CHAPTER FOUR
Breaking the Rules
My sunglasses do little to block out the sun’s strength, so I shut my eyes. Part of me is scared to do this because I’m totally convinced that he’ll be gone when I open them. I test my theory and roll my head to the side for a quick peek. Chris is still there, lying next to me on the sand, both of us on our backs while we talk—or rather, while he talks. I make him do most of the talking since I’m so out of practice. Good thing that Sabin gave me a warm-up this morning.
It takes everything I have to look away from him again, but I don’t want to be caught staring. I love his imperfect nose, his full lips, and the way he runs his hands through his black hair every so often, tousling the soft waves. Every time he does this, the muscles in his arm flex slightly, and I am disarmed.
More than my undeniable physical attraction to Chris is the fact that I feel something else for him that I can’t explain. It’s more than a little confusing. I’ve read countless literary works that detail the longing and ache that characters have for someone they love, and over time, I have developed a strong belief that it’s just dramatic bullshit meant to entice readers. Today, however, I understand that it’s not bullshit. It’s very strange the way my stomach and chest are tight and fluttery and how his presence is so entirely magnetic. While it’s a decidedly wonderful feeling, it’s also terrible because I know that I am alone in this; there is no way that Chris can possibly feel what I am feeling. I push aside that thought because I’m not exactly in a position to barrel into any serious romantic entanglement anyway, even if he were interested. Which he’s not. I can tell by the way he’s just lying next to me on the beach chattering. So I will just enjoy this time with him.
Part of my old self has awoken, and I am going to let this day happen.
He does not ask about my parents or anything about my childhood, and I am grateful for that. I do the same.
Chris has already told me that he’s lived “too many places to mention” and that he’s majoring in economics and minoring in English lit. We also spent twenty minutes discussing our favorite coffee drinks, a conversation that only cemented how f*cking cool he is. How many college students have a French press and a milk frother in their rooms? One. That’s how many.
“My sister has tried to steal the press on more than one occasion. I bought her one, but she claims the coffee mine makes tastes better.”
“You have a sister?”
“A sister and two brothers.”
“How old?” I ask.
“They’re all here at Matthews with me. Estelle and Eric, they’re twins, are sophomores, and my brother Sabin is a junior.”
“Wait. Sabin?” There couldn’t be that many Sabins on a campus this small. “Tall, dark hair, a little … wild?”
Chris laughs. “You know him?”
“Just met him this morning. He stole my coffee. Apparently coffee-related thievery runs in your family.”
“He’s a handful. Best brother you could ask for. Well, he and Eric.”
“Sort of funny that you are all at the same school,” I say. The air is much warmer now, and I’m about to take off my sweatshirt when I remember that I just have on a T-shirt underneath. One that would show my left arm. I settle for unzipping the sweatshirt and dealing with the heat.
Chris shrugs. “We’re pretty close, I guess. The thought of us all being spread across the country at different schools sucked, so here we are.”
“How did you end up at Matthews?”
“I saw it on a shirt once. Seemed like a good idea.”
I impulsively swat him on the arm, aware of how comfortable I feel doing this. I’m amazed that I don’t feel any weirder about my freakish behavior earlier than I do, but I don’t. It seems Chris can tolerate my eccentricities. “I’m serious!”
He tips his head to me. “So am I.”
“That’s a weird way to choose a college.”
He grins. “We’re a weird bunch.”
“Your parents must have whopping empty-nest syndrome with all four of you away now, huh?”
“It’s just my father at home. My mother died when we were all pretty young. A brain aneurysm. Totally random. No way to see it coming.” Chris sits up, and his shadow travels across my stomach. “So we have something in common.”
“Dead mothers.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “Dead mothers.”
So he understood what was happening to me while we were standing in the water together. That was the connection that I felt.
“I’m glad that we don’t have dead fathers in common,” I say. “At least you still have one parent.”
He says nothing. I roll onto my side and tuck up my knees, and Chris does the same so that we are facing each other. I don’t shy away from studying him, letting my eyes travel over his body. I am relaxed, thoroughly relaxed. And exhausted. I drowsily ask him anything that I can think to ask because I want to keep him talking. His voice is soothing and beautiful, and his face is all I see as I drift off.
