Entangled Summer (9 page)

Week two ended with another few busloads of younger kids piling out and filling the camp with a flurry of noise and activity and frenzy. Classes were officially in session. It was game time.

Kenzie was surprisingly excited by their arrival. She’d been seeing someone fairly exclusively, and that seemed to do a lot for her disposition. She even skipped her usual trip to the vodka bar this morning. She wasn’t an alchy, even though her middle name could have been Jello-shots. She worked hard, and partied just as hard. Sometimes harder. And she totally credits the booze for her stellar grade point average. I came by my GPA honestly, light on the partying, heavy on the work-my-butt-off. Which is what I was preparing to do, as I made my way to the theater for the impromptu puppet show we had planned for the new students.

Seeing Troy after the other night was going to be awkward. To say the least. But we were stuck here together. Me locked into a contract I couldn’t afford to get out of. And he was my mentor, supervisor and pretty much my shadow. So that left us with endless moments of awkward. It was foolish for me to hope things between us could be anything more than what they were.

Sue, another instructor and a novice like me, stopped me.

“Hey, April’s sick, probably with mono,” she added, “but anyway Troy wants you to fill in on stage.”

“
What
? But— but…”

She gave me a gentle shove toward the stage door. “Hurry up. We’re starting soon.”

I sucked in a quick breath and scuttled up the steps into the room overlooking the puppet stage. It was a cramped space, long and narrow with just enough room for people to maneuver their marionettes. To make matters worse, the only two people in the small dark and agonizingly romantic space, would be me and Troy.

Great.

What do I do, ignore the incident? Pretend like nothing had happened? Be a big girl and just come clean? ‘Hey, sorry I couldn’t sleep with you, but I’m kind of attached to the imaginary guy I dream about at night.’ Or, I could not talk to him at all, and get busy immersed in what we were there to do, put on a puppet show demonstration. I looked around in despair. Hopefully he didn’t actually expect me to operate one of these things.

I opted for the third, hoping I’d have to concentrate hard enough on what I was doing to avoid any and all conversation of a non-puppet nature.

That plan had epic fail written all over it. A fact that became blindingly obvious the moment he entered and our eyes locked.

“I- uh. Sorry about yesterday. I didn’t, I mean I don’t--”

It was weird to see him tongue tied, but it made me feel like less of a dork. “You know, I never really wanted to go out with you.” I said and my face immediately flushed.

His brows lifted. “Good to know. Why, did you, then? Was it for the food, because I think they delivered.”

I laughed. “That came out all wrong. It’s just that, I wasn’t really interested in anything serious.”
But now, things are different.
I paused to think of how to best articulate that, under the present conditions.

“You’re looking for something stringless. I get that. Problem is. I don’t really do stringless. It’s a myth. Once you connect with another person, physically, emotionally. You’re entangled. Strings come with the territory. Wishing them away doesn’t really change it.”

I cocked my head. “Wow. That’s quite an interesting perspective for a guy. Especially a guy that, well...” I gestured toward him. “Looks like you look.”

He looked a little hurt. “Which is?”

“Like a guy who could talk a girl into as few strings or entanglements as he wanted.”

His expression relaxed. “Maybe I like strings. I did major in puppetry after all.”

I had to laugh. “Who does that by the way?”

“Family business. Remember. My grandfather owned a traveling show and well, neither my dad or my step-brother had any interest in it. I had no interest in puppets, but I idolized my grandfather. So, here I am. Running his dream.”

“So Masquerade Studios...”

“Joesephe Egbert Maskerad. My grandfather. Not by blood but in every way the counted.”

“You’re like this riddle wrapped up in a puzzle.”

He laughed this time. “Is that a good thing?”

I thought it over despite my head screaming YES. “It’s a confusing thing. Let’s say that.”

“You’re one to talk.” He nudged me. Then he fell quiet for a beat. “Nora, there’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a really long time.”

Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod. Please tell me he wants to kiss me. And please tell me he’s not actually going to. I was a walking contradiction. I wanted him to want to, knowing fully well how complicated it would be if he did, and yet somehow wanting that too.

