скачать книгу бесплатно
“I’ll come get you and we can wait together for him,” she says.
“Sure.”
She goes back to wait with him and I call Luke.
“Hey you,” he says. “How’s it going down there?”
“It’s going okay. I wish I was home.”
“I wish you were home too. How’s what’s-his-name, the nephew?”
“He’s a mess.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean his right calf is missing, and his left leg is broken. He’s in surgery getting it fixed now. It’s awful. He yelled at us both to leave the room. Estella burst into tears.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Fine. Estella took some kind of sleeping pill last night and I was worried she’d killed herself.”
“Yeah, try not to let her kill herself.”
“Thank you. How’s work?”
“It’s lonesome. Boring. All the eye-candy is gone.”
I can’t help but smile. “I’m not eye-candy.”
“Yes you are. Hey, a guest found a pit in the cherry granita last night,” he says.
“Oh no! You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not kidding. Fortunately, she didn’t chip a tooth. Even more fortunately, you weren’t the one who pitted the cherries.”
Oh wow, Dad must be completely losing it. “Who did it?”
“Dave.”
“Did Dad can him?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Yes. And now your father’s going ape over all of us. At least out there you can keep out of the line of fire.”
I knew Dad would be mad as hell. “I’m in a line of fire of my own. That guy Julian hates my guts.”
“He probably doesn’t want to have people gaping at him. Stay away. You don’t know him anyway.”
“True.” I know Luke’s right. I don’t know Julian, and he is hurt, so of course he doesn’t want me around. But does he have to be so adamant about it? I know I shouldn’t take this personally, but I kind of do.
“When you get home, come for the whole night. Don’t leave at six,” Luke says.
Oh no—now he’s asking for the impossible. “How will I manage that?”
“Tell your father you’re spending the night at a friend’s house.”
“Taryn’s not back yet.”
“Tell him it’s with someone else.”
Who? I wonder. It might be nice to not have to wake up and leave his house so early, but not if it means I get caught. “Maybe. We’ll figure something out.”
I say goodbye to Luke, then call Dad to give him the update.
“What’s going on?” he asks. “How’s Estella?”
“She’s fine. So, Julian’s moving into our house with us this winter?”
Dad pauses. “He’s like a son to her, and he’s going to need some help.”
“I heard about the plan to give him my room.”
“There’s no other place he can go, Camille. We have no choice. Think about it from his point of view. How difficult it’s going to be for him to readjust to life now.”
“I know. But still...”
“You’ll be moving out for college next year anyway,” he points out.
Oh no. Not this can of worms again. After letting me train to be a chef for half my life, my father, in all his wisdom, now insists that doing this for a career is too hard and what I need to make sure I have a good future is a college degree. I don’t want to be anything other than a chef. But Dad wants me to have the kind of “flexibility” and “earning potential” I can get by having both a chef’s capability and an advanced education. I think it’s more about him having to drop out of school to work and never being able to go to a university himself. “Can we not get into this now? Sorry, but I have enough to deal with at the moment.”
“Fine. We’ll discuss it later.”
Again. For the millionth damned time. “Goody, I can’t wait. Hold on, Estella just came in.”
I hand my phone to her, telling her it’s Dad, and the two of them talk for a while. I try not to listen to all the “I love yous.” When she hangs up, we go to the waiting room for the families of people in surgery.
This room is insane. It’s full of stress, thick with it. The occupants have that look in their eyes, like they’re watching each minute tick past. “Maybe we should wait in the hall,” I suggest to Estella.
“No. I have to be here in case there’s word.” She flips through a magazine without really looking at it and sets it down again. “Julian’s being adamant about his privacy. He doesn’t want to receive any fanfare or get any press. No hero’s welcome or calls of support. He doesn’t even want to get in contact with old buddies of his who are still at the base.” Estella’s speaking to me, but to herself really. Her eyes are distant. “I think it’s for the best, him wanting to keep everything so quiet. But I’m not sure.”