I sleep without dreaming, and when I wake up, Chris is still beside me, leaning back onto his elbows and looking out at the water. Slowly I sit up, and he smiles at me.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” I busy myself with brushing sand off my jeans and redoing the knot holding my hair back so that he can’t see how embarrassed I am. It’s disorienting to have zonked out so completely. “How long was I asleep?”
“A few hours.”
“A few what?” Oh my God. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to sit here while I slept. I’m sure you have things to do.”
Chris shakes his head. “Why would I want to leave? Beautiful day, happily snoozing girl? Did you sleep well?”
“I did.” It’s an almost nonexistent occurrence, and I am positive that I slept so peacefully because of Chris. Asking him to sit next to me every night so that I can sleep without nightmares is probably unreasonable… .
“Know what?”
“What?”
Chris bounces up so that he is looming above me. “I’m f*cking starving.”
“Oh. Okay.” I squint up at him. He likes to curse, too. “I should probably get going, too.”
His hand stretches down to me. “Let’s go to lunch. I know a great place. Actually, that’s not true. It’s not a great place, but it’s an interesting place.” He picks up my backpack as he grabs my hand and pulls me to standing. “You’ve got to be hungry, too. It’s way past lunchtime, and I bet you didn’t eat breakfast.”
He’s right, and I am starving, but I’m hesitant to push this day anymore. The safety that I feel with him by the lake can’t possibly hold up if we leave. “I don’t know. I have studying to do, and—”
“Nonsense. C’mon.” He pulls me forward and then drops my hand as he again walks backward.
Our walk back toward campus is quiet, but not awkward. It’s a rare thing to be with another person and not feel an obligation to fill every second with talk. Chris shoves his hands in his pockets and lifts his head into the sunlight as we stroll. Eventually the local businesses come into view, and he points to a blue flag waving in the slight breeze. “Have you eaten here? You must have, of course. Everyone has.”
I look up. Artemis Piccola. I shake my head. “Odd name for a restaurant. No. I haven’t been here.”
The truth is that I rarely leave campus. My life follows a direct path from one place to another with virtually no wandering, except for nights that I get drunk enough to want a second party that might have more booze. Dorm to class, class to the cafeteria, back to the dorm, a quick trip to the library when vitally necessary, a stop at the union for coffee. If there’s no keg involved, I’m not one to linger or stray. Well, until today. Today I am breaking all the rules.
“What? You’ve never been here?” Christopher’s jaw might as well have fallen open. “Good Lord, girl, we need to fix that right away. This is practically a rite of passage. You certainly can’t graduate this spring if you haven’t eaten here. C’mon. I’m buying you lunch.” He swings open the door and waves me through the entrance.
After grabbing a menu from the rack on the wall, he leads the way through the maze of tables. The way that he moves is clean, almost stealthy, and soon we are sitting at a table buried at the back of the restaurant. The room is all wood and brick with no windows, and it’s incredibly dark despite the perfect weather outside. The hard bench that I sit on gives me a good view of the space, but because I have my back to a wall, Christopher has only me to look at. I spend a full minute wishing we were sitting in opposite seats.
He holds the menu in his lap and smiles playfully at me. “So, Miss Blythe, what part of the world would you like to visit today?”
“Um … What?” What is he asking me? I assume I am missing out on a joke that most people would get. “I don’t … I don’t know what you mean.” I feel incredibly awkward.
“Pick a country. Where would you like to go?”
For God’s sake, I barely leave my dorm room on most days, so the idea of foreign travel is not exactly at the top of my fantasies. “Greece?”
“You don’t seem very sure about that.”
I fidget with the zipper on my sweatshirt. “Greece,” I repeat more definitively. “Santorini.”
“Pick one more.”
My zipper digs into my hand as I pull it up and down. “Brazil.”
“Ah. Carnival.”
“Yes. Carnival.”
He flips open the menu. “I’m not sure if we can get as specific as Santorini, but you never know here at crazy Artemis Piccola.” He scans the page in front of him. “Ahhh. Based on your choice of locations, you will be having a gyro followed by the feijoada.”
