A Season of Eden (3 page)

Picture windows lined the back of our house, making the most of what my step mother called her “vacation backyard paradise.” Our pool, inlaid out of white stone, lay on one level, and our hot tub snugged up next to it, both in a bed of lazy palm trees. The ocean stretched out behind as far as the eye could see.

I never bothered saying anything when I got home. Dad worked at his law office until seven. Stacey, my stepmom, shopped or lunched all day with her friends.

William, my basset hound, was the only one who ever greeted me. He ambled slowly over from a spot where he spent his days basking on warm tile where the afternoon sun shone.

“Hey.” I scrubbed his old body with both hands because he liked it. He followed me to my bedroom on the second floor.

I fell onto my ivory bedspread and lay looking up at the ceiling. I could hear William panting. The house was quiet, like it was every day when I came home. Empty and quiet.

Habit had me reaching for my iPod to cover the silence with my favorite music but something kept me still.

I wanted to feel the emptiness I lived in. Wanted reality to sink in. Lying there, a familiar anger flushed through me. It had been this way since Dad and Stacey had gotten married ten years ago, the three of us living in this big house with its big rooms. I was pretty sure only I knew how big the emptiness was.

I rolled onto my stomach and looked into William’s saggy, sad brown eyes. Mom had given me William two years before her death. Four months after she died, Dad had met and married Stacey.

Loneliness left my mind thinking about the night. Dad would come home, eat with Stacey and the two of them would either sneak off to their bedroom or take off to some place—friends’ houses or shopping. As if Stacey didn’t get enough shopping in from ten until five.

Camilla’s cooking was just beginning to stretch its fragrant fingers up toward my bedroom, and my stomach growled. But I couldn’t think about eating. In my head I heard the delicate notes Mr. Christian had played on the piano.

I couldn’t have what I really wanted, so I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and called Brielle.

Matt lived a few blocks away near Lunada Bay plaza.

The night was dark and cold, so I walked there. I was used to walking places. And being alone on the street was no different than being alone in my house. Both were cold.

Sometimes I challenged the danger of aloneness. When I’d been younger, I’d purposefully exposed my skin to cold, naively thinking Dad would get all worried and tell me to put more clothes on because he cared. That never happened. The self-inflicted discomfort toughened more than my skin. Like tonight, I didn’t wear anything over my short sleeved tee and I still had on my short skirt.

Matt’s house was the party place for the seven days his parents were on their trip to Fiji. The one-story house was already rocking when I crossed the grass toward the wide-open front door.

“Hey, Eden.” I glanced down, saw Tanner snuggling on the grass with some chick I didn’t recognize, both of them wrapped in a blanket.

“Hey, guys.”

Music shook the house. Couples were locked together on couches and in chairs, standing in corners. Some danced.

The air was thick with body sweat and booze breath.

“She’s here!” I heard Brielle’s sing-song voice and looked for her. She stumbled over with a grin, a silver can in her hand. “Baby,” she hugged me. “Matt said you weren’t coming.”

She extended her can to me and I took a sip. I shrugged. “I was bored.”

“Here, you have mine.” Brielle pushed the beer into my hand. “I’ll get another one.” Taking the Coors, I followed her into the kitchen were Matt played host.

He sat perched on the counter, digging into a box of Pepperidge Farms goldfish crackers.

“There she is.” The next thing I knew he was by my side, goldfish in one hand, his other wrapping around my waist. His breath reeked. He nuzzled my neck. “Can I have a kiss or do I have to clear that with you, too?”

With everyone watching us, heat flushed my face. I swatted at him. “Forget it.” But I meant it and he knew it.

He looked confused and angry, and tossed the goldfish box at Josh then got in my face. “What’s with you?”

We’d had public fights before, but tonight his voice was too loud. I shrugged again, not sure myself. But inside a whirlwind had started and I knew it was only going to gain more momentum.

“No, I’m serious.” He lowered his voice and grabbed my elbow.

“Quit handling me.” I yanked free.

“Why did you come here?”

“It wasn’t to be with you,” I snapped. I didn’t care that the confusion on his face turned to hurt. Our friends stood by in nosey curiosity, and I wished they weren’t so drama hungry.

Disgusted with the scene—with myself for going there, I turned to leave.

“Eden?” Brielle followed me through the raucous crowd toward the front door.

“Yeah, you do that!” Matt yelled at me from the kitchen. “Take your princess attitude out of my house!”

The music was loud and most of the kids were so out of it I knew few had heard him. I didn’t care if they had.

Being there suddenly made me feel like a loser. I was sure Mr. Christian wasn’t out partying. He’d be home studying music composition, or listening to an opera or something.

“I’m out of here,” I told Brielle.

“But Matt was joking.”

“No, he wasn’t. And neither was I.”

Brielle stumbled alongside me. “You… you and Matt are over?”

“Yeah, we are. See ya.” I continued across the grass.

Bree stopped.

Matt and I had really only been two people playing at liking each other because being alone was the lame alternative. We’d both be news tomorrow. I’d be barraged by leftover guys. Once again, Matt would prowl the slim pickings of PVPS for somebody else. The thought was distasteful enough that I almost turned around and went back inside.

I crossed the grass, caught the scent of weed in the air and glanced around for who was stupid enough to smoke it when I was sure the cops would be showing up any minute because of the noise.