I don’t know what to say to this. I wish I did. “Vermont’s a good place for privacy,” I finally—and lamely—tell her.
She squeezes my hand and we sit. For what feels like the longest block of time in my entire life we sit. Finally, the doctor comes in and Estella goes over to him.
“He’s in recovery,” she says when she returns to me. Once again, it strikes me that Estella, who’s usually so well put-together, seems frazzled. Her clothes are sloppier, just jeans and a blouse. Her long dark hair is a mess in its ponytail. She’s wearing almost no makeup, other than the mascara she’s rarely without, and this is smeared. Her eyes are puffy and faintly bloodshot.
“Go see him,” I suggest.
She sighs and her shoulders sag. “You come with me.”
“Estella, that’s not a good idea. Julian doesn’t want me near him.”
“But I need the moral support,” she says, and I go with her. We head for recovery and the first thing I see when I spot Julian in the room full of post-surgery patients is that he’s vomiting onto the floor.
Estella forgets I exist. She races to him, finds towels and throws them over the vomit, then wipes his face with more towels. She’s gentle about it. He’s hanging his head over the bed rail and she’s cradling his face, repositioning him back on the pillows. This isn’t even her son, and yet she is a beautiful mother. Suddenly I don’t just like her, I admire her. She’s stepping on the towels—the ones covering the vomit. She doesn’t care. She just wants to smooth his hair and fix his blankets and touch little bits of him.
The nurse comes over and starts taking care of him, and meanwhile Julian takes Estella’s hand and holds it. I turn away and leave them to go back out and wait in the hallway.
Chapter Five
While the patient continues to be alternately silent and surly, we spend the entire rest of the trip making complicated plans for how integrating Julian into our lives, when he comes to live with us this winter, will work. Namely, which items of mine will stay downstairs in my closet and bathroom and which things will be moved elsewhere.
Years ago, Dad had the upstairs of our house remodeled to be a giant master suite. There’s an office and bathroom off the master bedroom for my father, and an alcove office and bathroom down a short hallway that’s now Estella’s. Her little alcove, my new room, has a tiny closet, a low sloped ceiling, a sliver of window, half a wall and, as I’d pointed out to her in the coffee shop, no door. Before he remarried, Dad used to use this useless little space to keep leftover chairs and boxes of paperwork. It’s way too small to hold all my stuff, so my things will be kept partly in my old room, particularly in half of the closet and most of the bathroom cabinets.
Once we’ve finalized the details of moving me out, Estella’s next fixation is how to redo the room so that her rude and recovering nephew is most comfortable. Estella used to be in banking in New York before she got married and she’s finding, I think, the housewife thing to be a bit dreary, so the idea of having her boy living at home with her seems to have given her some sense of purpose. Dad and I are always at school or work—at least Julian will be there to keep her company. As long as he doesn’t go back to biting her head off, it should be nice for her.
Guess who’s moving in once he’s well. Into my room. I text Taryn from the airport.
HOW COZY, she texts back. I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST A NEPHEW.
He’s more like a son to Estella. She raised him. Now she’s planning to give him my room b/c it’s downstairs.
WHERE DO YOU GO? THE BASEMENT?
Close. The upstairs landing.
UNREAL. BTW, I’M AT THE WORST DANCE EVER. NO ONE IS HERE!
Hey, at least it has the potential to be fun—which is more than I’ve got. We make it back to Hartford in what I would tentatively call good spirits. It’s a Tuesday night and Étoile is closed, so Dad meets us at the airport. Estella pours the whole plan out on Dad’s lap as soon as we get in the car.
“Are you sure this is all right with you, Chris?” she asks. “Having Julian live with us?”
“Of course,” Dad says. “It’s no problem.” Estella smiles—but Dad’s return smile to her seems a little fake to me. This is just a guess, but I suspect Dad secretly isn’t any more thrilled about Julian moving in than I am.
He certainly doesn’t seem to be paying very close attention to the details of what Estella’s telling him.
“Are you listening?” she asks at one point.
“Yes, of course,” he repeats.