I reach across the table and take the menu from his hands. What kind of place is this? The menu is a freakish collection of dishes that have nothing whatsoever to do with one another. Spicy tuna maki is listed right after vegan lasagna, and the specials are an African curry (choice of meat!) and a bacon-mushroom bison burger. I clear my throat. “And where are you going today?”
“Nowhere.”
I look up and frown. “Why not? Is the food that horrible?”
Christopher leans back in his chair. “No. I’d rather stay right here with you.”
“Oh.” I feel heat rise in my cheeks—although I can’t quite place the emotion. Excitement? Embarrassment? Whatever the feeling is, it’s something I haven’t felt in a long time. Feelings this intense make me undeniably nervous. I wonder if there is any chance that they serve liquor here. A shot or five of ouzo to go with my gyro might help me. I glance down. “So something local then. A cheddar cheese omelet and … what else? A whole cow? Is that Wisconsin-y enough for you?”
“Perfect!” He snatches the menu and makes a rather loud display of snapping his fingers while he calls out, “Waitress! Waitress!” He leans in conspiratorially. “The service here is atrocious.”
I cringe as he begins banging his fork against the water glass. And just when I thought he might be perfect.
“Do you have to do that every goddamn f*cking time you come in here?” A thin young woman with closely cropped black hair appears at our table. Her voice is level, but the cursing makes her irritation obvious.
“Yes, I do. Otherwise you might ignore me and let me simply pass out at the table from hunger.”
She sneers. “If you weren’t making such a racket, I’d be more than happy to let you f*cking collapse. What do you want?”
“I don’t want to hear my little sister say f*cking, and I do want to introduce you to somebody. Estelle, this is Blythe McGuire. Blythe, this is Estelle. My eternally cursing sister.”
Estelle puts her order pad and pen in one hand and reaches out with the other. “Pleasure to meet you. You must have incredible strength of character to be out dining with Christopher.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” I say, fully aware of my messy hair and baggy sweatshirt. Especially next to Estelle, who is positively stunning. Any woman with hair that short has to be, because high cheekbones and sharp eyes are required to pull it off. Even with no makeup, her features are perfect. She is thin, probably too thin, with a boyish frame that makes her look like a model. I notice a good-sized cross that hangs from her neck, but she wears no other jewelry. Her look is simple and beautiful and not one that I could ever pull off.
“Are you two hungry?”
Chris starts to order, but is interrupted by a booming voice that comes from the entrance. “Christopher Shepherd! Have you stolen my girlfriend already?”
Chris shuts his eyes and laughs. “Go away! Go away!”
Sabin storms his way to our table with the fakest angry look that I’ve ever seen. “I cannot believe that you have betrayed me like this, my brother. We will duel over this princess, and I shall be victorious.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Hi, Sabin. How are you?”
“How am I? How do you think I am? I’m devastated, that’s how I am!” He pats Estelle’s arm before sliding into my booth and throwing an arm over my shoulder, glaring at his brother. Sabin drops his head onto my shoulder and lets out an exaggerated sob. “When did you get your nasty claws into my sweet girl? I was not expecting to have been so wronged by both my brother and my lover at once. I must try—no, I will win her back, you scoundrel!”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Sabin? As of earlier this morning, weren’t you in love with someone else?”
He pulls away. “Was I?”
“Yes. Chrystle, right?”
He slaps his forehead. “How quickly one forgets when caught up in the beauty that is Blythe. Yes! The fair Chrystle. I shall thus return my sights to her and leave you to the clutches of this less-than-dashing knight.”
Chris folds his arms in front of him. “Dude, get a grip. And don’t date anyone whose name sounds similar to mine. It’s creepy.”
“Well, shit, I hadn’t thought about that. Chris, Chrystle… .” Sabin pauses and frowns before regaining his theatrical air. “Oh, the tragedy! Clearly I cannot make juicy love to the woman ever again for I would only think of you, dear brother. And that would be a sin of outlandish and vile proportions.”
Estelle taps Sabin’s foot lightly with hers. “That’s enough. Leave Chris alone. You’re wrecking his perfectly nice date with a very tolerant girl.”
