Child of Darkness (26 page)

Was this my destiny, always to be under some form of lock and key, always to be in invisible chains? When would I be free? When would I truly be able to breathe?
Ami was there at the end of the school day, naturally full of questions about how the other students had treated me.
"I'm sorry I didn't get up in time to speak to you before you left for school today. I wanted to warn you how catty some of these girls can be. What sort of mean things did they say? Did Lynette help you? Have they begun to spin nasty rumors about you?" "I ignored them," I said.
"Well, what did they say?" she asked. She had to know the details.
"I really don't know, Ami. I didn't listen."
"But--"
"I just walked away from their smug smiles and whispers and concentrated on my lessons. I had a surprise quiz in math, and I have a project to complete in social studies, so I spent my lunch hour and free time in the library. Oh," I added, sounding as if I was going to describe an accomplishment, "Mrs. Grossbard doesn't think she has a place for me on the golf team. She evaluated my ability to drive and putt, and determined it wasn't my forte."
I smiled to indicate how trivial I thought it all was. Ami's mouth opened and closed.
"Well, that's . . . how . . . I'll speak to Mrs. Brentwood about that," she vowed.
"I don't care. It's fine. I'm really not interested in being on the team. I do have an interesting assignment for the newspaper, however. I'm going to do all the book reviews. I've been made the book editor, in fact," I said.
Her mouth drooped.
She didn't have to say anything. Her eyes told me what she was thinking:
boring.
"Oh," she finally uttered. "If that's what you want to do. I mean, if that makes you happy here."
"It does," I said, and she nodded.
When we turned down the street toward the house, she slowed and to my surprise pulled behind a parked Mercedes sports car.
"Basil is waiting for you," she said, nodding at the car.
I leaned forward and saw him step out and wave. "The driving lessons, remember? I went ahead and canceled the driving instructor."
"Oh, yes," I said, a ball of nervousness tumbling in my stomach and growing bigger with ever roll.
"Go on," she urged. "And be nice to him. You need someone who can do you favors, Celeste, even more than I do," she added with a note of sadness. "I'll take your books up to your room."
She leaned out her window to wave back at Basil. "C'mon, Celeste," he urged, ignoring her. "We've got a lot to do."
I got out of the car and started toward him. He was wearing a tight knit sweater and jeans and did look handsome, his hair blown into a free-flowing style. He smiled and reached out for me. I took his hand, and he opened the driver's door a bit more so I could slip right behind the steering wheel.
"Let's first see how you do and what that driving expert taught you," he said.
He closed the door and started around the car. Ami remained behind us, watching. Basil barely looked her way. He got in beside me and closed the door.
"Now this isn't
a
bad car to learn on," he said. "Handles like a baby, smooth and very receptive. It's a high-performance automobile, so go easy on the acceleration. Go on. Let's see what you were told to do first," he challenged, folding his arms and sitting back.
I went through the steps I had been taught, adjusting the seat and the mirrors to make sure I had good views. I quickly studied the shift, the parking brake, and the signal lever. Then I put on my seat belt.
"You look good behind that wheel, Celeste," he said. "You look like you belong in a car like this. You know how much it cost?"
I shook my head.
"It's over a hundred thousand dollars," he said. "I'm thinking of getting a new one. Maybe I'll just give this one to you to use, so don't get us into a wreck," he added, laughing.
Was he serious? Just like that, he'd give me a car this expensive to use?
"C'mon, get the engine started. Let's get moving." He looked back at Ami, who was still parked behind us. I saw his eyes narrow with displeasure.
"What the hell is she waiting for? Let's go," he ordered more firmly.
I started the car, checked my mirror, made my hand signal, and shifted to drive. He was right about the car's sensitivity compared to the far cheaper vehicle the driving instructor used. We lunged forward so fast and hard, I hit the brake.
Basil laughed as we jerked forward and back. "Sorry," I said.
"Don't worry. You'll get used to it quickly," he promised.
Gingerly this time, I accelerated, and we pulled onto the road. He moved closer to me, putting his left arm around the back of my seat. I could smell his rich cologne and aftershave as it flowed over my face.
"Steady," he said. "Just keep her steady and keep aware of everyone around you. I always check the rearview to see how close the idiot behind me gets. People tailgate like crazy these days," he warned. "Driving is defensive nowadays. You just have to keep anticipating the other guy will do something stupid, and most of the time, he does."
