The Best of Fools (Jane Austen Book 2) (23 page)

I pulled away from the hug and looked at the box again. It was a beautifully stained wooden box with a lock on the front, almost identical to the one Donovan found in the woods. Except the top was engraved with an amazing—I mean, seriously amazing—carving of my face split up like Two Face from Batman and underneath a quote from Harvey Dent in
The Dark Knight
:

You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

"Ed, I love this so much." I couldn't take my eyes off of it.

"I know it's weird. Harvey becomes a villain and everything, but you're always saying you feel like you have two sides of you and one side is worse than the other. Maybe this could remind you to be the hero."

"I love it." I looked at him, but he blushed and looked down. "It's so perfect. Thank you."

"All right, all right." He pushed me off of the bed. "Now let me get back to work."

I poked his rib. "I looooove youuu, Eddie."

He laughed. "Kay. See ya later then."

I turned into the hallway and walked into—

"What the?" I looked up at him and felt my face fill with heat. "Don ... what are you doing here?"

He looked over his shoulder and pointed down the steps. "Your mom called and said she needed plumbing repair. Dad's here and asked me to come and help."

She definitely set this up. Ugh.

"So ... how are you?" he said.

"I'm good. Yeah. How about you?"

"Good." He swung his arms and snapped his fingers. "Things are good."

"Right ... so..." I looked around. "I'm going on vacation. Going to travel the world to the different locations they shot
The Dark Knight
trilogy."

He held back a laugh. "You're so strange, Jazz."

"That I am. That ... I definitely am."

"I'll come."

My face contorted.

"Can I come, I mean?"

"No." I squinted. "Wait. Huh?"

"On the trip. Can I come?"

"Han wouldn't like that."

"We're taking a break."

"What?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

"It's a lot. I can tell you on the plane."

"Don..." I so badly wanted him to come, but I didn't want to hurt Mom. "Let me think about it."

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Fair enough."

"If you want her back..." What am I saying? "Do you want her back?"

He sucked in his bottom lip. "Yeah."

"You okay?"

"Fine. Need a vacation. Sounds like you do too."

"Okay. You can come."

What?!

Great,
I said inside.
What the hell was I thinking? Now I needed to tell Mom I changed my mind and what would Alistair say?

"Donovan."

"Yeah."

"I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Please, Jazz." He pouted. Totally fake. "I miss you and I really need to get away. Plus, don't know if you heard, but I lost my job. Lay offs."

"Oh, no. You love that job."

"Yeah. Loved. Not love." He exhaled. "Oh well."

"I just ... I'm worried about Han."

"She broke up with me. I don't think she's the one you need to worry about."

I hated myself for saying this. But I needed to be there for him like a true best friend would, regardless of my own feelings. "Don, if you love her you'll chase her."

"It's complicated. Not to mention she's in Korea right now."

"Why? Is she coming back to work?"

"She's only there a few days. She said that you needed a few weeks to regroup, so she took the money you gave her and used it for a plane ticket."

"But she ... you ... weren't you guys so happy together?"

"Jazz ... can I come or what?"

I inhaled. A lot of air. And held it there.

"Were you just going to go alone?" he said.

"I had some options."

He tapped my head and walked around me. "Let me know."

He knew I couldn't say no to him and I hated that. But what I hated more was conflict and I didn't want to deal with telling Mom that I changed plans. She expected it to be mother-daughter time and I honestly didn't want both of them there. One or the other. It could only be Mom or Donovan traveling the world and staying in cozy hotel rooms with me.

Mom.

Or the boy.

Eenie-meanie-miney....

No. Didn't trust that.

Okay.

"Jane?" Eddie popped out of his room. "Why are you banging your head against the wall? Wait." He popped back out of sight and said from his room, "Don't want to know."

Zoe's advice was to take Mom, obviously. Autumn told me to take Donovan, obviously. So I held a quarter in my hand, flipped it over several times, and named Donovan tails and Mom heads.

Did I mention that I hated making decisions like this?

