Cloudburst (23 page)

“True, but I couldn't help feeling stupid.”

“Where was this tattoo?”

“Here,” I said, turning to place my hand over the spot that was just above my rear end.

“What happened to it? Is it still there?”

“No. It was removed, but there's a scar.”

He stared.

“You want to see it?”

“Yes, but not because I don't believe you,” he said.

I thought a moment, and then I began to unfasten my belt. I turned my back to him and slowly began to lower
my jeans. He said nothing, but before I could raise them again, I felt his lips on my scar. They felt hot, and when I felt the tip of his tongue, my heart began to thump. I closed my eyes as his hands moved around my hips and gently held on to mine. Ever so slowly, he guided my jeans farther down, hooking my panties, too. He kept kissing me softly. When my jeans and my panties were down to my ankles, he turned me and kissed me on the lips.

Gently, he pulled me onto the bed, and we kissed again. He lifted his face from mine and stared.

“You're so beautiful,” he said, stroking my hair. “From the moment I saw you, I couldn't get you out of my head.”

“You certainly didn't show it.”

He smiled. “I figured any girl who could take it and give it back like you did had to like me.”

“Weird logic.”

“I know.”

We kissed again, his lips moving over my chin and onto my neck. A voice inside me was clamoring,
This is too fast. Calm down.
Yet I didn't push him away. I held him tighter and searched for his lips again and again. His breathing was outracing mine.

“Ryder,” I said softly.

“I dreamed of you in my bed just like this,” he whispered.

He worked my blouse over my head, unfastened my bra, and gently dropped my clothes over the side of the bed. Then, with his kisses, he carved a trail between my breasts, over them, and down my stomach.

There was a shouting match going on inside me now,
caution against passion. I made small attempts to stop, but they grew weaker and weaker. I felt as though I were chained, handcuffed by my own overwhelming desire.

He stood up and fumbled with his own clothing, throwing it off as if it was his clothes that were on fire and not him. When he started to bring himself back to me, I put up my hand.

“Ryder, I don't want to end up like your sister did.”

He smiled and opened the drawer on the nightstand beside his bed to pluck out a contraceptive. I think the sight of it so handy had what most would think was an unexpected reaction in me. I knew Kiera and her friends would think the boy they were with was sophisticated enough for them to be with him. From the way they talked, they wanted nothing to do with innocent young men. But the thought that threw cold water over me was the possibility that Ryder had brought other girls here, right to this very place, and was always prepared.

“Wait,” I said, moving to get my panties and jeans on.

His smile slowly fell away like a leaf descending. Confusion and disappointment rushed into his lips and his eyes. Before he could ask anything, my cell phone rang. I fumbled with my jeans, scooped up my blouse and bra, and snatched the phone out of my bag. It was Jordan.

“Where are you?” she asked, as if she could see for miles and through house walls.

“I'm still at Ryder Garfield's home. I've been invited to dinner here. They're having lobster fra diavolo.”

I turned my back to Ryder. He started to dress.

“I remember you love it, but Donald would like you home for dinner,” she said.

“Why?”

“I don't know his reason, Sasha, but he was very adamant about my calling you to tell you. Please do as he wishes.”

I looked at Ryder. He had his pants on but was sitting on the bed, holding his shirt and glaring down at the floor. His face was still quite flushed, as I imagined was mine.

“Okay,” I said.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” I snapped.

She had never heard that tone in my voice. It gave her pause. “Drive carefully,” she said, and hung up. I held the phone for a moment and then flipped it closed and finished dressing. Ryder didn't speak. He just sat there staring at the floor.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

He looked up at me, his eyes narrowing. Then he held up the contraceptive between his thumb and forefinger. “This spooked you?”

I didn't answer. I kept dressing.

“What, would you rather I didn't use it?”

“No, of course not,” I said.

“So? I don't get it. You were into it even more than I was until I opened that drawer.”

“It just felt . . .”

“What?”

“Too organized,” I said.

He stared dumbfounded for a moment, and then suddenly, he laughed.

“It's not funny, Ryder.”

“Of course it is.” He began to finish dressing. “You think this is all a setup? This is my love nest? I parade girls in and out of here?”

“I don't know what to think.”

“This is some irony. Probably most guys you were with didn't care.”

“I haven't been with any guys who didn't care.”

“Yes, you have. Weren't you seduced?”

“I mean, deliberately been with any,” I corrected. The conversation was getting me upset. “I've got to go home. My foster parents want me at dinner there tonight.”

“I'm sure,” he said. He opened the drawer of the nightstand and threw the contraceptive into it.

“Look, Ryder, I like you. I'm sorry, but you're not the only one who has some issues to resolve,” I said.

He looked up at me and nodded. “You're right. Hey, you have to understand that it's harder for a guy to put on the brakes than it is for a girl. I'm still skidding,” he said, and smiled.

“This might help,” I said, and leaned over to kiss him.

