The Saints of the Cross (16 page)

“He’s only nineteen! He looks like he’s in his mid-twenties with that five-o’clock shadow!” Laurel has somehow managed to turn her attention away from my emotional train wreck and back to the computer screen. I scowl up at her. To me, his five-o’clock shadow is one of his most appealing physical attributes. Strange how I still feel protective of him, even though he’s thoroughly broken my heart.

“Wait just a minute!” Laurel exclaims. I can almost see the lights inside her hollow head flip on. “Weren’t you still living in Spain when this picture was taken?”

“Shut up, Laurel! You are such a
bitch
!” Camilla’s beautiful, olive-toned face is bright red with fury. Laurel grins, pleased with Camilla’s reaction. “That’s it! We’re out of here!” Camilla grabs my arm, yanking me up off the chaise. “We’ll work on the project next weekend. It’s not due for three weeks.”

“But I’m going to New York City next Saturday!” Olivia protests. Laurel’s standing next to her, smirking at Camilla.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to meet next Sunday night at
my
house then,” Camilla retorts, “and bring your part of the research. Then it won’t take as long to put the PowerPoint together. Come on, Evie.” Camilla drags me to the bedroom door.

“Whatever!” Laurel crosses her arms in feigned anger, but she can’t, or
won’t
, hide the look of pure pleasure on her deceivingly angelic face. Camilla turns and flips her the middle finger as she opens the door. “Ugh!” Laurel exclaims in mock horror.

“And don’t try
that
crap again. I’m warning you, Laurel.” Camilla says as she slams the door behind her. “God! I hate that bitch!” she shouts as she storms over to the top of the stairs.

From the other side of the door, I hear, “Oh my God, she is so
vulgar!
” There’s no mistaking the disgust in Olivia’s voice.

“Please!” I hear Laurel reply. “Look where she comes from. Not the greatest lineage.” I step away from the door, thankful that Camilla didn’t hear that exchange from the staircase. I do not have the strength to break up a brawl now, although I don’t believe Laurel would last two minutes against Camilla.

“Thanks for getting me out of there.” I am truly relieved to be out from underneath Laurel’s harsh, judgmental stare.

“Are you okay?” Camilla puts an arm around my shoulder as we descend the staircase. She has an uncharacteristic look of concern on her face.

“Honestly, no.” My voice cracks, and I feel the tears welling up again, as my mind’s eye shows me the offending photo. “I just don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Oh, Evie, don’t cry, please, or
I’ll
cry,” Camilla whispers, and her lower lip starts to tremble. “I can’t
stand
to see my friends cry!”

“I’m sorry . . .” But the tears begin to fall anyway, because seeing Camilla so worried about me has got me worried about myself, too. A choking, wet sob rises up in my throat, but I manage to stifle it.

“Evie, Laurel probably did that on purpose, to get a rise out of you. She likes to see people upset, because she’s an evil-bitch-from-hell.”

“Yeah,” I try to give her a smile through my tears, “but she couldn’t have known that she would find a recent picture of my boyfriend with another girl. That was just a bonus for her.”

“Well, she’s insanely jealous over the fact that Xander has a major crush on you,” she says, stealing a peek at me from the corner of her eye. “He won’t give
her
the time of day, which is hilarious! He thinks she’s hideous.”

“What?” I am truly surprised. “I don’t believe it. I mean, he doesn’t act like that at all.”
Well,
except for the time he tried to kiss me in his car, but he’s been cool toward me since then.

“That’s just Xander. He always has to play the cool guy. It’s such an act. Oh, and don’t believe anything Laurel says about him. She’s trying to make you not like him. Geez, does she think you’re that gullible?”

“So the story about Emily isn’t true?”

“I heard she had a bad reaction to antibiotics she was taking for strep throat.” Camilla rolls her eyes at the ridiculousness of Laurel’s claim. “Truth is, no one knows what actually happened, because it happened in California while Emily was spending the summer with her dad in LA. So, I choose to believe Emily.”

“How did the suicide story get started?” I have the sneaking suspicion Laurel and Olivia are involved, and I feel sorry for the sweet, outgoing Emily, whose reputation and
sanity
are being dragged through the mud.

“Well, I think Laurel got word that Xander had broken up with Emily on the telephone over the summer. Laurel’s imagination just went wild when she heard Emily was in the hospital. Of course, she would never say that story to Emily’s face, because she’s actually a two-faced rat!” Camilla points a finger in her mouth to mock-gag herself. I laugh at the sight of Camilla’s crossed eyes, and it dawns on me how unfair it is that she can make such a stupid face, all the while still easily being the most beautiful girl I know.

We continue the trek through the huge house to the front door.