“What’s that?” I croaked out the words.

He leaned toward me, until his face was an inch from mine. My eyes fluttered shut expectantly as I waited for what was sure to be a life-altering angelic harp producing moment. Suddenly there was the feel of hands fiddling in my hair. A soft tugging sensation. Then nothing.

Frowning, I opened my eyes.

He handed me my hair clasp. “Thanks.”

“Um... you’re welcome?” I blinked at the tortoise shell clasp in my hand.

He put his hand on the small of my back to guide me back up another set of stairs. “I’ll sleep better tonight with at least that one mystery solved.”

I wanted to question it, but my mouth was too busy being disappointed at not getting kissed. Jealous that my hair had gotten all of the attention. As for the rest of me, I was stuck on what he’d said. He’d thought about my hair at night. That alone gave me butterflies in hidden places.

I peeked over the edge of the railing and clung on for my life, letting out a small squeak. It had to be at least 14 feet to the ground. “How high are we going exactly?”

I felt him behind me, urging me to keep climbing. “They say you can tell a lot about a person by what they fear. Almost as much as you by what they keep on their bookcase.”

I stepped onto the platform, surrounded by bars strung with marionette strings. My knees wobbled. “Well, I fear falling to my death in a Phantom of the Opera sort of way, so what does that say about me?”

“That you spend too much time watching life and not enough participating in it. C’mon. This way.” He walked to the side to adjust some of the lighting.

“What about you? Everyone has fears, what are yours.” Apparently being terrified out of my mind made for stimulating conversation.

He pulled a file off the shelf and handed it to me. “I lied when I said I didn’t do stringless. You nailed it, I was that guy for a very long time.”

“And what happened to him?”

He glanced over at me. “He grew up and realized that there was something more important than staying untied. Belonging to someone. Having them belong to you in return.”

I swallowed, silently wishing, wondering, what it would be like to belong to someone like him.

His eyebrows pulled to the center of his forehead. “Anyway, I want to apologize for the day of your interview. I wasn’t sure if you remembered me.”

As if he was even forgettable—with amnesia and a frontal lobotomy I’d still remember him.

“And if you did remember, I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” He dragged a hand through his hair, and cleared his throat. “I should apologize to you for that night as well. I moved way too fast, considering.”

Orchestral music swelled to life below us, cutting off any further conversation, but not any further thinking. Too little too late unfortunately, because all I could think of was what he meant by that. Considering
what
exactly? That we’d only just met a few weeks before? That I was a virgin? Or, and this as my worst fear, that he knew about my history. That I was a patient of the school therapist and she was using some kind of freaky therapy to help me get over a guy who wasn’t even real.
Please God don’t let it be that one.

“Ready?” He flashed a dimpled smile.

“Not really. Are you?”

“You have no idea. Haven’t done this kinda thing in years.”

I gawked at him, doubt all over my expression. “But you studied puppetry, didn’t you?”

“Sure. But I haven’t operated one in ages.”

“Ah. Then I guess neither of us knows what we’re doing.” Couldn’t decide if that was reassuring or not.

He strolled forward until he was positioned above center stage, to take his place. I scrambled after him.

“These are the operating cross bars.” He instructed, sliding me my marionette’s controls, a girl dressed like a Dutch milkmaid.

I glanced down at the audience below us and swayed. My dizziness was compounded by a sudden case of stage fright.

“Relax Nora. It’s like dancing. All you need is a strong male lead.”

“I know nothing about dancing either,” I whispered in a panic.

The red velvet curtains parted and the lights dimmed. It was only a demo, just a way to give the students an idea of how all the elements came together to make a whole production. The music, lighting, voice acting and of course the marionettes.

“Just keep moving your hands, and don’t let your strings get caught.” Troy whispered.

So that’s what I did. Or what I
tried
to do. I held my marionette up next to his. He danced his in a two-step, then nodded for me to do the same. I wiggled the sticks like I’d been shown. Immediately my puppet tripped over both feet and hurled uncontrollably into Troy’s. It was as if I was dancing on stage next to him myself. Equally uncoordinated, and totally embarrassing. The snickers and giggles grew into an uproar. Laughter drifted up into the rafters.