She gazes at him and touches his arm, his knee. I’m kind of wishing she’d shut up and let the man drive. I’m carsick. I have a headache from hearing it all twice now. As soon as we come to a stop in the driveway, I jump out of the car. Home Sweet Home. Happy Happy. I’m off to what thankfully is still my room for at least a few months longer when I hear Dad call me.
“Cami?”
“Yeah?”
“Go ahead and sleep in tomorrow. I have to go to Boston and the restaurant can live without you. Take a day off.”
“But it’s my soup night.”
“I’ll give you Thursday. This once.”
I thank him, say good-night and head for my room just as they start for theirs. Wow...I just got bumped up to a Thursday, and Dad and Estella are going to their room already. They must really want to be alone tonight. Thank heaven for newlyweds. After petting Shelby for a little while, I call Luke and he answers on the first ring. “I’m on my way,” he says without preamble. I haven’t told Luke this yet, but I’ve been thinking about it and my plan is to stay later than six, like maybe seven or eight. I think that should probably be safe enough, and it’ll make Luke happy and still keep my absence from being discovered.
Why take the chance on the later time? Because I miss him. Because I’ve had a shitty week and want to feel loved and adored by him. Not sex yet, but more. Maybe more.
I own one black lacy thong and bombshell of a bra—if a 32B can ever be a bombshell—and I’ve never worn either of them. Until tonight. I change into the fancy underwear, put my jeans and top back on and then slip back down the hallway to check on Estella and Dad. They’re in their room with the door shut. Good. Sometimes I think maybe I should leave a little note, like on my pillow so if they do ever find me gone at least they won’t worry I’m off doing something worse. But I guess because Dad’s respected my privacy for so long, I really don’t think he’d ever come into my room. Estella’s actually the more dangerous one—who knows what she’ll do. Anyway, I offer up a silent prayer to the sneaking-out-on-your-parents gods and slip out the window.
Luke’s waiting in his truck not twenty feet from the house, headlights off. I head on over and he reaches to open the door for me. “Welcome back,” he says once I’m in. “How was your flight?”
“Fine.” I’m feeling shy all of a sudden. Like I’ve been gone for a month. And I’m also nervous about the underwear. Third base, yes. Home run, no. Will that work? I mean, I know where third begins, but where exactly does it end? Luke drives over to his place and we go to his room. “Is that guy doing any better?”
“I don’t know. I guess.” I tell him about the surgery and Estella’s big plan for Julian to move in the house with us once he’s well.
“It doesn’t sound fair that you have to give up your room.”
He seems really concerned for me. Glad someone is. “I know. It sucks. But he needs to be downstairs. So...”
Luke strokes my arm. “So...”
I kiss him, wrap my arm around his neck. “I missed you.”
He kisses me back for a long time. “I missed you, too,” he says, catching his breath. “Beauty girl.”
I wrap myself around him, and he lifts me onto the bed. Normally Luke opens the blinds just so he can see me a little. But now the room is pitch-dark. And there’s something exciting about him like this, in the blackness, about things happening to me that I can’t see, can’t anticipate. His lips never leave me, his hands fumble with my clothes. He finds my sexy bra and opens the shade to let in some light. “Oh, man.”
I smile, unbutton my jeans and lower them a little, so he can see just the top of the thong. His eyes get wide.
“Not all the way.”
He nods.
“Can we do that? Do more, but no sex?”
“Yes. Definitely. Don’t worry,” he says, and he’s all over me. My jeans hit the floor. I’m shaking and he’s kissing me, caressing me. It’s great, but then he reaches inside the thong, and I start to get nervous.
“Trust me,” he whispers.
I do trust him. Basically. We’d visited third that one night before I left, but not like this. He strokes me and presses his thumb against me and eventually all the pleasure and fear and new sensations just get too intense.
“Stop, Luke,” I whisper.
“Cami, please.” He grimaces.
“I’m sorry. I just feel scared.”
“Why? Don’t be...”
“We’re going farther,” I say, stroking his face.
