Lunangelique (The Lunangelique Series) (11 page)

I come home to find Alex, Kaitlyn, Nathaniel, Hope and Ollie swimming in the pool. I don’t let them know I’m home though, because I’m really not in the mood to swim and I know that if they see me, they may start coaxing me to come out and I will have to give in. I quickly dart into the kitchen to grab a bowl of grapes and some cheese before I make my way to my bedroom to hide out.

Lying around all day has made me feel sluggish and now all I want to do is to continue to lie around. I pull my laptop out from under my head and type in the web address to a television website that broadcasts one of my favorite shows.  I need to catch up on what I’ve missed in the past couple of weeks. I lie back on my pillows, sit the laptop in my lap and pop a grape into my mouth while I wait through the commercials.

A couple of hours later that’s how Alex finds me when he knocks on my door and peaks his head in. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I shut my computer off and put it away. I feel ready for bed.

“Why didn’t you come join us when you got home?” he says it like an accusation.

“I was tired,” I shrug my shoulders.

He nods his head for awhile until he says, “Ollie was asking about you.”

“So,” I reply harshly.

“Just thought you should be warned that the guy is crazy about you. Nathaniel says he won’t shut up about you.” He shakes his head like it’s the saddest thing. “He was really disappointed that you weren’t here.”

“Did anyone tell him where I was?” I mentally cross my fingers that someone let him down for me.

“Yeah, I told him. I was vague, said you were at your boyfriend’s house,” Alex assures me that the deed is done. “Felt really bad about it. But he bounced back quickly and said something about how he can tell you guys will make good friends.”

“Thanks, Alex,” I breathe a sigh of relief.

“For…” he prods.

“Letting him down for me,” I say sweetly.

“I didn’t do it
for
you. I did it because he had to know before his imagination ran away with him,” Alex makes a point.

“Still, thanks. I couldn’t think of how to tell him without sounding like a bitch saying something like ‘Sorry, boyfriend’,” I say in a snobby, cliché way pointing to my chest.

“Yeah, sure.” He’s not amused by me. “I’m going to head back downstairs. Kaitlyn is still here. Everyone else is gone. You can come out now.”

“Thanks, but I’m going to get ready for bed.” I push myself out of bed and stretch my limbs. “Night.”

“Night,” he replies before closing my door.

“Alex,” I call to him before he can get too far. I don’t where the sudden thought popped up from but it feels urgent.

“Yeah.” He reopens the door.

“When you get a chance, could you research the name Kakabel?”

“Sure.  Sounds interesting enough.” He closes the door again. Just like that. No questions.  No snide comments. 

I go into the bathroom and scrub my face, wash my hands and brush my teeth before donning some pajamas. I slip between the sheets and fall asleep thinking about Cole’s dark eyes, his curls, the feel of his stubble and the disturbing things he says sometimes.

*

I’m walking slowly down a dark, damp tunnel. There is almost no light down here except from something glowing from up ahead, the only source of light in the dark tunnel. The tunnel is wide enough for five or six people to walk abreast; the ceiling reaches about twelve feet high. All I can hear is water dripping from an unknown source and the sound of my racing heart beat and heavy breathing.

I look back behind me from the direction I came but don’t see anything but darkness. I feel like I’m being followed or watched but I can’t make out any silhouettes. The tunnel bends behind me as it bends in front of me. Anyone can be hiding around the corners.

The hairs on my arms are standing up at attention. I look forward again and continue to cautiously walk towards the light. I’m so afraid of what I will find. I feel like I know what is up ahead but I’m afraid of seeing it.

My breathing gets more rapid as I push my back to the wall and slowly peek around the bend.

I wake up screaming into my pillow. When I realize what I’m doing I quickly try to stifle my cry. I pull myself up in bed and put my hand to my heart; it is racing a marathon in my chest. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and stay still for a couple of seconds to make sure I didn’t wake the house up.

What was around the bend?
I can’t remember what I saw that would make me scream. I remember the cave and the feeling of being watched and the feeling of knowing what was up ahead but that was it.
What was it?