Troy groaned. “Thought you said you could do this.” He slid behind me, the full length of his body pressing against me as he did. A tingle rippled down my spine. 

I looked over my shoulder at him. “No,
you
said, I could do it.
I
said I was all thumbs.”

He glanced down at me, my face a mere inch from his. “How is your thumb?”

“Fine.”

“And...” he scanned me from head to toe, “the rest of you.”

“Also fine.” I blushed again, remembering the way he’d pulled my bruised thumb to his lips. Before he pulled my lips to his lips. And then—

He tugged. I tugged. Until all that remained was a tangled mess of strings, and our marionettes twisted in a pose from the Karma Sutra.

“You didn’t want strings, well, we’re entangled now aren’t we. How ironic.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious or kidding. Either way, he was right. We were entangled. And there were most definitely strings attached.

The kids were dismissed and crew headed out, leaving Troy and I to untangle our mess.

“Maybe we should just scrap the whole puppet idea. Go for a reality show instead.” I sighed.

His expression softened. “So, am I to understand you're not a fan of drama?”

“Not in the least. But I get why it’s popular. I mean who doesn’t want to escape real life for a while.” I unwrapped a string coiled around my puppet’s neck.

His eyes lifted. “You apparently.”

I swallowed. If only he know how far from true that was. I didn't say anything.

We worked in uncomfortable silence for another few minutes until he set everything down. Loudly.

I glanced up. “Something wrong?”

“Do you want to get out of here. Escape.” He smiled. “Just for a while.”

I answered with a smile and mentally dropped everything I was planning—which wasn’t much—along with my tangled mess.

“You totally had me at escape.”

I stared up at the fading daylight and the approaching dusk as Troy and I hiked the trail to his cottage. The colors were breathtaking. The air crisp and fresh, free from the stench of month-old trash and mildew. And not a backfiring car to be heard for miles. I missed Granddad, but it was awesome to step out of what had become my reality, for a while.

Troy was just as lost in the moment as I was. He inhaled deeply, and shook his head. “The board doesn’t get why I insisted on teaching here for the summer.” He said as we headed up the path to his house.

“Why did you? You could run things from home base, where ever that is. Hire out everything else. Miss Franken-strange, I mean, Grace, already does a pretty convincing one-woman-show.”

He chuckled, “She'd be thrilled you think so. But I couldn’t do that.” He stared out into the distance. “This place is special. It meant a lot to me as a kid and now,” he shrugged, his gaze returning to mine. “It just feels right being here. I remember what it was like, feeling afraid and disconnected a lot of the time. Like you didn’t belong. This place gives everyone a chance to change that.”

“No, I get it. I was never much of a nature lover, but this place... there is something mystical about it.”

“Like time stands still here. You can catch your breath and find—” He paused.

I looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish. But instead, he took my hand.

“Come on, there's something I want to show you.”

“Does it involve chocolate and marshmallows by any chance?”

He took me to the far side of the house, a section of the yard invisible from where we were. We stepped into the space and my feet stopped at the sight of a towering screen. Then I saw the turquoise mustang convertible, with the top down. Circa 1960’s, and the days of black and white films.

I peered at him over my shoulder. “You have a drive in theater in your back yard.” I shook my head marveling at the decadence.

“Some of my favorite memories were sitting in the back seat of an old mustang watching whatever western or sci-fi happened to be playing at the drive-in. I always fell asleep.” He laughed. “Still do.”

He opened the door for me to climb in. I ran my fingers over the door before climbing into the passenger seat. It was in fantastic shape, he must have spent a mint on restorations. I leaned back against the supple worn leather that had seen years of life. “So the puppet boy owns a muscle car. Never woulda guessed it. Was it your foster parent’s?”

Troy averted his gaze. “Not exactly,” he said, then he vaulted over the driver’s door into the seat next to me.

“Does it run?”

“Yeah, but I never drive it. It’s a bear on gas.”

