Promise (8 page)

She marched down the hallway and I heard the
suitcase roll over the tile floor, then the front door open. Almost
in a whisper, she said, "I love you."

"I love you, too." The door closed and I
didn't know if she heard me.

"Stay away from her, Tristan." Mom's harsh
order came through my open window.

Tristan's here?
I dashed to my room
and peeked out the window. He leaned against Mom's car as she
dropped her suitcase in the trunk. I stepped to the side so they
couldn't see me, which meant I could only listen and not watch.

"She's not ready yet," Mom said.

"You mean
you're
not ready yet."
Tristan's voice was also confident, but not cold like hers.

"That, too."

"It's out of your hands, Sophia."

"We'll see about that." A second of
silence.

"You're going to see them, aren't you?"

Mom answered with her own question. "When was
the last time you saw your kin?"

"I've never gone back and I never will."
Complete sureness in his voice, with that steely undertone, as if
he despised his family.

"And you expect me to trust
you
?"

Tristan exhaled loudly. "You have to, don't
you?"

"Why should I? She's my
daughter
, for
heaven's sake."
Oh!
She just blew our cover!
My
breath caught and my hand flew to my mouth, afraid they heard.

"It's time to let go, Sophia. I think she'll
be okay."

"You
think
she'll be okay? I need more
than that, Tristan. I need one-hundred-percent surety."

More silence. When Tristan spoke, his voice
was low and grim. "You know I can't give you that."

"
Exactly
." Her icy tone sent a chill
up my spine. I heard her car door slam, then the engine start. A
moment after she left, the motorcycle fired up and sped away.

I threw myself on the bed and stared at the
ceiling.
What the hell just happened?
They apparently knew
each other, well enough that Tristan knew where Mom was really
going and Mom thought she couldn't trust him. And obviously, he
hadn't come to see me.
What is going on with them?

When I finally glanced at the clock, I
groaned. Class started ten minutes ago. Tristan was sitting in
women's studies, probably wondering where I was. And I wasn't sure
if I cared. I just didn't know what to think of him at the moment.
I decided to skip both classes, a first for me. I rolled over on my
side, for some reason wanting to cry.

Instead, I took a shower. I stood under the
spray of hot water, just letting it flow over me, when the answer
became clear. Mom had mentioned his kin—she must have dated his
father or brother or other relative.

She had many boyfriends over the years and it
always ended badly. She never explained what happened with most of
them, whom she seemed to love one day and couldn't get away from
fast enough the next. We moved immediately after every break-up. I
could only figure she was unable to love a man and let him love
her, because they were usually good men, according to my sense.
Except for Lenny….

My mind flashed the memory of Mom throwing
Lenny across the room, his body hitting the wall with a thud, blood
smears on the white paint as his limp form slid to the floor. Two
minutes before, he'd tried to kiss me. I was twelve. "Don't worry,
he's not dead," she had said once we were in the car, driving to a
new city. I shuddered at the memory. He was bad and, if they were
related, it would explain her reaction to seeing Tristan. It would
also explain his non-reaction when Mom said I was her daughter.

But why did they hide this from me? Why all
the secrets?

***

As afternoon started to slip into evening, I
began to grow anxious. I was used to being home alone during the
day and even if Mom came home after dark, I at least knew she would
be
home. Now I had a long, lonely, scary night to look
forward to. Until the phone rang.

"You weren't in class today." Tristan's
lovely voice. I couldn't help my smile.
Did he miss me?

"Sophia and I had an argument."

"Ah. Is it safe now?"

I didn't know what to say at first and
briefly considered lying, but there was no point in it. After all,
I hid just as much as he did, probably more. Besides, if my theory
was correct, it wasn't fair for us to hold Lenny or anyone else
against him. And whatever Mom was so concerned about, it couldn't
be too bad—she made it clear to him she was leaving me home alone.
"Yeah. Actually, she's gone for the weekend."

"Would you like to go to the beach with me?
The sun will be setting soon."