When no one comes to the door I slip back under the covers and lie back down. I don’t think I fall back asleep that night.

*

The next afternoon, Cole surprises me by coming over around four o’clock. He is already impeccably dressed for his performance tonight. I open the door and can’t help but do a double take at his attire.

“Wow, you should wear a tux more often,” I compliment him. “Want to come in?” He nods and I step away from the door frame, letting him enter the vestibule. “Why are you here so early? I thought it didn’t start until six.”

He hands me a lily that he’s been hiding behind his back. It’s so unexpected, I can’t help the way my face lights up at the surprise. “You are amazing,” I gush at him and lean in to give him a kiss.

“So are you.” He pauses uncomfortably. “Um, I thought I, we, could hang out at your house for awhile, until it’s time to go.” He leans over and whispers in my ear, in case anyone is in earshot, “I couldn’t wait another minute to see you.”

I laugh at him and while he doesn’t laugh out loud his eyes do. “Well, as you can see I am not as ready as you are.” I address my wardrobe of a jean skirt and tank top. “So,” I draw out the word and lead him into the family room, “you can park in here and I’ll try to hurry and get dressed. Don’t worry, the parents are at work for another hour and Alex is off somewhere with Kaitlyn.”

“What? I can’t keep you company in your room while you get ready?” He pouts, feigning the idea that staying alone downstairs bothers him. “I let you wait in my room for me,” he makes a point. Maybe he really is offended to wait downstairs.

“Fine, come on,” I say and head up the stair with him tailing me.

“So, how will your parents feel if they come home and I’m in your room?” I turn back to him and roll my eyes at him. If he was so concerned he wouldn’t have pushed the issue.

“It’s fine,” I tell him.

“Your parents really don’t mind that you and Alex have the opposite sex in your room?”

“Nope. They’re weird.” I pause rethinking how to describe my parent’s philosophies. “Not weird. They’re open and trusting. I think their parents were really over-protective, which led them to be the opposite. Who knows?” I open the door to my bedroom, feeling a little embarrassed that he’s coming into it but then I redirect the thought because he has been in here, I just don’t remember it.

“I forgot to mention before that I like your room,” he says, on the same train of thought as me. “It’s very personal. Very you. I feel like if I look around the room I would be able to know everything about you.”

I take a moment to look around the room as if I’m seeing it for the first time, through his eyes. I have a full size bed, dressed in light silver sheets and a white comforter, pictures of me with friends and family spanning a lifetime on a pin-board near my cluttered vanity, a hope chest for my mementos,  an antique dresser and nightstand that hold the flowers he gave me the other day. The walls are painted in a soft gray with white trim that I just recently painted this summer. There are a few canvas paintings I completed dotting the walls. And on the wall over my bed is a collage I painted depicting monuments of all the places I want to visit one day. It scans the globe covering everything from Big Ben to the Pyramid of Giza to the Great Wall of China and everything in-between.

“Who did this?” he refers to the collage.

“Stencils,” I admit. I break away from looking around the room with him to find a dress to wear tonight.

“But, who painted it in,” he looks at me questioning.

“I did,” not wanting to admit it because I feel guilty for my ability to pick up anything and just
know
how to do it. It feels like a sin.

“Where did you get stencils for all these places?” he asks, ignoring my guilt-ridden voice.

I take a deep breath and pull out two dresses from the closet, turning to him so he can help me choose. One is long, silver and is basically backless until right above my butt; I wore it for prom last spring, and the other one is cornflower blue cocktail dress I wore to Kaitlyn’s older sister’s wedding a few months ago. “The long one is more for tonight’s crowd,” he informs me.

“So how did you do it?” he refers back to the collage after I’ve gone into the bathroom to change. He knows I’m avoiding answering. I hurry up and change, throwing my previous attire into the laundry basket and adjusting my sticky bra into place before walking out of the bathroom and hurrying to the vanity table. I feel so self-conscious applying my makeup in front of him.

