Figment (5 page)

“That would be just great. They’d think you were a bum and haul you off somewhere,” I replied absently.
Hotel?
My parents would notice if I charged something like that to my credit card. I didn’t have any friends I could ask. Or a van he could sleep in. Then my excursion last night flashed through my mind. “I know!” I sat up.

“What?”

I tugged his hand. “I’ve got the perfect place.”

I led him around the back of the building to the
ladder of the fire escape. I wasn’t sure if the door from the stairs to the penthouse would be open, but it was better to at least try this way than risk leading Davis through the lobby.

We climbed the fifteen flights until we reached the gray metal door at the top marked with a black
P. I held my breath as I twisted the knob. It opened.

Davis looked around as we stepped into the big dark space. “
Where are we?”

“It’s the penthouse, but they’re renovating it.” We were both whispering, though I didn’t know why. “There’s no one up here.”

Davis clicked the flashlight on his phone. “But there’s that stuff.” He pointed to a clipboard with a stack of forms sitting on a bucket, with a pen and a stained coffee mug beside it. “They’ll probably be back in the morning.”

I looked more closely. “It’s all dusty. I don’t think anyone’s touched it for a while.”

“Yeah.” Davis considered. “Well, either way, tomorrow’s Saturday. I’m probably good until Monday.”

“You’re right. I’ll see if I can find anything out about this place in the meantime. And, hey—” I flicked one of the bare wall switches. A single bulb overhead came on, dimly illuminating our corner. “Light!” I exclaimed.

We grinned at each other like idiots.

Davis slung his backpack onto the floor. Unzipping it, he pulled out a blue sweatshirt and spread it out. Then he turned me slowly. “Come here.” His voice was low and husky.

I closed my eyes and sighed as his hands closed around mine and he pulled me down to the floor.

We lay there for a long time, holding each other, our bodies pressed hip to hip and thigh to thigh. His mouth moved slowly over my eyes, cheeks, collarbone, shoulders, his lips hot. I lay limply, my head back, eyes closed. I felt as if I’d been drugged, as if everything that had happened since I got off the train was a dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. He was here, really here. And I wasn’t going to let him go.

*
* *

I opened my eyes the next morning to bright sunlight streaming through the windows. I put my hand to my stiff neck, temporarily confused. Then I felt Davis’s warm, sleeping body beside me. He was still here—he was actually in London, and we were together. Joy flooded through me, and I rolled over onto my boyfriend, laughing. “Wake up!” I sang, kissing his unshaven cheeks. “It’s morning, wake up!”

His eyelids fluttered. “Still sleeping,” he mumbled, but as I sank back, he suddenly sat up, his eyes wide open. “Gotcha!” He grabbed me around the waist as I shrieked, and he pulled me onto his lap. “Good morning, beautiful girl.” He kissed me.

“Good morning.” I stared into his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re actually still here.”

“In the flesh.” He rubbed his bristly chin. “Can you sneak me up a razor?”

“Absolutely.” I stood up, then patted down my clothes. “I should probably go home for at least few minutes, right? Before they wake up. But I’ll get away.
Meet me at the side of the building in an hour?”

“Definitely.” He reached up and encircled me in a hug, then blew a kiss at my mouth. “Don’t be gone too long.”

“I’ll miss you every second. Look.” I pulled his charm from my pocket and watched recognition spread over his face. “I saved it from the crash.”

He smiled, and I kissed the warm metal and slid it back into my pocket. I was being cheesy, I knew, but I couldn’t help it.

“See you soon!” I looked back at him as I stepped onto the elevator. He was propped up on one elbow, smiling his sweet smile at me. I gazed at him until the doors closed in front of me.

The elevator doors opened to our flat entrance. It was still only six in the morning, and my father had gotten back from a quick business trip to Connecticut late last night, so he would be plenty jet-lagged.

