Perigee Moon (11 page)

He bit his lip and looked back out the window before giving in and nodding.

“Yes,” he finally agreed.

I stopped on the front porch and peeled the sopping wet shirt away from my stomach. I stretched it as far as it would go, a cool rush of air rushing up into the hollow tent under my shirt, and twisted until the excess water dripped out onto the porch.  Grams would kill me if I dripped salt water all over her shimmery perfect hardwood floors. Alex let a tense laugh slip out as he watched me. He was smiling but it didn’t reach his eyes. He still looked nervous, guarded. He followed me into the house without a word and I noticed how his mouth dropped in awe as we walked through the door. I stopped at the staircase and watched him.

“It’s so different,” he said. He seemed to be in his own world.

“What?”

He snapped out of his daze and looked up at me like he didn’t know what I was talking about.

“You just said it looked different. You’ve been here before?” I said.

He sighed. “My family used to own this house Rowan.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” I didn’t know how to feel about this. Or why he felt the need to keep it a secret. That’s when it hit me. The familiar feeling that had been tugging at me since the moment I had learned his name. Foster.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, putting the pieces together. He was related to Rebecca Foster. I could barley wrap my mind around it.

“Rowan? What is it?” he said.

I grabbed his hand and tugged him urgently up the stairs. When I burst through my bedroom door I went directly to my nightstand and pulled the leather book from the drawer. I turned around and Alex was still hesitating in the doorway as if he were afraid to enter.

“Come look at this,” I said, laying the book down on my bed. It was so delicate I didn’t trust myself to handle it when I was shaking this badly. I suddenly realized I wasn’t just trembling from the excitement and confusion of it all. I was freezing.

Alex sat down on the bed beside me and reached up to brush his fingers down my arm.

“You’re cold,” he said.

I nodded. I desperately wanted to change out of my soaked, sandy clothes but I couldn’t tear myself away from him. He gave me a disapproving look.

“Fine. I need to change. Wait here,” I said and took off for the bathroom that was conveniently attached to my room. I stopped just long enough to grab a tank top and another pair of shorts from my dresser. That was one perk about living with my grandparents. I not only had a bathroom to myself but pretty much the entire upstairs. I peeled off my clothes and left them in a sopping pile on the floor. My reflection in the mirror didn’t do me any favors. My lips were turning a light shade of blue and I was covered in sand. The grains were rubbing my skin raw. I peeked out the bathroom door to check on Alex. He wasn’t sitting on the bed anymore. The book was untouched and he was staring out the window preoccupied with his thoughts.

I twisted the knob to the shower and waited until the steam started to fill the room before I jumped in. I nearly melted into the hot water as I inhaled the steam circling my head. It felt good and I was slowly returning to a normal temperature. It made me think of Alex, cold and shivering in his wet clothes outside. Which in turn made think of my lack of clothing and just how close he was to me right this second. I closed my eyes and swallowed, trying to convince my heart to stop racing. I washed my hair in record time. Then jumped out of the shower, threw on my clothes and ran a comb through my damp hair. I shook it out and left it tousled and wet to fall across my shoulders before I took a deep breath and went back to the bedroom.

My throat felt thick when I caught Alex looking at my mother’s picture. I took a step closer and the floorboard beneath my bare feet groaned. He spun around still holding the frame.

“Your mother?” he said cautiously.

I nodded.

“You look like her,” he said, setting the picture back onto the dresser.

“I know,” I choked. I scrambled for something else to say to change the subject. I did not need to have another emotional breakdown in front of this boy. I quickly remembered his wet clothes and wondered if he felt as horrible as I had a few moments ago.

“Take your clothes off,” I said.

His ice blue eyes widened with shock.

I laughed. “I just want to put them in the dryer for you. You’re going to get sick if you stay in those,” I said, still smiling.

“Th-they should be okay,” he said, fidgeting.

I smiled. He was nervous. Shy. I didn’t have to feel it. I could see it. “Just give me your clothes. I’ll turn around.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to me.

“I think Grams still has some of Dad’s old clothes around here somewhere. They’ll be outdated but they should fit.” I dug around in a small dresser that was tucked away in my closet until I produced an old pair of grey sweatpants.

I tossed them to him along with a towel.

“The shower is right through there.” I pointed to the door across the room. He looked confused for a moment. I laughed and led the way, then twisted the still-wet knobs until the shower began to fill with the familiar steam that had cured me moments earlier.

“You can just slip your shorts through the door. I’ll put them in the dryer for you.” My face went hot at the thought of him in my shower. I laughed to myself as I thought about Bevin ordering me to make some bad decisions. I shook my head and smiled as his shorts appeared through a slit in the door. Bevin would rake me over the coals later for not taking advantage of this situation. 

