Our Song (25 page)

“Can you hear that?” Nick asked.

My body froze. It was just like the whirring buzz in my head that sometimes overtook me.
He could hear it too?
“Hear what?”

“The cicadas.”

I nodded and let out the deep breath I’d been holding in. The sound was real, like the crunching twigs or the flapping parrots. It didn’t just exist in my head. All these phantom noises gained clarity and context because of Nick and the worlds he opened up to me. “It’s beautiful.”

“The males do all the buzzing. It’s like their mating call to attract the right female. They have perfect pitch, you know.”

Cupping my hands around my eyes, I pressed my face against the thick, decaying wall. The buzzing suddenly got louder, growing in intensity as if the cicadas sensed my presence and were coming closer. With one hand I reached back and got my camera out of my bag, grateful that I remembered to change out the finished roll.

“They hardly ever reveal themselves,” Nick said, leaning against the hedge. “You’re not going to see anything in there.”

“I already do.” A white and orange flower poked through the tangle of branches, proof that life still existed here. Its colorful pattern was so intricate, the petals looked like insect wings. “Take a look,” I said, stepping aside so he could see. “Do you know what kind of flower that is?”

Nick crouched down to get a better look. “It’s some kind of orchid.”

It was so different from the orchids my mother grew. “How can it survive out here when everything else is…”

“Dead?” Nick said, finishing my thought. “Because it’s a really low maintenance plant. All it needs is the occasional rain to keep it going. And they only bloom once a year. We’re just lucky to catch it at the right time.”

If that was true, then what was my mother doing in the greenhouse all the time? Maybe she had her secrets too.

The camera dangled from the strap around my neck as we meandered through the rest of the maze. I took pictures of different things along the way and turned the camera on Nick when he wasn’t looking. We reached various dead ends, forcing us to retrace our steps, until eventually we got to the exit on the other side. It opened out onto a big meadow. The property seemed endless.

“We made it,” I said, almost wistful that the experience was over.

“And we didn’t get lost.” Nick peered across the meadow and tugged on my sleeve. “Come on. There’s something else I want to show you.”

He was already moving toward a brick wall on the other side of the field. When we got there, he unlatched the arched door in the middle and led me into what seemed like a secret garden. Inside the walls, everything was brown and overgrown, just like the rest of the property, but in the middle sat a large, round pond. Nick ran down a small hill, to a dock that floated on the edge of the water. He hopped on and motioned for me to join him.

When I stepped onto the dock, he unlatched a metal hook at the base of the wooden slats. As we drifted out into the pond, I searched for our reflections on the swampy surface. But the water was so cloudy, I could only make out the vague silhouette of our shadows. We were standing so close that they blended into one.

“I used to spend a lot of time out here when I was a kid.”

The image of a young Nick was still fresh in my mind. I searched for traces of his dimpled cheek or the birthmark on his chin, which was now buried beneath his thick, dark stubble.

I started and nearly fell over as I heard something splash in the water behind us. When I looked back, a large swan was sailing toward us, a ripple of florescent green algae cascading in the water behind its white feathers. I dangled my arm in the water as it got closer, waiting to caress its smooth head.

“Careful,” Nick said. “Swans can be terribly vicious creatures.”

I looked up, surprised by the tone of warning in his voice. “Come on, you can’t be serious.”

“Scout’s honor,” Nick said, waving his hand in salute. “You especially don’t want to go near this sad soul.”

I pulled my hand back and let the swan swim past. He seemed so elegant and graceful, hardly something to be afraid of. “Why? He seems so calm.”

“Looks can be deceiving. He’s actually been in deep mourning ever since his mate died. He just swims around the pond like this for hours looking for her.”

“Can’t you get him a new partner?”

“He’s too smart for that,” Nick said, shaking his head. “They’re monogamous for life, swans.”

“How long has it been? Since she died?”

“Ten years.”

“That’s so sad,” I said, picturing the swan swimming here like this while life went on around him.

“It’s not just sad. It’s tragic.”

