Crux (8 page)

I can’t figure out why I’m telling him the truth. It occurs to me I’ve always been less guarded around Grey. Maybe it’s because he already knows about other, secret parts of my life, like the amulet and the guys that chased me, and he didn’t go blabbing about them.

“In a lot of ways, I’m really lucky,” I say. “I just don’t have a bunch of, you know, stories.”

Grey reaches for my right hand where it hangs at my side. I look up as he presses it against his chest and rubs my fingers with his thumb. “I bet that’s not true.”

I ease my hand from his and head for the bathroom yet again. “Uh, so, how long has Kate been crushing on Scud?” I call behind me.

“Caught that did you?”

“Uh huh, sooo …”

“A while I guess. Two years at least. I love the guy, but he’s a twelve-year-old. You know what I mean? He needs to grow up before he deserves Kate.”

“Poor Kate, she’s amazing.”

“You think so?”

“I do. Scud’s an idiot if he can’t see that.”

“Agreed. Hey, I’m glad you’re not one of those girls who’s always running late.” Sarcasm drips from his words.

I stick my head around the corner of the bathroom door. “Yeah, it would suck if I made you late to save the world just because I can’t find my lip gloss. Some stellar partner I’d turn out to be.”

“Hmm.” His face gets all serious and thoughtful. “I like the way your lip gloss looks and all that, but I have a feeling you’re not that kind of girl either, are you?”

“No. I’m really not.” I smile. “And thanks for noticing.”

9

Grey escorts me through the door of his Victorian home near Little Five Points. I smile inwardly as I glance around the meticulously restored house. Oak floors, pale green walls with cream trim, and walnut antiques grace the entry. Painted gold pumpkins and red pomegranates decorate a bowl on the coffee table. White candles burn in silver candlesticks while classical music plays in the background.

The place is so
them
, the Mathews’—perfect little sitcom, plastic family.
Who would I be if I’d grown up here—Kate? Hey, that’d be cool.

More than ever, I’m sure Grey will not be part of Jeff’s plan to destroy the amulet tucked away in my purse. Those jobs should be reserved for damaged goods, like me.

A family portrait hangs over the stone fireplace in the living room with Mr. and Mrs. Mathews smiling their designer smiles. Grey and Kate display their beautiful, dark features, and another, older boy stands in the photo with them. The likeness is striking. He must be related, but I can’t recall ever hearing anyone mention another brother.

Voices ring out in the back of the house, and nerves erupt in my stomach again. I try to decide what to say to Grey’s parents.
Hello, remember me? I’m the pitiful, homeless girl you met on the street. Ha-ha. Yeah, well, I’m actually a descendant of a Viking Warrior and I’m taking your son away to release the souls of two Nordic kings, who wreak havoc on humanity in general, hope you don’t mind. Oh, yeah, and he might get killed. Pass the rolls?

Great. They’re going to love me.

“Birdie? Is that you?” Kate’s voice comes from overhead as Scud tromps down the steps with her struggling form thrown over his shoulder. I bet she’s absolutely loving that, I think wryly.

“Put me down, you idiot,” Kate beats at his back in a way I know won’t hurt. Scud’s hands encircle her waist. He’s slow to release as he guides her feet to the floor. “We were playing twister,” she says to me, her voice breathless. “Things got a little carried away.”

I let the obvious pun slide and smile.

Scud takes a step toward me, arms lift for a hug, but as his eyes flash toward Grey, he drops his hands and punches me in the arm instead. “Looking good, Birdie.”

“Thanks,” I say. “You guys, too.”

Kate grabs my arm and tows me through the living room. “Mom! Birdie’s here.”

I take a deep breath and start channeling Mrs. Dixon, trying to remember all her lessons on manners. Everyone has gathered in the kitchen, a big room with burgundy paint above sand-colored tile floors, granite counter tops, and stainless steel appliances.

Through a doorway at the other end of the space waits the dining room. The table overflows with white bone china, crystal goblets and gold accents. An ice sculpture of an American flag stands on the buffet table, which I think is a bit over the top. Even Ms. Dixon wouldn’t approve, but who am I to say?

“Birdie?” Mr. and Mrs. Mathews greet me in unison, both their eyebrows wing up, which tells me how truly awful I must have appeared the day we met.

Sleeping in dumpsters will do that to a person.

“We’re so pleased you’re joining us this evening,” says the pert Mrs. Mathews. “My goodness, aren’t we snazzy.”

Wow. Snazzy? Really?

“I hardly recognize you,” she goes on. “Your dress is lovely. I feel underdressed.”

Crap.
I’ve seen this reaction before. She’s trying too hard and can’t shake whatever preconceived
ideas she’s formed about me. I scare her. I’m sure of it.

“Thank you for inviting me.” I’m impressed with how calm I sound, considering the riot of nerves in my stomach. “I’m glad to see you again.”

