Into the Darkness (23 page)

“I don’t know anyone my age or even a little older, even a lot older, who talks like you do,” I said.

He shrugged. “As I said, a curse or a blessing. Not sure.”

We continued walking.

“I think it’s a blessing,” I said. He shrugged.

“So, why did you come home so early from your hot date?” he asked. When I didn’t answer, he paused again and looked at me.

“Let’s just say there was an attempt to change who I am and leave it at that.”

He laughed. We continued walking and reached a point where we were on the path we had taken from my house to the stream. I looked back toward it.

“Still can’t forgive me for leaving you?”

How could he see what my thoughts were, my expression, in this darkness?

“I was quite surprised and, to be honest, a little shocked and disappointed. Maybe a lot disappointed.”

“Sorry,” he said. “It couldn’t be helped.” He sounded very sincere and very sad.

“It’s all right. I got over it, but . . .”

“But?”

“I didn’t get over my dream.”

“Which was?”

“That you kissed me. You didn’t sneak a kiss when I was asleep, did you?”

“No, but I had the same dream,” he said. “Probably at the same time.” He stepped closer.

Over my shoulder, the moon slipped between two soft gray-blue clouds and washed his face in a silvery light that made his eyes dazzling. He hesitated just as he had that first day when he had reached for my hand. I could see the desire but also the fear. It wasn’t like the fear of a boy who was unsure if the girl he was about to kiss would reject him and embarrass him. It was a different sort of fear, the fear of someone who thought he might fail and, as silly as it sounds, miss my lips with his. To help him overcome the hesitation, I moved forward, too, and we did kiss.

It was the kiss in my dream, the same kiss that felt as if his lips had settled on mine and formed themselves
perfectly to fit my mouth. I could feel that same excitement flow into me, softening me but causing me to want more from his kiss. My hands went to his shoulders, my arms tightening so that he wouldn’t step away. And when he did, I pulled him back.

“Amber,” he whispered. “Wait.”

Wait?
I thought.
That’s what Prudence Perfect would do, would want, and might even say, but not me, not now.
I stepped toward him and drew his lips back to mine, eager to feel him slip his kiss from my lips and to my neck. I moaned and turned my body even more into his. He embraced me and held me close. I wanted him to feel the thump of my heart, the warmth of my breath on his neck. He stroked my hair, and then he suddenly stopped, shook his head, and turned.

Without another word, he started away.

“Brayden, what’s wrong?” I called.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, not looking back. He looked down like someone who was ashamed. “You’d better go home.”

Before I could reply, he disappeared into the shadows.

I stood there, confused and disappointed. Before I could take another step, I had to calm myself and feel the passion in me reluctantly retreat to that corner of my heart where it had been resting and waiting to be nudged into action, demanding that every part of me come alive as it had never come alive. The woman who waited to be born inside me moaned in despair and frustration.

I followed him into the darkness, walking softly, listening for his footsteps, hoping that he had decided to turn back and come to me in the shadows, but he didn’t.
I stepped into my backyard and gazed up at the lighted attic in his house. I didn’t see him or his mother, but for a few long moments, I stood there, anticipating him looking out and down at me. Instead, the lights suddenly went off, and the entire house fell into darkness, silhouetted by the moonlight like something his mother might have painted with only black and gray swallowed in the silvery glow. A lone crow settled on the roof and sat as if it were on a great nest waiting for something as dark and eerie as itself to be born.

I walked around to the front of my house. The television wasn’t on, but my parents were surely waiting up to see how my date with Shayne had gone. They would both be reading and waiting. I was so confused about the night’s events that I was afraid to enter the house. What would I tell them? That I’d had a disappointing date but met our new neighbor and gone for a romantic walk? The stunned looks on their faces would only add to my own bewilderment.

I sucked in my breath and walked into the house.

“I thought I heard a car pull in a while ago,” Dad said when I stepped into the living room. Mom turned to anticipate my answer, too. “We thought we heard it leave earlier. Where have you been?”

There was no lying about it, I thought. “I did arrive earlier, but I went for a walk with Brayden,” I said.

“Who?” Dad asked.

