Love Comes Calling (16 page)

G
riff escorted us to our front door that evening, then came right inside and ambled into the parlor. I had to follow him; Father had already disappeared into his office, and I couldn't just leave a guest to wander around by himself.

By the time I joined him, he was pacing in front of the fireplace. “I was wondering, Ellis, how come you never come to the football rallies?”

Football rallies? The last one had been way back in November. Why was he worried about football rallies? “Maybe I do and you've just never seen me.”

“You never come.”

Why should I? And see all the girls throw themselves at his feet? “Honestly, I figured so many co-eds attend already, you'd never miss me.”

“I always miss you.”

The truth was, I never quite knew what to say to Prince Phillips, star of the Harvard football team. He was so tall and so handsome and just so . . . so . . .
perfect
. He always made me nervous. I much preferred the Griff I knew from
Beacon Hill, the one I'd grown up with. “How can you miss me? Thousands of people in the city come to cheer for you.”

His mouth twisted in annoyance. “They're cheering for someone they call Prince. They're not cheering for me. They don't even know me.”

“I didn't know it mattered to you, whether I was there or not.”

He sat down on the sofa, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Then he glanced up at me. “Do you know what they're saying in the Finance Commission?”

I shrugged. Something to do with numbers probably. I sat on the sofa beside him.

“They're saying I ought to run for state legislature in a few years, once I graduate.”

“Do you want to?”

“I don't know. I've known that's what people want, but it makes me feel trapped. You know? Like . . .” He sighed and slouched into the corner of the sofa.

I knew exactly what it felt like! “It makes you feel like it's all been decided, and you have nothing to say about it. Like maybe you never wanted to do those things in the first place and maybe you wouldn't even be good at them, but nobody cares what you think or what you want because all they can think about is themselves and what they're good at and what they want.” I wished people wouldn't be so selfish all the time!

“The thing is, maybe I would be good at it. And maybe I do want to, but what if I wasn't good at it? What if I lost my elections or made bad decisions? What if the only thing that happened is people ended up being disappointed in me?”

I never started out doing the wrong thing on purpose either.
It always just kind of happened along the way. “Maybe you should just do something else. Or run away even.” But not to Hollywood. Because I was going there.

He sent me a sharp glance. “Run away? Why?”

“So you wouldn't give anyone a chance to be disappointed.”

“But wouldn't that be worse than not trying?”

It didn't seem like it to me.

“What if it's something I actually want to do, and somehow it turns out I'm just . . . not good at it? Do you think it would be worth the risk in that case? What if I could do some real good in a position like that?”

“
Could?
You can!” Griff could do anything. And even if he couldn't, even when he lost football games, for instance, everyone always seemed to like him anyway. “I know you can. And I think you'd even be good at it.” Unlike me, who was never good at anything. That was the difference between us. And that's why I was leaving and why he ought to stay.

“But I'm not like you, Ellis.”

Thank goodness for that!

“I'm not very good at being myself.”

What did he mean by that? “What—what are you saying?”

“You're more yourself than anyone I know.”

No I wasn't. At least, I didn't want to be. I woke up every day telling myself I was going to try hard
not
to be myself. That's why I needed to leave. “I don't think I—”

He sat forward and took up my hand. “That's why I need you. To remind me who I am. I need to know there's one person who truly knows me and, in spite of it, in spite of everything, likes me still.”

“But . . .” I looked down at our hands. His was so big and
nice and
firm
. He'd never been one to give a floppy old fish of a handshake, and I'd always liked that about him. He wasn't like some fellows. He wasn't even like
any
fellows. He was just always . . . himself. I looked up from our hands into his eyes. “I don't know if I can be that person.”

He drew back.

“I mean, not the one who knows you and still likes you, because I am
that
person, but I'm not the person that's good at being herself. I don't think you know me very well. Or maybe you've mistaken me for someone else.” Someone like Julia. Or Louise or Martha. Someone a thousand times better than me.

He smiled as if I'd said something funny. “I know you better than anyone.”

“But if you really knew me, then you'd know you can't count on me.” Especially now. Especially since I was heading to Hollywood. “And then you'd understand that you really, truly shouldn't need me.” The thought he might, that he even suspected he did, sent panic spiraling through my stomach. I couldn't be trusted. Didn't he know that by now? “Maybe you should need someone else. Someone more reliable.” Someone who wasn't going to California.

“Don't you know about griffins?”

The way he was looking at me was doing queer things to my chest. I'd never had trouble breathing before the way I did right then. “No.” The word came out in a croak.

“They're meant to stand watch over priceless treasure.”

“They are?”

“You're my treasure, Ellis.”

A priceless treasure? Me?!

“And they only mate once, for life. You're the one for me. You always have been.”

“But—”

“Griffin?” We both jumped at my father's voice and turned to see him standing in the front hall. “You're still here?”

