Wildalone (25 page)

Then, without asking anything else, he headed down the hallway.

B
EN'S HOUSE WAS
a historic brownstone in the heart of Boston's Beacon Hill. It had belonged to several generations of his family—and still did, except now they had taken the form of hallway pictures, mostly faded.

We arrived late. I had dreaded spending the night in someone's home, by myself, upset at Rhys and his games. But I fell asleep as soon as my cheek touched pillow, and when I woke up, Ben was already downstairs, reading.

“There she is!” He closed the book, looking refreshed and cheerful. “You must be starving. Ready to go explore the local flavors?”

As we grabbed our coats, he asked which part of Boston I wanted to see first. I didn't know much about the city. Mostly Harvard, and only from the Internet.

“Harvard is not a bad idea, actually. We should check it out, so you know what you've been missing.” His hand traced an imaginary band of subtitles through the air: “
A day in the life of Thea, had she gone to a certain other school
.”

Going to that “certain other school” might have been a safer bet, away from ritual-obsessed art professors, mysteriously vanished relatives, and elusive
guys who came in doubles and lived in butler-run mansions. But I kept all this to myself, telling Ben I was ready for whatever part of Harvard he thought would cause me the most envy.

That part turned out to be Harvard Square. Frantically alive, contagious, a cauldron of energy—nothing like its tame Princeton equivalent, Palmer. Three streets converged in the middle, cars dashing through: a giant star about to collapse in on itself. And wherever you looked, spilling from the campus gates, a dizzying kaleidoscope of people reconfigured its shape constantly.

We bought sandwiches at a local deli and my tour began. Ben was an encyclopedia. School history. Names of buildings. Trivia that would have earned even a professional guide extra credit. But despite his vivid stories, the campus left me cold. There was none of the white-stone mystery; no cloisters, arches, or secret corners. Only redbrick structures, crowned with Harvard's famous white bell towers.

When I couldn't take any more sightseeing, we went to Ben's favorite café, Tealuxe, whose menu boasted more than a hundred types of tea. He found us seats by the window, next to an old typewriter and a display of tea sets.

“This reminds me of Lewis Carroll.” I lifted one of the teapots: mint-green belly, curved like an inflated meadow over a chess-checkered base.

“You'd make a fantastic Alice—if only you could learn to whine a bit! That girl does it all the time, and I don't think I've ever heard you complain about anything.”

“It would be weird if I did.”

“Why? It's not like everything here is perfect.”

“Maybe it isn't. But I can't go around complaining just because I'm in a new country that confuses the hell out of me. Better try to figure it out first, right? I mean . . . there must be a reason things work the way they do.”

“Not sure how much there is to figure out. You can always look for hidden subtext, but with us Americans what you see is usually what you get.”

“Yeah, if only!” I laughed and took the teabag out of my cup. A smell of roses, pine, and berries filled the air. “So if I'm Alice, does that make you the Mad Hatter?”

“I'm more of a Cheshire cat.” He flashed an exaggerated grin at me. “Except I suck at the vanishing act.”

And thank God he did. Too many people in my life excelled at it lately.

“Thea, does being in America really feel like Wonderland?”

“Exactly like it. One wrong move, and they'll chop my head off.”

“No, seriously. That thing you said, about being confused—I can see why. New place, new crowd. Besides, Princeton is definitely not middle-of-the-road. It was a bit of an adjustment even for me, and I've lived in the U.S. all my life.”

“You don't seem confused by Princeton.”

“I don't?”

“Not at all. Which is sort of like Wonderland. Everyone here seems so . . . sure of everything, as if they've never made a mistake and never will. Don't you think that's madness?”

“Confidence isn't a bad thing, just a survival tactic.”

“Still . . . I like people who can be fallible now and then. We're all human, you know? Might as well be humble about it.”

While he looked for a response to this, his phone rang. He muted it, but saw who it was and decided to take the call. Said almost nothing for a while. Then hung up and gave me a long, guarded look.

“That was Rita. I had several missed calls from her.”

“Is everything okay? I didn't get a chance to say good-bye.”

He put the phone down—slowly, as if to minimize the sound it would make against the copper tabletop. “Who is Rhys?”

I almost choked on the last sip of tea. “Why?”

“Some guy named Rhys has been looking for you.”

“Looking for me . . . where?”

“Apparently, he couldn't find you in your room and your cell kept going straight to voice mail. So he tracked down Rita and she told him you were in Boston.”

“How does she know I'm here?”

“I e-mailed her this morning. Maybe I shouldn't have.” He rose from the chair. “Whoever that guy is, he wants you to call him. I'll wait outside.”

“Ben, stay. I don't have my phone anyway; I left it at your house. But even if I hadn't—”

“Here. Use mine.” He pushed it closer to me and wrote something on a napkin. “This is our address. He'll probably ask for it.”

“What are you talking about? Why would Rhys want your address?”

“Rita said he left for Boston earlier today—something about an apology he owes you. By now he must be already in town. Come get me when you finish, I'll be at the newsstand across the street.”

I watched him walk away. And with that, my last chance of a peaceful fall break dissolved under the flash of the streetlights.

BEN WAS RIGHT: RHYS DID
ask for the address. And by the time we arrived at the house he was already there, waiting.

The two of them exchanged curt greetings. Rhys had managed to suppress his dislike of my friend, although not enough to accept an invitation to come in.