I flopped on my bed and sighed, wishing something would happen and one of them would just back out.

It was 6:15pm when my phone rang and I literally—because what would it be like if it was
not
literally—thanked it for doing so.

"Alistair!"

"Wow. Happy to hear from me, little duck."

"Yes. I'm in a predicament."

"Oh, yes? Is this about your trip? Need someone to go with you?"

"Actually I kinda told two people they could come, but I only want one. Not both."

"So, just go with the first person you told."

"How reasonable. That's what I'll do. Thank you."

"Of course." Something banged in the background. "Want to hear a song I'm writing?"

"I can't wait."

My head hit the pillow and I expected to hear a guitar strumming through the phone, but it started with piano, then violins, and drums, and ... he was messing around. I knew it was a recording. Probably a YouTube video. But I leaned back and let the beautiful sound fill my mind anyway. I didn't recognize it. Which was odd. I knew a lot of classical music and even love the Piano Guys who do all of those classical covers of modern songs, but I hadn't heard this.

I loved it though. So reflective, moody, and swelling with emotion, yet bold and transcendent all at the same time.

Eyes closed, I soaked it all in, completely forgetting that I was on the phone until Alistair brought me back to reality with his voice, saying my name, drawing out the A.

I think I almost fell asleep.

"Did you like it?" he said.

"Yeah. Who wrote it?"

"Me," he said. "I know it's not perfect and I've got a long way to go, but I wanted to share it with you now. I'm really excited about this one, Jane."

"You didn't write it." I laughed. "Nice try. I'm used to Donovan's pranks."

"Well," he said. "I'm not Donovan and I'm not pretending. I really did write it. I used GarageBand for now."

I sat up in bed and squinted at the wall. "You did not write that."

"I'm not sure whether to take your disbelief as a compliment or an insult."

"Alistair, I'm so jealous. You seriously wrote that?"

"I ... um..." He cleared his throat. "I did, yes. I wrote it."

"Wow." I shook my head. He could compose classical music. He wrote a song just as beautiful as any other real life composer. Life long dream of mine. "Can I hear it again?"

He stuttered and finally got out the words, "Sure, sure. Yes ... yes, one second."

I listened with more intensity this time, focusing on every instrument as it entered and exited and brought the song to life. His song. The melody of his own mind and heart. I loved it. Adored it. Wanted to wrap it up and stuff it into my mind so I never lost it.

Or ask for a CD.

"Do you like it?" he said as it faded into the background.

"Like it? It's amazing. I thought you were a rock band type guy, drummer and all."

"I told you I wasn't enjoying what I did. I hated that. It was okay, but I've always loved writing songs and as a drummer you don't get much say in the matter. I tried my hand at writing a few songs on my guitar, adding lyrics and all, but your love for classical music inspired me to try it out, so I used GarageBand for the instruments and just went with it." I listened like Mom said, to every stammer and breath. I listened to him pour a piece of himself into the phone and into my life. And I heard a smile. Excitement. "Jane?" he said. "Part of it is that I want to finish the ... actually I was ... I was sort of hoping I'd finish it with you. Together we could write it." He coughed. "You know, check a little box off that list of yours."

The mirror on my closet door, directly across from where I sat on my bed, reflected my raised eyebrows. I actually slapped my hands on the bed beside me and mouthed to my reflection, "Are. You. Kidding. Me?"

Then I nodded to myself and my grin stretched wider and wider until my cheeks begged for mercy.

Alistair's voice trailed up to me from the floor. Apparently I dropped the phone.

I picked it back up. "I don't know what to say."

"Say yes," he whispered in a breathy, sexy tone.

"How? You live all the way over there."

"Well, one of us could visit. Or ... we could send GarageBand files back and forth."

"What if I suck at it?"

"You won't."

"And how do you know?"

"How do you not?"

I shrugged at my reflection. "Good question."

"Are you coming here on your trip? There are some Batman locations here. There's Nottinghamshire, Buckinghamshire, Essex. I'd love to show you around."

"I can hear the smirk in your voice, you know."