I had to laugh, well, because he could just up and buy himself a whole gas station if he wanted to.

“When I read that a woman still owned the first ever sold 1964 Mustang Convertible, I knew I had to have it. It wasn’t for sale, but I bought it. That’s kind of when I learned the power money had, and I knew I had to use it to create change.”

He patted the wheel fondly. “This was the first and only insanely extravagant purchase I’ve ever made. Aside from this school,” He added.

“Not sure this place qualifies under crazy You’re doing really great things here. For everyone.” I played with the knobs on the dash. “This is awesome. Seriously.” I laughed leaning my head back. “And I love the color. My bike was this exact shade of turquoise.”

Troy looked pensive for a moment, but I couldn’t tell why.

“You should take it out sometime. You know, cruise the strip for dames, sodas and milkshakes.” I made steering motions.

“Think you’ve got your vernacular twisted,” he teased. “Anyway, for now, it’s perfect for moonless nights at the drive-in.”

He watched as I tilted my head back to gaze up at the massive screen.

“You need to recline the seat for the full effect.”

I gave him a side glance. Now that was a line if I'd ever heard one. I fished around under the seat. “Where's the thingy?”

He didn't answer, but his arm reached across me to find the lever, at which point I nearly stopped breathing entirely. His face was inches from mine. He paused midway and I had to force myself not to lean in. My lips swelled with anticipation, despite my inner battle for restraint. I felt the deep steadying breath he took before he straightened in his seat.

"Maybe another time," he rasped, leaning back against his seat. I gasped some much needed air into my lungs and slid my hands along my thighs. This was going to be a very dangerous summer.

He watched me, his mouth still parted and inviting and oh god I wanted to accept that invitation. But this was probably not the best time. Not when we were still here at the camp. To the eyes of anyone who
suspected
we had a thing—but had no real proof, a kiss would change that. It would become impossible not to touch his hair when he was next to me on set. And it would give them all irrefutable proof of something
I
wasn't even sure was real.

“Oh wait, I found it.” I jerked the lever and my seat slid back. He lowered his to match mine.

I turned to him. "Are we going to watch a movie?" The skies were almost pitch dark now, only the light of a few stars to break up the blackened night.

“I thought we’d watch something even better,” he said. “Just wait.”

We sat in the car, seats reclined, waiting in silence for I have no idea what. But then it started. And suddenly we were watching the most amazing show imaginable. A meteor shower of stars streaked through the sky, lighting up the night with a soft and brilliant sea of sparkles. Within minutes there were millions, billions of stars dotting the night. I’d never seen anything like it. It was like flying though the galaxy. I stretched my hand up toward them, almost certain I could catch a falling star. Then liquid waves of rainbow hues ripple past, brushing the tops of the trees with their display.

I sucked in a low gasp. “Aurora Borealis, are you for real? I could stay here all night. It’s beautiful. Like
take-your-breath-away
beautiful."

"Yes," he said in a low voice. "I know."

I couldn't pull my eyes away from mother nature's performance, but as a warmth spread across my skin, I realized he wasn't watching the sky. He was watching me.

“Are you ready to go back?” he finally asked.

I wasn’t. I didn’t ever want to go back. Why would I when I could stay here with him. But the feelings I had for him overwhelmed me, considering I’d only known him for short time. In truth, I barely knew him at all. Before falling head over heels with a guy, didn’t you at least, I don't know, need to know his favorite color or something?

He was staring at me again the way he often did, like he was studying me. He licked his lips when I caught him. “Sorry. I sometimes forget that we don’t really know each other that well.”

“We moved fast last year and now it’s like we’re backtracking, trying to re-get to know one another more slowly this time,” I said. I held up a hand. “I’m not trying to hyper analyze things the way most girls do, I’m just trying to figure out what this is.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what this is Nora, all I know is how it feels.”

I looked up at him from under my lashes, taken back by the rawness in his voice. “How does it feel?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

“Like it makes sense. Like I finally found you. Like I never want to let you go”.

My heart thumped a frantic beat, as my lips curved in a smile. “Finally found me? It’s only been a year.”