“And under much more pleasant circumstances,” says Mr. Mathews. “Welcome, Birdie. You remember our friends, Tom and Jess Bowen, and their son, Scud’s older brother, Dylan?”

“Of course, hello.” I give them my best smile and shake hands with everyone, praying the clamminess won’t gross them out too much.

“I think you met with Scud and Kate since our last meeting,” says Mrs. Mathews. “But come and meet the Bowen’s daughter, Isabel.”

The group parts, and I step forward to greet the ivory skinned, green eyed, red haired super model girl. She’s the reincarnation of Helen of Troy, for crying out loud, and the single most attractive human being—other than Grey—I’ve ever seen in my life.

Oh, c’mon, I can’t take another perfect—
“Hi.”

She eyes me up and down, pursing her lips. “Well, she’s not a thing like the starving little Dickens’ character you described. Prada?”

“Isabel!” Her mother hisses.

Oh, you’re going to be lots of fun.

“Yes,” I answer, surprised how fast she identified my dress’ label. “I’m Birdie.”

She turns from me, grabs a carrot stick off the counter and says, “I’m starving. When do we eat?” It appears not everyone here is fond of strays.

“Thirty minutes,” says Mrs. Mathews. “You all visit a while longer.”

Kate sticks an arm through mine and drags me out a set of French doors onto a back patio. “Sorry, Birdie. Izzy can be so … blunt. She’s a little high-strung but super-sweet once you get to know her.”

Yeah, I’ll bet.
“No big,” I shrug. “I’m not easily offended.”

Kate’s shoulders relax, and she smiles before kissing me on the cheek. “You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Sweetheart?
That’s a first. It’s getting a little syrupy for my taste. “No. The reason you think so is because you are,” I say. “I think most people are kind of horrible compared to you, Kate.”

She grins. “Hey, that’s not just me. Grey likes you, too.”

I shake my head. “I’m his puppy.”

Her brow scrunches beneath her frown. “His what?”

“Never mind.” I glance out over the garden. The feathery lawn is cut short and barely moves in the breeze.

Kate readjusts her silver bangles. “I hate that we’re at different points in school. Otherwise, we could take a class together.”

“Me too.”

Kate’s show of friendship tugs at my heart even as Shondra’s face lurks in my memory. What were her dreams before she was taken?

“If you show me your schedule, we could try and figure something out. I’m not sure what I want to study, but at least I have a choice,” I say.

“What do you mean? Who doesn’t—”

“Katie, I need you, babes!” Scud’s voice bellows from inside.

Kate rolls her eyes, but her smile deepens, and she shrugs. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

My feet carry me across the flagstone patio to the brick wall on the far side while I rub my arms against the star capped cold. No way will I be out here long in this frigid air.

“Hey, I hear Izzy got a hold of you. You okay?”

I turn and face Grey with a grin. “Are you kidding? She’s a lightweight.”

“Yeah. Well, it’s a package deal. She comes with Dylan and Scud.”

“Hmm.” I have bigger fish to fry than ‘Credit Card Barbie’. My gaze returns to the stars. The night is so beautiful, I can’t help wondering if I’ll be alive to admire a similar sky next Thanksgiving. The idea sounds melodramatic but, then again, maybe not.

“What’re you thinking?”

I decide to take the plunge and get my well-rehearsed speech over with. “What do you say to bowing out and letting me take things from here?” I pause, expecting him to interrupt, but when he doesn’t, I continue. “I really don’t want you involved. I never did. I was selfish to even consider connecting you with something so dangerous. It was a mistake letting things get this far.” Facing him, his expression is unreadable. “You have so much here, with your family.” I wave in the direction of the French doors. “You could get hurt; and honestly, I can’t have that on me, not again.”

His jaw flexes. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He doesn’t know about Shondra, and I’m sure as heck not going to tell him. “Look, I’m grateful for the invite tonight. I really am. So just say you’ll back off on the whole Jeff thing. We’ll hang tonight, and go our separate ways.”

“And if I say no?”

I was afraid he’d argue—make me do things the hard way. I take a deep breath, harden my heart, and narrow my eyes. “I’ll be forced to knock some sense into your thick, stupid, nice-guy skull.” My finger points toward the house. “Do you know what you have in there, Grey? The family you have, the opportunities, the safety and support? It’s like the whole freaking world most people would kill for. If you’re not smart enough to figure it out, I’ll help you. Jeff isn’t talking about playing some hologram paintball to liven up your dull, pampered, little rich boy life. He’s talking about making a permanent sacrifice. No offense, dude, but there are better, more expendable candidates than … than Richie Rich.”

“Like who?” He leans forward. “You?”

I glance away. “Maybe. Does it matter? I’m pretty good at looking out for myself, and I’m used to doing things alone. Quit trying to save me. It’s getting annoying. The rest, I’ll figure out.”

