Forbidden (29 page)

Dante follows me to the pie-throwing contest, where I line up shots of Mr. Cummings getting it in the face. I ask Dante for a banana from the Farmer’s Market. He brings back a chocolate-dipped banana from Rachel’s dessert booth. Later, I request a Granny Smith from the market, and he delivers apple pie à la mode from Bailey’s pie booth. A bottled water comes back as a pink slushy.

All subsequent scientific experiments are cancelled due to an upset tummy
.

I’m exhausted and shaky from too much sugar and too little protein. I stare at the
crumpled, sticky photo list I’ve been handling all day. One booth left to shoot: the pony ride, the one I’ve been postponing because Dante has been stuck to me like a dryer sheet. Not that it would matter; Michael hasn’t been there all day. So I trudge over with all the excitement of taking the SATs, and stop dead in my tracks.

Michael is there.

I suck in a breath and hope that Dante doesn’t notice my reaction. Fumbling with my camera, I pretend to check the battery to stall for time. I peek through my lashes and see Michael and Duffy loading kids on the ponies. I’m more than fifty feet away and feel none of the unusual—or should I say the
usual
—second heartbeat. Michael is busy and doesn’t notice me.

Dante is going on about attending his first American dance, but I haven’t been listening. When he takes a breath, I jump in and ask for a hot dog and a bottled water.

“I really should eat something before the dance. You know, I haven’t eaten any real food today.” I smile sugary sweet and hope to fake flirting enough to gain some alone time.

Dante gives me a wary look but says, “I am happy to please you,
cara
.”

I watch him walk away before turning my attention to Michael. My plan is to walk right up and demand an explanation for the other day. It’s a good plan; I like it. And then my business side takes over and I decide to take my required photos first.

Okay, so maybe I’m chicken and hope to find some extra courage lying around. But then I will march over and make my demands.

I zoom in and focus on the kids; they are happy and clapping and singing along to some Disney song that I can’t quite hear. I frame up a cute little girl with curly blond pigtails astride a dappled-gray pony. Head thrown back, she is singing at the top of her lungs. I smile behind the camera and snap a photo. The little girl wiggles in the saddle and then fumbles with the safety belt. I widen the shot and there is Duffy, collecting tickets from the next group. Michael is on the far side, bent down tying a little boy’s shoe. The pigtail girl works the buckle loose and squirms out. She struggles to stand up in the saddle as the ponies meander in a circle. She teeters back and forth, jump-starting my heart.

Oh God, somebody look up!
She’s going to fall into the center. She’ll be crushed under the hooves and no one is watching.
Look up, Duffy! Look up!
He is the closest but his back is turned. The girl wobbles and reaches out for the center pole that is striped like a candy cane. She’s going over.

My hands clench in reflex, causing a succession of rapid-fire clicking noises.
Oh God! Oh God! Somebody
—Michael suddenly grabs the back of the girl’s shirt just as she
falls forward.

What the hell?

I exhale and lower the camera as a wave of awareness ripples through me. Did I just see … How did Michael do that?

There is no way he could’ve seen the girl falling. No way he could’ve reached her in time. The episode couldn’t have taken more than five seconds. But …

How did he know she needed help? Maybe she yelled, and he ran over.
But I didn’t see him run over. He was just … there
.

I glance around but no one else reacted. It all happened too quick.

Michael settles the girl back in the saddle and rebuckles the safety belt. He is frowning and reprimanding her while she pushes out her bottom lip and tries to hug him. She seems worried that he is angry with her.

It’s not possible
, I argue in Dad’s stern lecture voice. I didn’t see what I think I saw. There has to be an explanation. Maybe I blinked or the camera was in the way? I remember hearing it click, so I press a button and retrieve the last few photos and watch them in sequence on the screen. The first shot: Michael and Duffy are busy while in the background the little girl stands on the pony. The second shot: Duffy has not moved, and Michael appears with the girl, his fingers knotting in her shirt.

I recheck five times and with each viewing, my confidence grows. I understand the capabilities of this camera. I’ve taken enough action shots to know it won’t miss a beat. It was locked on the sport setting, which means that the time elapsed from frame to frame is minuscule. The camera really doesn’t lie—Duffy’s hand barely moves from ripping a ticket, while Michael somehow circles the entire area to save the little girl he couldn’t possibly have seen.

