The Islanders (17 page)

“SO, THIS IS YOUR ROOM,”
Lucas said, letting his dark eyes roam over Zoey's unmade bed, taking in the bookshelves, the journal on her nightstand, the half-open dresser drawer that spilled out white cotton panties and bras.

“This is it.” Zoey Passmore waved her arms awkwardly to encompass the room, then let them flop at her sides. Why had she invited him up here? And especially, why had she invited him without bothering to clean up? “Pretty exciting, huh?”

Lucas smiled as Zoey sidled over to close the dresser drawer. “It's been two years since I've been in a girl's room,” he said. “It's nice. It smells nice in here.”

“It's that subtle interplay between baby powder and dirty laundry,” Zoey said.

Lucas leaned into the deep, dormered window. Zoey's father had built a small desk in there where she could do her homework and look down Camden Street, enjoying a view of the slow, gentle life of North Harbor, Chatham Island's only
town. On the right wall of the dormer she tacked notes and lists and reminders about appointments. On the left she put quotations on yellow Post-it notes.

“‘Imagination is the eye of the soul,'” Lucas quoted, reading her favorite. “Who is Joseph Joubert?”

Zoey shrugged. “He's the guy who said ‘Imagination is the eye of the soul.' That's all I know. I guess maybe someday I should find out.”

“I like the quote,” Lucas said. He tilted his head sideways. His long, unruly blond hair hung down. “‘If there is anything better than to be loved, it is loving,'” he read.

Zoey gulped and felt a blush rising in her cheeks. She ran a hand through her own unruly blond hair. “Yeah, I just, you know . . . kind of liked the way it sounded.”

“Anonymous, huh?” He grinned. “Anonymous said a lot of very interesting things.”

Zoey laughed. “Yes, he or she has always been one of my favorites.”

Lucas stood back, nodding as he looked at her little alcove. “This is how I'll picture you from now on,” he said. “Whenever I'm in my room at night, thinking of you, I'll imagine you sitting at this desk, watching the sun setting over the town, the way it is now, and searching for wisdom in quote books.” He looked at her with his usual startling, unsettling directness.

“Better than picturing my messy bed, I guess.”

Lucas smiled an impish half smile. “Oh, I'll probably think of you there, too,” he admitted. “But I'll try to keep those thoughts under control.”

“Good,” she said.

He reached out for her and she took his hand, just holding the tips of his fingers with hers. For a while that might have been seconds or hours, they just looked at each other. Then Zoey felt his grip tighten on her hand. Lucas drew her to him.

Or perhaps she drew him to her. It was always hard to tell.

His lips met hers, a tender, gentle collision that grew in intensity, escalating so suddenly and explosively that when at last they drew apart, Zoey's lips felt bruised. Her hands shook. Her heart pounded wildly. She could not trust her voice to speak.

The effect Lucas had on her was startling, like nothing she had known before. It was as if she were driving along at ten miles an hour on a quiet street one minute and then, a split second after their lips met, she was doing warp factor nine and blowing past Jupiter. The mental image made her smile.

“It's amazing,” Lucas said, grinning a little foolishly and shaking his head in disbelief.

“You mean—?”

“Kissing you,” he said. “It's just . . . ” He shook his head again, at a loss for words.

“You too?” Zoey asked shyly. “I thought maybe it was just me.”

“Oh, yeah. Like someone shoved a thousand-volt wire up my—” He stopped himself and made a wry face.

“That's a really romantic image,” Zoey said, laughing.

“Well, I'm quite a poet,” he said self-mockingly.

“Maybe we'd better do it again,” she suggested.

“I think we'd better,” he agreed.

His lips had just brushed hers when there was a knock at her door.

They flew apart, both looking flustered and guilty.

“Your dad?” Lucas asked in a hoarse whisper.

“He's down at the restaurant,” Zoey said. “So's my mom.”

The knock came again. “It's just me,” a voice said.

Zoey sighed in relief. Benjamin, her older brother. She opened the door. Benjamin slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

“I hope I'm not interrupting anything,” he said, turning his dark sunglasses roughly toward the spot where Zoey and Lucas were standing.