My pounding heart slowed down as we cruised along. It was a wonderful car to drive, and I was comfortable in the seat. He told me where to turn.
"You're doing just fine," he said. "I'm impressed. This is going to be a piece of cake. I might not even need a favor at the motor vehicle bureau," he remarked.
I said thank you, but never took my eyes off the road, even though I felt his on me all the time. Once in a while his fingers grazed the back of my neck or my hair, and that would send a chill down my spine because I was afraid the touch would last longer or go down my neck to my shoulders.
We practiced parking. To my surprise, he wasn't a bad driving instructor. He had a mechanic's understanding of everything, angles, speed, exactly how to turn the wheel enough, and when to stop.
"That's perfect," he told me after my fourth attempt at a parallel park. "Again. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be able to do it with your eyes closed."
I did gain confidence with him, and by the end of my lesson, I felt quite at ease. He laughed about it.
"Hell, I might make you my chauffeur," he said, and I smiled for the first time.
"Thank you."
"No problem. Actually, I enjoyed myself, watching you. You know, I taught my wife how to drive. Wade doesn't even know that, but it's true. You remind me of her in some ways," he said. "Especially the way you concentrate, get those eyes of yours fixed on something. I used to tell her she could drill holes with her looks."
We drove through the opened gates and up to the house.
"Why don't you want to live here all the time?" I asked him.
"Too many memories for me," he said. "Besides, it's a house for a family, not a widower. I expect a family here, kids running all over the place, Emersons. I want a grandson before I'm too old to teach him how to drive too," he added, and I thought about Ami and her hesitation about getting pregnant. I wondered if he had any idea.
"I'll come in for a while," he said when we parked. "I need a drink. Not that your driving did it," he added quickly. "I just have a drink about now every day."
As soon as we entered the house, Wade came out of the living room to greet us. Worried, he searched my face quickly to see what it would tell.
"She's damn good!" Basil bellowed. "The poor unfortunate can drive better than you, Wade, and after only a few lessons."
"Stop saying that, Dad. I never called her that."
"Stop saying that, Dad," Basil mimicked, and laughed as he brushed past Wade to go to the bar.
"Was it all right?" Wade asked me quickly.
"Yes, it was. He's a good teacher," I said.
Wade looked skeptical a moment.
"Where's Ami?" I asked.
"She had a headache and went to take a nap. She gets migraines occasionally. She'll be all right, but she might not come down to dinner."
"Oh, I didn't know."
"It's all right."
"What the hell you doing out there, Wade? Come on in here and tell me how much money I made today," Basil shouted from the doorway.
"I got to get onto my homework," I said. "Thanks again, Mr. Emerson," I called.
"Don't call me Mr. Emerson. Call him Mr. Emerson. I'm Basil," he shouted back at me.
I shook my head, glanced at Wade, who smirked, and then hurried up the stairway.
The phone rang almost as soon as I entered. I thought it might be Waverly again, teasing me, but it was Trevor.
"I've been calling you all afternoon," he said. "Where have you been? Don't tell me you found a new guy already."
"Driving lessons," I said.
"Oh yeah. I was afraid your phone had been disconnected or something."
"How are you?"
"Better, but you won't believe this cast. I look like something from a horror movie. It's not easy to sleep with it, either. Glad you're taking driving lessons. I won't be driving for some time, and I'll need a ride home, so get your license soon:'
I didn't say anything. The very idea seemed so remote a possibility to me, it was like talking about a trip to the moon.
"Aren't your parents upset about what happened?"
"Yeah, but they get over things quickly," he said. "My father gave me one of his fast-food lectures, abbreviated into five minutes with his usual lead-off, 'I was young once too, so I know what you're going through.' Why is it they always think we're carbon copies or just walking along a trail they've carved?" he wondered aloud. "Your parents like that?"
I almost said I couldn't remember, but caught the truth before it had a chance to find its way to my tongue and sent it reeling back.
"Yes," I said.
"I heard you took a lot of ribbing at school. Waverly's being Waverly."
"It didn't bother me."
"Good. Because I'm coming to school tomorrow. Of course, I can't take any notes or take any tests for a while, but I have you to take notes for me." He was silent because I was silent, and then he asked, "Are you mad at me?"
