The Mayfair Moon (18 page)

“Hello?” Zia said as if our call had dropped.

“I’m still here.”

“Is something wrong?”

I took one more deep breath.

“Do you think Isaac still wants to talk to me?” Instantly I hated how the question decided to come out. It made me sound desperate and so I quickly covered myself before she had a chance to respond. “I mean, do you think I could come over and confront him? I just need some answers so I can forget about what he did and get on with my life.”

I don’t know how, but I got the feeling Zia was smiling on the other end.

“We can come over right now and pick you up,” she said, eagerly.

I didn’t expect it to be so soon and so it took a moment to agree.

“Sure...,” I said nervously, “now would be good.”

Might as well. This needed to be over with and the sooner the better. Though it made me feel sick to my stomach.

Zia and Damien were at my house within the hour.

“Zia,” I said from the back seat, “Maybe this is a mistake.”

She turned to see me, smiling. “Hey, I’ve got your back.”

I had only been thinking of facing Isaac. Rachel had failed to cross my mind, until now. Even more reason not to go through with this.

“No really, Zia,” I begged, “I don’t want to do this. Everybody in that house looks at me like I’m a disease.”

Truly, that fact didn’t bother me so much. I was just looking for other excuses.

“If you’re worried about Rachel,” she said, “then don’t be because she’s been dealt with;
be-lieve
me.”

“How—”

Zia put up her hand. “Nope. I’m not going to say anything else. This is Isaac’s deal, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said mockingly, “you don’t speak for Isaac. Well, I still don’t feel comfortable in your house.”

“That hurts my feelings.” She smiled.

“Can you blame her, Zia?” Damien said from the driver’s seat.

“I guess you’re right,” Zia agreed. “But they only look at you that way because they’re jealous of you.”

“Jealous? Why would anyone in that house be jealous of
me
?”

I saw Damien’s dark eyes gazing at me from the rear-view mirror. “Because you have something every one of them do not,” he said.

“I do?” Trying to figure out what that might be was a severely wasted effort. “What could I possibly have that they don’t?”

“Isaac Mayfair, of course,” Damien replied.

WHEN YOU WANT TIME to drag by slowly, it will be sure to disappoint you. We were at the Mayfair house in minutes after Damien’s absurd response. I couldn’t speak the rest of the drive. I wanted to. I had wanted to tell Damien that I didn’t appreciate his asinine jokes. I wanted to tell Zia that that was twice now she didn’t take up for me.

I was prepared only to sit outside in the Jeep and nothing else, but Zia and her recurring, bothersome persistence would not allow it.

“Girl, come on,” she said beaming as she looped her arm through mine and walked me into the house.

The den was as empty as it was the last time I was here. I didn’t even see Daisy, or the tall girl who I know had it out for me all along. A flame burned in the fireplace.

It was quiet. So much about this house always intrigued and frightened me. And every time I went inside, rather than getting used to it, I felt further and further away from any familiarity. It seemed darker and more vacant, yet the chills down the back of my neck were proof that eyes were watching from every corner, every shadow. I never heard a breath, but I could feel the warmth of a hundred breaths all around me. They were there; all of them watching as they were my first visit when I sensed them outside watching from the dark woods. Some things you just know.

I went further into the dim, spacious den and stood near the burning fireplace. Above the mantle, high on the wall a painting of a man and woman hung, framed in antique and exquisite beauty. The man was someone of great importance and power; handsome and dominant with flowing dark hair and scars peeking from the neck of his military coat. Scars on his unshaven face. Scars were probably all over his body. But he was still attractive, even though he looked to be in his forties and that wasn’t exactly my thing. The woman with him seemed much younger. She was so frail, so gentle and innocent with the softest cinnamon-colored hair.

I fell in love with their story and I didn’t even know who they were.

A shadow moved in the kitchen near the stairs. Daisy and two more faces were watching from the darkness. I half-raised my hand to wave at Daisy, but then just put it back down. I noticed more faces here and there, watching me from rooms to my left and right and from upstairs. I felt like a spectacle, but that was nothing out of the ordinary in the Mayfair house. It was the only thing I
was
used to.

“Where are you going?” I said to Zia.

She stopped near the kitchen entrance. “To make something to eat,” she said. “Isaac’s coming.”

My heart sped up in half a second.

Before I could respond, Zia disappeared around the corner and at the same time, there were footsteps moving down the stairs.

Isaac was coming...but so was Rachel.

The moisture evaporated from my mouth. Revulsion and fear; the only two things I felt for Rachel, devoured me.

This was not at all funny. I thought that Isaac wanted to talk to me, maybe to apologize and ‘explain’, but with Rachel in the mix, it could only mean one thing: they were going to apologize
together
. They were going to tell me that they never meant to hurt me, and that they were a couple, but Isaac didn’t know how to break it to me. He was going to admit he led me on and that it was wrong of him and that he was so, so sorry.

Rachel had every right to treat me the way she did. I mean, I would have gone about it less cruelly if it was me, but she had every right. I suddenly felt like the other woman. It was a horrible feeling.

Damien was an idiot and I couldn’t wait to tell him off.

Rachel descended the last step first with Isaac not far behind. She approached with a withdrawn, hateful reluctance almost as if every one of her steps were forced.

“I-I’m sorry,” I said as she moved forward.

She turned to glance at Isaac standing behind her. That hateful glare in her eyes and the way her mouth stayed tight and angry, kept me on edge.

Rachel looked back at me. “You’re not the one that should be apologizing,” she said. “That’s what I came down here for, even though you—“

Isaac stepped right up behind Rachel then; interrupting something she apparently was not permitted to say. The tension in the room suddenly thickened. Isaac growled, low and guttural, and Rachel’s hateful expression failed under a more controlled one.