I pressed my ear to the door of the flat, listening carefully. Nothing. Slowly, I slid my key into the lock and eased the door open, half expecting to see my mother in the middle of the living room, her hands on her hips.

But the only thing there to greet me was the gray London morning pressing at the windows. The kitchen was quiet and neat, too, like a still-life painting of a coffeemaker and a bowl of apples. I practically floated through to the bathroom and turned the water up as hot as it would go—which was lukewarm—before shedding the wrinkled tank top and jeans I’d worn to the Enterprise last night. It seemed like a year ago that I’d put them on.

Leaning my crutch against the sink, I stood under the weak spray for a long time, letting the water run over my head and down my back. I hummed, soaping my arms, reliving the sweet moments of last night in Davis’s arms. I touched the faint mouth mark he’d left on my neck.

Shutting off the water, I heard the BBC come on in my parents’ room. I wrapped a towel around my head and, back in my room, pulled on some yoga pants and my favorite UConn T-shirt. I wound my wet hair on top of my head and stuck a clip on the bun, then tucked my charm into the tiny key pocket in my pants.

By the time I got out to the kitchen, my parents were already sitting with
the
Guardian
and coffee.

“Morning, guys.” I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible. I pried apart an English muffin and dropped it into the toaster.

“Morning, Zo,” my father said. He had big circles under his eyes and looked to be drinking an entire pot of coffee on his own.

“How about some eggs? I have sausage, too.” Mom pointed her fork to a covered platter on the table.

“Sure.” I buttered the muffin and stuffed half of it into my mouth before sliding into my seat. I reached for the platter and looked up to see my mother eyeing me. “What?”

“Nothing.” She paused. “How did you sleep, darling?”

My hand froze. “Fine,” I replied warily. “Why?”

She shook her head. “You just look more rested, honey. That’s all.”

“Oh.” I lifted the lid of the platter. “Mom, what is this?” I pointed to what appeared to be a mound of baked beans on the plate beside the eggs and sausage.

“It’s a classic English breakfast! We need to fit in if we’re going to spend the summer here,” she said. “Try it. They’re delicious with the eggs.”

“No, thanks. I might get confused and think I’m at a barbecue.” I laughed at my own stupid joke, replaced the cover, and took another bite of my English muffin. Then, casually, I got up and wandered over to the window. “The view is great from up here. I’m glad we got a high floor.” I cleared my throat. “Isn’t there a penthouse in the building?”

“Yes, we looked into it, actually. It wasn’t available, though.” My father turned a page of the newspaper.

Ah.

“Why not?” I scanned the landscape with ostentatious idleness.

“It’s still under construction.” He folded back a page and bit noisily into a piece of toast. “Major renovations, and the contractor bailed out. Something like that. The whole project’s on hold until they get someone new.”

Bingo.

“Oh, too bad. That would’ve been cool.” I wandered back to the table and dropped lazily into my chair. I shoveled some eggs into my mouth, keeping one hand lightly on the charm in my pocket, like a talisman of Davis’s presence.

“See?” Mom nodded at Dad. “I told you.”

“You’re right, Mary.” He put down his paper and looked at me approvingly.

I stopped mid-chew. “What?”

“Oliver seems like a really sweet young man, Zo.” My mother was beaming now. “Dad and I are so glad you’re getting back on your feet and meeting some new people.” She didn’t say “boys,” but we all knew that was what she meant.

“I know his parents vaguely.” My father took another gulp of his coffee. “Dan Sampson handled some business for them. He mentioned they live nearby.”

I smiled, just a little. Clearly, going to the Enterprise last night with Oliver had paid off. “Oliver’s really nice,” I agreed. That part wasn’t a lie, at least. Time to make my move.

“Actually
. . .” I stuffed the rest of my muffin into my mouth. “We were thinking of hanging out some today. Maybe go see Big Ben.” My hands were trembling a little with the lie. I fingered the charm in my pocket for courage. But as I took my hand out, the charm came with it and fell to the floor with a clink.