He’s sitting on the bed, expectantly, staring at me, still waiting for an answer. He’s committed to not speaking another word until I answer his question. I throw the eyeliner I was applying down and take a defeated sigh before turning to face him. “Fine. I don’t know why you are so insistent anyways. It’s not like you don’t avoid certain topics.” I spit out at him venomously, instantly regretting the action when I see the shock and hurt on his face.

I use a softer voice when I inform him, “It’s not so hard to figure out. I copied the outlines onto many, many,
many
pieces of paper, punched holes through them, carefully placed them over the wall, marked the walls, played connect the dots and then I painted; making sure to blend the colors so that one monument flowed into the next.”

I turn back around and pick up where I left off on my makeup. Noting that he hasn’t taken his eyes off my reflection. I don’t look at him. I would rather pretend he isn’t here while I concentrate on getting the makeup on.

“It’s amazing. I don’t understand while you aren’t more willing to talk about or share your talents with everyone.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I say more harshly than I meant to.

We stay silent for awhile. I know I should apologize for talking to him so harshly but I can’t bring myself to do it. The talents I have are for me. He wants to hide his past from me, for now, according to him, and so I feel entitled to hide my freakishly-natured talents from him.

I start to wrap my hair into a French twist but Cole says, “I like it when you leave your hair down.”

“You just want to play with my hair,” I tease him. Trying to ease the tension that is hanging between us.

He smiles and the tension is immediately broken. “You have me pegged.”

“As you know I can’t deny you,” I admit and release my hair from the pins so it falls back down my back. I pick up a brush and run it through my hair to smooth it out.

“So what is the theme for the new gallery opening tonight?” I curse myself for going back to an art topic. But I can’t help it, I’m curious, and we
are
going to a museum tonight.

“I don’t know. I never thought to ask,” he admits. “It’s a job. I just go when I’m scheduled.”

“Oh,” I sound a little disappointed. And I am. “So what am I supposed to do when we are there?” I get up from the seat and Cole follows my lead as I head back downstairs.

“Keep me company.” He smiles.

“What am I suppose to do while you are
playing
?” I make my question clearer.

“You can stare at me dotingly and listen to me play or wander around the museum. There will be an intermission an hour into the performance that will give me time to spend with you and then there is afterwards.”

My dad is already home when we come downstairs. “Hi, daddy,” I say to him when we walk into the family room. I come over to him and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“You two look nice,” he compliments us.

I beam at him and Cole tells him thank you and then shakes his hand in welcome. He looks at his watch. “We should go soon. It’s right after five and I still have to set up.”

“Okay,” I tell him. I turn back to my dad, “See you later.”

“Not too late. It’s a school night,” my dad chuckles to himself. He hasn’t said that to me or Alex in over a year and he’s laughing at his old habit. “Just kidding. Have a good time.” He plants a kiss on my forehead.

“Good night,” Cole nods his head to my dad. And my dad gives him the same sentiment.

We get to the museum at twenty minutes to six. People are already piling inside and Cole curses under his breath. He parks in the back at the employee parking lot.

“I’m sorry for taking so long to get ready,” I tell him.

“You’re fine. Don’t apologize. It’ll be fine. I get to unpack and tune up in one of the conference rooms before I go out. No one will be expecting me to get ready in the atrium,” he comforts me.

He escorts me out of the car and then opens the trunk to get his violin case out of the back. “Don’t you need your sheet music?” I notice he doesn’t have any and I start to get alarmed.

“I don’t need it,” he assures me. “I’ve been playing for so long that my fingers have memorized every note.”

He opens one of the side doors and we enter into a hallway, where he immediately turns left into a conference room. I sit in one of the chairs and watch him tune his violin. Then he strums out ‘Hot Cross Buns’ really quick and I laugh.

“Alright, let’s go.” He hurries down the hall to a door but before he opens it he turns to me and gives me a quick and passionate kiss before opening the door that leads right into the atrium.

The first thing I notice, we notice, when we walk through the door is the poster that introduces the artist portrayed tonight. It’s Edmund. And the man himself is standing alone on the stairs, watching the crowd come in. He’s dressed in a grey suit with a white shirt and a light blue tie.