Ignis (Book 2, Pure Series) (13 page)

           
Her eyes flew open.
 
"Are you serious?"

           
"Yes, I'm serious.
 
You're acting crazy."

           
"You really didn't hear that?" Charisse demanded.

           
"Didn't hear what?"

           
"Katie, Joshua said it wasn't so bad if my mom relaxes sometimes."

           
"So?"

           
Charisse's eyes blazed.
 
"So?
 
Katie, he could hear us."

           
"When we were whispering beneath the window?"

           
"Yes.
 
He heard me complaining about the fact that my mom wasn't at work like she should be."

           
"I don't see how that's possible," I said.

           
"Then how did he know?" Charisse demanded.
 
"I never talk to him.
 
I certainly never spoke to him about my mom's work."

           
"Well, of course you never talk to him," I said.
 
"You told me he's not usually there when you get home.
 
You can't talk to him if you don't see him."

           
"Katie, he comes back later in the evening to pick my mom up so they can go out.
 
He tries to talk to me then.
 
But I have absolutely nothing to say to him."

           
"Maybe you said something to your mom, and she mentioned it to him."

           
Charisse shook her head.
 
"I don't talk to her these days, either.
 
It's like she barely even knows I'm around."

           
"Okay, let's say he's weird and your mom's distant.
 
I still don't see what your point is.
 
What do you think is going to happen?"

           
"Joshua is not normal.
 
He could hear us talking—I know it.
 
And I think that's why he's gone when I get home—he can hear my car coming, so he leaves.
 
He's trying to pretend like everything's normal, but it isn't."

           
I didn't reply, and Charisse lapsed into silence.

           
"I guess I don't know what my point is, either," she said after a moment.

           
She started the car.

           
"You probably want to get home."

Chapter 5.

Charisse left me at my front door, and then sped off.

           
I knew she was angry—she had maintained a stony silence during the drive to my house.
 
But I didn't see that there was anything either one of us could do if her mother liked Joshua Martin.
 
Maybe Charisse had noticed something strange about him—but I hadn't.

           
And it seemed to me that if anyone could recognize trouble, I could.

           
Just as I was getting out of the car I had asked Charisse to tell me if anything new developed—anything truly out of the ordinary.

           
Charisse had not replied to that.

           
I supposed I couldn't really blame her.

           
So feeling out of sorts, I watched Charisse's tail lights disappear.
 
Then I went into the house and on into the kitchen.

           
A pot of water was boiling vigorously on the stove, and GM was sitting at the kitchen table reading a letter.
 
The letter seemed to absorb her completely—so much so that I could tell she didn't know that I had come into the room.

           
I stood for a moment watching her.

           
My eyes dropped from her rapt face to the piece of paper in her hand.
 
I squinted at it, and I realized that I could just make out the dark outline of the words she was reading.
 
I wondered if I could read the words backwards.

           
GM looked up suddenly and jumped when she saw me.

           
"Oh, Katie!
 
I didn't know you were home!"

           
She folded the letter up swiftly and swept it into an envelope that had been lying face down on the table.
 
Then she hurried out of the room.

           
It was pretty clear to me that she was going to her office to hide her letter.

           
Sure enough, when GM returned a moment later, her hands were empty.

           
"Sorry I'm later than usual," I said, as GM moved to the stove.
 
"I stopped by Charisse's house."

           
GM was measuring orecchiette pasta into the boiling water and looked around at me.

           
"It is of no consequence, Solnyshko."

           
She turned back to the boiling water and threw in a pinch of salt.

           
It was unusual for GM not to require me to account for all of my time.

           
"GM, who was the letter from?" I asked.

           
GM waved a hand airily.
 
"No one."

           
She smiled at me and moved to the refrigerator.

           
I felt a flash of frustration, but I tried to keep my voice even.
 
"A letter can't come from no one.
 
Someone has to write it and send it."

           
GM shut the refrigerator door and turned back to me.
 
"It's not from anyone you know."

           
I persisted.
 
"Is it from the same person who sent you all the other letters?"

           
"What other letters?"

           
"GM, please.
 
You know I've seen you with the other letters."

           
GM's face went carefully blank.

           
"This is my private correspondence, Katie.
 
It has nothing to do with you."

           
I decided to drop the topic.
 
GM was clearly getting ruffled, and I didn't want her to be in a bad mood when William arrived.

           
"Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?" I asked, changing the subject.

           
"The sauce is made already," GM replied.
 
"You can chop up this basil."

           
She handed me a bunch of the herb.
 
"When you're done with that, you can cut some slices of bread."

           
GM and I worked on dinner after that, and before long, I was running up the stairs to get ready myself.

           
I changed my clothes quickly and pulled a brush through my hair.
 
Then I stood before the mirror surveying my reflection.

           
I was starting to get nervous now, and I ordered myself to be calm.

           
I really wanted this evening to go well.

           
As I turned away from the mirror, I thought I saw a flutter of movement out of the corner of my eye.

           
I turned back quickly and searched the mirror, but there was nothing in it that shouldn't have been there.

           
I turned away again, but as I did so, I got the strangest feeling that someone in the mirror had turned away also.

           
I resisted the urge to look at the mirror again and shrugged off the feeling—surely it was just my nerves getting the better of me.
 
Or was it just nerves?
 
A horrible thought occurred to me, and I resolved to ask William about it.

           
I hurried downstairs.

           
I found GM in our seldom-used dining room, lighting candles.
 
The table was set and all the food was out—GM had made a few extra dishes that she hadn't told me about.

           
"It looks beautiful, GM," I said.

           
"I used to do a lot of entertaining once," GM murmured, almost more to herself than to me.
 
"I gave a lot of big parties.
 
I know how to turn out a good table."

           
I was caught by the tone of her voice—it was faraway, even wistful.
 
I was on the verge of asking her a question when there was a knock at the front door.

           
I glanced at GM nervously.

           
"You will give William a chance, won't you?"

           
"Of course I will give him a chance.
 
I've done all this, haven't I?"
 
She waved a hand at me.
 
"Now, go.
 
Say hello to your young man."

           
I hurried to the door and opened it.

           
William gave me his crooked smile.

           
I stood for a moment just looking at him—I had a strong desire to throw my arms around him, but I figured that really wouldn't help my case with GM.
 

           
GM walked up behind me.

           
Suddenly I felt strangely shy.

           
"Katie, aren't you going to invite your friend in?" GM said.

           
"Won't you come in?" I said to William.

           
"Thanks."
 
He stepped in, and there was a bottle in his hand.

           
GM glanced disapprovingly at the bottle—I imagined she thought he was sixteen as I was.
 
I supposed I should have warned him not to bring something like a bottle of wine.

           
"GM, you remember William Sursur from Russia," I said.

           
"Yes, I remember him," GM replied shortly.

           
"It's good to see you again, Mrs. Rost," William said.
 
He held the bottle out.
 
"This is for you."

           
GM accepted the bottle and glanced at the label.
 
The corner of her mouth quirked up.

           
"Sparkling apple juice.
 
Thank you."

           
The three of us went into the dining room.
 
William held GM's chair out for her.
 
Then he did the same for me.
 
GM seemed amused.

           
William sat down, too, and we started on dinner.

           
"So, William," GM said, "do you attend school with my granddaughter?"

           
"No, I don't."

           
GM seemed surprised.
 
"Where do you go to school, then?"

           
"I don't go to school," William replied simply.

           
GM shot me a disapproving glance.
 
"I see.
 
What do your parents think about that?"

           
"My parents are no longer with us."

           
I glanced at William sharply.
 
GM, no doubt, would assume from that that William's parents were dead—I wondered, though, if he actually knew anything about them.
 
It seemed to me that William might not know where, or even who, they were.

           
But I could hardly question him about that in front of GM.

           
GM herself seemed momentarily stunned by William's reply and something like sympathy flickered in her eyes.

           
She soon shook off the emotion and returned to her questioning.

           
"Do you work?" GM asked.

           
"Yes."

           
"What do you do?"

           
"I work freelance.
 
I'm a software engineer."

           
"You are quite young to have a job like that."