Adelaide Confused (18 page)

“No, not as it sees fit, but as is needed.”
She responded with finality, and I supposed she did have a well
thought out belief system.

Reed was showing me to the
door, though I suspected he was taking me the long way. We’d walked
down a number of dimly lit hallways, or should I say corridors,
with no end in sight. My suspicions that he was using the
opportunity to waylay me were confirmed when he asked, “Are you
still so against working for me?”

“
Yes,” I said without
hesitation.

“
Your gift is rare and
extremely useful—”

“
Not more useful than
seeing the future in a cloud of flour,” I cut in.

“The various forms of divination are gifted
from birth, and while the gift is advantageous, it is not
rare.”

I stopped walking to clarify, “All diviners
are born that way?”

He stopped too. “Betsy
Cross and Tim Beckett are like any oracle, seer, clairvoyant, or
mystic. Whatever the term, they were all born with the gift. It’s
the other gifts, such as your empathy or my charm that are rare,
brought on by an incident from our past.”

“
And what unhappy
circumstance made you so charming?” I said snidely, but was too
curious to sound convincing.

His face was impenetrable,
as if chiseled in stone, and his emotions only conveyed a distance.
He didn’t intend to talk about his past. Ever.

“
I could teach you,” he
offered, gaze fixed to my face. “There is so much you don’t know. I
could explain it. I could search for another empath, someone who
could help you cope, train you. I would find them for
you.”

“Find them for yourself, because this empath
isn’t interested.”

Suddenly he was frustrated
and half yelling in my face. “What? Is your useless job too
important to give up? Or maybe you’ll miss that overabundance of
friends if you leave the island behind!”

Well I guess he knew enough to know I didn’t
have many friends. “Insulting me? Is that your idea of a convincing
argument?”

He let out a deep breath,
clenching the fists that rested on either side of my head. When had
he pressed me against the wall? Radiating frustration, he answered,
“No, it’s not.” He struggled to calm his breathing. “Typically I
would never say such things, but you seem quite good at provoking
me.”

“Maybe it’s another gift I never knew
about.”

All was quiet as I let the
moments tick by, waiting while Reed calmed. I could feel his breath
in my hair, on my cheek. The hallway seemed to have grown much
darker, and again I felt like we were the last two people alive. If
I moved forward just a tiny bit we would be touching. I
leaned...

Somewhere faraway a
housekeeper was clearing her throat. The aggravating and unwelcome
sound drilled into my mind, driving off the enthralling
stupor.

It was about that time that
I began to give Reed a thorough thrashing.

Marta’s heavy tread sounded
as she barreled down the hallway in Reed’s defense. He assured her
everything was fine while stooping under the rhythmic pounding of
my fist.

Feeling somewhat satisfied,
I instructed Marta to take me to my car, but not before shrieking
‘Pervert!’ one more time.

The drive home was a blur,
and if my car gave me trouble, I didn’t notice. I was angry. I was
angry at Reed’s attitude, acting as though the charm was a harmless
glamour. He let it wear me down, proceeding to take advantage of my
soppy remains. He knew I wasn’t interested! I’d made that
abundantly clear. So why did he continue to press me?

I knew the answer:
self-preservation. Reed pretended his gift was insubstantial for
the same reason I avoided people. If I didn’t, things would become
unbearable.

What would it be like to
know that everyone around you was duped? That you had no genuine
friends? I didn’t like thinking about it because I didn’t like
making excuses for Reed. He was a pervert. End of story.

Alright, technically
nothing happened. I had Marta and her phlegm to thank for that,
though I very much doubted she would say ‘you’re welcome.’ I’d felt
her accusatory stares, not to mention her beating disapproval,
during the walk back to my car.

No point in thinking about
any of that now. As I hopped the fence into Lucas’ yard, it was
easy to forget all about Reed and his hustling charm. It was late,
probably nearing midnight, but that wouldn’t deter me. I was
dedicated. Dedicated was a good word because it implied a noble
cause.

Alright, so pursuing Lucas
at this hour wasn’t exactly noble, but it was really brave. I
adjusted the puzzle box, tucking it up under my armpit before
knocking softly.

I was seized by
doubts—obviously my common sense had kicked in. I couldn’t help but
wonder how I was going to explain myself to Lucas. Unfortunately he
didn’t allow me enough time to concoct a reasonable story, opening
the door just then.

The TV imprinted the
hallway walls with flashes of soft color, the noise of it a gentle
hum from the living room. Good, he’d been awake then. “Did you get
this for me?” I asked brazenly, waving the puzzle between
us.

I could see very little of
his face, the buzzing porch light offering up meager visibility,
but I thought he looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I was out buying
stuff. I saw it and thought...” His voice trailed off. Not a good
sign. He was trying to downplay the gift, but didn’t men usually
crow about these things? Francesca’s dates always did.

“I like it,” I said, trying to pretend my
voice hadn’t cracked. “Do you want to...?” I gave the box a shake,
hinting.

“What?” he asked blankly.

“
Do you want to put it
together?” I asked in exasperation. Clarifying, “With
me.”

“
I’ve never done one
be—”

“
Good,” I cut in. “Then
compared to you I’ll be really good at it.” I stepped into the
kitchen without having to push my way past. Lucas had opened the
door as I moved forward, offering me access. I breathed a sigh of
relief. At least he wasn’t telling me to go away. I was beginning
to suspect that he was just as clueless about these things as me.
It was like a touch and go mating ritual, except more
awkward.

Deciding the situation
needed a leader, I asked, “Can I have an apple juice?”

He shut the back door,
flipping on the kitchen switch. “I don’t have juice.”

“
Yes you do, it’s in the
fridge door. I found it while cleaning.”

