Consent (15 page)

“What about your friend?”

Plum.
I cringe as I remember all the lies I've fed her.

“Plum used to tease me that I had a big crush on you. But she doesn't know . . . I mean, I didn't tell her . . . In any case, she thinks I'm home with my dad and brother this weekend.”

“What about your father? Won't he mention your New York trip to her? Then she might figure it out.”

“Yeah, well . . . my dad thinks I'm in Boston with Plum.”

Dane's eyes widen. “You didn't tell your father you were going to New York instead?”

“No.”

“Is that wise? I know he's not supportive of your playing the piano, but . . .”

“Seriously, he has no idea where I am half the time. He's constantly working.”

“Still, at some point you
will
have to talk to him about everything. Juilliard, your music.”

“I know, I know.”

We lapse into an uneasy silence. Dane turns away from me and gazes out the window. Our view, if you can call it that, is
of a wooden fence. A skinny yellow cat perches precariously on top of it, which makes me think of Cream Puff.

Dane swings his legs over the side of the bed, reaches for his jeans, and tugs them on. When he gets up and walks over to the window, his shoulders are tense.

He presses his palm against the glass, and it leaves a print. He quickly wipes it away.

“Listen. I want to tell you something,” he says in a quiet voice.

I frown. Is this going to be one of those talks?
I have a girlfriend. I'm married. I'm moving back to London.
The real world is returning with a vengeance. I sit up straight, bunch the sheet around me, and brace myself for what's coming.

“In the beginning I thought I was just killing time at Andrew Jackson. Helping a friend. And then I met you—” He stops.

I let go of my death grip on the sheets. Maybe it's not bad news after all.

“Working with you, teaching you, coaching you . . . I've loved every second, and not just because of how I feel about . . . Anyway, it's made me think about going back to school myself. Graduate school, that is,” he goes on.

Graduate school?
Relieved, I slump back against the pillows.

“With a master's and a doctorate, I would be qualified to
teach plus coach at the college level. I'm thinking that might be a good path for me.”

“You told me last night that your parents wanted you to become a concert pianist. Have you given up on that?”

“That was their dream, not mine. I love music, and I love the piano. But the stage is not for me.”

“Oh.”

“You, on the other hand . . . I predict you'll become one of the greatest concert pianists of your generation.”

“I don't think so,” I say, flattered. Except . . .
my
generation? Why not
our
generation?

“Anyway, my job at Andrew Jackson will likely end after Christmas. Elena thinks she'll be ready to return then. In the meantime, I can start filling out graduate school applications for next fall.”

What about us?
I want to ask. “Wow. I'm really happy for you,” I say, plucking at the sheet.

“I'm not finished. I'll probably be applying to a number of master's programs, including the ones at Juilliard and the Manhattan School of Music. If you decide to apply to those schools too, maybe we'll both end up in New York. And then we could try this for real. That is, if you want to.”

He sounds shy and nervous, like the first time he asked me to play the Schumann for him.

My heart races wildly.

Dane and me in New York City together.

All of a sudden, the thought of discussing my future with Dad doesn't seem quite as scary anymore. Being honest with him, being honest with myself . . . it all seems possible now.

I smile at Dane. “Yes.”

“Really? Yes?”

In two seconds he is by my side, kissing and caressing me.

The world disappears again.

It is almost eight o'clock on Monday night when Dane pulls up in front of my house. We're still in our clothes from Saturday, and I can feel sand in my hair and shoes. We had meant to leave the Whiterock Motel yesterday, but we couldn't seem to tear ourselves away. We ordered in from the diner and ate our meals in bed. We went out only to take long walks along the beach; once, we even made love there under the stars.

The moon is high in the sky and casts a pale white glow on our faces as Dane draws me to him and kisses me good night. When we finally pull away, he is smiling, but his smile has a penumbra of sadness.

“Thank you for everything,” I say, meaning it.

“This weekend, I . . .” He hesitates. “I'm incredibly proud of what you accomplished in New York with Annaliese.”

“Thanks. Thank you. You helped me so much with that.”

“And I'm going to continue helping you.”

“Thank you. I'll talk to my dad soon, I promise.”

“Good girl.”

Just then a huge SUV drives toward us, flooding the inside of Dane's car with its high beams. Dane cringes and covers his face with the back of his hand. I instinctively slide down in my seat.

When the car passes, Dane turns to me. “Beatrice?”

“Yes?”

“I meant what I said before. We can't see each other, at least not until you turn eighteen. It's against the law, on top of which, it's against school rules for teachers to date students.”

Stupid laws. Stupid rules.
“I'll turn eighteen in December,” I point out.

“And after Christmas I won't be a teacher at Andrew Jackson anymore. Things will be easier for us then. In the meantime, we have to act purely professional, platonic, whatever the term is. I think it's a good idea, too, what you said about dropping my class. Also, I'll step down from coaching the trio.”

“Okay.”

We kiss again before I get out of the car. He lingers at the curb until I reach the front door and then drives off. My lips tingle, and my mind hums with happy memories of the last forty-eight hours. I'm already missing that time. How will I
manage without it? I know I'm good at lying, but will I be able to pretend to other people that he's just my teacher?

Light seeps from inside the house. I can hear voices.

Puzzled, I press my ear to the door. Is Dad home? Who is he with? I insert my key in the lock and push the door open ever so slightly.

Two people sit close together on the couch, talking and drinking beer.

Theo and Plum.

I stifle a swear. “
What
is going on?”

Theo twists around in his seat and smirks at me. “Yo, Bumblebee. Bet you didn't think you'd see me here, huh?”

Plum glares at me and doesn't say a word.

Cream Puff trots up to me, meowing and purring; I guess she doesn't realize that my world just blew up in my face.