“Thanks. I mean it. But let's not drag this out—I'll wait here while Thea is getting her things.”

“Why do you assume I'll be getting anything?”

“Because I'm not leaving without you.”

To avoid an argument in front of Ben, I said nothing, just waited for him to go inside.

Rhys checked his watch. “We've got fifteen minutes. Can you make it?”

“Fifteen minutes until what?”

“Until we have to be on the road.”

“Rhys, I am not going anywhere.”

He smiled and tried to put his arm around me. “Fine, I'll take extra punishment if you want. Although, by most standards, the way you vanished on me today would have been sufficient.”

“I wasn't trying to punish anyone.”

“No? Strange, then, that I should wake up this morning to find out my captive had become a fugitive. Why did you run away from me?”

“From you? Does it cross your mind that not everything I do revolves around you?”

“It does, it crosses my mind quite a bit. But does it cross
your
mind that everything I do revolves around
you
?”

“Including last night?”

“I'm sorry about last night.” The smile disappeared. “There are things I can't change, Thea. Even for you.”

“What things? The guys in the jeep?”

“The guys in the jeep are just habit. I won't let them near you again.”

“Do you have other habits too? Snack picnics, maybe?”

A sigh. I hadn't heard him sigh, didn't know he was capable of sighing. “That's more than a habit. It's part of who I am.”

“So you expect me to pretend it doesn't bother me? To just step aside when you need your breaks from me, no questions asked?”

His eyes rushed up the street. Chased possible answers. Then came back with the one that served him best:

“Just
be
with me. Is that so difficult? I don't need breaks from you, quite the opposite. And I'll do my best to bring things closer to where you want them to be. But I can't go into explanations now.”

“Why not?”

“Because we have to leave.”

“Maybe you do. I don't.”

“All right, here's the scoop.” He poured “the scoop” right into my ear: “First, we have a ferry to catch. It's the only way to get where I want to take you. And don't ask me where that is—you know I don't like my surprises ruined. Second, I'm new to this whole dating thing, so apparently I screw up all the time. But it won't always be the case, I promise.”

“I thought you didn't make promises you couldn't keep.”

“I don't. And third, we have to stop fighting. I am wrapped around those beautiful fingers of yours. If you don't want me there, say it and I'll leave.”

There was nothing to say. I was still upset about Friday night. And yes, I had run away from him. But now that he had chased me all the way to Boston to apologize, my anger was evaporating and he knew it.

“Go get your things. And hurry.”

When I walked in, Ben was sitting on the couch, holding a magazine. He didn't ask anything, just lifted his eyes and waited for me to speak first.

“Ben, he . . . he wants me to go with him.”

“Of course he does. I understand.”

“But I feel terrible, especially after making you drive so late yesterday.”

“Don't worry about me. The others arrive tonight, this place will be a madhouse. I'm just glad you and I got to spend the day by ourselves.”

“Yes, me too, but—” I stopped myself. What right did I have to talk to him this way, as if he were a rejected victim?

“Thea, don't feel guilty. You like this guy, right?”

I nodded, hoping that I was only confirming what he already knew.

“And the guy obviously likes you, or he wouldn't have driven halfway up the East Coast to look for you. So there you go. Not much room for debate.”

“Okay then, I won't debate it.”
Don't look for subtext. What you see is what you get.
“Yet you are my friend and the last thing I want is to upset you.”

“Friends should never get upset when you follow your heart.” Then the shy smile I loved so much about him came back. “And even if they do, you should follow it anyway. I would.”

ONCE WE WERE ON THE
road, Rhys called someone and asked if the cottage was ready.

“It needs to be, when I get there.” He hung up, looking peeved. “Jake left this afternoon. I don't understand what's taking them so long.”

So this was the surprise, one he didn't realize he had for me: a secret getaway that would remind me of his brother. I could only imagine what waited for me in this mysterious cottage. Things that belonged to Jake? Pictures of Jake all over?

I didn't say much for the rest of the ride; Rhys probably thought I was tired. After the ferry we drove through winding roads for a while, until finally the car stopped. The headlights went out. In their place, an automated lightbulb signaled through the otherwise undisturbed darkness.

“Don't look so terrified; the cottage isn't haunted.” He opened the passenger door for me. “Although a ghost or two certainly would be nice. Gets too quiet at night around here.”

The “cottage” turned out to be a stunning modern villa, sprawled decadently high above the ocean. Its front was a plain wall (a cover-up, for maximum privacy), but the back more than made up for it. First came a lavish expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows. Then a stone patio. An infinity pool. And beyond them—treetops and water, now invisible until dawn.

Those anonymous hands that had prepared the house for Rhys had left the lights on, and a soft yellow illuminated the first few steps outside where a table was set for dinner, with candles and a bottle of wine.

“Martha's Vineyard.” He wrapped his arms around me and pointed to the darkness in front of us. “It's an island to the south of Cape Cod. We've been coming here for many years.”

That “we” sounded as if the other person, still missing, could walk out on the patio any moment.

“You have no idea what you did to me when you left so suddenly. Or maybe you do?” He bent over to kiss my neck but felt me shiver. “My God, you're freezing! Let's get you warmer clothes. And some food.”

While he inspected the fridge to see what had been left for dinner, I retrieved my jacket from the hallway. When I came back into the living room, he was already headed out, carrying two full plates and a baguette.

“Can I help?”

“No, just give me another minute. By the way, look what I have for you—”