“What you saw that day,” Rachel said, “was a lie.”

I listened intently, trying to not to let the shock show in my face just yet.

“Isaac was sick and messed up on meds and I took advantage of it.”

Already I felt the Idiot of the Year label attaching itself to me. The picture of what really happened was clearing up in my mind. My shoulders, stiff with every uncomfortable emotion imaginable, began to relax. “You set me up?”

Rachel hesitated. She didn’t want to tell me any of this. She would rather walk barefoot across broken glass.

“Yes, I set you up and I’m sorry.”

Though I knew her apology was as sincere as Jeff telling my mom he’d never drink again, that didn’t matter to me. Knowing the truth trumped sincerity.

My gaze met Isaac’s. I wasn’t sure what to say at this point. I felt stupid standing there, wordless and still so unsure of everything. I believed Rachel; nothing could take that away from me, but I was unsure of everything else: whether Rachel was going to jump me, or if Isaac was ever going to speak.

And then he did.

“Rachel and every other girl here,” he said, stepping past her and toward me, “know I’m...not the one for them.”

He chose the words very carefully

“And I never want you to feel again, the way she made you feel,” he added.

The faces watching from the shadows moved as if disturbed by Isaac’s words. From the corner of my eye though, I saw Daisy smile at me.

Isaac turned to Rachel then. She nodded once as if quietly acknowledging some secret demand and then she left the room. I had expected her to glare at me one last time, to threaten me with secret gestures, but she didn’t even look in my direction.

“But...I saw you kiss her,” I said in a soft whisper. It felt awkward having a discussion like this with others listening. “At least, I could have sworn....”

“I’m not denying that happened,” Isaac said, “but I don’t remember it if I did—Oldest excuse ever, I know, but it’s the truth.”

I did believe him.

“But what about the girls I saw you with today?” I let my expression become slightly defensive and accusing.

A slim, knowing smile spread carefully across Isaac’s face as if my obvious jealousy pleased him in some way.

“My sisters,” he revealed. “Shannon and Elizabeth.”

I felt so stupid. For a second, I couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes.

“Adria,” he said to me, “you did nothing wrong.”

“Look at me,” he added after a pause.

I raised my eyes.

Isaac started to explain further, but then took hold of my hand. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

The tremors were back, making my whole body tingle uncontrollably. I had already forgiven Damien and Zia and even apologized profusely in my mind for thinking such harsh things about them.

It was a great relief to step outside and get away from everyone listening. I pulled my sweater tight in the front and covered my hands with the sleeves. I think he had started to put his arm around me, maybe to keep me warm, but he backed off at the last second. I tried once more to use those elusive super mental powers of mine, but still to no avail.

“Where are we going?”

“Harvey’s Coffee,” he said. “We’ll take my car this time,” he added as he walked me to a standalone garage on the other side of the house.

He opened the door for me and I got inside. A couple of beaded black necklaces hung from the rearview mirror. His car smelled strongly of cherry air freshener and there were a few empty water bottles in the floorboard.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, hopping into the driver’s seat. “Blame Zia; she drove it last.”

“At least you have a car,” I said. “I’m still riding a bike.”

We pulled out of the garage and away from the Mayfair house. I secretly looked over at him, glimpsing the delicate yet strong set of his jaw, the unfathomable beauty of his eyes. I couldn’t believe I was with him at that moment. A million thoughts were swimming around inside my head, but most of all I tried unsuccessfully to tame a dozen new emotions.

Harvey’s was a cozy coffee shop with booth seats pressed against the large windows and a couple of small round tables placed throughout. Other than Isaac and me, there were two other customers inside, both of them sitting with their noses buried inside a newspaper and a laptop. Only one barista was behind the counter and she greeted us along with an offer to try the newest iced coffee blend. I never liked coffee much, but had always loved the smell of it. Isaac ordered it black for himself.

“Come on,” he urged, “you should try something. I’ll get you a small one if you want.”

“Ummm, sure, thanks. I’ll have whatever that was she said.” I couldn’t remember what it was, but it wouldn’t have mattered; I knew nothing of coffee lingo. Alex had been the Starbucks lover of the two of us.

We took our drinks to an empty booth seat and Isaac sat across from me. I never would have taken him for a coffee hermit; he didn’t look the stereotypical part, but then he didn’t exactly order any of those fancy drinks, either. I decided he probably never actually sat inside this place and this was just a necessary exception.

Isaac was even more striking in the light. I tried not to look at him directly too much, but I was noticing more about him. He was unlike any teenager I had ever met; reserved and mysterious, dangerous and devastatingly gorgeous. All qualities combined that often make a person irresistible. But there was more to his rough exterior than I had noticed before. Scars. Like in the painting over the fireplace mantle, Isaac had more scars than the average teenager. One noticeable on his throat, several on his hands and wrists I saw when he took his jacket off and laid it on the seat. I wondered about his chest and back; instinct told me there were probably scars there too.

Then I noticed one thing that should have been questionable all along: was he really a teenager? He didn’t go to school and was apparently older than Zia, but I really had no idea....

“Did you graduate already?”  I said, taking a sip from my straw. The drink was surprisingly good.

“Graduated last year,” he said.

“So...you’re like eighteen now?”

“Turned nineteen in July.”

Two years older than me, that was good. Older, which was kind of mandatory in my book, but close enough to my age I didn’t feel like I was infatuated by a pervert. I began wondering how Beverlee and Uncle Carl would take this, since he was officially an adult.