The Lebrus Stone (22 page)

Isobel was sitting behind her desk.

I crossed the room and sat opposite her, waiting for her to finish reading the headlines of today's newspaper. She crumpled it up and threw it into the waste bin. There mustn't have been much to read about. I couldn't imagine there being anything for journalists to report.

Isobel smiled, but I could tell she wanted to get straight to it.

"So, how was your day with Cray?" she asked.

"Edu-cational."

"Anything else?" She rifled through her open drawer.

"Interesting."

"There must be more you can say." She smirked. "You were alone?"

"Yes."

"In Sky Meadows. Enjoying the festivities of Memorial Day?"

"That's right."

I didn't know she planned on describing what I was doing yesterday.

Did she think I was sleepwalking?

"Did you have the picnic I arranged?" she asked.

I should have known that was her doing. "Yes."

"And you are not willing to elaborate?" She clasped her hands beneath her chin and stared at me defiantly, daring me to divulge.

"We ate and drank some wine, Isobel. Why are you asking me all of this?" I began to wonder why she was fine with us drinking alcohol, even going as far as to encourage it. But I thought better than to ask. Maybe some rich people liked to bend the rules and have their children and underage relatives become early alcoholics. I also didn't want her to stop me from openly drinking. I needed it sometimes.

"Did he behave?" she asked, ignoring my first question.

"I guess so."

"And how did he behave exactly?"

"Like him."

"How would you describe…him?"

I didn't understand where the intrusive conversation was going.

"He's…" I tried to think of a polite, but truthful way to describe his bull headed arrogance. "Confident."

She shook her head and picked up a pencil to sharpen. "He can be a good, kind, and wholesome young boy, Crystal. I need you to be aware of that." I wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.

"I can see it's there," I said truthfully.

She gave up on the pencil and shot me one of her startled looks, the one that told me I was to only tell the truth or bear one of her religious speeches.

"May I ask you something, Crystal? And please, do be honest."

"Sure." I had a feeling I was going to regret replying so fast.

"Tell me, what were you both discussing?"

"Who?" I asked.

"Why, you and Cray, of course. What were you discussing at the picnic?"

"I can't really remember."

"Try and think."

I did, delving into every aspect I could admit to without blushing away my secret crush.

"Um…well we—"

"Go on," she urged.

"We, I asked, no I think he came to the conclusion—"

"That you were interested in being more than friends? Relatives?"  She was standing beside me now, waiting for me to continue with her hands at her chest.

"Uh, no. I don't think so." My face heated. She looked pleased to be aware of feelings that couldn't be concealed without a paper bag over my head.

"Did you hurt his feelings?" She walked over to a book shelf.

"No. I don't think so."

"Did he hurt yours?"

She turned, her piercing, cat-like eyes searched mine.

"No," was my quick response, and one I proclaimed as the truth, even if in reality it was a downright lie.

"That's good." She smiled, so wide I could see her back teeth. But it just as quickly vanished behind a grim line of lips. "However, I must remind you of your position within this household, Crystal," she said. "It is one of platonic virtue. One must not force the other to abstain from that."

"But —"

"You are a good girl, raised without constraint, but with your own humility. A quality I see you have developed naturally from your mother."

"My mother?"

Had Cray told her what happened? Had he made it seem like I had made a move on him? How could he?
Why the little…

"Yes, your mother was very discreet in her actions, always the chased and not the pursuer of affection."

"But I —"

"No, please let me finish, darling. It is within my right to protect you from any disappointments. I need to guard you from any foolishness due to your vulnerability."

She sighed and returned to her chair. The small clock on her desk ticked annoyingly during the silence as I considered a way of expressing my verdict on her assumptions.

She may have been right to call my unvoiced feelings foolish. But I didn't chase. And I never would have chased anyone for their affection, even if I desperately wanted it.

"Isobel, you have this all wrong. It's overstated with ambiguous remarks." I tried to throw in a big word of my own, even though I knew it was added in the wrong context. "And as for pursuit. I wouldn't chase your son if he was the last person on Earth. He's too rude and obnoxious." I felt better already for being honest. Partly.

She listened patiently, her expression revealing nothing in return.

"He may be good looking," I continued. "But his attempt at a conversation falls flat." I had to hold back adding that I tended to admire him regardless.

Her lips twitched into a smirk.

Was she finding the insults amusing?

"Cray, darling. We were just discussing you."

Heavy footsteps entered the room, stopping just behind my chair. My heart thumped. I kept thinking about his hands on me, his lips moving against mine, his tongue in my mouth; most definitely his tongue
in
my mouth.

I could taste the remnants of nicotine and wine as soon it registered, then realized the scent must have been coming from where he was standing so close to me. I tried not to inhale too deeply and make it obvious I was enjoying it. That would have been just plain weird. I couldn't let the Lockes know I was getting weirder than they had already probably guessed I was.

"Cray, we were just discussing your day together," Isobel said. "I'm afraid Crystal declares a very different version of events."

"She can declare it how she likes."

If he had been listening this whole time, he didn't sound all that angered considering I'd made him sound like a jackass. Maybe slightly miffed, but definitely not hostile.

I breathed out a sigh of relief, trying to stop remembering Cray pressed against me, his hands twined in my hair. It was making my pulse race. I must have been turning red, since Isobel raised one of her thin eyebrows at me. "Perhaps you will do much better next time," she remarked.