"I'm mad at myself," I said.
"Good, because I couldn't stand you being mad at me. You're the first one I want to sign my cast, so think of something great to write, like, 'No pain, no gain.' He laughed. "Okay?"
"I don't know," I said. "I have to hang up. I have to get to my homework."
"Okay, sleep tight in that great bed of yours, and don't think this cast will keep me from chasing after you," he vowed, and laughed again.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I offered. "Bye."
"Hey?"
"What?"
"We'll get over this. Don't worry about it."
"I'm not," I said.
I didn't mean to sound so casual about it, but how could I explain that I had been through far more traumatic events in my life, and when I was far younger and less equipped to handle them, too?
"Well, at least worry a little," he urged. "It makes me feel more important to you. I am important to you, aren't I?" he pursued.
"Yes, Trevor, but all this happened so quickly after I moved in here. You have to understand what I'm going through, too."
"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. I'll go easy. Whatever it takes," he said. "I mean it."
"Thanks," I said. "See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," he replied, and we hung up.
Never had
tomorrow
felt so ominous to me. Would it bring on more trouble or less if Trevor and I were together all the time at school? Ami would know for sure. What was I to do? Talk about migraines-- my head was spinning. I made the mistake of lying down and closing my eyes. Minutes later, I fell asleep and didn't wake up until I felt myself being nudged.
Ami stood looking down at me. Her face was filled with concern. She was in her robe.
"What's wrong with you? Why are you sleeping? Wade called up to me to tell me you hadn't come down to dinner, and you didn't answer your phone when he called."
"The phone rang?" I asked, sitting up and looking at it. "I didn't hear it." I ground the sleep out of my eyes and took a deep breath.
"Did something happen in the car with Basil?"
"Happen? No. What could happen? He was actually very nice," I said.
She relaxed a little, but still looked at me with the suspicion of a doctor, her eyes perusing my face, looking for symptoms.
"We're going to see my doctor next week. I'd like you to have a physical. I bet you didn't have very good medical treatment at the orphanage. How could you?" she asked before I could respond.
"I've never been seriously sick," I said. "Just a little cold once in a while, but nothing terrible. I didn't need a doctor."
She nodded.
"Yes, I know that, but still . . . I'm worried about you. I'll make the appointment," she said. "And remember, I want to know when your period starts. Immediately," she added. Then she thought again. "It didn't start, did it?"
"No, Ami."
"Okay. Don't forget. All right. I wasn't going down to dinner tonight, but I'll throw something on. It's just us. Basil left," she said. "Just wash your face and brush your hair. We don't need to dress up for Wade. I'll be out in ten minutes," she added, and left.
There was a heavy atmosphere at dinner. Wade barely looked up from his food, and Ami looked like she was still suffering from her migraine.
"You really should go to the doctor about the headaches you've been having lately, Ami," Wade finally said.
"I am going to the doctor. We're both going," she replied.
"Both?"
"Celeste and myself. For a physical. I'm making the appointments tomorrow," she told him.
He looked at me.
"Aren't you feeling well?"
"That's not the point, Wade. We didn't tell you all of it. She was physically attacked."
"Attacked? Now listen, Ami--"
"We want to be sure everything is all right, don't we, Celeste?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"Yes," I said.
"So don't butt into female business, Wade," Ami immediately told him.
He shook his head and looked down again.
"If you start a story like that, we will have some legal problems," he muttered.
"No one is starting any stories. Celeste has not really had a good physical anyway. It's only smart to have one."
"Whatever," Wade said.
No one was in the mood for any desert. Wade excused himself and went to his office, and Ami went back to bed.
As I ascended the stairway to go to my room, I saw
Mrs. Cukor standing in the living room doorway, looking up at me. She didn't look fearful or angry.
She smiled.
But it was the smile of someone who knew she was soon to be proven right.
And that sent more chills into my heart than anything else she had done or said.

On our way to school the following day, Wade was quieter than usual. I tried to start a conversation about my book assignment for the newspaper. He listened politely, but he lacked the enthusiasm he had shown before whenever I talked about books and my studies and work. He seemed very distracted. I thought he might be worrying about Ami's headaches. When I asked, he said only that she would be all right, but he said it with an underlying tone of bitterness sharper than I had heard before in his voice. I pretended to be involved in studying notes for a firstperiod quiz.