“How does that help?” he asked when I straightened up.

“Figure it out.” I started for the door. “I have to go.”

He shook his head and stood up. “You're missing some great food.”

“I hope there'll be another time,” I said. “I'm sorry. I'm still not my own person, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, if anyone does, I do.”

He followed me out and then took my hand at my car.

“You really don't believe I'm that much of a ladies' man, do you?”

“I guess not. It was just so fast and . . . convenient.”

He laughed. “Women. You can't live without them, and you can't live with them.”

“You could always become a monk,” I said, and opened my car door.

“I think I'd rather take my chances with you.”

I thought a moment. “Let's plan on next Tuesday. That day, the school's closed for teacher conferences.”

“Plan on what?” he asked.

“Going rowing at the March lake. What else?”

He laughed, and I got into my car. “Hey,” he said after I started the engine. He leaned into the passenger-side window. “Thanks for the quid pro quo.”

“See you tomorrow,” I said. “There's more to come.”

He stood back and watched me drive out. I waved just before turning. He didn't wave back. He stood there staring after me as if I would be gone forever. I didn't know whether I felt sorrier for him than I did for myself.

Since the time when I was raped, I was always worried that I would never be able to have a real and loving relationship. It had been my fear ever since that I would always pull back whenever any young man got this close to me. I would be unable to trust anyone enough, no matter how much in love with me he seemed to be or even how much in love with him I seemed to be. The wound was too deep, the scar was too thick, and the memory, even as foggy as it was because of the drugs, was persistent, stubborn,
indelible. It bubbled up in hot nightmares. It flashed its ugly face every time I felt sexually aroused, whether it was from something I read or something I saw.

I should hate more and forgive less, I thought. Perhaps through the power of hate, I could overcome the ghosts that haunted me at my most private and intimate moments. Rage gave strength, and strength was something I desperately needed.

Yes, I was good at witty dueling. I could inflict pain on the arrogant young men who teased me with their good looks, and I enjoyed the adulation I won from the girls who envied me and looked up to me, but I was in pain that they'd most likely never know and couldn't ever see. I didn't want their sympathy anyway.

I wanted someday to be able to throw off this weight that kept my chance for happiness and satisfaction underwater. As I drove away from Ryder, I did realize that if somehow I could help him to help me, we'd both be reborn.

We'd both rise out of the thick darkness into the light of wonderful days when we would truly be able to cherish who we really were. My name would be on his lips and his on mine. Just saying them would be like kissing. We would find the warmth and the sanctuary in each other's arms that would keep us protected, and all that had once made us lonely and lost would fall behind us as we rose toward the sun.

Why couldn't that be?

What was out there waiting to stop us?

11
A Present

J
ordan was so eager to hear about the Garfields that I wondered for a few moments if she hadn't exaggerated Donald's concern for my being home for dinner just so she could find out more about the Garfields. She practically pounced on me when I entered the house.

“Did you meet them?” she asked, almost before I had closed the door behind me.

“Yes.”

“Well? What were they like?”

“She's very beautiful, and he's very handsome,” I said.

Jordan grimaced. “I know that, Sasha. The whole world knows that. I mean, what were they like? Were they hospitable? Arrogant? Were they pleased you were invited to their home? Did they do anything with you? Oh, and what was their house like? Come in, come in,” she urged, leading me into the living room on the right.

“I didn't spend that much time with them, Jordan,” I
said, following her. “They were on their way to a publicity event for a new film.”

“Publicity event? What film?”

“I forgot.”

“What? You forgot? Your generation is so oblivious sometimes. So,” she said, sitting on the settee to my right. “Go on. Tell me about the house.”

“It's a beautiful Italian-style house. It's very big, open, with high ceilings, fancy floors. They have a pool, a tennis court, and a putting green.”

“Putting green? I wonder why Donald never thought of having that. We could have our own golf course here. Back to the Garfields. Were they nice to talk to, at least? I mean, the little you did speak to them.”

“Yes,” I said. If I even gave her a hint of the tensions in that home, she would be pressuring me to stop seeing Ryder. “But, as I said, they were on their way out.”

“Well, then what did you do?” she asked with obvious frustration.

“We talked, and then Ryder gave me some instructions about golf putting.”

“Really?” She perked up. “You never said you were interested in golf. I could take you to my club for some professional instruction. It was a waste of money with Kiera.”

“I'm not really interested in it. I was just being polite,” I said.

“Oh. Were his parents going to be there for dinner?”

“I don't think so.”

“I see. Well, Donald really wanted you here for dinner. He was adamant about it.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. He'll be home soon.” She thought a moment and then said, “I'm surprised you didn't ask for an autographed picture or something, or did you?”

“No, but maybe I will next time I see them, if you want one.”

“Me? No, I thought you would want one. Bradley Garfield is almost everywhere you look these days. Why, last night on
Entertainment Tonight,
they did a good ten minutes on his growing career.”