Next time?
Was she kidding?

"We're heading out to the filled pool. I thought Crystal might like to join us," Cray mumbled.

Who were we?

I made myself look at him to be sure it was Cray and not somebody else asking me to join him in a partially naked interaction.

He kept his gaze on Isobel.

Good.

She seemed thrilled by the idea. But what happened to platonic virtue? Not chasing those not wishing to be chased? The invitation hardly seemed to agree with either of those terms, which were, up until a few minutes ago, were priorities on the list of her objections. Or was I reading too much into it?
It was just a swim, not a date.

But Cray and I had kissed. It was something I would only have allowed a
date
to do. It was too late to regret my actions. It was useless convincing myself I regretted behaving so differently with Cray and allowed it to happen, because I had wanted it to happen again, very soon, many times, everyday, all day and forever if I was to get carried away.

"Yes, what a constructive idea," Isobel said, over pleased by his announcement. Her eyes, however, were telling him something else. Giving him a warning? A threat? No. Maybe encouragement?

Whatever it was, he listened. He was turning his head to look at me. I prepared myself for the moment our eyes would lock and see the pros and cons against the swim, in doing anything that would leave us potentially alone and slipping into an embrace that would make it harder for me to forget him.

Yet, our eyes didn't meet. They didn't even bounce back a reflection. He kept his eyes on the tip of my nose.

"We'll be outside." It was barely uttered. "And …" His gaze fell to Isobel then back to me: at my eyes this time. His were unfocused and downcast, a troubled gray, burdened by the overshadowing tone. It upset me to see him so…tormented.

"Maybe we can catch a movie after the swim," he added, but the words sounding strangled compared to his usual tantalizing voice.

It wasn't flattering. Although his mood stone-like eyes still made my heart skip a beat. And in my mind, he was touching me, moaning against my mouth, panting out of breath as I had. I became hot and tingly from the recollection; my stomach dipped.

"I'll think about it," I managed.

He grimaced, becoming his usual self; his eyes churned green.

Isobel's glare was kind of icy, possibly verging on outraged. But at whom?

Cray's stiff stance slackened. He left the room in a sort of daze.

All the while, Isobel kept her eyes on his back, squinting, seeming not to trust him.

And it made me wonder.

When had a loyalty toward someone changed?

~ * ~

Cray had been gone for two days. As far as I knew, he never attended the swim that day. I hadn't attended either. Nobody ever mentioned him.

I decided to keep busy by figuring out a way to research my ancestry. I turned down every offer from Zella and Isobel to go shopping or the movies. I had to, even though I still came up with nothing from my attempts to find some morsel of a truth about the women in my family. When it came to Cray, I decided it was best if I tried to forget our moment. I decided I shouldn't look too much into it. It wasn't a big deal. He hadn't disappeared because of me.

I had to assure myself of that countless times of the day.

And when I heard his deep, rumbling voice from the driveway that late Friday afternoon, I darted for the French doors, acting on impulse.

He was talking to Gal by his Jaguar, and like always, my breath caught at the sight of him. Cray turned and slammed the car door closed. His usual tanned skin was pallid, almost yellow. It concerned me how unwell he looked.

He gripped the front peaks of his hair when Gal leaned in close to say something. Cray seemed disturbed by something. It was wrong of me to still admire him. It was wrong of me to still find him so immensely attractive. It was definitely wrong of me to worry about him, more so to still crave his attention, his lips on mine.

I went back to my bed and forced myself to read a book. A knock on my door moments later startled me. I hesitantly answered it, finding Cray in the hallway, the person I'd hoped it would be.

His hair was mussed and his eyes were less stern than usual. He was in a crumpled white shirt and black pants. As he stepped forward, I froze, feeling entranced.

His hands pressed against the doorframe, barricading me from making a swift exit. But I had no plans to leave now that I had him all to myself.

He cleared his throat and I blinked, horrified at how I had been gawking. He seemed just as uncomfortable by it, perhaps even confused by my acute interest.

Had he never looked in the mirror?

I chose to react in the way I normally would have with the opposite sex: emotionally detached.

"What do you want?" I asked, trying to sound affronting, yet my gaze dropped to the floor.

"I think it's time we talked," he said, all dreamy and husk.

"Talked?" I cringed at the way I sounded half-elated.

"I think it's overdue."

His smooth, caressing voice had a way of waking a part of me once asleep. It made the intelligent side of me less wary, but the naive side all the more gullible. I blinked a few times to respond as me and not the person he made me become.

"I have nothing to say to you, Cray."

My heart pounded harder. I hadn't fully admitted it, but ever since meeting him, his name had become imprinted to my mind. It was all I could mostly see when it wasn't his face. Saying it out loud made me feel vulnerable, but somehow free at the same time, like his name was the secret code to making me happy. The sound of it on my lips gave me the most tantalizing tingles; the echo of it in my head warmed me from the inside. It was probably why I reacted this way to a near stranger. It was the only reason, other than his model good looks, I could give myself.

"I have plenty I need to say to you." His voice was coarse, possibly with anger at my stubbornness. I felt some kind of victory. It was about time I affected him. And I couldn't help but be intrigued by what he had to tell me. He didn't seem a person of many words, not with me anyway. For him to admit he wanted to talk, and plenty of it, was a sure way to make someone unwisely crushing on him to leap at the chance.