I thought about it—for half a second. "Sure.
That'd be great."

Not able to sit still, I waited outside,
pacing the driveway. I heard the Harley from more than a block away
and butterflies fluttered in my stomach by the time Tristan
arrived.

"Ride or walk?" he asked over the rumble
after pulling into the driveway.

"Let's walk."

Our cottage was less than two blocks to the
beach, the street covered with the broad canopies of the
many-legged banyan trees that were larger than the Old
Florida-style cottages they guarded. It was a gorgeous evening, the
warmth of the afternoon still hanging in the air. We walked in
silence the entire way. Every once in a while, Tristan would look
down at me and smile and I'd automatically smile back.

I tried to ignore all the questions soaring
through my mind, because they all had to do with a conversation I
probably wasn't supposed to hear. I wished I had the chutzpah to
just flat out ask him who he was and what happened between him and
my mother. But I didn't. Besides, I'd realized this afternoon,
there were two problems with seeking the answers to my
questions.

One, it would likely lead to me being on the
other end—the one answering questions instead of asking. If I
wanted to know more about Tristan, then I had to be prepared for
him to know more about me. And I wasn't ready for that yet. At
least, not the deep stuff. He already knew too much—one of my
biggest secrets—Sophia was my mother. Surely he had to have his own
questions about how that could be, which leads to the second
problem. Two, getting into the deeper conversation about all of our
secrets meant giving up any kind of normalcy to our relationship—or
whatever it became. And I wasn't ready for that, either.

I was probably lying to myself, trying to
make it all more than it could ever be. But, for now, I wanted to
at least pretend this was a normal girl-meets-boy situation.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Tristan asked,
breaking the silence as we crossed the boardwalk accessing the
beach.

"Hmph. They're worth more than that," I
teased.

He chuckled. "Okay, a Benji for your
thoughts?"

"Huh?"

He pulled a one-hundred-dollar bill from his
pocket. I raised my eyebrows and he put it away, laughing. "You're
right.
Your
thoughts are priceless."

We walked to the edge of the water, kicked
off our shoes, and then turned and meandered along the wet sand. It
gave me a chance to edit my thoughts before sharing them.

"I wouldn't go
that
far," I finally
said, "but…I was just thinking that we've been hanging out for a
couple months now, and I hardly know anything about you."

"Ah. What do you want to know?" He peered
down at me from the corner of his eye, seemingly hesitant—like I
felt when someone asked about me.

"Um, well, where are you from?" That was an
easy one, especially in Florida. Hardly anyone was
from
here.

He was silent for a moment, as if it was
difficult to answer, and then said cryptically, "Lots of
places…nowhere in particular."

I could relate to that. It could be my own
answer.

"So…you moved around a lot?"

He shrugged. "You could put it that way."

"What do your parents do?"

"They don't do anything. They died a long
time ago."

"Oh."
Oops.
I didn't know I was headed
into heavy stuff
.
"I'm sorry."

He looked down at me and smiled gently. "You
didn't know. I hardly remember them anyway. It was a long time ago.
I was raised by…distant relatives, I guess you could say."

"Did they bring you here?"

"Oh, no, I came here alone." There was that
steely undertone again. "I've been on my own for quite a
while."

More silence as I thought for a minute. I
remembered what he'd told Mom…he'd never gone back and he never
will. I thought about how awful it was to lose his parents and then
to have to live with what must have been dreadful relatives. I
decided to leave that subject alone.

"So where were these 'lots of places' you
grew up?"

"Pretty much everywhere, but mostly
Europe."

"
Really
? You don't have any kind of
accent."

He chuckled.

"I've been in the U.S. for a few years and I
adapt easily and pick up the local accent quickly." He changed his
tone and spoke with a perfect English accent, "Would you
rahther
I
hahd
an
ahccent
?" Then he switched
to French, rolling the R's, "Or, pear'aps Francais eez better,
ma lykita
?"

I laughed. Although I couldn't understand it
all, the French accent was especially delightful with his lovely
voice.

"Do you speak other languages, then?"

"Seven altogether."

"Wow," I breathed with awe. I tried to
imagine growing up in Europe, moving around as much as I had, but
to places such as London, Rome and Paris. I probably glamorized it,
but it seemed much more exciting than my life.

"If you came here by yourself, what brought
you here?"

He didn't answer at first and kicked at a
wave. Then he shrugged and said, "Just needed a change."

"Oh." That was a non-answer.

He looked down at me. "Actually, I want to be
honest with you. I came here for a job…or an assignment is more
like it…and stayed because I like the people."

"Oh, okay." I hadn't realized he had a job. I
started wondering what he did besides a couple college classes. He
had mentioned once he had lots of other things going on in his
life, but he never talked about anything.

"But if I told you any more, I'd have to kill
you." His tone was serious and I looked up in surprise. He
laughed.

"Oh, I see. CIA or FBI?" I played along,
remembering the old secret-agent movies Mom liked to watch. "Oh,
no, wait, probably Scotland Yard. Or maybe the KGB?" I widened my
eyes in mock horror.

He laughed again. "You're way off."

"I'll figure it out," I promised
lightheartedly.

He frowned and his tone darkened. "Yes, I'm
sure you will. Some day."

"Would that be bad?"

The frown quickly disappeared, as if he
hadn't realized it was there until I said that. He peered down at
me as we walked a few steps in silence. "I don't know yet."

There was definitely honesty and seriousness
in his tone…and a bit of sadness. I sighed in frustration. He
raised more questions than he answered.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

I wanted to tell him how annoyingly cryptic
he was. But I didn't. Because he could always turn that back at
me.

"No, I guess not."

"We better turn around," he said.

I looked behind us and saw we had walked much
farther than I realized. We played in the water on the way back,
kicking it up at each other and running away from the splashes.
Then he took my hand and pulled me to dry sand, where we sat to
watch the sunset. We gazed in silence, both in the same
position—knees pulled up, arms wrapped around our legs. I rested my
chin on my knees.

God displayed His divine artistic ability,
painting the sky with brushstrokes of dark violet, lavender,
magenta and soft pink against a light blue canvas, with a bright
splash of gold at the horizon reflecting on the water. Waves gently
lapped at the sand and seagulls cawed at each other. I inhaled
deeply, trying to pull it all into my body and embed it in my
memory as one of those perfect moments to be cherished forever. The
brackishness of salt water and the sweet-tanginess of Tristan's
scent nearly intoxicated me.

The sun dipped behind the water, leaving
darker purples and pinks behind it. I turned my head toward
Tristan, resting my right cheek against my knees. He cocked his
head to look at me, his beautiful eyes sparkling. I felt so
content. His conversation with my mom seemed vague and nonsensical
now. He was right. She needed to let go. Because I wanted to be
nowhere else than right here with him.

"Ready?" he finally asked.

I frowned.
Ready to go back to my empty
house and spend the evening alone? No, not really.

"I can hang out with you…if you want, I
mean," he said, as if reading my mind.

"That sounds…"
Wonderful. Fabulous.
Perfect.
"…good."

***

As soon as we entered the cottage, I
panicked. I hadn't been truly alone with anyone besides my mother
in years. I suddenly realized just how inexperienced I was—not just
in the whole man-woman thing, but in any kind of relationship. I
stopped abruptly in the small foyer, not knowing what to do in my
own house.

"I'll be right back." I dashed into the
bathroom and couldn't close the door fast enough. I leaned against
the back of the door and took deep, calming breaths. My stomach
twisted itself into knots, untwisted and twisted again.
What do
we do? Eat? Watch TV? What if he's bored? Oh! What if he's
expecting something?! How much would I give?!
I jumped at the
knock on the door.

"Alexis?" Concern filled Tristan's voice. I
could only imagine how terrified my face looked before I fled to
the bathroom. "I was thinking…I'm actually kind of hungry. You want
to go get a pizza at Mario's?"