Illuminated (7 page)

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Authors: Erica Orloff

BOOK: Illuminated
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“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you, Crypt-Keeper?”
“Ouch.” He pretended to pull an invisible knife from his chest. “She plays the age card yet again. But yes, I am going to make you say it.”
I pretend-gritted my teeth. “You were
right
about Charlie. That was something untrustworthy about him. Like the fact that he was cheating on me.”
“And I said, take a little time to get over it, but then go right out there and find someone as special as you are. But you took a ‘little time’ and stretched it into all of junior year. So I had to take matters into my own hands.”
“I just didn’t like anyone this year. My school’s so small. Most of the guys seem more like . . . I don’t know, pesky brothers. We know each other so well. But August . . . no one can be
that
cute
and
that smart
and
that nice. No one.”
“Oh yes, he can. I’ve known him and his father a long time. Callie, it’s not just
any boy
I’d introduce you to. Like the Meyers’ son, down the hall? He’s not good enough for you by a long shot. He went in the rejection pile right away.”
“He’s just creepy.”
“Right. And you know Georgina, in the Appraisal Department at the auction house? She’s shown me her son’s picture a hundred times, trying to get me to fix you two up. But I happen to know from Stella in research that he’s trouble with a capital T. Flunked out of two private schools already.”
“Now you’re being a gossip,” I teased him.
“Only where you’re concerned. But August . . . he’s a straight-A student, good-looking, takes compassionate care of his father, is smart and courteous. He’s the type of guy I want for you. So once again. I was—what did you say?”
“Old.”
“No, after that.”
“Right.” I yawned. “You were right. And now, I better go to bed. He and I have to leave really early to get out to Miriam Rose’s—we have to catch a ferry.”
“All right, sweetie.” He sipped his wine. “And Callie ...”
“Yeah?”
“You
deserve
to be happy. Remember that.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“And it’s okay to have fun, to do something just for the sheer joy of it, not for how it looks on your Harvard application.”
I nodded and walked to him to kiss him good night. “Thanks, Crypt-Keeper,” I whispered.
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.” In my room, I changed into a T-shirt and boy shorts and flicked on the television. I don’t think I saw ten minutes of a
Law & Order
rerun before I was fast asleep.
Sometime in the night, I had a dream that I was standing inside a castle. At least I thought it was a castle. And I was searching for something, going from room to room. Or I was running from something or someone. I could hear a voice. I was frightened. The voice was begging me to run,
run
! And I thought it was August’s voice, but it wasn’t August’s voice. All I know was I woke up, my blankets tangled around me as if I had been thrashing around in my bed. And at the precise moment I woke up—3:07 A.M., since I looked at the clock—my cell phone dinged.
I had a text message. From August. At 3:07.
 
MISS U
 
I texted back.
 
ME 2
 
I wasn’t sure how I could miss someone I’d just seen that night, someone I’d just met not forty-eight hours before, but I did. My cell phone dinged again.
 
Can’t wait until tomorrow. Can’t sleep.
 
I smiled and texted back.
 
I just woke up. Weird dream.
 
Then his turn . . .
 
What was it about?
 
I texted back.
 
Not really sure.
 
I sent the message and punched my pillow.
 
Go back to sleep. See U tomorrow. Sweet dreams, angel!
 