“We were . . . uh, going over some homework,” Zoey said lamely.

“Of course you were,” Benjamin said smoothly. “But in case you weren't just going over your homework, I thought I'd
come up and warn you that Jake is downstairs in the family room.”

“Jake?” Zoey cried.

“Yeah, you remember,” Benjamin said, “your boyfriend? Big guy, muscles, dark hair? He was going to just come on up, but I convinced him you were waxing your legs and you'd be annoyed if he barged in and saw you like that.”

“I don't wax my legs,” Zoey said.

“It's all I could think of, all right?” Benjamin said. “It was either that or tell him you were up here playing tongue hockey with his worst enemy.”

Lucas frowned. “Maybe we should just get this out in the open.”

“No!” Zoey said. “I mean, I want to prepare him for it.”

“You'll never be able to prepare him for it,” Lucas said reasonably.

“He's right,” Benjamin said, nodding agreement. “But there might be a gentler way of doing it.” Suddenly he froze, cocking his head to listen. “Damn. He's coming.”

A second later Zoey heard Jake's quick, heavy tread on the stairs. “Oh, no.” She looked pleadingly at Lucas. “Would you mind hiding? Quick?”

Lucas hesitated, as if he might argue, then shook his head in disgust and dropped to the floor, bending over to look under
her bed. “What's all this junk under here?”

Jake's tread was closer now, turning the corner at the top of the stairs. “Zo? Are you decent in there?”

“I can't fit under here,” Lucas whispered.

“In the closet,” Benjamin hissed.

Lucas jumped up, dashed for the closet, slipped inside, and wormed his way back through dresses and jackets and blouses.

Jake knocked on the door. Then, without waiting, he opened it. Zoey's clothes were still rustling and swaying, and far toward the back of the closet, she could still clearly make out a pair of battered leather boots that were definitely not hers.

“Hi, babe,” Jake said. He crossed the room to take Zoey in his muscular arms.

“Jake,” Zoey said with phony brightness. “Benjamin told me you were here.”

“He told me you were waxing your legs,” Jake said, giving Benjamin a dubious look.

“I'm all done,” Zoey said.

Jake grinned slyly. He hugged her to him and let his hand slip down her side. “Can I feel?” he asked wickedly.

Zoey was sure she saw the boots in her closet begin to move. “No, Jake,” she said sharply.

“No, Jake,” Benjamin echoed helpfully. “You really shouldn't flirt with my sister while I'm in the room.”

And Lucas is in the closet
, Zoey added silently.

Jake released her, and Zoey almost sighed in relief. “Are you going to be ready anytime soon?” Jake asked, looking at her skeptically.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, you know. We're all going over to The Tavern for dinner. You, me, my folks.”

“That's tonight?” Zoey said, sounding shrill. “But I—I don't have anything to wear to The Tavern.” Instantly she saw Benjamin wince and shake his head imperceptibly. Her eyes flew toward the closet.

Jake gave a long-suffering look and marched to the closet.

Oh, no.

“You always say you don't have anything to wear, Zo. How about that blue dress? You know, the one that's got the slit up the side?”

Zoey gulped. She felt frozen in place. Jake was riffling through her clothes now. In a matter of seconds his hand would encounter a warm body amid the silk and cotton.

“Where is that thing?” Jake demanded.

“I . . . I don't think I . . .” Zoey stammered.

“I'm sure it's in here,” Jake said. “You know the one I'm talking about.” He gathered a bunch of clothes and shifted them to the right.

“Let me!” Zoey yelled, leaping forward.

Jake turned to look over his shoulder.

The dress, the blue dress, suddenly appeared, thrust forward from the back of her closet.

Zoey stretched, shoved past Jake, snatched the dress, and spun to block Jake's view. “Here it is,” she said breathlessly.

Jake stared hard.

Zoey felt her smile crumbling.

“Amazing,” Jake said. “A girl can just reach right in and find something. I probably could have looked for hours.” He clapped Benjamin on the shoulder and laughed. “That's the way it always is. It's the same with a girl's purse.”

“Yeah, women,” Benjamin said, smiling blandly. “Well, as much fun as it might be to stay, I have to head on over to the Geigers'. Nina's reading for me.”