He looked the most serious he had all evening. His hands cupped my face and he tilted my head back. “It’s been most of my damn life.” His brows furrowed together and he leaned in to kiss me, hard. My hands clenched his hair just as he pulled away breathing heavily.

“So what does this mean? Are we like
together
together now? Or…” I guess my need to define things stemmed from a place of insecurity, but he didn’t flinch at the questions.

“As together as we can be, while we’re here.” His voice was throaty and but his expression was pained.

I put my hand over his in a lingering touch. “Hey. I understand.”

“You shouldn’t have to. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. But there was some speculation after Celeste disappeared, not long after we broke up. The board felt it best to put these rules in place as a protective measure.”

“Protecting you from what exactly?”

“Scandal. Accusations. And… retribution.”

My eyes narrowed. “Retribution?”

Troy shook his head, dispelling the heaviness. “All theories. Not important, but damn inconvenient, when all I want is to hold on to you and never let you go.”

I mulled over his words, flipping them over and over in my mind. None of it made sense, the powerful connection between us, but maybe I was over thinking things. Kenzie would just dive in and say to hell with the consequences. Maybe that’s what we needed. Less thought, more action.

“You’re quiet,” he said, when I didn’t respond. “At least tell me if you enjoyed yourself. Was it as good for you as it was for me?” He flashed a sexy half grin.

I squeezed my legs together. God he was crazy-beautiful. I had so many conflicting emotions it was difficult to figure out how I really felt. No. I knew how I felt. Disappointment. As though a part of me would miss him, when this was over. Like we were more to one another than a near miss and I didn't like the idea of being separated from him, because of it.

“Oh, very good.” My head nodded vigorously. “Best I ever had. Your talents could drive a girl right out of this world.” I teased.

His smile faded, and his flirty sexy look was replaced by a distant anguish. He stood up and extended his hand. “I should probably get you back to the camp before anyone comes looking for us.”

No one ever came looking for us. I rose, taking his hand, feeling a bit confused. The moment I was on my feet he let go of my hand, as though he couldn’t bear my touch.

What was up with the sudden mood shift? He wanted to keep our, whatever this was, under wraps, I got that, but
this
was different. Something heavy weighed on his mind as we headed back down the path that lead to my cabin.

This time he was the one silent, lost in his own thoughts.

“Thanks for this. It really was a nice. So were the s’mores.” I said, my voice speeding up. “I’ve always thought a real camp needs s’mores. I don’t camp and even I know it’s tradition. The healthy food rule is great, but that’s why Kenzie snuck in her booze and candy stash. Better for the kids and the staff, sure, but has the occasional pop-tart ever killed anyone, I ask you?” I was nervous and blathering. They tended to go hand in hand.

We clomped along the darkened path, lit by starlight and the occasional solar lantern, with Troy uttering the occasional response out of politeness more than really engaging in conversation. Not sure what changed, but I wished we could change it back to where he’d wanted to kiss me, and I’d so desperately wanted him to. The night air was thick with the scent of roasted chestnuts, campfires, and regret.

“Culinary arts. That’s what’s missing from this school.” I prattled on. “Or maybe that’s not really creative enough?” I glanced at him sideways. “What do you think? Is food art?”

He shrugged stiffly. “I think creativity is a way to express what you’re going through. The medium doesn’t matter. It’s freedom, for those who'll take it. Some people won't. Some can't, but you... you're different. You have fears that run so deep you have to let them out before they consume you.”

Again I was hit by the sharp curve in the conversation. I was keeping things light and loose, he was delving into my psyche. “If you mean imaginary fears then yeah, I have loads of them.”

“Fears aren't imaginary Nora, they’re real. Like dreams. They’re messages and experiences from the other side.”

“The other side?”

“Well, that’s not the technical term.”

“So what
is
the technical term? I have a decent GPA, I can keep up.”

“Parallel universes that run concurrently with ours. This life is only fraction of what we are living. A sliver of what is possible for us to live. And every thought, wish, dream and nightmare is merely a reflection of one of those other lives.”