God,
I was an idiot to think that my Theo alibi was foolproof. “Plum. Hey. What are you doing here?” I manage feebly.

Plum crosses her arms over her chest. “Really, Bea? You're asking
me
to explain why
I'm
here, when you're the one who has a mountain of explaining to do?”

“Yes, I know, and I'm really, really—”

“For your information, I came over to give you a bunch of souvenirs I picked up for you in Boston. College catalogs, T-shirts, bumper stickers. Cookies from Aunt Jessika. Plus, I
was worried about you because you weren't reading or answering my texts. I thought that maybe you'd lost your phone.”

“It died, and I forgot to pack my charger.” I don't add that I was too distracted to bother buying a new one.

Plum opens her mouth, then clamps it shut again and shakes her head. I realize then that her eyes are red and that her cheeks are blotchy. Has she been crying? Did
I
do that?

Of course I did that. I am the lamest, most selfish friend in the world.

Theo rises from the couch and stretches. “Your adorable friend here dropped by while I was watching the game. She told me the whole story about how I'm dying and all. She was pretty upset. Good thing I was here to comfort her.” He winks at Plum. “You want another beer, gorgeous?”

Plum tilts her head up to him. “Yes, please.”

I stare at them in shock. What does he mean, “comfort”? Are they flirting? Is my brother actually hitting on Plum?

“Theo,
stop
it! She's seventeen!” I yell at him.

He ignores me and heads for the kitchen.

Plum tosses her hair over her shoulders and seethes at me.

“Can I talk to you? Alone?” I ask her.

“No!”

“I have something really important to tell you.
Please.
”

“
Fine.
Five minutes. Then I'm leaving.”

“Great! Thank you! Come with me!”

I take her hand and lead her up the stairs. Cream Puff follows at our heels. When we get to my room, I close the door and lock it so that Theo can't interrupt us.

Plum perches on the edge of my bed and peers around curiously. It occurs to me that she hasn't been to my house in a really long time.

“Plum, did he . . . did my brother try anything?” I ask cautiously.

“What do you mean?”

“You know he's almost thirty years old, right?”

“And you're in a position to be judgmental about that, why?”

“That's different. Dane's only twenty-seven, and besides, we're . . . I'm . . .”

“You're what?”

The reality of Dane and me hits me with the force of a thousand shooting stars.

“I think I'm falling in love with him,” I confess.

“
Excuse
me?”

“We went to New York City together this weekend. That's what I wanted to tell you. We—” I break into a huge smile and lower my voice.
“We had sex.”

“Whaaaat?”
Plum gapes at me with a shell-shocked expression. “I thought . . . But I asked you, and you said you had that
moment at the café with him, but that was it, and . . .”

“I know. I'm sorry. But things have been building up between us, and he's completely paranoid about people finding out. He swore me to secrecy.” Which is kind of the truth, except that he and I didn't have that conversation until just yesterday. “He wanted to take me to New York City this weekend to play for his teacher at Juilliard. That super-famous concert pianist. It was literally the only free time she had all fall. I played for her, and she wants me to be her student! Isn't that
amazing
?”

“Wait. Hold up. You want to become a professional musician all of a sudden?”

“No, not all of a sudden. It's something I've always dreamed of.”

“And you chose not to share this with me?”

“I couldn't. I couldn't even admit it to myself.”

“Why not?”

It takes me a long time to tell her the whole story. Everything, even the part about my mom dying right after I was born. I can't seem to utter the exact words “amniotic fluid embolism,” but she gets the idea anyway. We both start crying at that part, although she doesn't reach out to bear hug me, like she normally, absolutely would.

“I thought there was no way I could become a pianist,” I finish. “But Dane changed all that. He changed my whole life. He encouraged me to pursue music. He said I was good enough,
more than good enough. He gave me tons of private lessons to help me prepare for my meeting with Annaliese. And now that I've played for her and seen Juilliard . . . well . . . I definitely want to apply there. I want to go to a conservatory, Plum.”

“Oh. My. God.” Plum flops back onto the bed. “An hour ago I never wanted to see your face again. And now this.”

“I know. I'm so, so sorry.”

“Does Kit Harrington know we're having this conversation?”

“
No!
And you have to swear you won't say a word to anyone.
Promise
me.”

“I promise. Hey, Bea?”

“What?”

“I'm really glad you told me about your mom.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“But that doesn't mean we're okay.”

“I know.”

“Honestly, I should never speak to you again.”

“I know.”

We lie there for a long time in silence.

Cream Puff jumps onto the bed and nestles herself between us, purring.

After Plum leaves, I go downstairs and clean up Theo's many beer bottles. He left at some point while Plum and I were having our heart-to-heart.

Then I return to my room and putter around. When I find my charger and plug in my phone, thirty new voice and text messages pop up—all from Plum, all from over the weekend.

Yikes, I really
was
a bad friend.

I sit down at my desk and turn on my computer. Cream Puff settles down on my lap. So much has happened, and I feel overwhelmed. Good-overwhelmed because of Dane, plus my conversation with Plum. Bad-overwhelmed because I still have to have that same conversation, minus the Dane part, with Dad.

Also, what is Theo up to with Plum? Or does he always act like that around cute girls, women, whatever? In some ways I really don't
know him at all. Before he left for college, he was always drunk and getting into trouble and yelling a lot. Dad
tried
to be a parent, I think, sort of, but that obviously didn't work out, and I think he gave up after a while. He and Theo barely speak to each other now.

Theo was twelve when Mom died and Dad abandoned us to have his marathon nervous breakdown. I have a wisp of a memory of me being a toddler and Theo crying on the phone and begging Dad to come back to us.