Undertow (9 page)

7

Monday morning dawned with a dustin
g
of crystal dew on the ground. I cranked the heat in the Jeep as I drove to school, my teeth chattering since my jean jacket did not suffice in the Cape’s suddenly cooler temps. I made a mental note to try and locate the box of winter clothes that were stashed somewhere in the house.  How Cape Cod could be sunny and warm one day, and frosty cool the next was maddening.

Walking past some of the still unlit rooms, I couldn’t help but think of the dude that hid so well in the shadows across from my house. By the time I reached my locker, I was consumed with thoughts of creepy stalkers.

As I shuffled books and folders into the steel box well past its prime, I reflected on how fast that blissful life I was daydreaming about only hours earlier at the beach, had taken such a wrong turn. 

I jammed one last book in the locker and slammed the door shut and let out a howling scream.  Raef had been standing behind the locker door and the sudden sight of him scared the life out of me.

“Eila! I am so sorry,” he said, amused but a bit alarmed. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

I leaned back against my locker and took a deep breath. I felt exhausted, and the stress swirled through my body like a wayward river. “It’s not your fault,” I said, looking first at the ceiling, then to his bea
utiful, worried face. “I’m just . . . tired.”

“Just tired, huh? Usually ‘just tired’ people yawn, they don’t scream to shatter glass,” said Raef, questioning my lame excuse. “You look drained. Is everything alright?”

I debated telling him about the man I thought I saw, but worried that he would take it upon himself to go looking for the dark stalker and end up in a dangerous situation.  I decided to keep the incident to myself.

“I just didn’t sleep well due to nightmares,” I lied. Sort of.

“Nightmares? What about?”

“You don’t want to know. You’ll think I have a seriously twisted psyche.”

“Try me,” he said, leaning a broad shoulder against the adjoining locker.

I looked at him for a moment, debating whether to skirt the issue, but went with it instead. “I keep dreaming
about a woman who seems to get . . . murdered. I only get quick snapshots though, once I’m awake, so it’s kind of jumbled and hazy.”

Raef seemed to stiffen, “Seriously? You think it’s some sort of future premonition?”

              “No. I think I just read about it somewhere, because the scene looks like it is from the past. Like, WAY past.” I glanced up at Raef and sighed. “You know what? Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone. They think I’m weird anyway.”

He laughed a bit. “That’s probably wise. Especially after what Kian told me about you and a certain aggressive toothpick with pompoms. You sure do steer yourself into the lion’s den. Tripped huh?”

I moaned. “Please just tell me to duck when she hurls something at my skull, will ya?”

“Will do. I’ve always got your back,” he said, lifting my backpack from the floor and pitching it over his shoulder. We headed out to first period English together, my improbable companion and I.

By the time lunch rolled around I was amazed at my luck, as I had not seen Nikki at all. I mentioned her absence to Raef as we walked to the cafeteria. He was as pleased as I was, especially since he had to leave school early to meet his brother.  I missed him, almost painfully, the moment he was gone.

              I sat down across from Ana and MJ. Our seating arrangement never changed, as if the chairs only fit each of us and couldn’t be traded. MJ, as always, was chowing the instant he sat down. How he remained so slim and toned while consuming so many calories was beyond me. Hello envy.

I decided to feel out the dog-borrowing idea with Ana before asking Dalca. “So, guess who visited me last night?” I asked, though the stalker from the road immediately burst into my mind.

              “Do tell,” replied Ana, but my brain had fallen back into the night. “Hello?” she said, louder,  “Earth-to-Eila. Who visited?”

             
I yanked myself back to the present. “Uh, Dalca’s dog, hung out on my porch,” I said, twisting the cap off my water.

Ana’s silence made me look up. She was staring at me. “Really?” She seemed almost annoyed. “That dog really gets around.”

              “I’m sorry. Is he not supposed to be out?”

             
MJ snorted. “He’s not Dalca’s dog,” he replied, managing to actually speak without food in his mouth. “He’s a  . . .”

             
“Mangy stray,” finished Ana.

             
“I was going to say ‘adventurous rogue’.” MJ shot Ana a pointed look. He turned his attention back to me. “No one owns Marsh. He goes where he wants.”

             
I was surprised. “The town doesn’t mind some massive, black dog wandering around?”

             
“Nah. Everyone loves him,” said MJ, cheerfully. Ana just shook her head, clearly not a platinum member of the Marsh Fan Club.

             
“So I don’t have to ask Dalca if he could come and stay with me while Mae is gone?”  Both MJ and Ana were silent, looking at me like I sprouted another head.

Finally MJ spoke up, “Uh, no. You don’t have to ask her permission. Just open the door to the house and call him when you see him. I’m sure he’ll come in.”

              “I’m sure,” said Ana dryly. “And don’t forget to feed him. That dog loves to eat.” 

I looked at both of them as Ana flipped open a notebook and MJ waved to someone across the room.  Sometimes you just know you are in the dark about something
, and I knew I just missed a lot of info on Marsh. 

With my luck, he’d end up being Cujo.

Fantastic.

My last class of the day, New England History, was slowly becoming 90 minutes of my academic schedule that I actually debated skipping. Daily.

For the first few days, I really found the information about the area fascinating.  New England, especially Cape Cod, was so old and rich in history.  The volumes of information and the fortitude of the settlers in the darkest
winters amazed me. The class kept my attention and I thoroughly enjoyed it. That was until Mr. Grant, our somewhat creepy teacher, started asking me to wait at the end of class.

Frequently. 

It wasn’t that he screamed “pedophile,” but he seemed somewhat obsessed with the history of my family and especially, my house. Even more disgusting was the fact that the girls in class regularly drooled over him like he was some hot, older rock star. And yeah, he was real good-looking – almost like Tony Stark from the Iron Man movies. Heck, her even had the goatee and everything. But still . . . it was just plain gross.

Many times
our after-class chats were just a quick, semi-interrogation.  He would ask if I had found anything interesting in the home, learned anything else about my family.  He often mentioned that he would like to stop by sometime to see the house from the inside, which was SO not happening.

The dude just plain made me nervous
, especially the way he moved when we were alone. He kept an appropriate distance, but I felt like he almost prowled around my perimeter.

Freakin’ weirdo.

Today, thankfully, Mr. Grant was absent, replaced by a female teacher sitting at his desk. Though I knew the smart money was that she was a substitute for the day, I hoped like mad that she would find her position permanent. 

As I sat and listened to her talk about the whaling industry, I reminded myself that I needed to swing into the Guidance Office before heading home. I wanted to pick up some information on colleges and, more importantly, scholarship opportunities. Though 408 was worth nearly two million, I was far, FAR from a millionaire.

By the time I had gotten out
of the guidance office, a good portion of the students and teachers had left for the day. I headed out to the parking lot and my beloved vehicle. As I unlocked the door I heard the low rumble of a motorcycle approaching me.  I turned and saw Raef pull up on an alien looking, coal-black bike.  He turned the key off on the top of the beast he was riding, and swung his leg off.

“I drove by your house just a few minutes ago and your car wasn’t there,” he said, walking over to me. A flash of adrenaline cut through my body as he approached. Would I ever get used to his presence?

“I was getting some college stuff, so I was running late.” I raised an eyebrow, curious, “Are you spying on me?”
Not that I mind
.

Raef shook his head. “Of course not. I was just on my way home and noticed your Jeep was missing. I swung back here to make sure you weren’t having problems with it,” said Raef taking a black helmet off the bike’s seat. He held it out to me, “But since you’re here, come take a ride with me.”

My heart leapt into my throat. “You’ve got to be kidding.” This would, without doubt, end up as a lesson in what not to do.

“I’ve been riding for years. You’ll be safe with me,” he said, still holding the helmet out to me.

“I’m more worried about the old lady with the two-ton Caddy that doesn’t see us,” I mumbled. I took the helmet and shoved it on my head. Raef adjusted the strap for me and as his hand brushed against my chin, my heart nearly skidded to a halt.

“Uh, you know these things are called Donor Cycles for a reason, right?” I said, nervous. “What is this thing anyway?”

Raef stepped back from me. “It is called a MO-TOR-CYCLE,” he said slowly, smiling ever so slightly.

“Ha ha, no kidding? I meant what
kind
is it, because it looks like a NASA reject.” The bike’s body had twisted pipes and a sweeping look unlike anything I had ever seen before.

“It’s a Night-Rod, but Ana added a few things for me,” said Raef, getting on the bike and standing it upright so I could join him. He nodded his head toward the seat behind him. 

“What did she add?” I asked, trying to calm my nerves with senseless questions as I carefully climbed aboard and lightly placed my hands on his waist.

“I asked her to give it a bigger seat in case I had a passenger,” he said plainly.

“Oh . . . have you had a lot of, uh, passengers?” I reminded myself a boy this handsome must have had girlfriends in his past. I prayed I didn’t sound jealous. I wasn’t . . . was I?

“You’re the first,” he replied, starting the bike. It rumbled to life and made my spine vibrate. “I had her put it on the day I met you,” he continued, over the engine’s growl. 

I sat there, stunned.

He reached down to my hands and pushed them into his sides. “Hang on, alright?” he said, putting on his own black helmet. I nodded, the butterflies going psycho in my gut for multiple reasons.

He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road, his bike fast and agile.  The first corner he took, I instinctively feared crashing down to the ground as the bike leaned heavily into the curve.  I tried to counter it, leaning away from the road that seemed dangerously close and conspiring with gravity to flatten me.  

When we stopped at the next street light, Raef set his feet down to balance the heavy machine. He turned slightly and I could see his chiseled profile as he glanced back towards me. “Lean with me, okay?” he asked loudly over the rumble of the bike. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”

I nodded. “Sorry,” I yelled, a bit embarrassed at my terribly poor biker skills. The light turned green and we were off again. I could feel the subtle change of the bike’s forward motion every time Raef shifted gears and it made me clutch onto his jacket even tighter.

I found that every time he slowed, I would slip down the angled, leather seat and become wedged against his back.  I would wiggle myself back, but within minutes be pressed against him again. Eventually I gave up, allowing myself to relax and enjoy the tight closeness of his strong back. He changed gears so smoothly that the motion of the bike became a steady heartbeat.  It was soothing, as I sat tucked into the double seat he had installed . . . for me.

I couldn’t get past that amazing revelation; that Raef O’Reilly, the
day
he met me, modified his bike in the hopes of someday fitting me into his life.  I smiled so wide that I nearly started to laugh.  I took a deep breath in an attempt to act more composed as I watched now familiar roads zip by. I soon realized we were headed toward the harbor.

I tipped my chin forward to Raef’s helmet, “Where are we going?” I yelled over the wind, confused.

“My place,” said Raef, his voice muffled by the engine.

Suddenly I was wishing beyond words that I had dressed better for the occasion. “So, um, will your parents be home or do they work?” I hoped they were type-A workaholics.

“It’s just me and Kian,” said Raef, as he leaned the bike into a right turn heading toward the harbor. I gripped him tightly, still not 100% sure that gravity would play fair.

As we approached the water, I noticed the ferry dock was lacking the Nantucket Steamship. The workers, however, were busy organizing ropes and talking to one another. No doubt the ferry was in transit from the island.