Shadows Gray (14 page)

I don’t want to show off my long legs.  I want to wear my jeans. With sneakers. But I obediently step into it and let Emme zip up the back. I turn to face the mirror.

“It’s tight,” I object.

“Is not!”

“Is too!  I can’t hardly breathe!  I want some of those appetizers you promised me would be there! How am I supposed to eat and drink and move?”

“Good grief, you are such a big baby. I don’t why I put up with you. Pull up your big girl nappy and stop whining. Really. Take it off while we work on your hair and face.”

I grumble through the whole hair process as well, making Emme threaten me with a curling iron. After that, she applies enough make-up to glamour up an entire circus and when she leaves to make us iced tea, I wipe almost all of it off.  I leave a thin line of dark eyeliner and the mascara which make my eyes look huge when I look in the mirror, and the first layer of powder.  Oh, and the gloss on my lips which is a light shimmery pink color and doesn’t taste half bad. 

I put the hated dress back on and step back to analyze my appearance.  I don’t look like a girl anymore, and the reflection looking back at me is one I’ve never seen.  No one has ever seen this half girl, half woman before.  I can’t help wondering what people will think. I can’t help wishing I could hide behind my jeans and T-shirt and cap, as well.

“Alrighty, luv,” Emme steps back and admires her work. “That’ll do.  Now all you have to do is walk home in those heels and then try to look like you haven’t been walking at all when this Luke picks you up.”

“Oh fabulous,” I grumble. “Give me back my clothes and I’ll carry these instruments of torture in a sack.” I gesture to the heels which are already pinching my feet.

She bundles up my clothes and fancy shoes for me and gives me a kiss on the cheek as I go through the door.  “Emme,” I pause, my hand on the doorframe. “Do you think we’ll travel together?  I don’t want to leave you too.  We’ve both been here a long while.  It’s time – I can practically feel it.”

“Feel it?” Emme frowns. “I never feel a thing.”

“It’s just a restlessness, that’s all.  Like things are fading away but moving faster at the same time.  I can’t hardly sleep and I feel like I only have a few moments left in this time before I disappear altogether, you know?”

“Not really,” she laughs. “You really are a drama queen tonight, Sonnet.  But you’re right, we’ve both been here long enough and I expect us to move on soon.  Nothing to be afraid of though, luv.  It’s not exactly our first rodeo!”  She winks.  Emme’s American expressions spoken in her British accent always make me laugh.  “Now get a move on.  I want to hear all about tonight first thing tomorrow! You’re working in the morning?” I nod. “I’ll come by then first thing.  Well, not first thing, but before
noon, alright?”

“Alright,” I sigh, hefting my sack over my shoulder and starting down the stairs. “Do I look as ridiculous as I think I do?”  I glance down at my sneakers which don’t exactly go with my red dress.

“Absolutely!” Ever cheery Emme.  “Now get out of here!”

Chapter Twelve

Coming home to my half empty house is just as terrible as I knew it would be.  The television is switched off since there’s no Matthias or Harry to watch it.  Will and Meli’s room is empty, with the door standing open.  My dad is nowhere to be found, as is Prue, which means they’re manning the food cart somewhere.  If they’re smart, they’ll be on the same block as the art show, but my embarrassment of them keeps me from wishing it.  It isn’t as if I’d change them, but they are a hard pill to swallow at times.  And Prue would probably demand I take off this tight dress and wash my face.  I hope we don’t run into them, Luke and me.

I’m feeling nervous for what amounts to my very first date of sorts. Then I feel out of sorts for feeling nervous, because really, what do I have to be nervous about anyway? Luke is older than I, a man of the world really, who knows what I am and knows there is no hope of a future, and is only taking me out as a farewell of sorts anyway.  Because he feels sorry for me; a Lost little child practically, who has never even emailed someone…much less bungee jumped or flown.

In the midst of my wandering thoughts, comes Israel.  He comes through the door looking tired after putting Matthias and Harry and Bar on a bus, and evidently grocery shopping as he is loaded up with brown paper sacks.  I grab the one that looks like it is about to slip out of his grasp and we carry them to the kitchen table to put away.  I wait for his reaction to my appearance. I have even put on the dreaded heels.