A flashback of images plays in my head: Michael watching over the nurse at the accident, Michael saving Casey in the cafeteria, Michael miraculously rescuing this little girl …

I have been meandering through the mysteries of Michael Patronus, caught in blue eyes shimmering with color and emotions and turning things I know into questions. My mind is buzzing like a honeycomb overflowing with sweetness; thoughts ripen and take wing, understanding swarms and then settles on certainty, and I know.

Michael has a special ability to save people.

My scalp tingles with awareness.
Mom is stroking my head
. I am welling up with excitement because this certainty comes twofold; I am now sure that Michael can sense when I am around, that he physically feels something—maybe a second heartbeat like mine. And he probably wants to keep all of it secret; it would explain why he has been
avoiding me. Michael knows I am figuring things out; he knows I have questions.

I want to walk over and demand my answers but Dante is striding toward me.

“Here you go!” he announces magnanimously, holding up a hot dog and a bottle of water like trophies. He has returned with my exact order. He smiles and I stare. My mind is humming with all things Michael Patronus, and Dante takes my silence for disapproval. “Am I mistaken? You said you would like everything on it, yes?” He eyes the disgusting concoction oozing ketchup, mustard, relish, and jalapeño peppers.

Good grief! How can he think about food at a time like this!

“I need to … I’m not finished with …” I panic, desperate to talk to Michael.

I glance at the pony ride. They’ve ended the last round and are closing shop. It’s later than I thought and I slump with defeat.

“Sophia, do you or do you not want this … this disgusting American hot dog concoction?” Dante holds it out so as not to drip on his nice Italian shoes.

“Oh, just toss it,” I mumble, watching Michael walk away with all my answers. I turn to leave and Dante catches my arm.

“What time shall I be at your house?”

I chew my lip, contemplating. Maybe Michael will go to the dance. Maybe I can roofie his drink and demand answers when he is a pile of mush.

“I can just meet you there,” I say offhandedly.

“No!” Dante snaps. “I am coming for you, and then we will walk over together. That
is
what you agreed to, yes?”

I jerk my arm free. I don’t like his domineering tone or implication, like I’m breaking some sacred contract. But I also don’t want to waste valuable time arguing when I could be home dissecting Michael’s supernatural tendencies. I cop an attitude and say, “I’ll need an hour to shower and change. If that’s okay with
you
?”

Dante’s scowl breaks into a salacious grin. “One hour, Sophia. And then I am coming for you.”

Chapter 27

Surpassing the Outer Limits of Stupidity and Being Greatly Rewarded

The clock on the mantel ticks off seconds like an ax chopping wood. I’m as antsy as Wolfgang because storm clouds are gathering inside me, and somehow I know,
nothing will be the same after tonight
.

Exactly sixty minutes after I left Dante, he knocks on the door, and I spring out of the chair. As usual, Sundance trots over to offer his slobbery two cents. But he sniffs under the door and backs away frightened. His ears flatten and his tail disappears. He growls uncharacteristically, and I have to push him aside just to open the stupid door.

“Hi.” I hold it open, but Dante doesn’t move. We stand there awkwardly until I invite him in, and then he makes a show of it, smiling like he’s won the lottery and stepping deliberately over the threshold. He is boarding a ship, and once safely on deck, he turns and eyes me approvingly.

I decided to wear my favorite Free People black knit sweater dress with a wide crew neck, mid-calf tights, and black flats. It’s comfortable, warm, and practical. My hair is loose, with a few strands clipped back. Silver earrings shimmy as I walk; this is dressy for me.

Dante kisses my hand and whispers “Mmm” against it, and my pulse jumps up to greet him. As usual, his affection leaves a warm sting on my skin, and I withdraw, rubbing the spot.

Dante is wearing a black, collared shirt with charcoal slacks and new Italian loafers. A silver rope bracelet with a skull and crossed bones glistens at his wrist. He should be going to some private VIP club in LA or New York, not a community dance in small-town Connecticut.

When Dad strolls in from the kitchen, I introduce them. They eyeball each other with equal suspicion, and then Dante brightens and offers his hand. “Pastor St. James, I cannot express what a great pleasure it is to
finally
meet you.” A bit over the top, but I expect Dad to approve.