"Not trying to hide it, my lady."

I laughed. "Well, the first person I asked to come with me ... it was my mom. So she'll be there."

"That's fine." He paused. "Who was the second person?"

"My friend Donovan. The one that was here the other day when we were on the phone."

"You said you two are close. Isn't that a little weird? I never believed friendships like that could stay platonic."

"I don't know. I guess it is a little weird. We've cuddled and stuff. He was my first kiss. He always said he would marry me, but I rejected him so many times that he gave up."

"Why did you reject him?"

"I don't know." I thought for a minute as Alistair breathed into the phone. A minute turned into another minute. Comfortable silence. Again.

Many memories with Donovan spiraled through my mind as I tried to keep up. Tons of laughter and a few not-so-fun moments of anger and tears, like the time he told me that I needed to be with him or he could never talk to me again. I didn't want to lose him, but I was still so attached to myself that I couldn't give in. So I let him go and he turned at the last minute and said, "I can't stand you, Jane." He wasn't being funny and not an ounce of sparkle shined in his eyes. He was serious. And it hurt.

But I suppose in the end he never hurt me as much as I hurt him.

"Do you love him?" Alistair interrupted.

"Everyone has always asked me this and I've always said the same thing ... I don't know what love feels like. I've been raised by parents who display this overly affectionate stuff, staring into each other's eyes and bending over backward for each other. Mom and Dad don't fight, they discuss. Donovan and I fought a lot. Not a lot, a lot. But ... enough. When we disagreed it got heated and when things leaned the slightest bit oogly googly romantic I backed off. I didn't like it."

"Maybe you love him, but you just don't know it because you're expecting it to feel like what you imagine your parents to experience."

I pictured Mom and Dad in my head, talking in those sweet voices reserved only for each other. And both of them not being able to handle more than thirteen hours apart.

"I don't know," I said. "I'm eighteen. What do I know about love anyway?"

"How old were your parents when they met?"

I smiled. "Seventeen."

"Well, there you have it. Age doesn't matter so much, now does it?"

"I guess not."

"So maybe you love him." His voice turned down for the night. Quiet, relaxed. I pictured him under his blankets, one arm behind his head, phone in the other hand.

"Maybe." I inhaled and exhaled loudly. "I don't like thinking about it. Someone told me that you'll just know when it happens. You won't have to think about it. I wish that were true because I don't like this thinking stuff."

"Don't think then. Just experience him and see what happens." He paused. "I think it's true. When you know, you know." His voice trailed off into a sleepy row of words I couldn't understand, then he whispered, "It's easy. I knew I'd love her." He mumbled more nonsense. "Don't have to know to feel."

"Alistair?" I whispered. "Are you sleep talking?"

"Every piano has a key."

"Huh?"

"For them to find it."

"Alistair?" I held the phone away and laughed.

"Even Beethoven couldn't hear, but he could feel."

I stopped laughing and held on to those words. Maybe I was the opposite. Maybe I could hear, but not feel. Think, but not know.

I wanted to feel.

To know.

"Alistair," I said again.

"Jane."

"I'm gonna go now, okay?"

"Love you too. Goodnight."

I stared at the phone. What?

Did he mean that?

The phone made a weird sound. The Skype call was still on, but now the video was up. My heart raced and I had no idea why. All I could see was a candle flickering on a nightstand. A tea cup sat next to it, along with his iPad and
The Killing Joke
Batman comic book.

He rustled.

My pulse quickened so much it made me nauseous. I should had ended the call, but I couldn't stop looking at my screen. He moved again. The phone moved. For a second I couldn't see anything, then I saw his bare chest, covered in tattoos, rising and falling in the candle light. At this point any decent girl would've ended the call, but I guess I wasn't decent. I watched. And I found myself next to him, my arm draped over his chest as the candle lit our bodies.

I imagined his arm around me as his fingers ran up and down my arm. My ear against his heart, there between the two tattoos I couldn't make out.

I moved my head as though it would help the phone show me his face. I so wanted to see his face.

He twitched.