Sabin swings his head my way again. “My apologies. But I must warn you. While Sir Christopher may have an excess of charm, he will most certainly break your heart.” Sabin looks at his brother, serious for the moment. “I guarantee it.”
Chris gives him a warning look before his face softens. “Knock it off. Blythe and I are friends having lunch. Stop being hysterical.”
I reach for my water glass. “We just kind of ran into each other at the lake. And then we ended up here.”
“Whatever you say. So this means that Blythe is fair game again,” Sabin teases. “Okay, kids. I’m going to blow this international joint and get a giant pizza from Gianni’s all to myself. I must recuperate before this evening’s events, which are sure to be tantalizing.” He stands. “A pleasure to see you again, Blythe. Don’t forget about my show.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Sabin high-fives Chris and kisses Estelle on the cheek before hurtling out the door.
“I’d apologize for him, but it’s just hopeless,” Chris says to me as he hands the menu back to Estelle. “So I think that Blythe will have the gyro—”
“Nope, sorry. Didn’t you see the sign? Today is Irish food only.”
“Again?” Chris groans.
“Anya, the owner, is a fan of themes,” Estelle explains to me.
As if on cue, the lights dim and hymnal music blares through the speakers. A flash of light causes me to blink, and as I ease them open again, I find myself just inside the edge of a projected image coming from an old film reel. I peek to the left to see grassy hills and views of an Irish landscape floating across the wall, as well as my face and body.
“F*cking hell,” Estelle mutters. “Anya!” she shouts, calling to the older woman behind the projector. “Is this necessary? It’s the fifth time this month. And if I have to listen to ‘Be Thou My Vision’ one more time, I may up and quit!”
“Ambience, my dear. Authenticity!” Anya yells back as she adjusts the bun of hair at the nape of her neck.
“Oh for God’s sake, this is bullshit!” Estelle shouts. “I can’t even see anything properly.”
“I can,” Chris says just loudly enough for me to hear. He is watching me.
The bright light from the projector has mostly blinded me, but I know that the pattern of colors is dancing across my face and shirt. I squint until I find Christopher’s gaze. I wish he wouldn’t look at me, and I also wish that he’d never stop. I inch over in my seat until the images no longer move over me.
Estelle raises her voice to be heard. “So, I guess that it’s f*cking cream of turnip soup, cabbage, and soda bread for you two.”
“Seriously, Estelle, enough with the swearing. I can cuss up a storm, but you’re my little sister, and I can’t take it.” Chris raises his chin to the cross that hangs from her neck. “And I thought God didn’t approve of swearing. Especially when hymns are playing.”
“Like you care what God thinks.”
“Like there is a God,” he spits back.
Estelle freezes, gripping her order pad.
“Stelle, really. How can you possibly believe for one f*cking minute that—“” He stops, and I hear him inhale.
Her voice is softer now, barely audible. “Chris.”
“Sorry.” He touches her arms. Despite the music, I think of the term deafening silence. “Estelle, really, I apologize.”
She nods. “I’ll get your food. And two Killian’s. You’ll need beer to wash down the atmosphere.”
Chris looks down at the table, but I keep my eyes fixed on him while he runs his hands through his hair a few times. The music washes over us as the wall next to me is filled with dark Irish skies.
I wait. Eventually he looks up.
“I feel bad. I shouldn’t have said that to her. And I shouldn’t have said it in front of you.” He fusses with his napkin for a few minutes and then lets out a small laugh.
“What is it?”
He tilts his head to the speaker above us. “Amazing Grace.”
I haven’t noticed that the music changed.
Chris crumples the napkin in his fist and bites his lip. “F*cking bagpipes.”
“F*cking bagpipes,” I agree.
“I really shouldn’t have. With Estelle. I need to be more respectful. And I’m sorry if you believe—”
“Don’t,” I say quickly. “Don’t apologize. I don’t believe.” My water glass is steady in my hand as I sip from it, and I take my time setting it down. I move my silverware to another spot on the table, trace the rim of my plate with my finger, and then sit straight up. I wait until his eyes meet mine. “We both know that there is no God.”
“No,” he agrees. “There is no God. Not for us.”