“The boy next door,” Mom said, smirking at him.

“Oh, right. But . . . I’m confused. Didn’t you go out with Shayne Allan?”

“I did. We went to dinner.”

“In Greenwood,” Mom said, nodding. “So, what about that?”

“It was all right. Nothing special. He wanted to take me to a house party afterward, but I didn’t want to go. I’m afraid he doesn’t take rejection well.”

They stared at me almost expressionless.

“You must have heard about Charlotte’s party.”

“Yes, we heard late in the day,” Dad said. “You didn’t say anything, but we weren’t worried about you being involved in any of that.”

“I could have been,” I said. “You can get blamed sometimes by just being there.”

“She’s right, Gregory,” Mom said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “Why did you go on a walk with the new neighbor when Shayne brought you home?”

“Brayden was out there, and I thought a walk would do me some good.”

“Nature boy,” Dad said. “When am I going to meet this descendant of Thoreau?”

“I’ll try to get him to come to the store tomorrow, maybe.”

Mom shook her head. “But you sounded like you had a very good time on the lake with Shayne today when I spoke to you earlier,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“So?”

“It’s complicated,” I said.

Dad turned to Mom. “It’s complicated? Please translate again.”

“I think she needs to digest it all herself because it’s all happening fast. Girls are . . .”

“Complicated,” Dad said, nodding.

Mom winked at me to let me know it was all right not to keep explaining, but I knew she was planning to talk to me a lot more about it all.

“Were you busy?” I asked, hoping they would say very and ask me to come in tomorrow, even though we had Mrs. Williams.

“We were fine,” Mom said. “Don’t worry. Enjoy your weekend.”

“Okay. I’m going up.”

“I guess you’re tired,” Dad said. “Two young men in one night.”

“Gregory Morton Taylor . . .” Mom said, accompanying it with her big eyes.

“Just joking,” Dad said, and shrank in his chair to return to his book.

I hurried up the stairs. Dad was joking. He meant no harm, but it wasn’t funny to me. I felt as if I had fallen into a whirlpool of conflicting emotions, twisting and turning me every which way. A part of me was asking what I had done. Why had I suddenly been so unpleasant, so tough on Shayne? After all, what should a boy, any boy, whether he had Shayne Allan’s good looks and intelligence, athletic abilities, and wealth or not, want to do with a girl he found attractive and interesting? What’s wrong with him wanting to make love, have fun, enjoy the relationship? Why was my Prudence Perfect so stern and negative when it came to him but suddenly ready to surrender and take a chance with a boy who had the emotional and psychological baggage of Brayden Matthews? Was I looking to be unhappy, to wallow in sadness and misery?

Or was it that constant, plaguing question? Was I simply too frightened to be with a boy like Shayne Allan, too afraid of where it would lead? Did I feel more comfortable with Brayden because I believed it would lead nowhere? Look at how he had fled from me when our passion had just become emboldened.

Was what I wanted out of a boy, any boy, unreasonable at this age, this strong, extra feeling as close to everlasting love as could be? Why should I expect Shayne Allan to be as serious as I was? It was almost as if I was holding his good looks and accomplishments against him. After all, I did enjoy being with him during the day. I was excited about the boat, the house, all that he was able to offer. It was fun. What was wrong with just having fun? Besides, I knew that if I became his steady girlfriend, every girl in the school would be envious, and I would suddenly be the most popular girl in the school. Why wasn’t that enough? Why wasn’t that important enough to me? What made me so different?

Brayden seemed to be as serious as I was, maybe even more serious and more concerned. But did being around someone like him do me more harm than good?

What if I had never met Brayden, never heard his words resonating in my head, not seen his face almost everywhere I looked and felt him near me? Would I have been as cold to Shayne’s advances? Would I have been able to have more fun, to relax and let go of Prudence Perfect? I almost resented Brayden moving in next door now. Maybe I should have ignored him that day when he was peering through the hedges. Who his age does something like that anyway, and besides, where was this
going? Yes, his kiss thrilled me, and yes, I enjoyed walking and talking with him, but where else would we go? Wouldn’t everyone, even my own parents, think I was a fool to choose someone like Brayden over someone like Shayne, especially if after the summer Brayden and his parents were gone? What then?