Oh well.
I’d learned to say that phrase because it covered every error from stupidity to purposeful indiscretions by me as well as those around me. It was my way of throwing a protective blanket over my heart and emotions. I didn’t want my friends busted, but part of me knew they deserved it. I’d be happy if they all got caught and had to learn a lesson.

The street was empty. The further I walked from Matt’s house, the duller the music pounded, lost in grey, misty fog oozing around the houses and trees. I shuddered, cold seeping into the empty recesses of my soul, and glanced into the dimly lit front windows of the houses I passed.

Rooms looked cozy and inviting. There was something to being small, I decided then. But small still needed protecting.

With my mind quiet as the street, I heard that melody Mr. Christian had played earlier that day. The melancholy chords cleared the cold fog trying to settle inside of me. I wondered what kind of house Mr. Christian lived in. I felt pretty certain he lived off of
the hill
, as we Palos Verdes residents coined PV. A new teacher wouldn’t make enough to live on the peninsula.

I turned right on Paseo del Mar and the houses gradually stretched and grew from small and cozy to massive and museum-like.

Mr. Christian. I wanted to know where he lived.

What kind of car did he drive? Did he like fries or baked potatoes? Did he have a girlfriend? Need budded inside of me, filling every empty corner with untamed curiosity.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed four-one-one.

There were, of course, thousands of
Christians
listed. I had no idea what his first name was, but as I typed the security code in at the front gate of home, I ran possibilities through my mind. What would people with a first name for a last name call their son? Never mind that Christian reeked with religious overtones. Would they do a double whammy like, Peter Christian? Or Gabriel? John? I hoped it wasn’t Matt.

Finding out his first name would be easy. Discovering where he lived would be more difficult.

I found Dad’s Lexus in our driveway. I checked my cell phone for the time. Nine-thirty. Why were they home?

•••

Inside, their fight snuck down the stairs and into every room with the pungency of garbage. Their voices broke through the stench,
Brainless Bimbo
.
I hate you. My money.

Our money. Control yourself or there won’t be any money!

With William dutifully following me, I headed to my bedroom and shut the door. That only buffered the screams, so I reached for my iPod. Soon, Muse filled my head and I couldn’t hear any more arguing.

I sat at my desk, flicked on my computer and, with William watching, his long ears quirking now and then, I got on Google. I wondered if William understood English. If he understood what was going on between Dad and Stacey.

He knew tone. Every creature understood tone. That’s why his head jerked around every now and then toward the bedroom door. Maybe that’s why his sad eyes looked even sadder.

After I logged into Palos Verdes Prep School’s website, I checked out the faculty list.

James Christian.

James.

Nice. The name fit him.

“Hopefully he doesn’t go by Jim or Jimmy.” I scrubbed William’s head. “That would just be wrong.”

I fell asleep with my iPod on and old Heart tunes shouting into my head about how to get someone alone.

When I woke up the next morning I had a headache.

I dressed, picked out a short denim skirt, a baby blue shirt that made the blue in my eyes electric and opened my bedroom door. Not sure who had survived last night’s battle, I looked down the hall toward the master bedroom.

The door was shut.

I went downstairs, William at my heels in a light pant.

Camilla was already at work making the organic granola Stacey swore by and the dining room table was set for two so I figured Dad had waved a white flag sometime during the night. Either that or Stacey had waved a white flag of her own—in the way of satin sheets.

“Good morning, Miss Eden.”

“Hey, Camilla.” Ever since I’d known Camilla, she’d called me Miss Eden. I liked the way I felt when she said the words in her thick, Italian accent. Camilla was from the old school of family service: organizing everything from our pantry to our bed sheets. She even wore a grey dress and white apron. Where Mom found her, I didn’t know, but she’d been with our family since we’d moved into this house.

She lived off the hill in Lomita somewhere. When Mom was alive, she and I took Christmas presents to Camilla’s family every year.

“You eat breakfast today?” she asked.

“Not yet. Did you set that place for me?”

The dark skin on her face flushed. I’d embarrassed her.

“I can make an extra place right away, you see—”

“No, no, that’s okay. I really have to hurry anyway.” I opened the fridge and snatched a Dannon Light Smoothie.

She’d stopped setting a place for me at the table years ago. I guess she’d overheard too many morning arguments between me and Stacey and figured when I’d started eating in the kitchen, it was time to stop setting me a place in the dining room.

Truthfully, I wanted to get to school before the teachers arrived.

The faculty parking lot was vacant except for a few cars. I had no idea which teachers drove which cars, but I meant to see Mr. Christian arrive at school. I wanted to see what he drove.

The library was still closed, so I had nowhere to go and not look like a stalker.

I perched myself on the low cement wall outside the administration building and looked over my assignments.

School work had never been hard for me and when I’d told Matt I had homework, I’d been lying times two. First, because I always made sure I had an out. Second, because I rarely had homework. I liked to finish school stuff at school so my time was my own.

All of my assignments were in order and ready. A car pulled into the lot and I looked up. Mr. Edmunds. I waved at him and he waved back. Soon, Mr. Jones was pulling in, driving something decrepit in red. The man must not spend any money on anything, I thought. His clothes looked like they’d had their prime in the seventies. He got out and waved with a little too much enthusiasm for seven o’clock in the morning.

Then he came over.

“Eden, what are you doing out here it’s cold.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Jones. Really.”

His gaze skimmed my bare legs and v-neck tee shirt.