“Prue wanted almond paste. This look right to you?” He holds up a can of something.

“Sure, I think so, I guess,” I move closer.

“Well, she practically cleaned out the fridge for the boys,”
Israel continues, his head deep inside the refrigerator as he puts away eggs and milk. “Can you hand me the cold stuff since I’m here?” He peers over the door expectantly.

I hand him a block of cheese and clear my throat.

“What? Did you say something? There’s an ice cream in that other sack, would you hand me that?”

I consider chucking it at his head.  He didn’t even blink when he saw me. Is anyone that unobservant, especially normally astute
Israel?

“I didn’t say anything,” I mutter.

“Yeah?” Israel shuts the freezer and fridge doors and looks at me with his eyebrows raised.  Finally.  Finally he’s going to notice how grown up and even pretty I look.  “Well, you should be saying something.”

“What?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know.  Just how, why and where did you take the Blue Beast? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Of course not, you notice everything,” I reply sarcastically, and cross my arms over my chest.  Suddenly the V of the neckline seems too low and I am uncomfortable in my skin.  Not that
Israel has noticed.

“Well?” He pushes. His eyes are concerned and narrowed. He stares at me and yet he doesn’t even see me. “Where did you go?”

“I went to do laundry,” I answer. “Maybe you’ve noticed I’m out of clean clothes?” I gesture half heartedly to my dress.  He doesn’t move his eyes off mine.

“Do you understand how much trouble you would have gotten in if you’d been pulled over?  Do you have that kind of money to pay that fine?  Because I don’t!  And I don’t know if you expected me to come bail you out for driving without a license because let me tell you, I’d probably let you sit there for a while first. That was really irresponsible, Sonnet.”  He looks at me like he’s chiding a little girl for sneaking a cookie or a puppy for biting his pant leg.  I
feel
like a little girl now, and I resent it.

“You’re not my parent, Is,” I shoot back. “You hardly any older than I am! Don’t boss me around.”

“I’ll boss you around whenever I feel like it, Sonnet,” He steps away from the refrigerator and moves towards me. I back up. “That is my car and it took me hours of blood, sweat and tears to get it. If you want to learn to drive, I’ll teach you, but for goodness sake, don’t presume to take it.  What if I had an emergency that I needed to get to?”

“You’re just an intern – I daresay they can get along without you there helping them save lives, Mr. Hero.”  That sounded much less petty and immature in my head.  Now I am behaving like a little girl as well.

“Yes, I’m just the intern.  The intern who needs to learn as much as he can so that he can take that knowledge with him when he leaves!  Do you understand how important the education I am getting here is? Do you understand that if we leave here and end up somewhere poor and full of disease that I can help? That I can bring back knowledge of antibiotics, penicillin, cleanliness, surgical procedures?” He slams his big fist down on the counter, making me jump. “Sonnet, if we go back I can make a difference! I won’t have to just sit there the way I used to as a boy and watch everyone I love die! I won’t be powerless. I won’t be impotent. I’ll be useful. I can save people.”

I simply stare at him.  I didn’t know this was why he works so hard, why he stays up late at night, sometimes doesn’t come home.  “I didn’t know,” I say weakly. “I just thought you liked medicine.”

“I hate medicine,” Israel replies, passionately. “I hate watching people suffer. I hate blood. I hate mistakes. I hate second guessing myself. I hate the responsibility. But I do it for us. For everyone we will meet who might need me. I do it for you. I won’t stand by and watch anyone else die that I could have helped.”

I don’t know what to say.

“How did your family die?” I ask softly. He has never discussed them with me before. I get the feeling it’s now or never, in terms of finding out.

“Cholera. One of the worst ways to go. My mum, father, sisters and brothers. I was the only one who survived it.” He rubs his face tiredly. “Now do you see why I am finding out as much as possible about this century? Why I work so much? Why I’m angry you took the car?”

“Yes,” my voice is small and miserable. “I’m sorry, Is.”  I move towards him and wrap my arms around his waist.  He holds me and rests his chin on my head the way he always does. I feel his hand on the small of my waist through my satin dress.  I have long forgotten my dress now and even my night out.