“An evening with
Ninny
,” Jake said, making a face. “I thought you could do better than that.”

Benjamin shrugged and turned around, walking in his precise way to the head of the stairs. “You shouldn't be jealous just because Nina can read, Jake.”

Jake laughed good-naturedly and slipped his arm around Zoey's waist. “Hmm. I believe your brother may just have insulted me, Zoey.” He drew her close and bent down to kiss her, just as he had so many, many times before.

Zoey reached with her free hand and pushed the closet door.

Her lips opened to Jake.

The door closed on Lucas.

Lucas waited until he heard Jake leave, then stepped out of the closet. Zoey was standing there, holding the blue dress, looking confused and guilty.

Lucas forced a smile. There was no point in making things worse for her.

“I'm so sorry,” Zoey whispered.

“You did what you had to,” he said flatly.

“I need to tell him,” Zoey said, worrying the fabric of the dress in her hands.

Lucas shrugged. “Either that or I'll have to get used to hanging out in closets.” He looked at her sideways, told himself not to ask the question that was burning around his brain, then ignored his own good advice. “You kissed him, didn't you?”

Zoey flushed and looked down at the floor.

“Thought so,” he said.

“Look, I . . . It was the quickest way to get rid of him,” Zoey said.

“And now you're going to spend the night with him and his parents.”

“It's something I agreed to a long time ago,” Zoey explained.
She looked thoroughly miserable, and Lucas told himself to relent. But he couldn't let go of the image of her standing right here, not three feet from him, kissing another guy while Lucas could still taste her lips.

“It's a little hard to take,” he said grimly.

“I just need some time, Lucas,” Zoey said. She touched his arm. He didn't respond. “You're really mad, aren't you?” she said.

“No,” he lied, shaking his head as if it would clear out the disturbing images. Then a more alarming thought occurred to him. “You're not sleeping with him, are you?”

Zoey drew back, arching her eyebrows angrily. “No, Lucas, I'm not. And if I were, which I'm definitely not, do you think I would now? Now that you and I are—”

“Are what?” Lucas said. “That's the question, isn't it? Are we . . .
we
?”

“We're
we
,” Zoey said softly.

Lucas tried not to let himself feel too pleased, since he was enjoying feeling resentful, but a wry smile escaped. “You and me?”

“Yes, you and me,” Zoey said, smiling shyly.

“No one else?” Lucas demanded.

“I'll tell Jake tonight,” Zoey promised. “If, you know, if there's a time when I can do it.”

Lucas grimaced at the dress. “That looks kind of low-cut.”

Zoey rolled her eyes. “With me, how low-cut could it be? I'm not exactly Adriana Lima.”

“Too low-cut for Jake,” Lucas said grumpily.

“I have to change,” Zoey said. “And Jake is still downstairs waiting.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Lucas.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I guess you want me to get back in the closet.”

“Just turn your head and promise not to peek.”

“Okay.” He turned away.

“Nice try, Lucas. Turn the other way,
not
toward the mirror.”

He laughed. “Mirror? I didn't even notice there was a mirror there.” Behind his back he heard the sound of clothing dropping to the floor, of dresser drawers opening and closing, and the sound of silk against skin.

“Ta-daa,” Zoey said.

He turned, prepared to make some leering remark, but somehow the sight of her, perfect, so perfect, choked off the words.

“You don't like it?” Zoey asked, looking crestfallen.

“No, it's just . . .” He had to stop and swallow down the lump in his throat. “It's just that you are too beautiful. I can't believe you're real, and that you're mine.” As he spoke the words he felt their truth. She
was
too beautiful. Too smart and funny and decent. For him.

Anyone could see that she belonged with Jake, not with him. How could he ever live up to her? What chance was there that this could last? His father was trying to convince his grandfather to take him in, and any day he could be told to go. Was it right to ask Zoey to give up Jake for a guy whose future was an open question?

Zoey laughed self-deprecatingly. She held out her arms and looked down at herself skeptically. “You know, you have been living with just guys for the last two years. It obviously doesn't take much to impress you.” She gave a twirl, then stopped and looked at him doubtfully. “What's the matter? You look grim.”