I could confide in my mother. We were close, yes, like sisters, but we weren’t sisters, and no matter what her experiences were when she was my age, they were her experiences, and they had occurred at a different time, a time when girls my age were living in a world without the same sort of pressures and values, or lack of them, as girls were facing today. No matter how sympathetic my mother was, how understanding, and no matter what similar examples she described, they weren’t going to be exactly like mine, nor would they resemble the experiences other girls my age were having now. I couldn’t imagine her having met a boy like Brayden, for example.

What I wished I had now was a truly close friend, a real best friend, someone who didn’t drink out of the cup of envy, someone who cared about me enough to think only of me and not herself in my shoes. Or wouldn’t it be great to have a slightly older sister, I thought, someone who shared a room, who went to sleep in the next bed, and who would talk all night, listen and talk, until we were both too tired to breathe another syllable? How lucky the girls in my class were to have someone like that.

All of these thoughts, these questions, wracked my brain. I sat, staring at myself in the vanity mirror and
growing so dizzy that I had to close my eyes and take deep breaths. For a few moments, I sat with my arms folded under my breasts and rocking myself. Suddenly, I heard a gentle knock on my bedroom door and looked up to see Mom.

“You all right?” she asked softly, closing the door behind her.

I nodded and then shook my head.

“Oh, Amber, darling, what is it?” she asked, moving quickly to my side to embrace me.

I rested my head against her shoulder just as I always did when I was a little girl. “I’m just very confused.”

“Boys can do that,” she said, wiping strands of my hair off my forehead. “What really happened with Shayne Allan?”

I sat up and took a deep breath. “We did have a good time at the lake. He was very nice and I thought that I had been wrong to be so critical of him. I thought that his family made him act arrogantly, and I really believed that he was trying not to be, at least with me.”

“So? That sounds very promising.”

“But he was different tonight. He was more like the Shayne Allan I knew from afar, and I guess I didn’t want to be just another . . .”

“Another conquest?” she said.

“Yes.”

“I’m proud of you,” she said, and kissed me. “Don’t agonize over it. You have wonderful instincts.” She rose.

“Maybe I don’t, Mom. How do you know I do?”

“I know,” she said. Was she talking herself into it? I didn’t have her confidence.

She paused at the doorway and tilted her head. “What I don’t understand is this boy next door. You’ve met him a few times and seem to like him but haven’t brought him around. I know I should go over there to welcome his mother and father to the neighborhood . . .”

“She’s a recluse. She has things delivered to the house. I saw her in the doorway accepting groceries, but she wouldn’t even acknowledge me when I waved.”

“Well, you have to feel sorry for her, then. She surely has no friends here yet. First chance I get tomorrow, I’ll knock on their door anyway and make an effort. I’ve mentioned them to a few people, but no one seems to know anything at all about them. The real estate agent, Beverly Bell, told me all she knows is that the house is owned by someone named Marcus Norton from Portland. He owns considerable real estate in Oregon and never put the house up for sale. There’s no indication that this family is buying it, either.”

“No, just renting to see if they like it here. I told you.”

“Yes, but . . . well, maybe when I get to meet Brayden or his parents, I’ll have a better feeling about them. You haven’t met his father, either, then?”

“No. Brayden says his father’s still away.”

“Okay. Bring him around the store tomorrow, and don’t give what happened tonight with Shayne a second thought.”

I knew she was right, but I also knew that I wasn’t going to stop myself from having a second and third thought. I prepared quickly for bed and crawled under my blanket, wrapping it around me tightly and pressing my face against the pillow, hoping to rush myself into sleep.

I did fall asleep sooner than I had expected, but my eyes snapped open a little after four in the morning. For a moment, I lay there a little dazed, and then I turned and saw the glow of light spilling from Brayden’s bedroom window. I rose slowly and peered between my closed curtains. It was the first time I had seen his bedroom so bright, even though the shade on the window was drawn down completely. I stood for a while wondering what had gotten him up so late. Was something wrong with his mother? Everything else about the house was quiet and dark.