There is knocking on the door.

Israel pulls away and lets me go.  He looks even more tired now and sinks down in a chair at the table.  I go to answer the door, tripping on my way over in the blasted heels.

“Hello,” I tell Luke as I swing open the door and let him in.  He has dressed up too, I’m relieved to see; in a starched burgundy colored collared shirt and slacks. The color of his shirt and my dress even match well. I had a fear that he would be wearing his frayed jeans and I would feel like an overdressed idiot.  He looks at me and whistles.

“That’s some dress, Gray,” he clears his throat.  “You look stunning.”

Aha! Stunning! That was the word I was hoping to hear after the fiasco in the kitchen.

“Really?” I find myself turning around like a show-off. What is wrong with me?

“Yes,” his face is wreathed in smiles.  I can smell his familiar scent of soap and spiciness. “Very much so.  Are you ready?”

“Mmhmm,” I start to walk towards him but am stopped by Luke glancing over my shoulder with his friendly smile.

“Luke Dawes,” he says, extending his hand to someone behind me.

I am sandwiched in between him and Israel suddenly.

“Israel Rhode,”
Israel clasps his hand but his smile is not as ready as Luke’s.

“Ah.  You, um, live here? With Sonnet?” Luke asks.

“Yes.”

“Ah,” Luke says again, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t meet you when I was here the other night.”

“I was probably working.”

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

“Well!” I chirp in. “I might be gone late, Is. I’ll see you when I get back, okay?”

I practically shove Luke out of the doorway and speed walk down the rickety steps of my porch.

Luke catches up and takes my elbow. “He looks like someone you won in a raffle,” he says. “Bit intimidating, don’t you think?”

“Who, Israel?” I laugh. “I guess so, when you first meet him.  He’s grumpy because I stole his car. He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

“Car thief, huh?” Luke pretends to look impressed. “You’re a mystery, Gray. Speaking of cars, this is mine.” He stops in front of a silver pickup truck and opens the passenger door for me. I sigh, looking at my feet and tight dress and wonder how to climb up in a ladylike fashion.  Finally I manage to struggle my way up and in.  Dressing up is for the birds, I think.  Luke crosses in front of the pickup and gets in the driver’s side.

Driving is wonderful, I think. Driving is a miracle. It takes me forever and a day to walk to the coffee shop and we are there in less than ten minutes in Luke’s car.  He parks nearby and opens the door to the truck for me again, helping me down by holding onto my elbow.  I almost step on his foot in my heels, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Inside, the small place is bustling with people.  The artists stand proudly by their works and everyone mills up to talk with them and compliment them. There are caterers in their pressed black and white uniforms with large platters of wine and tiny bits of finger food.  I help myself to olives and cheese squares on a frilled toothpick, but leave the wine alone.  I am unsure that I could pass for the legal drinking age, and besides I grew up drinking wine like water - - everyone did in that time frame – and don’t see the attraction of it.  Luke doesn’t take a glass either, but keeps one hand on his plate of appetizers and one on my elbow.  I’m not sure if he’s afraid of losing me in the crowd or if he’s simply being chivalrous.  He leans over and whispers something in my ear.  I am distracted by the noise around me and also by having him so close to me and have to ask him to repeat what he said.

“There’s something I want to show you after this,” he says. “Something I thought of when I was going through my photos this morning.”

“What?”

“I’ll show you later. Just have some fun. Here, have some of whatever the world this is,” he offers me his plate.

We do have fun. The people are loud and friendly and it isn’t difficult to make small talk.  I recognize some as regulars from the coffee shop. We wander through the room, looking at all the paintings and drawings and photography.  I tell Luke that his skills with a camera are better, and mean it.  He holds onto my elbow the whole time and I feel secure and grown up and wanted. Two hours go by and it feels like half that time. Finally, we’ve seen every painting, every piece of artwork and photo, talked to everyone who looks approachable or familiar, and eaten several plates of appetizers.  There is nothing to do but end our night and cross the first thing off my bucket list.  I feel very accomplished indeed.