Nick shifted his gaze away from the swan and fixed it on me. Lifting the camera from my neck, he gently set it down on the dock. My knees buckled as he reached out and took hold of my hand. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something. My heart started pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

“What?” I whispered, feeling shy and exposed under the intensity of his gaze.

But instead of answering he came even closer.
This is it
, I thought as he squeezed my palm.
It’s happening
.
He’s going to kiss me
. I closed my eyes and could practically feel myself levitating above my own body when suddenly, without warning, Nick jumped into the pond, pulling me in with him. Still gripping my hand, we sank down, squinting at each other through the silty layers of emerald water. When our feet hit the soft, cushioned bottom, we sprang back up amid a cloud of powdery residue, like we were free-falling through space. I wondered if I had somehow dreamt this moment before, because there was something so familiar about the sensation of being carried along, weightless, just like the oxygen bubbles all around us. Spears of amber light sprouted out from Nick’s body and his skin glowed luminescent, as if he were standing on top of the sun. He looked so peaceful, like he was lit from within.

The only way for this to pass is to let go of your love…I see into your mind…Your voice is like an angel I can hear without sound.

The lyrics swam around inside my head, echoing through the underwater silence. His voice was as clear and hopeful as I’d ever heard it.

Nick stared into my eyes. Then, he mouthed two words:
I’m sorry
.

I didn’t need sound to understand what he was saying. But what was he apologizing for? For yanking me in? I was about to respond, to ask him why, but before my lips could form the word we were bursting through the boggy surface and I was gasping for air instead.

“RACE YOU BACK.”

Before I could object, Nick had already taken off up the hill and disappeared through the arched doorway. The handle was still wet from where he touched it as I followed him through. I ran across the meadow, struggling to catch up, pond water still pooled in my squeaking shoes, swishing between my toes. The warm air smelled sweet as it blew over my damp skin, fanning my drenched dress behind me like a wet sail.

“No fair!” I called out as Nick made a sudden left by the maze toward the forest on the other side. “You know the short cuts!”

He slowed his pace to a light backward jog so he was now facing me. He looked so sexy with his soaking wet T-shirt and jeans clinging to his lean, muscled body. “Then I suggest you don’t fall behind.”

When we got to the end of the meadow, he began darting in and out of the trees. Each time he disappeared for longer, deeper into the forest.

The branches blocked out most of the remaining sun. When I looked up, I spotted the moon rising through a space between the trees. It was still faint and tissue-thin, like it hadn’t yet decided how much of itself to reveal.

Nick was a steady distance ahead but kept looking back over his shoulder to make sure I was still within sight.

Without slowing down, I reached the camera up into the air, high above my head, and began snapping. I hoped the pictures would turn out blurry, that they’d be able to capture how I felt at that exact moment: Free. Happy. Alive.

The forest began to thin out and soon we were back to running on the dried out, overgrown grass, the imposing stone house now visible ahead. I had almost forgotten it was there, that the property belonged to people, not just the creatures that ran rampant on it. I pumped my legs harder and finally caught up to Nick. We ran the last stretch together, our arms and legs swinging in unison, until Nick elbowed me out of the way to go barreling first through the side door.

“I win,” he declared just as I came crashing in after him. We were in some kind of mud room, a space for rubber boots and gardening tools and various things dragged in from the outside.

“If I knew cheating was allowed, I would have tripped you a lot sooner,” I said between gasping breaths of air.

“Would you have, now?” The lopsided grin was back. It bordered on a real smile, but not one big enough to make his missing dimple reappear. “Then don’t let me stop you.”

He took off up the back staircase, the floorboards creaking under his weight. I gave chase, taking the steps two at a time.
My laughter bounced with my fast movement, echoing up the stairwell like a case of the hiccups. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed like this, so hard I could feel it in my ribs. It reminded me of all the painful bruises I used to have there, and how they had since healed. It gave me hope that maybe everything healed eventually.