When they shake hands, Dad looks anything but agreeable. The color drains from
his face. Rarely at a loss for words, his mouth opens and a lot of nothing comes out. It’s like he’s seen a ghost, so I lay a hand on his sleeve.

“Dad, you okay?” His eyes track my voice, but they are empty when he looks at me.

“We should be going, Sophia,” Dante says.

“Yes, you should be going, Sophia,” Dad repeats in a vacant echo.

“She will be fine with me, sir,” Dante continues. “You can relax and enjoy the game.” He nods toward the living room, where light flickers from the TV. Dad nods emotionless and recites in a monotone voice,

“I’ll go relax and enjoy the game.” He walks away, leaving me bewildered.

Something is wrong. Maybe Dad is uncomfortable with me dating so soon after the Steve issue. Maybe he thinks Dante is the one I’m in love with, and he doesn’t approve. Dad and I fought about Steve, a lot. Dad was right; Steve was wrong for me. Maybe he’s afraid to interfere now, thinking I’ll defend Dante against any criticisms the way I did with Steve.

I want to explain that I’m reformed. I want Dad to understand that Dante and I are just friends. But now isn’t the time. Especially with Dante pulling me away. I swipe my camera from the entry table just as Dante closes the door behind us.

As we walk toward the park, I try to set aside Dad’s odd behavior. I’ll ask him about it tomorrow when he has rested. For now, my thoughts narrow into a single word.
Michael
.

Bailey says the Patronus family never attends dances, but I’m hoping she’s wrong about tonight. I’m jumpy with anticipation. If I’m right—and I know I am—I’ve discovered something amazing. I just don’t know what it is. I have enough questions to send me running mad in the streets. If I don’t get some answers soon, I might just do that.

The town square has come to life with strings of swag lights twinkling from pole to pole around the park. Tree trunks are wrapped in yellow, orange, and red lights, and bright green balls dangle from the branches. Very festive, eclectic, and romantic, like if Dr. Seuss were getting married.

Halfway through the park, we’re joined by the gang coming from all directions. Bailey is strutting in a miniskirt, black lacy blouse, red cowboy boots, and Duffy’s pinstriped fedora. Duffy is wearing a Rastafarian hat, a vintage Bob Marley T-shirt with a loose black tie, shorts, and high tops. Rachel and Holden are meandering along the perimeter. Rachel is blushing in a soft, flowery dress with a white cardigan and Mary Janes. I think she’s never looked prettier and Holden seems to agree. The rest of the seniors and juniors and some sophomores are trailing behind.

The gazebo is glowing with lights, and a band in the far corner is playing “Moondance,” a crowd favorite; the dance floor is packed. Those not dancing are loitering on the lawn, drinking or talking or munching on refreshments. Miss Minnie is manning the punch bowl so I ask her to store my camera until I need it.

Dante and I mingle into our group, where everyone is debating the number of times Mr. Cummings got smacked in the face at the pie-throwing booth. As the most uptight, pretentious, and unpopular teacher, every senior took a turn.

I’m not paying attention because I am inconspicuously scoping the grounds for Michael. He’s nowhere in the park, and I can only hope that he’s on the dance floor. My sneakiness is inconspicuous; Dante hasn’t a clue and is smiling down at me. He is painfully handsome tonight, so relaxed and happy to be here with me. I feel guilty and offer a wooden smile.
We’re just friends. He knows we’re just friends
.

The next cover song begins, “Love Remains the Same” by Gavin Rossdale, and Dante’s face lights up. He says, “I have heard this one,” and takes my hand, pulling me up the gazebo steps. Everybody follows suit, and the adults drift aside as we crowd the floor.

Dante’s moves are practiced and graceful, his right arm sliding across my back and his left hand gently lifting my right hand. He is studying me, and his smile feels like a question I can’t answer, or don’t want to answer. I avert my eyes. A cursory glance around yields nothing. Michael isn’t here but I’m not surprised; the second heartbeat is absent. No one from the Patronus family has come, and I deflate with disappointment.

Dante presses a hot cheek against mine, and whispers, “What shall I do with you,
cara mia
?” A heat wave ripples through me, and I feel flushed with fever. His arm is blazing across my back.