He opened the fridge, and
after staring at the shelving for a moment, extracted a palm size
juice box. I briefly considered grasping it clumsily so our fingers
would touch, but decided against it, having not yet regressed to
such a state of juvenility.

Lucas ushered me into the
living room. His coffee table was big enough for a puzzle, but it
was covered in oily gadgets that needed tinkering. So instead I
dumped the puzzle out in front of the fireplace where the carpet
had been replaced by tile. It was a nice flat surface, bigger than
we’d need, plus it offered an unobstructed view of the TV
screen.

I instructed Lucas to
separate the edge pieces from the center ones. We worked in
companionable silence. After a few minutes my knees went stiff, so
I changed position. Lucas looked comfortable enough with his back
to the wall and his legs sprawled out. As was his typical fashion,
he wore a pair of cargo shorts and nothing else. It was a bit
distracting, and I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you always
half-dressed when you have guests over?”

He paused, looking down at
himself. “I can put on a shirt if you want,” he offered. His
forthright manner convinced me he hadn’t even thought about his
appearance. There was no pretension to him. He would never say one
thing while doing another. He would never lie. I didn’t know him at
all, but I knew that for certain.

“
No, don’t bother. I don’t
really mind.”

I continued to ask him
questions, simple things. We talked about his shop in Brunswick and
some of the people that worked there. I got the feeling he didn’t
want to talk about his family, though I wasn’t guessing based on
his emotion or expression. In that respect he was a blank slate,
and it was impossible to read something that just wasn’t
there.

He asked me some questions
in turn, about my job, my hobbies. He didn’t pry, just gave me the
opportunity to talk. I thought everything was going well. I was no
longer nervous like a rabbit, ready to bolt at the first sign of
trouble. So I nearly choked on my apple juice when he asked me why
I’d run off after kissing him. Seriously, he asked just like
that.

We each had a different
approach when it came to puzzle making. Mine was trial and error,
constantly fitting the pieces together until I made a match. Lucas
was the opposite. He’d stare at the unfinished puzzle for minutes
at a time before fitting together an entire section.

So he’d just finished the
whole purple plant when he casually asked, “So why’d you run off
after kissing me?”

As I said, I nearly choked
on my apple juice. I stared at him wildly while wiping my mouth,
wondering what to say. I wasn’t above lying, though he obviously
hadn’t fallen for my ‘I tripped onto your mouth’ scenario. In the
end I told the truth. “It’s your fault!” I accused. “You’re too
tall! And you didn’t lean down! What’s worse than not leaning in
when someone kisses you? Nothing! Nothing is worse than not leaning
in when someone kisses you.”

Yelling at the man you
intended to woo was not something I would suggest, though Lucas
handled it well. Really well, in fact, he apologized. “I’m sorry. I
won’t make the same mistake twice,” he said in a low, rough
voice.

I hardly heard him. My
cheeks were flushed with the flames of mortification, my breathing
fast and shallow. Throwing a fit in front of Lucas was... the
worst. I stared at our semicomplete puzzle without really seeing
it, unable to look at him. “I’ve got to go,” I said a little too
loudly.

“
We’ll finish it later,” he
replied.

I was halfway to the door,
unable to answer. He caught up quickly, his hand on my shoulder,
turning me around. “Always running off,” he said. And then he was
kissing me.

He leaned, his hands on my
neck, my waist. The pit of my stomach shivered and I felt warm all
over. I never knew just how intimate kissing was until that moment,
the vulnerability.

I wasn’t sure what was
expected of me, so I just mirrored his movements, letting him lead.
And when he pulled away, I found myself clutching his shoulders
just like the women in my romance novels did.

“A definite improvement,” I said, tugging my
shirt down. It had risen up at some point, showcasing my waist. “I
guess we’ll be seeing more of each other,” I said, before slipping
out the door.

I drove toward the village
on the tip of the island, passing the Parlor and continuing south
on Mallery Street to Neptune Park. I had to circle around a few
times before a parking spot became available. Soon I’d have to give
up my usual haunt all together. Summer was coming, just a hot,
sticky breath away, bringing in the crowds and cramming the island
full.

I usually followed the
sidewalk that ran parallel with the shore, connecting Mallery and
Beachview until it ended at the lighthouse, but not today. Today I
was feeling ambitious. Pushing through a crowd didn’t seem nearly
as daunting as it usually did.

I wandered up the road,
heading toward the general store for a snack. Two clerks behind the
front counter were having a disagreement, though they tried to hide
it, hissing in soft tones when my back was turned. I assumed they
were married since they looked so comfortable arguing
together.

I was torn between
Starburst and Skittles, trying to make a worthwhile decision when I
got mad, really mad. I wasn’t going to get a better opportunity to
hone my skills, so I settled in, covertly watching the couple with
interest. There was no need for my stealth. As a simple
disagreement escalated into a screaming match of epic proportion
they forgot me entirely.

I tried to pin down the
minor emotions. The man was impatient, no that could be the woman
too, or even me. But indignant definitely belonged to the wife.
They weren’t arguing in English, but I could tell by her body
language that she felt wronged. And when the husband started
talking at her, I got a whiff of pride. But from the daggers look
she gave, I thought it unlikely she was feeling proud to have
married him.

They’d probably disagreed
about something small. The husband saying he knew better with all
the experience he had, hence the pride. I liked to imagine the wife
rebutted with ‘I know how much experience you have, I’ve been
working next to you the entire time.’ But what the hell did I know?
I could be wrong about all of it. Emotions, body language, they
could only tell you so much, and it was never enough.

Now it was time to test
myself. That was the real reason I came to town each week. I
grabbed a pack of Starburst and headed toward the register. My goal
was to act normal under the onslaught of emotion, namely the
frothing anger. I did better than the couple, that was for
sure.