There was a sudden crashing noise, followed by what sounded like a small avalanche. Nick’s shuffling feet came to a standstill. I was just about to call up to see if he was okay when I heard the high-pitched tone of a woman’s voice. I froze in my tracks. Even though I had stopped, my heart raced like it expected me to keep moving. Was it his mother? I strained to make out what she was saying when Nick started talking. His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in a while.

Hugging the wall, I inched forward one step at a time until I reached the landing. An empty cardboard box and various items lay scattered at my feet. They formed a trail all the way up to the top, where Nick was standing in front of an elegant-looking older woman in a long, flowing black skirt, her white hair swooped up in a bun.

I glanced at Nick. There was no hint of the grin or the playfulness from just a minute earlier. I was about to sneak back down the stairs and wait for him at the bottom when the woman spotted me.

“I didn’t realize you had a guest,” she said, assessing me and my soaking wet clothes from head to toe. She also had an English accent, only hers was even stronger than Nick’s, like she was related to the Queen.

I stiffened and felt my cheeks burn, suddenly ashamed for being caught here alone with him. We might as well have been naked. Nick’s eyes were fixed on the mix of things strewn across the landing—books, an old set of scratched, wooden ping pong rackets, a burgundy wool cardigan and a stack of letters, loosely held together with a string. From that angle, I could only make out the first three letters of the name on the envelope:
Sam
…

“This is Olive,” Nick said, his voice now distant. “And this is Lady Beatrice Agnes Wilkins.” He gestured toward the woman. “My aunt.”

“I’m delighted to meet you, Olive. Nick knows I hate that silly title, so please call me Aunt Bea.” She descended the stairs as she spoke, stopping on the landing next to me. After gently shaking my hand, she began collecting the fallen items from the box. “Please do forgive me for this horrible mess!”

“Here, let me help you,” I said, my body relaxing. This was not how I wanted to make my first impression with any member of Nick’s family, but at least she was being kind. Up close, she wasn’t as intimidating as her accent made her seem.

“No.” Nick’s voice was so loud and firm it startled me, and I could practically see the door closing between us.

Aunt Bea looked pointedly at Nick, then turned back to me and said, “Thank you, dear, but what you need is to get out of those clothes before you catch cold.”

“I’m okay, they’re almost dry.” Gripping the banister, I slowly backed down a step. “It’s getting late. I should probably be going, anyway.”

“Come on,” Nick said, his voice softer now. “Aunt Bea’s right. At least let me give you something to change into.”

I looked toward the door—it was already getting dark and I didn’t know my way home—then back up at Nick. He swiped the hair out of his face so I could see his eyes clearly.

“Okay,” I finally said, releasing my hold from the railing. Gingerly stepping over the fallen debris, I started back up the stairs.

• • •

There was a light tap on the door. “Are you decent?”

“Just about,” I said, slipping the shirt over my head. I was in the library, one of the rooms we had passed on the second floor hallway earlier. I felt my face flush before he even walked through the door. Even though I was covered head to toe in a pair of light blue drawstring pajamas and a white T-shirt, wearing Nick’s clothes somehow made me feel naked. They smelled just like him, as if he was already right next to me. It was completely different from Derek’s scent, muskier and more natural. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Nick came in carrying a sterling silver tray containing a teapot, creamer, and sugar bowl in a matching pattern. He had also changed out of his wet clothes and was now wearing a pair of navy and white Adidas track pants and a faded red T-shirt. He wasn’t any less clothed than usual, but he seemed stripped down, almost as if he’d taken off a mask I wasn’t even aware he’d been wearing. “Cup of tea?”

“That sounds great,” I said, rubbing my arms. They were still cold.

He set the tray down on the coffee table. “Milk and sugar?”

“Just plain.”

“That’s not really a proper cup of tea, you know. But I’ll let it slide.” He prepared two mugs and sat down on the Persian rug facing the empty fireplace.

I sat down next to him. The cup felt warm between my hands, but I still had a chill running through me, even more so now.

He reached back toward the couch and yanked off a few cushions for us to lean on. The volumes of leather-bound books surrounding us felt cozy. “It’s a good look on you, men’s PJ’s.”