Griff stood. “I'm sorry. I was just—” He cast a glance down at me. Sighed. “I was just leaving.”

And thank goodness!

The way he'd looked at me on the sofa, that thing he'd said about griffins, made me want to say all kinds of things I knew I shouldn't. If I stayed in the city much longer, then I might never leave at all. In fact, if he hadn't needed saving, I'd beg Doris to let me stay with her for the next week and a half and leave right this minute.

My father saw Griffin out and then came back into the parlor. “I hope you're packed and ready!”

“Ready for . . . what?”

“For the shore! We'll leave tomorrow morning!”

Had he said the shore? My ears didn't seem to be working; my cheeks were still too warm from all those things Griff had said. “I can't.” I couldn't. I couldn't go to the shore when I had to stay in the city to look out for Griff. He was safe as long as he was at work or at home, but who knew where he'd go if he stayed the weekend in the city?

“Of course you can. Tomorrow's Saturday. And we'll be back on Sunday night.”

“I really don't think that's such a good idea.”

“Whyever not?”

“What if—what if the train broke down and I couldn't get back in time on Monday?”

He looked at me with a frown. “Your mother and I decided to support your efforts, but I have to confess I was looking forward to some time away from the city. I wish I could ask your mother . . .” He looked faintly put out about it. “Why have I never had a telephone put in down there?”

Because it would cost about a thousand dollars, and if a messenger could be found, a telegram would do. But that still left the matter of Griff and some king trying to kill him. I couldn't leave town! But maybe . . . “Could Griff come with us?” If he tried to talk to me again about treasures and griffins, I'd just have to try hard not to listen and remind myself what I was doing was for his own good.

“Griffin?
Phillips?
”

“It would . . . it would give Lawrence someone to play tennis with.”

“I suppose I could make the request.” He scratched at his ear. “But the Phillipses always used to go away in July, didn't they? And aren't these things supposed to be sacrosanct?”

“We always go away in July, but now we're away in June too. And besides, it wouldn't be
going
away
. It would just be . . . taking a break from the city.”

“I don't know . . .”

I couldn't leave Griff behind! I decided to play the one card I knew would trump all of his objections. “Poor Griff. It must be so lonely there in that big house without his mother. And with his father being gone all the time in Washington . . .”

“Yes. Of course you're right. I'll ask. It's awfully late, though . . .”

“I'm sure he won't mind!” I smiled and stood on tiptoe to kiss him as I started up the stairs.

He stayed me with a hand on my arm as he looked at me with a quirked brow. “There's something . . . different about you lately.”

The dark circles under my eyes? My fountain pen–darkened eyebrows?

“You look more responsible somehow. And serious. That work seems to be doing you some good.” He patted me on the cheek. “We'll leave on the eight o'clock train.”

Sleeping until seven gave me very little time to pack and no time at all for breakfast. I was just lucky I'd lost half my wardrobe over the course of the year. It wasn't very difficult to decide which shoes to take when you only had three choices and one of them a pair of satin dancing pumps and the other a pair of galoshes. I wrestled a satchel from my closet and tossed in skirts and blouses and a sweater to ward off the ocean breeze, a night slip, and Lawrence's old robe.

I dragged the satchel down the hall to the bathroom and threw my toothbrush into it after I'd finished brushing my teeth. My father was waiting by the car as I dashed down the front steps.

At my approach, the driver opened the car door to reveal Griff already sitting in the middle of the backseat. I paused. “Maybe I should sit in front.”

Father got in on the far side. “Nonsense. Plenty of room.”

There might have been if Griff's legs hadn't been so long and if Father had been willing to move over just a little. As it was, I traveled to the train station holding on to the door handle so I couldn't be accused of pressing myself against Griff.

But he leaned close as he stretched his arm across the length of the bench, his breath fanning the hair that hung over my ears. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Hadn't Father said
he
would send the note? “I just thought maybe Lawrence would like some company. And that it would do you good to get away.”

The shore always seemed like a good idea until we got there. That's when I remembered how primitive it was. As the car skidded on the sand-strewn road, the house came into view.

Fairview. Pride of the Etons.

Rather . . . pride of the wife of one of the early Etons. Though it might have actually had a view at one time, it didn't anymore. Dunes blocked the shore in the front, and in the back a curtain of trees had grown up in what once must have been a meadow. It seemed rather shabby and forlorn now, its shingled sides gone gray from a century's worth of battering by wind, sun, and sand. Its front portico listed a bit toward port and the back screened porch listed toward starboard. In between, the structure seemed beset by indecision in exactly the same way I was whenever we were there. Yes, there were tennis and swimming and boating without end. There were Saturday night dances and trips into town for ice cream.

But there was also an unrelenting breeze, swarms of mosquitoes, and sand that was everywhere and got into everything. As well as an old-fashioned water closet that refused to work half the time. And a whole house filled with people who insisted on getting up at the most ungodly of hours.