“What do you think of Xander?” Camilla uses her poker face with this question, which is amusing because her intent is clear; Camilla thinks that because of what happened today, she can convince me to date Xander.

“Well, he’s gorgeous, that’s a no-brainer. He’s nice . . . I just can’t think about that right now. Javier is my boyfriend, and I really do
love
him. I’ve got to go home so I can call him. I need to know the truth, good or bad…” my voice trails. “I’m hoping it’s not what it seems.”

“I totally understand. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Xander that I spilled his little secret to you.”

We’re finally at the exit. Camilla pauses at the front door, where a vase full of fresh flowers sits atop a small, round, marble-topped table. She lifts up the vase and hands me a pink rose. Then, holding the flowers, she turns the vase upside down, spilling water all over the foyer floor. She stuffs the roses back in the vase and returns them to the table, wiping her hands on her skirt. With a smirk, she winks at me as she opens the front door. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

“Thanks, Camilla,” I say, and I mean it.

On the drive back to my house, every worse-case scenario races through my mind.
What if he’s married?
That would be the
worst
of all scenarios, of course. I think I might go crazy just considering all the possible reasons to justify Javier’s lies. No explanation makes any sense, though. Maybe he’s in witness-protection and can’t tell me who he really is. Yeah, that excuse is just ridiculous. If it were true, he sure as hell wouldn’t be at a royal ball being photographed with a beautiful girl for the entire world to see in freaking
Hello!
magazine. Outrage begins to push the immense sadness out of me. My ears burn in anger.

***

I’m lost in my internal war as Camilla pulls into the driveway of my family’s home.

“Thanks again, Camilla.” I try a convincing smile but know I failed.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay, Evie?” Camilla’s dark brows furrow, and I’m moved even more to tears because I’m seeing a side of Camilla—the caring, devoted, loyal side—that Xander has told me about, but I’ve not witnessed until now.

“I promise,” I whisper.

“Call me if you want to.” Camilla gives me a quick peck on the cheek and a sincere smile.

“I will.” I open the car door, grab my bag, and step out.

“I’ll be home this weekend if you want to come over,” Camilla says through the passenger window.

“Okay,” I wave, as she backs out of the driveway and whips her car around to her own driveway. I’m glad Camilla lives across the street. I know I’ll need a close friend to lean on. I really miss Coralea right now, but Camilla has proven to be a true friend as well. I don’t go inside until her car disappears into the garage—maybe because I’m not ready to call Javier yet. I take a deep breath as I go inside and head directly up the stairs.

“Evie, is that you?” Grandma Winnie calls from the kitchen where she’s making dinner. I can smell her award-winning meatloaf baking in the oven.

“Yeah. I have a lot of homework to do,” I holler from the top of the stairs.

“Okay, I’ll yell when supper is ready.” I hear her slamming cupboards as she works.

“Okay, thanks!” I have no idea where the twins are, but I assume they’re at football and dance practice. Dad usually picks them up after work. Good, I’ll have no interruptions while talking with Javier on the phone. Now I just need to think about what I’ll say, how I’ll explain what I saw. I slam my bedroom door shut and plop down on the twin-sized bed, pulling my knees up to my chest. The tears start again, and I press my face into my bony knees, hoping to calm myself. This won’t be an easy call to make, and I need to be sure that I can speak clearly. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths to steady my voice.

I pick up my phone from the dresser and push the number saved in the directory for Javier’s cell phone.

“This phone is no longer in service. Please check the number and try your call again,” a pre-recorded voice informs me.

What’s going on? I decide to try the number that I also have stored in my phone for his apartment in Seville. The call is answered on the second ring.

“Allo?” A male with a British accent answers. I’m beyond confused at this point.

“Who is this?” I ask.

“Who is
this
?” the voice on the other end counters.

“Is Javier there?”

“Again, I ask, who’s calling?” The voice sounds annoyed and highly impatient, so I decide to answer him before he hangs up on me.

“This is his girlfriend, Evangeline.”

“Evangeline?” He sounds surprised. “Girlfriend? Are you the blonde or the brunette?” He gives a muffled laugh.

“I’m the ginger.” I feel my cheeks growing hot. “Who is this?” I ask again, wondering why he won’t answer that basic question.

“This is Rafe, his roommate. Well—former roommate. Bloke’s run off somewhere again.”

“Oh,” I say, my heart sinking.

“But I would think you would know that, if you’re his girlfriend as you say.” His voice is serious. “Are you sure you’re not a stalker or something?”

Despite feeling like my insides are being ripped out, I somehow give an obnoxious snort of laughter:
yeah, right
.

“Sorry, have ta ask. You know he has to beat the girls off with a bat, right?” He laughs. “Something about that whole tall, dark, and handsome thing they seem to find irresistible. Oh, and the rich part doesn’t hurt, either.”