After I tossed Alex’s clothes into the dryer I stretched out across my bed and started to flip through the book. My fingers were soft and slightly wrinkled from the shower, which made it hard to separate the faded pages, so I settled for skipping the sections that stuck stubbornly together. I passed a few journal entries that I had already read, but when I noticed an entry I hadn’t seen before I stopped. It was towards the back of the book and the handwriting was different. Not as neat, more like chicken-scratch, as my Grandpa would call it. I could barely make the words out. It was definitely a guy’s handwriting. How odd. There were sketches there too. They were scattered in the margins and the following page was filled with the faded image of a girl’s face. The charcoal he had sketched with had blurred her features but I could still make out the sharp line of her jaw and nose. The long slender curve of her neck. And the almond shape of her eyes seemed almost familiar somehow. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered that the bathroom door opened, but ignored it. I squinted to make out the name at the bottom of the page. My eyes snapped up when the book suddenly slid out from under my nose. Alex’s fingers were sprawled out across the page making it impossible to read the entry written or the name at the bottom.

“Hey, I was-” I stopped, unable to finish. All Alex was wearing was a pair of my dad’s old grey sweats. There was no telling how long they’d been in that drawer. The elastic around the waste was stretched out, causing them to hang low on his hips. He sank down onto the bed, pulled the book into his lap, shaking. He flipped through the pages without a word.

“Alex I think this belonged to your ancestors. Most of these entries were written by a Rebecca Foster. And I found it here. You said yourself your family used to own this house,” I said, sitting up and crossing my legs in front of me.

“It’s possible,” he admitted, running his fingers across one of the pages.

“I think she may have practiced witchcraft or something. There’s some pretty dark stuff in there.”

He slammed the book shut and I flinched at the force behind it. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to see if it had been damaged. He pulled it away from my grasp and his eyes flashed with anger.

“What?” I jerked my hands back and folded them in my lap.

“You’ve read this?” he asked, taking on a somber tone.

I shook my head. “Not all of it. Just a few of the journal entries.” I didn’t mention the experience I’d had with the spell that night, or the ghost like creature I had seen today. He would just think I was crazy. Who was I kidding? I probably was crazy. Like Grandpa always said, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck.

“Good. Don’t.” He leaned over and slipped the book back into my drawer.

“Why?”

He grabbed my hands and pulled me close. “Rowan listen to me. That book could be very dangerous. Promise me you won’t read it,” he said.

I nodded, unable to focus on anything else besides the feel of his hands around mine.

He shook his head like he was angry. “No. That’s not good enough. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I said. How could he possibly know anything about this book that had obviously been buried beneath my bedroom floorboards for over three hundred years? He didn’t strike me as the type to be interested in something like witchcraft.

I followed his gaze down to where my hands were folded between his. He squeezed them, running his thumb dangerously close to my scars, skimming the leather band. I was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that this beyond-perfect boy was sitting on my bed, and my heart began to race. He held onto my hands with one of his and let his other hand wander upward until it found its way into my hair. I closed my eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so harsh.” He spoke softly. “I’ve just seen the kind of power that books like that can carry. Bad things happen to people who dabble in things they don’t understand. I just want you to be safe,” he said.

I thought about what Grams had said about the book too. That was two people who had warned me to stay away from that book so far, but something inside me still longed to delve into the pages and visit that woman’s past.

I shook my head feeling his fingers against the side of my face now. “It’s alright.”

“I’m guessing you weren’t finished with your questions before your near death experience earlier,” he said.

I smiled feeling the excitement bubbling across my face.

He laughed. “Go ahead.”

“Okay. Favorite book.”

“How about favorite author?”

I nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Shakespeare,” he said.

“Really?” I asked doubtfully. I didn’t think I’d ever met a teenage boy who would admit to liking Shakespeare.

He leaned forward, his voice a husky whisper. “My bounty is as deep as the sea. My love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have for both are infinite.” He quoted perfectly.

“You quote Juliet?” I grinned, honestly surprised that he hadn’t chosen one of Romeo’s famous lines to impress me.

“You prefer Romeo?”

I shrugged and flashed him a challenging smile.

His fingers brushed the side of my face and slid under my chin causing my heart to skip a beat.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

“Where did you come from?” I asked in awe, watching as the sun flashing through the window cast the most beautiful shadow across his face.

“Right here,” he whispered, cupping my face in his hand.

The butterflies in my stomach were in a frenzy. Flying circles, batting their wings against my chest. Alex lowered his face towards mine. My breath was coming in too quick, shallow little pants that left me dizzy. I reached out and laid my fingers across his chest, feeling the firmness beneath it.

“Rowan?” Grams’ voice echoed across the room and Alex pulled away in a flash, leaving my lips desperate and alone. I looked up to find Grams standing in the doorway shaking her head.

“Grams…we were just…I was just showing Alex the book,” I said, my cheeks burning like they were on fire.

She grinned knowingly as her eyes darted back and forth between the two of us. Alex was standing across the room with his arms folded over his chest, his eyes apologetic.

“Nice to see you again Alex,” she said. “Did you lose your shirt?” There was a chuckle behind her voice.

I rolled my eyes. “No Grams. We were at the beach and his clothes got wet. We were waiting for them to dry.”

In perfect timing the sound of the dryer buzzing echoed up the stairs.

“See.”