushed a hand through his hair. “So, you really think it went well?”

“It went great. I heard all the numbers on the monitor, and I stood in the back for Renaissance. Everybody was great. Seriously.”

“Maybe I can stop sweating now.” He laughed. I wanted to roll around in the sound of it. The image brought a smile to my lips. He looked at my mouth and his laugh slowly filtered away. He glanced around. “So, where are your parents?”

“Oh, they didn’t come.”

His brows shot up. “Why not? They out of town?”

“They don’t come to stuff like this.”

“They don’t like the arts?”

I shifted feet and looked down at my bag. “They don’t know I’m in the group.”

“Why not?” I liked that he took a step and it brought him closer to me. “You sang tonight, and very well. Why wouldn’t you want to share that?”

I shrugged. I didn’t want to ruin the night or the moment talking about Stacey and Dad. “Sorry, I didn’t think to get you something. I can’t believe I didn’t think about it.

Leesa is into the drama thing and knows the etiquette—”

“Forget it.” He looked at the roses in his hand. Then he looked around the room. “Thanks for cleaning up. That’s an even more appreciated gesture, believe me.”

“Good. I did something then.”

“You did great tonight,” his voice was soft. “And that dress.” His gaze traveled down my body and back to my face. “You probably drove the guys crazy tonight.”

“Really?”

He tilted his head at me. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

I shook my head, fingering my bag. “That surprises me,” he said.

“Because I seem like a girl that would have a guy around?” I fished.

“No.” He started toward the light switch and I followed. “In my experience, the beautiful girls are always taken.”

Beautiful? The word startled, surprised and pleased me.

He flicked off one of the overhead lights, leaving us in near darkness that stretched shadows across half of his face. “High school guys don’t know anything.”

Then he turned off the last light and the only light was what shined in from the hall out the open door. He stood holding the door open, waiting for me to exit and I did.

I watched him juggle the roses while he locked up the room.

Then he gestured to the parking lot. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.

“That would be nice, but I don’t have a car here. I walked.”

His brows shot up. “This time of night?”

“It was five-forty-five when I walked over.” I laughed.

Inside I was pleased to see concern for me on his face. “I just live down on Paseo del Mar.”

He nodded. “One of
those
houses?”

“One of
those
.”

Our feet echoed in the empty hall. We didn’t speak, but I wasn’t uncomfortable, like I had been in the past with Matt or anybody else when there wasn’t any talk. I felt safe being with him, in thought and without words.

I saw a lone white Jaguar parked in the lot. His mother sat inside. We headed that direction. “Let me give you a ride home, Eden.”

“It’s not far, and I like to walk.”

“I’d feel better if I drove you. It’s ten-thirty.”

He stopped near the white Jaguar. I glanced over.

Through the window of the car, his mother smiled up at me.

“You really don’t have to.”

“I insist.”

“Okay.”

Mr. Christian opened the back door of the car for me and, after I was seated, he closed it, taking a moment to look at me through the glass. Inside, the leather seats smelled of heavy perfume. I figured the Jaguar belonged to his mother and the scent nearly confirmed it. Classical music played from the CD player.

“You don’t have a car, dear?” Mrs. Christian asked over her shoulder.

“I just live around the corner. I usually walk.”

She nodded, just as Mr. Christian got in the car. “It’s good exercise.”

“I think so,” I said.

He started the car and glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Eden lives a few streets away. I offered to give her a ride home.”

“Yes, she told me.”

We drove out of the empty parking lot and onto the street. “You play so beautifully, Mrs. Christian. I still can’t believe you played a concert without practicing with us.”

“Oh, I practiced, believe me dear.”

“Will you be playing for all of the concerts?”

“Shhh.” James’s eyes smiled at mine in the rearview mirror. “I haven’t asked her that yet.”

His mother’s soft and fluid laugh filled the car, just as warm and inviting as Mr. Christian’s. The kind way she looked at him, her face lit with a glow that made me envious. I knew then and there that she would play for him.

He pulled onto Paseo del Mar.

“Turn left,” I told him and leaned forward. He glanced at me. “It’s there.” I pointed. For the first time, I was embarrassed about my house, palatial as it was. So overboard. I wondered what they were thinking.

He drove onto the stone driveway. “Will the gate open?” he asked.

“I’ll get out here, it’s okay.” I opened the door. Before I knew it, Mr. Christian was out of his door and holding mine open. The sea breeze tickled the curls around his face.

“Thanks,” I said. Then I leaned around him to say goodbye to his mother. When I did, I reached to steady myself. His body was in the way. I had intended to reach for the door, but my hand rested instead on his bicep. Our eyes met. I swallowed a nervous lump, but I left my hand there.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Christian.”

“And you.”

I stood erect. My hand fell to my side. That intensity was back on his face, no smile, nothing but sharp heat. I could have withered into the stone driveway.