Morning arrived gray and dreary, an ominous sky. And while I didn’t feel dreary, I was tired.
I sat up and ran my hands through my hair. Aggie had come in during the night and was now purring contentedly on my pillow, as peaceful as I wish my own sleep had been.
I climbed out of bed and looked in the mirror. Concealer was definitely in order.
I went into the bathroom and showered. I put on makeup, and dressed in nice jeans and a camisole, with a white cardigan over it. After packing a purse with my iPhone, wallet, lip gloss, and a brush, I walked out to the kitchen. Gabe was eating standing up at the counter—his usual of an English muffin slathered in honey and butter.
“I hear love is in the air,” he said, greeting me and handing me a cup of coffee in my favorite mug.
“Maybe.” I tried to play it cool.
“I see it in your eyes.”
“My eyes say I have circles under them and got no sleep.”
“That’s what love is, at first. No one sleeps when they’re first in love. They usually don’t eat, either. And the brain turns to mush.”
“Well, I definitely can’t sleep. And I’m not hungry.” I sipped my coffee. “And my brain would definitely be mush without caffeine.”
“You and your uncle. It’s your life juice.”
“I don’t understand how you can drink tea.”
“It’s so much healthier. But enough about me! I want to hear about loverboy. Harry’s been wanting to play matchmaker for a while now. Did you know he set up Leon and James? They’re on their second anniversary. And Liz—my old vocal coach—and Darius. And my sister, Bridget, and her new boyfriend, Stuart. He’s a regular eHarmony. And this manuscript . . . maybe it was fate. He wanted to play matchmaker, and the manuscript made it easy.”
“What’s that I hear about matchmaker?” Harry walked in and leaned down to kiss me on the top of my head, then pecked Gabe on the cheek. He looked at his watch. “You ready, Callie? Where are you meeting August?”
“He’s coming here.”
I sipped my coffee, refilled it, and a few minutes later, the concierge buzzed up that August was in the lobby. My heart started pounding—and not because I was hyped up on caffeine. “How do I look?”
“Like a dream. Now go . . . and call me after you meet with Miriam.”
I grabbed my bag and hurriedly left, willing the elevator to go faster. Finally, the doors opened in the lobby.
Part of me, riding down in the elevator, wondered if I had just created August out of thin air. Made up how great he was. But then he turned around, and I saw him and wanted to run to him. He walked over and gave me a hug.
“Ready to go chasing the mystery of A.?”
“Yeah.” I smiled, pulled away, and took his hand. We rode a subway and then took a train out to Long Island. From there, we made our way to the ferry.
Wind was whipping the Long Island Sound into frothy, white-capped beauty. The wind blew salt water onto my face, and my hair flew wildly, pieces slapping against my cheeks and eyes.
“Some storm coming,” I said to him, raising my voice to be heard.
He nodded and stood beside me, watching as the wide ferry docked. It rocked from side to side, looking more and more like a toy boat bobbing in a bathtub.
We boarded with just a handful of people. We climbed down below deck and chose two seats. I shivered, and he wrapped an arm around me.
“I didn’t expect the weather to be like this,” I said.
“Me, either. I didn’t look at the weather report.” He squinted as he scanned the horizon outside the window. A bolt of lightning jaggedly shot across the sky.
The ferry jerked as it pulled away from the dock. It swayed from side to side, the waves tossing her. I tried to focus on the cloud-shrouded horizon to keep from feeling seasick. I wanted my feet on the ground before I turned green. When we finally docked, the ferry captain came out of the wheelhouse and said, “Might be the last ride of the day.”
I looked at August, a worried expression on my face. “What if we can’t get back?”
He shrugged. “We’ll swim.”
I rolled my eyes. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?”
“Look, I don’t know, but we didn’t come this far not to see Miriam Rose. Maybe it’ll clear in the afternoon.”
According to my iPhone’s Google map, we could walk to Miriam’s house from the ferry. We found the shore drive, and read street addresses on the beach houses, their shingles weathered and worn to a gray-brown Cape-Cod–looking appearance.
We found Miriam’s house, nestled down close to the beach and nearly hidden by natural vegetation, scrubby-looking sumac and bushes and tall bursts of reedy grasses. As we descended her drive, the mist picked up to a full-blown rainstorm, with huge drops bombarding us in earnest.
We half jogged to her door, ringing the bell as icy rain pelted us.
A dog barked loudly, and the door opened. A big golden retriever wagged its tail and pushed its nose toward us in greeting. Behind the dog stood Miriam, older but just as beautiful as her wedding-day picture. “Honi,” she commanded, “move aside.” She patted her dog at the same time as she pushed it out of our way. “I just spoke with Harry. You poor angels,” she murmured. “I didn’t think you would try to come out given the weather report. Come on in, hurry.”
We stepped inside her beach house, and I saw I was dripping water on her sleek slate floors, forming a puddle.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, shivering slightly and pulling my shoulders up as if by holding very still I could keep from dripping.
“Let me go get you towels. What a squall!” She looked out the bank of windows that rose, floor to ceiling, along the front of the house in the living room. Rain lashed at the panes in sheets. “I usually love a good storm—but not being out in one.”
I glanced at August and felt my insides churn. Dripping wet, he was even sexier.
How was that possible?!
When Miriam disappeared, the dog followed her. August raised an eyebrow playfully. “You know I can see through your shirt,” he whispered.
I looked down, aware that white was the worst possible choice today. “Yeah . . . and I’m sure I look like a drowned rat.”
“No,” he whispered. “You look beautiful.”
My teeth chattered, and I was certain my lips were blue.
Miriam returned with two huge, plush towels and two oversize hooded sweatshirts.
“Here. The bathroom is over there. You can at least change into these sweatshirts. In the rain, we weren’t properly introduced. I’m Miriam . . . and I know from Harry that you are Calliope and August.” We shook hands. “And this oversize and overeager puppy is Honi.” Her dog barked as if it understood her.
I apologized again for the rain on her floor as we started drying off as best we could.
“I live at the beach. Believe me, sand and water on my floors are a way of life. And dog hair.”
I dried my hair with the towel and went into the bathroom to change into the sweatshirt.
When I came out, August had already slipped his sweatshirt on.
“How about some hot tea?” Miriam suggested.
I nodded gratefully, and the two of us followed her into the kitchen.
“Sit down—don’t worry about the chairs,” she said.
“Everything in this house is meant to be sat on with wet bathing suits or walked on with sandy sneakers. It’s a different life from my old one in the city.”
August and I sat in chairs around the oak farm table that dominated the kitchen. She turned to put the kettle on, and I looked around. The cabinets were antique-looking, some with glass fronts. In them stood an array of brightly colored plates and goblets, along with seashells and jars filled with bits of sea glass. It was nothing like her son’s cold apartment.
Miriam padded over to the table and set down cups and saucers, along with a jar of honey, a sugar bowl, and a small tin containing different types of tea. She wore pale denim capris and a white Oxford-cloth shirt. She wore no jewelry except for an antique-looking locket hanging from a chain around her neck. Her hair, which had been pale blond in the pictures, was now blond mixed with strands of silver. It fell to her shoulders, and it seemed to curl naturally into soft waves.

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