Grey’s shoulders stiffen, he takes a couple deliberate steps toward me, and I back up. “Let’s get something straight once and for all, all right?” A line forms between his brows. “First of all, not everything’s about you, is it? You don’t know me, and you sure as hell don’t know my family. Got that? You think because we have money, we don’t have problems, or that we don’t know what pain is? You’ve got a lot to learn about people, Bird. Your arrogance amazes me.”

My back bumps against the wall of the outdoor fireplace. Grey puts his palms flat against the brick on either side of my head. He lowers his face until its inches from mine, eyes are intense, mouth a grim line. “Do you think you are the only one who’s suffered?” His voice quiets, but the fierceness in his tone remains. “Money doesn’t keep you from bleeding. No one knows that better than I do.”

I bite my lip and try to stare at the ground or the buttons on his shirt, but he’s too close. His breath hits my face, his gaze fixed on me, and there’s nowhere to look but back into his eyes.

“What are you trying to prove?” I thought if I pushed hard enough, wounded his pride, he’d go. Most people do. Now, I’m not so sure. Grey’s different. It might be easier to dissuade a starving bear from the trash.

“I could ask you the same question.” He talks to my lips as though he’s mad at them, and his hands explode off the wall as if someone shoved him.

That went well.

He stalks away as Kate tiptoes onto the porch, followed by Scud.

As I walk over, Scud whistles low. “Yo, girl, what did you do to my man, Grey? I haven’t seen him that worked up since … oh, wait, never.”

I shrug. “We just had a misunderstanding, I guess.”

Kate’s brow wrinkles. “Don’t worry about him, Bird.” Her gaze moves from the gate her brother passed through to me. “My brother has always been …”

“Intense?” Scud finishes as he rests his chin on Kate’s shoulder and grins.

Kate elbows him. “Anyway, dinner is ready. Come inside. It’s too cold out here.”

We head inside to the living room together. Warmth envelops me, defrosting my frozen fingers.

“Birdie?” Kate says, “You want to spend the night tonight?”

I love this girl, but there’s no way I’m sleeping under the same roof with Grey. “Aw, thanks, but I can’t. Proud dog owner now. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No.”

“Awesome.” Scud says. “Lemme guess. It’s a Mexican Hairless Chihuahua, right?”

I laugh. “He’s more like a Shepherd mutt. A big, awkward, lazy dog that needs to walk at eleven and again in the morning, so staying here wouldn’t work. Maybe you could stay with me?” Images of the mess in my apartment come to mind, and I amend my invitation. “Like tomorrow night or the next?”

“Okay, good.” Kate smiles.

“Can I come?” Scud wiggles his eyebrows her direction. “C’mon, please? We can take a bubble bath, and then I’ll tuck you in.”

“You’re just … wrong.” She chuckles when Scud wraps her in his arms and starts waltzing her around.

He puts his forehead against hers and says, “You know you love me.”

Love Scud?
Yeah, I think. I’m pretty sure she does.

• • •

I stand next to Grey at the table, waiting for Mrs. Mathews. We don’t look at each other since there’s not much to say.
Well,
this is what I wanted, right?
If he’s out of any future trouble, his hating me is worth it.

Dylan stands across from me, his sandy-blond hair sweeping over his forehead. He’s not shy about staring and keeps giving me this I-know-something-you-don’t smile.

What’s up with him?

My body is tingling, and I realize my nerves are acting up again—the butterflies in my stomach hit with the strength of bats. It’s not the whole eating and manners thing that’s got my panties in a bunch; it’s the conversation. I’m new meat. People always ask those awkward questions: ‘Where are you from? Who is your family?’
Blah, blah, blah.
Curiosity is natural, just not my favorite part of social gatherings.

Isabel turns to me from time to time, the pinched expression on her face detracting from her beauty. Scud wolf whistles as Mr. Mathews sets a heavy platter on the table.

Birdzilla makes a tantalizing centerpiece. I’ve never seen a turkey so big. When our hosts seat themselves, we follow suit. My mouth waters in anticipation of the intoxicating roasted meat scent and savory vegetables.

I’m not demure about eating. Thanks to my hippie-chick, tofu eating, first foster mom, Mrs. Moon, I like veggies, but she never got me off meat entirely. Full on carnivore, I like my steak rare, still mooing, in fact.

“Shall we pray?” asks Mr. Mathews.

We all join hands—Mr. Bowen, on my right, squeezes my fingers as though offering support. I appreciate the gesture.

“Dear Heavenly Father,” Mr. Mathews begins. “We thank you for your many blessings to us. Grateful for our health, we ask that you heal those that are ill. We thank you for our jobs, and remember those who struggle financially this year. We thank you for our families, and old friends, even as we welcome new ones. Please bless the troops that risk their lives to protect us, both here and abroad; return them to their families unharmed. Especially … the seals in Special Warfare Group Two.” Mr. Mathews clears his throat before he says, “We are mindful every day is a gift from You. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”