He shut the door. The only sound was the soft idling of the car. His gaze left mine to skim a look at the house.

“Want me to walk you to the door?”

I shook my head, even though I wanted that very much.

But at the same time, I wanted to get inside, away from this picture of prosperity with me standing in front of the house like the cover of
Lifestyles of the Rich.

I turned and pressed the buttons of the security code and the gates slowly opened.

“I have a remote,” I said. “But I forget to use it.”

He nodded and took another sweeping look of the property. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Goodnight, Eden.”

“Goodnight.” I started through the gates, now on their swing back to a close. My heels tapped a lonely tune as I crossed the cobblestones.

The house was expectedly empty when I went inside but I was too warm in my heart to care. I stopped and looked at my reflection in the Italian mirror Stacey had imported after one of their trips to Italy. My skin gleamed.

My eyes twinkled.

Smiling, I took the stairs up. William panted at my heels and I reached down and scrubbed his body the way he liked.

Then my mind flashed images of Mr. Christian’s face after the concert. The way he’d looked conducting us: muscles tense, light beads of perspiration along his jaw.

How happy he’d looked when Leesa had placed the roses in his arms.

He’d hugged her.

I undressed, wondering how Leesa felt about him.

She was a nice girl, but her illness had left her with little more than a baby chick’s head of hair. Less than attractive.

I watched myself as I slowly peeled off the dress. The joy I had felt moments ago stripped away. I looked at my deep red bra and panties. I looked healthy, Leesa did not. I was attractive, Leesa was not. How lame was it for me to think this way about her. She couldn’t help what had happened.

I hung up the dress and stood looking at my reflection.

Mr. Christian had called me beautiful. Turning, I surveyed every angle. No ripples. No excess bulges. Still, a body was just a body. I’d learned that the day I had gone to my dead mother as she lay in her coffin and pressed a kiss onto her icy lips. That day, my father had vanished in his loss, abandoning me along the way. He stopped hugging me.

He never asked me how my day was. Our daddy-daughter dates became extinct. And he never again tucked me into bed.

Mine had been a slow death after that, leaving me behind in the form of a shell.

Looking at myself now, that empty place inside of me threatened to rip open, exposing what I really was. So what if I was beautiful? I’d done nothing with what was inside of me. I’d let myself die, and lost myself in the transparent existence my friends lived in. More than once I’d seen beauty in Leesa’ eyes, beams of light in her smile. Real caring in her countenance. Like Mr. Christian.

I washed my face and changed into my pajamas. I got out my iPod and put on some classical music. Slowly, the lofty tunes lifted my spirits. I thought of Mr. Christian and how he spent time with wayward kids, teaching them to sing. I thought of Leesa’s smiling eyes, the way she eagerly waited to talk to me—and anyone else.

In the mirror, I saw a girl who looked pretty even in simple pajamas. Even without all the paint and goop. I was healthy. Strong. And I had thick, handfuls of blonde hair. I ran my fingers through it. A flash of tears filled my eyes. I had enough, and thought at that moment if I could, I would share with Leesa.

Monday, before Dad was up for his shower, I was dressed in nice jeans, a bright pink tee-shirt and a cropped jacket. I left my hair down. I was out the door, anxious to see Mr. Christian.

I walked the empty halls of the high school relishing the quiet and the unknown. Nerves bundled in my stomach. Not sure whether or not he was there, I walked to the parking lot behind the music room where he had parked his mother’s car Saturday night. His grey Toyota was there. I smiled.

I didn’t care what he thought of me showing up early.

Since Saturday, I felt alive inside in a way I never had before, my whole body magnetically drawn to the music room.

The door was closed, but I could hear him playing that song I’d heard him play months ago. Its melancholy tune quickly seeped into my heart as I opened the door.

The whoosh of pressure in the room alerted him.

He stopped and turned. Our eyes locked. I let the door silently close at my back. He stared at me, and a taut quiet stretched between us.

“I like hearing you play,” I said. I moved toward him.

He turned, in sync with my slow approach. He looked up at me but didn’t say anything. I rested my clammy hands on the cold, slick piano body. “May I?”

The muscles in his throat shifted, then he swallowed.

“Eden.”

My knees weakened, like a soft tickling kiss had just been blown against the backs of them. “Is it okay?” I asked.

His gaze held mine tight, like two hands joined. He understood what I was really asking. That’s why he didn’t answer.

“Let me stay,” I said, his silence peeling away my courage, leaving me desperate. “Please.”

“You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“No, I won’t.”

Another deep pause. Nothing but the sound of our low breathing. Then he turned, and placed his hands just above the keys. The gesture fired heat through me and I held my breath.

He started to play. I couldn’t move, so overjoyed listening to him, so overwhelmed being close to him. I remained fixed at the side of the piano, enjoying that I could openly stare at him while he brought the room life with his music.