“Excuse me?” I have no idea what to say to that. Is he trying to tell me that my boyfriend is a player? Wait—rich?

“Or maybe not.” He backtracks. “Listen, Javier isn’t here, and I haven’t a clue when he’ll return. He comes and goes without warning. He allows me to live here rent-free in exchange for taking care of the place.”

“How much upkeep could an apartment need?” I ask. Living in Spain is not cheap; the taxes alone would bankrupt most Americans. It’s odd that Javier would not require rent from him.

Rafe howls with laughter, “Apartment?”

“Yeah. What’s so darn funny?”

“Love, this isn’t an apartment. It’s a five-hundred acre estate, complete with a horse farm. It’s one of the hardest nonpaying jobs I’ve ever had.”

“
What
?” My heart jumps up into my throat.

“Maybe I’ve said too much.” Now he sounds worried, like he’s given away some closely guarded secret. “Listen, I have to go. Can I give him a message for you?”

“I’d rather talk to him myself. Do you have the number in Italy where I can reach him? I know he said he would be going to stay with his mom for a while.”

“Ummm.”

“
What
?”

“His mother lives in New York City. She has for the last five years. She owns a talent agency there.”

“Oh.” Not only am I confused, but I’m completely humiliated. I think if I
were
a stalker, I’d probably know more about Javier Santos de la Cruz than I actually do.

“Listen, I don’t know where he is right now, but I really don’t think he’s in Italy. The best I can do is to relay a message for you when I do see him again. Sorry, love.” His voice is sincere.

“Fine. Please just tell him to call me as soon as possible.”

“Will do. Good-bye, Emmanuelle.”
Click.

“Wait—” I wail into the phone, but it’s too late. There’s no point in trying to call him back; he obviously has no answers for me.

I sink down into the bed and throw the phone across the room. Feeling completely helpless, I cry myself to sleep.

CHAPTER 12

The weeks march on. It’s been two months with no word from Javier. I’ve contacted Cora at least twice a week, and she assures me there have been no sightings of him in the Andalusian region. It’s a complete mystery to me where he’s gone. I’m helpless to do anything here in DC. I don’t know anyone in his family, and my calls to the Seville house have gone unanswered. All I can do is wait and hope that he contacts me. I refuse to consider the worst-case scenarios, and push them out of my mind.

I distract myself with parties and study sessions. I go out on weekends with Camilla and Xander as they attempt to reintroduce me to DC. So much has changed since I last lived here. I’ve discovered that one of my favorite places to go to be alone, lost in my private thoughts, is the World War II Memorial. The sound of the water fountains soothes me. I tuck myself in a corner away from the tourists who snap photos of themselves next to the engraved stone tributes to their home states, and watch the world go by.

I’ve also been studying to get my driver’s license, which has been a fairly reliable distraction. I want to get it before my eighteenth birthday at the end of this month. Today’s the big day to try for the license, but there’s a matter of some paperwork to finish up. Before I go to my appointment at the DMV, I need to find my birth certificate and passport for identity verification. I’ve spent the morning turning the house upside down, but I can’t seem to find them anywhere. The last room I have left to search is my dad’s office, but he’s warned us to stay out of his files, so I’m hesitant to go in there.

I hear Grandma Winnie come into the house through the garage door, finally back from her morning yoga class. Now I will have her help, and as long as she’s here I feel like it’s okay to search the office.

“Grandma, do you know where my passport and birth certificate are?” I ask. “I need them to get my driver’s license.” I’m frantically shuffling through the mess of papers in Dad’s roll-top desk as Winnie enters the office from the kitchen.

“Let me think . . . Oh, I hate moving. It seems everything gets misplaced in the unpacking process,” Grandma Winnie sighs. “I’ll go up to the attic to see if they got mixed in with some of your father’s old documents.”

“Okay, thanks. I have to be at the DMV in half an hour for my appointment!” If I’m late for my appointment with the DMV, I’ll have to reschedule. I don’t want to wait; I really want my license
now.
I yank at a drawer pull—
locked, dammit!
I find a key in the roll top and place it in the drawer’s keyhole.
Yes!

The first thing I come across is a glass-top wooden box containing my father’s war medals. I thumb through some papers and find a yellow document folded in half at the bottom of the stack. Opening the tattered paper, the first thing I notice is my full first name typed on the document. I’ve become so accustomed to being called the diminutive, Evie, and I am in such a rush, that I almost don’t notice an obvious discrepancy. I start to fold the document again, but something makes me open it up to read the full name: Evangeline Grayce Hamilton.
Hamilton
? I scan over the document more carefully: