Higher Ground (10 page)

Wade stops suddenly and sits, tugging me down with him. “
And so
,” he says, wrapping his arms around my torso and pulling my back against his chest. “
All the night-tide, I lie by the side of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, in her sepulchre there by the sea—in her tomb by the sounding sea
.”

“Poe, huh?” I rest my head on his shoulder and stare up at the sky above us. “You’re pulling out the big guns tonight.”

“I know this isn’t Pensacola or Christmas on the beach. It’s cooler here, and this is the Atlantic—”

“It’s perfect.” I turn in his arms, lean forward, and brush my lips across his cheek.

We sit in silence for a while, him holding me while my mind toys with the words he chose tonight.
My life and my bride.
Not once in four years has he ever quoted the end of the poem. He’s quoted most of the rest of it to me in snippets at random moments, including the day we met, but never the end.

Miss Verity taught me about signs a long time ago. I’m not sure if it’s Wade or the universe, but every time I’ve ever doubted this—doubted him—he’s proved me ridiculous. He knows what I need without asking.

I have his heart. I don’t need a ring.

“Thank you for this,” I say. “I love your parents—you know I do—but being alone with you like this, with nowhere to go, no work, no friends… It’s nice. I’ve missed this.” His arms tighten around me. “I’m sorry things have been so hectic lately.”

“I’ve missed it, too, but I have to admit that something about exam week turns me on.” There’s mischief in his voice.

“Really?” I ask. “The way I shift from scatterbrained to borderline bitchy really does it for you, huh?”

Warm laughter is echoed in the vibrations of his chest on my back. “Yes,” he says. “It’s who you are. You’ve always been enchanting under pressure. You were an absolute joy the week before you defended your thesis.”

“I tried to spare you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“Good boyfriends help with studying.”

“We both know you were there to help with stress relief more than studying.”

“Considering the way you crashed afterward, I’m not sure I did a good job.”

I nod, unable to speak of the real reason I locked myself away from the world after I mastered what had been my goal since I was a girl. “You were perfect.”

“So were you. I knew you’d nail it. There’s Poe somewhere in your veins. I’m sure of it.”

“No.” I shake my head and try to laugh it off. “I understand his fascination with death. That’s all.”

“What really happened to your aunt?” he asks after a brief pause.

I tug the sleeves of my jacket over my hands to ward off the chill of the ocean breeze. “She met a guy at school. He was nice at first, but then he got creepy. When she tried to break it off, they had an argument. He pushed her down a flight of concrete stairs in the psych building at Florida State.”

“Damn.”

“Miss Verity knew before they called. She and my dad didn’t take it well, especially when it was ruled an accident. My mom once told me that it changed my dad. Apparently, he was some kind of social butterfly when they were younger.” Wade laughs in disbelief. “Shocking, I know. They almost got a divorce when she was pregnant with me. He was partying while she was home with swollen ankles and a three-year-old kid. When Violet died, he turned into the boring asshole we all know and love.”

“I can’t tell if that’s fondness or sarcasm.”

“Maybe both.”

“We should go,” he says. “You’re shivering, and it’s late. The beach will be closing soon.”

He gets up first, holds his hands out to me, and is sweet enough to thoroughly brush the sand off my ass. The cool breeze is a good excuse to huddle under his arm during the walk back. “I love this place,” I say. “We need to try to come more often next summer.”

“I love it, too.” Without moving his arm from my shoulder, he points to a lemonade shack that’s closed for the season. “Some of my earliest memories are of this beach. My mom and Stan brought me here a lot when I was little.”

“You actually remember your biological dad?”

“Not in detail, but I remember a few things.”

“Do you ever think about him?”

“No,” he says, firm and decided. “I did when I was a kid, mostly during my mid–teens. I gave Jeff a lot of shit about him not being my real father when I was fifteen and pissed at the world. The truth is that he was more of a dad to me, even before he married Mom and adopted me, than Stan ever was when he was around. Jeff
is
my dad.”

“It’s hard for me to imagine you and Jeff butting heads.”

“He’s a great dad—fucking amazing—but no parent is perfect, and most teenagers are self-absorbed little shits.”

“Those may be the truest words ever spoken,” I agree.

Then

“
Souris
,” Oliver said. I didn’t turn my head to look at him. Instead, I focused on the Mississippi. My lips curved into a small smile, as requested, and a familiar series of clicks followed. “
Belle
.”

“
Merci
,” I said. It wasn’t the first time Oliver had called me beautiful. In fact, he did it a lot. But we were more than a month into the school year, and he still hadn’t laid a hand on me in anything other than friendship. Occasional hugs, his hand on my back, and arms brushing in the hall had been the extent of our physical contact.

It was almost like we were stalled. Part of the problem was that we were hardly ever alone anymore. Our friends were always around after school, and there was a party every weekend at either Mitchell’s place or Penn’s. My friends had multiplied, and there was always a place to party.

I’d learned how to do shots and how to tolerate beer, but I still had no idea how Oliver tasted.

The ferry stopped, and the old, white school bus eventually started moving. Our history class plus two others were on the first field trip of the year. Our Louisiana History teacher, Mr. Hamilton, had one planned for each grading quarter.

Oliver had convinced him to let him bring his camera and tripod to take pictures. While the purpose of the trip had been more to learn about local politics and some of the uglier aspects of our state’s history, Mr. Hamilton couldn’t deny Oliver the opportunity to capture our destination in Vacherie on film. The sugar plantation was known for its famous oaks and landscape.

When we arrived, we lined up with Van, Troya, and a few others to take the tour. A few of the more studious kids in our class walked around with notebooks, furiously scribbling as our guide went on about arranged marriages and the original family’s health misfortunes. Oliver took pictures of every room, staying behind the rest of our group but still ahead of the next bunch from our school, and I walked with him, half-listening but mostly watching him.

After what seemed like forever, we were finally released to wander the grounds on our own. Van and Troya took off for the small gift shop and restaurant in the back, because my brother was hot and craving a cold drink. I followed Oliver around the house and passed him on the front walk when he paused to set up his tripod. There was a nice breeze rustling the bright green leaves of the oak branches above me, and the sun peeked through in patches, warming my way.

“Violet.” Oliver’s voice was closer than I expected. I stopped and turned, my breath catching at the determined look on his face as he stepped up to me. His fingers brushed against the skin of my neck, lightly tugging me forward until his lips were pressed against mine. For a moment, I was shocked still, unable to think of anything else in the world, but then I leaned into him and let my hands slide past the black suspenders to settle on his back. My fingernails anchored him to me, and his groan was immediate, as was the physical reaction in his pants.

“Dude,” Penn called from a few feet away. “Hamilton.”

With one last peck, Oliver took a step back. “Damn it,” he said. “My timing’s shitty, but you looked so fucking pretty that I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s okay.”

His hand flew up to the back of his neck, and he laughed. “‘Okay’?” He turned to walk back to his camera.

“No!” I followed and reached for the hem of his jacket. “I mean, it’s okay that you did it. The kiss? That was much better than okay.”

His cheeks burned pink, and it took a minute for him to glance over at me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded and reached for my hand, settling his palm against mine. “Okay.”

The next group from Newman was still on the second-floor balcony when I finally took in the view of the house. If looks could kill, ten of those girls would’ve taken me out where I stood. Penn waited for us and fell in step on the other side of Oliver. “Was that really necessary?” he asked.

Oliver looked over at me, letting his gaze fall to my tits and then my legs. “Yeah, it was.”

Penn and I stopped and sat on the porch with our backs against the house while Oliver took pictures of the trees. Then he turned around to take pictures of the house. When he was satisfied, the three of us took our time walking around the building and through the garden. Other kids stared, while a few whispered or pointed, but Oliver seemed oblivious.

We caught up with Van and Troya in the gift shop.

“You’re an idiot,” she said to Oliver.

“Um, thanks?” Oliver reached to scratch the back of his head.

“Everyone knows you planted one on Violet, including Mr. Hamilton.” She glanced at Van, and he shook his head. “Like I said, you’re an idiot.”

For all of twelve seconds, I worried about possible suspensions, my dad finding out, or getting kicked out of my new school. Then I decided not to care. That kiss had been worth it.

Oliver stayed close to me for the rest of the trip. On the bus afterward, he slid his fingers through mine and tangled our hands on the cracked leather seat. With his free hand, he used his camera to capture the moment. Back at school, he kept our hands joined as we walked down the hall until we had to split up to report to our last-period classes. When the final bell rang, he waited for me at the end of the hall and we walked out together.

Van and I went home for the afternoon. Mom and Dad had dinner plans with some colleagues, so we ate with Miss Verity in the kitchen. We told her about our field trip, sans the kissing part. Van mentioned a small gathering at Penn’s, and she gave us permission to leave as soon as we finished cleaning up after the meal.

My brother had gotten better at bending the truth. Penn’s parties were anything but small. His dad was some kind of corporate lawyer who spent a lot of time out of town on business, and his mom spent every other weekend in Lafayette, alternating turns with her sister to take care of their sick mother. There was no adult supervision, there were always dozens of kids, and thanks to Mitchell, we had plenty of alcohol and entertainment.

Oliver was waiting on the front porch swing when we arrived, sharing a joint with some sophomore girl who was sitting a little too close to him. “Violet,” he said, holding it out to me.

I took it from him, brought it to my lips, and inhaled deeply. Instead of returning it to him, I passed it over my shoulder to Van, who was more than happy to take it off my hands. Oliver grinned, reached into the side pocket of his cargo shorts, and pulled out another one that was even fatter than the first.

We smoked until my eyelids felt heavy and I found myself smiling more than talking.

“I’m thirsty,” Oliver said. He stood and placed his hand on my waist. “Let’s get a drink.”

He led the way to the kitchen, where he scored two beers from the fridge. We popped the tops, staying long enough to finish them and chat with a couple of his buddies. When he hooked his fingers in the belt loop of my cutoffs and tugged, I followed him up the stairs to Penn’s room. He opened the door and waved me in first.

The door closed behind him, and in the next moment, I was pressed against it with Oliver’s tongue in my mouth. Weeks of sexual frustration had taken a toll on both of us. The beer and weed didn’t hurt.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?” he asked, pushing his hips into mine.

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

I leaned into his chest, backing him away from the door until his legs hit the back of Penn’s bed.

“I didn’t bring you in here to fuck you, Violet.” His lips landed on my neck just as my hand moved to palm his dick between us. “Whoa.” He caught my fingers in his and pulled them away. “Not like this. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning and wonder if you only did it because you’re fucked up. I’d rather wait.”

“Can I still touch you?” I asked.

“Is that what you want?”

Curiosity was getting the better of me. I’d only seen one boy naked, felt one boy, and had sex in one position. I’d never even had an orgasm. I was sure Oliver could change all of those things. The trouble was that he sent mixed signals. One minute, I was his buddy; the next, his hands were on my ass and his tongue was in my mouth.

I liked both.

I’d been Elijah’s girlfriend, a prop, a pretty face who’d shown up to cheer him on at his games. “It’s okay. Maybe next time” were words I used more times than I could count in the last year. All I really wanted to know was what all the fuss was about. In return, all he’d given me were empty words and a mask.

I paused for a moment to consider if I could really do it, if I could throw caution to the wind and be okay with hookups and attraction.

Oliver pulled back to look at me.

Instead of answering with words, I used my hands to convince him. He kissed my neck, mumbling into it each time I made him feel good. He held on to my waist and let me take until he gave thanks against my palm.

“Damn, girl.” He reached down, plucked one of Penn’s shirts from the ground, and wiped my hand with it. I smiled as he zipped his pants. Then he reached out to rub his fingers between my legs over my shorts. “I’d like to return the favor.”

Before he could make good, Penn knocked on the door. “Oliver, Mitchell’s here to see you.”

“Sorry,” Oliver said. “My brother’s timing is shit.” He grinned, opened the door, and walked out.

“Not in my room, man,” Penn said as he passed.

Oliver stopped and looked back, first at me and then at Penn. “Since when?”

Penn leaned against the doorjamb next to me in the hall. “Since now.”

Both of Oliver’s hands went up, palms open in concession. “All right, then.”

He left us to hunt down Mitchell, and Penn sighed and looked down at his feet when we were alone.

“Oliver’s my boy, but you have a lot going for you. You’re a sweet girl.”

“Thanks, Penn. That’s what every girl wants to hear.” I left him standing there, made my way down the stairs, and found Oliver in the kitchen with Mitchell and some girl I vaguely recognized from school. It looked like business, so I kept going until I found Van and Sonny out on the back porch.

Troya was centered at the edge of the diving board. She laughed, waved at me, and cut a backflip into the crystal blue water of Penn’s pool. I saved time by pulling my shirt over my head as I walked.

“Violet!” Penn called from behind me.

I kept going, only pausing long enough to step out of my shorts. A few heads turned when I stepped onto the board, and without thinking, I kept walking until I was diving. I wasn’t the only girl there in a bikini, but it felt like it. My boobs were real and not nearly as cool as some of the ones on display. My skin was pale from hiding in the shadow of a tomb for most of the summer. My hair was long, straight, and the same boring cut and color it had been for years.

Penn was right; I was generic, sickly sweet.

Troya swam over to me, and we stood on the ledge of the pool closest to the guys manning the cooler.

“Shots or beer?” a cute boy asked, turning the baseball hat on his head until it was backward and a few stray curls of brown escaped to cover his forehead.

“Beer,” we both answered.

The guy kicked off his flops, took two cans of beer from the cooler, and walked over to us. He lowered himself to sit on the concrete edge and dipped his feet into the water next to me. He tossed a beer to Troya but leaned in to hand one to me. “Here,” he said. He waited until I popped the tab to continue. “I’m Shawn.”

“Violet.”

“Foster. Yeah, I know.” He nodded and pointed at my brother. “I’m in Van’s bio class, and we have the same lunch.”

“That’s why you look familiar,” I said, glancing up at him. Oliver stepped outside, distracting me for a moment, and stopped next to the lawn chair Celeste was camped out on. The boy next to me started talking again, but I missed most of what he was saying as Celeste took something from her bag and handed it to Oliver.

Penn joined them, eyeing me over Oliver’s shoulder. He exaggerated his movements so I could see what he was doing with the rolled-up bill in his hand when he leaned over the table… so I’d know what Oliver was doing when he took the makeshift straw from him a few moments later and followed a different powdery path. The grin Oliver gave Celeste when he passed it to her left me feeling even more pathetically sweet—the kind of sweetness that lite beer and chlorine couldn’t wash away.

Shawn was going on about some Category 5 that was headed for Jamaica and then Florida. “My dad’s a meteorologist for the FAA,” he said. “He says Ivan’s a bad motherfucker.”

“Really?” I asked with a smile. “He used those exact words?”

“No.” The curve of his lip was swagger and flirtation. He leaned forward to cup water in his hand to splash me. “He used a bunch of nerdy technical terms to say the same thing.”

“Are you lost?” Oliver showed up out of nowhere, feet planted between my elbows and Shawn’s hip, looking down at my new acquaintance.

Shawn angled his body away from us. “Damn, man. I was just talking to her.”

Oliver pulled his t-shirt over his head, tightened the drawstring of his board shorts, and kicked his flops under a nearby chair. He stepped around me and made his way over to the diving board. He ran straight to the end and flipped into the air before landing with a splash that soaked Shawn’s clothes.

When he surfaced, he wrapped his arms around me and tugged me away from the side of the pool. “I’m interrupting,” he said.

Shawn stood and rejoined his buddy at the cooler. “Dick,” he muttered over his shoulder.

After he sat down, I shrugged and mouthed the words “I’m sorry.” He rolled his eyes and turned his attention toward the beer in his hand and some girl from my history class.

Oliver stayed close to me in the pool for the rest of the night, keeping some part of our bodies touching at all times. Van came closer after a while and waved me over to the stairs. “It’s 11:30,” he said. “If we’re going to make curfew, we’ve got to go.”

“All right.” I stepped out and took the towel he was holding for me.

Oliver followed, dripping water as he walked to his clothes.