I dove for it, snatching it up and stuffing it back into my pocket.

“What’s that, dear?” my mother asked.

“A charm from Davis.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I swallowed, eyeing my parents, but Mom just nodded.

My father folded the paper and pushed back his chair. “Well, I have to run. Frances should have those documents ready for me to review.”

My mother looked up in dismay. “On Saturday, Charles?”

“Just until six. Have fun, Zoe.” He dropped a kiss on top of my head. “See you both tonight.” The front door clicked shut behind him.

“So? Can I go?” I asked my mother’s back. She was already standing at the sink, rinsing the dishes.

“Of course.” She sounded more subdued now. “Have a wonderful time—the fresh air will do you good.”

I almost skipped back to my room to get dressed. I couldn’t possibly have arranged it better—Oliver was the perfect excuse. The glowing, pink-cheeked girl in the mirror stared back at me as I slipped silver drops into my earlobes. Even my leg wasn’t hurting for the first time in nearly two weeks. I pulled my hair forward so it brushed my cheeks. You could hardly see the missing patch. And the scabs at the corners of my eyes were just faint red spots now. I was healing.

I picked up my crutch to head out, but then something stopped me. I put the crutch on my bed and carefully, slowly, tried walking the length of the room. My hip twinged a little, but that was all.

I opened the door and looked back at the crutch lying on the striped bedspread. I had Davis to lean on now. I went out into the hall, closing the door behind me.

“I’m going now. Oliver’s waiting for me,” I told my mother, who was standing at the sink, her arms soapy to the elbows as she washed the dishes.

“Bye, dear.” She wiped a plate and smiled fondly at me, her glasses pushed to the top of her head.

“I might be kind of late. Is that okay?” I wanted to give myself as much time as possible with Davis.

“I don’t think—” Then she stopped herself. “Well, if you’re with Oliver, I’m sure it will be fine. Your father does know his parents.”

I felt faintly guilty as I waited for the elevator—after all, I’d just told a bald-faced lie. But when I thought of how they’d kept Davis and me from each other, the hurt stirred deep in my gut. I could lie every day for the rest of my life, and it wouldn’t make up for what they’d done to us.

I held my breath as I stepped out of the lobby doors. The sky was cerulean blue with just a few puffy white clouds sailing high overhead, and the air was soft.

Davis was lounging against the side of the building, his lean frame making a kind of triangle with the brick wall. He turned when he heard me, brushing his blond hair from his eyes.

“Morning, princess,” he said. “Where’s your crutch?”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him hard. “Didn’t need it. You’re good medicine, I guess.” I leaned back, with his arms still around me, and looked into his face. His eyes matched the sky behind his head. “And good news about the penthouse. You’re safe. My dad said no one’s working up there right now.”

“Awesome.” He took my hand and pulled me to the sidewalk, then looked around at the busy street—students with headphones snaking from their ears, bikers with messenger bags strapped across their chests, black cabs waiting at the lights. “I need some food, fast. Did you eat?”

“Sort of. My mom tried to serve baked beans.” We strolled north, hand in hand. I felt like I was gliding a few inches off the ground. “Let’s get coffee.”

We crossed at a light, waiting beside a tall man in a rumpled suit who was talking loudly on his phone, then ambled down the next block, peering into shop windows. We turned and started heading steeply downhill. The Thames sparkled in front of us. All along the waterfront, people were strolling with baby carriages and dogs. A pair of drummers beat on
djembes
on the corner, and food carts with cheerful striped awnings stood out in the sunshine.

“How about this one?” Davis stopped at a green cart with a tempting array of pastries and what I figured were English pies—the kind with meat in them instead of fruit.

“Great.” I studied the selection. “Two coffees, white, and an almond croissant,” I told the grizzled vendor.

The man smiled, revealing a missing side tooth. “A coffee addict, yes?”

“Not really.” I smiled, a little confused.