Rites of Spring (17 page)

“You must have already heard a dozen different versions.”

“Yeah, but I want the one out of your mouth.”

What, didn’t he trust his buddy Poe’s interpretation? Speaking of, where was Poe?

The other girls had wandered into the rec room to join the rest of the island’s inhabitants. I caught sight of a television, a bunch of board games, a pool table, and a dart set, but nothing really held my interest until I saw the lone figure on a chair in the corner, in a dark shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, reading. Poe. I stopped short.

“Do you know how to play backgammon?” Malcolm asked, still headed into the rec room. “I think I’ve got time to teach you before din—” He noticed I hadn’t followed him. “Amy?”

“Actually, can I talk to you for a minute?” I beckoned him back outside.

He furrowed his brow. “Sure. What’s up?”

But I didn’t say anything more until we were a safe distance from the crowd, seated on a picnic table bench on the far side of the porch. “I have a question for you, but it’s kind of…um, personal.”

“Yes, I’m gay.”

“You really are a fan of saying that, aren’t you?”

“Once you start, you just can’t stop.”

“Seriously, though, you can’t laugh at me,” I said.

He smiled. “I make no promises.”

“Okay, fine. You can’t make fun of me, then. And if I’m totally off base, you have to forget I ever said anything, and never tell anyone this conversation happened.”

“I swear on Persephone. Now you’ve got me really intrigued.” Malcolm leaned forward, his hands on the bench between us, his expression one of amused anticipation.

I took a deep breath. “Does P—Jamie…like me?”

Malcolm blinked. This was clearly not the kind of dirt he’d been expecting.

“I mean,
like me
like me,” I clarified quickly.

“What are you, twelve?” he asked, incredulous.

“You aren’t supposed to make fun of me!” I scolded.

“You never said you were going to act like a teenybopper. That’s a special circumstance. Any judge would agree.”

“Fine.” I started to rise. “Like I said, forget I asked.”

“Wait, Amy. Sit down,” he said with a sigh. Malcolm was leaning his fists against the wood, staring down at his knuckles.

I sat. “What?”

He didn’t look up. “This is all just between us, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t say he likes you.”

“Oh.” Oh. Of course not. How stupid of me. How ridiculous, really—

“He’s pretty much in love with you.”

“What?” I whispered.

“Amy, don’t…” Malcolm’s face had gone red. “He’d kill me if he knew I just told you that.”

I jumped up. “Why didn’t you tell me
before
?”

“Because you hate him, remember?” Malcolm grabbed my arm and pulled me back on to the bench, dropping his voice to a low growl. “Remember how you hate him? Remember how I had to send you about twelve thousand e-mails last semester before you agreed to even
talk
to him?”

“I don’t…hate him,” I stammered.

“Since when?”

Since last semester, actually, when I’d finally talked to him, but that was hardly the point. “I don’t understand. How can he—” No way was I using the L-word. “—feel that way about me? We had a very strong mutual dislike, remember?”

“Yes,” Malcolm said snidely. “I remember. I heard it nonstop from both of you.”

“So what makes you think…”

“We’re brothers; we don’t do secrets. And something about the
manner
in which he conducted his nonstop complaining about you,” Malcolm said, “tipped me off.” Now my big sib leaned back on the bench. “You aren’t the only one here who acts like a twelve-year-old when you’ve got a crush on someone.”

“I don’t have a crush on him.”

“I know.” Malcolm leaned forward. “And that’s why this conversation has to end now. Amy, please please please don’t let him know about this. Don’t let him know you know. You may not like him very much, but he’s a good friend of mine, and if you lord it over him, I may have to find a new little sib.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “But you have it all wrong. We actually get on really well now.”

“You’re only saying that because he saved your life this afternoon.”

“No! Well, maybe a little bit. But that’s not all. We talk. We hang out.” We
had
gone out for pizza that time.

“That’s not what I hear,” Malcolm said.

“Then you aren’t hearing the whole story. Ask anyone in my club. They even—”
They even make fun of me for spending so much time with Poe.
But how could I say that to his good friend? And what had Poe been telling him?

And why did I care?

“I don’t think I’m going around to the knights and canvassing for opinions about your relationship, but thanks,” Malcolm said. “Just do me a favor and forget we had this talk, okay? Jamie’s had a tough year where Rose & Grave is concerned. I don’t think he needs any more humiliation.”

“I wouldn’t do anything, Malcolm. What do you take me for?”

“A knight of Rose & Grave. We’re ruthless to our enemies.”

But Poe wasn’t my enemy. He was…God, I don’t know what. This was all very disconcerting.

One thing was certain, I would not be able to talk to him until I figured it out. With any luck, we’d be sitting very far away from each other at dinner. My desire to give him a proper thank you was far outweighed by my need to get a handle on this revelation.

We moved inside. I listened with half an ear as Malcolm taught me the finer points of backgammon, and then I proceeded to really suck at the game, since I spent half my time thinking about the situation and the other half wondering if Poe was looking at us. On the upside, it got my mind off the whole almost-drowning thing.

So while Malcolm was bearing off pips or something, I was remembering Brandon. And not the way you think.

When had I figured out Brandon liked me? Or had I ever
not
known it? After all, our relationship had been fraught with flirtation since we first met. Such was not the case with Poe. In fact, I don’t think he ever flirted with me. At least, not flirting as I understood the definition. Insults, threats, arguments: sure. If that was his way of trying to spark my interest…

But from what Malcolm had said, I doubted he was trying. And who knew what Malcolm had meant by “in love” anyway? We’re talking about guys here. He was probably just attracted to me, and as unhappy about that prospect as I would be if I found myself attracted to him.

Speaking of…

But no. I wasn’t going to look over there. What if he caught me sneaking a peek? He’d know for sure that I knew.

Still, I didn’t need to look. A few very specific memories came unbidden to my mind. Poe, pulling his shirt off back in his horrendous apartment last fall. Poe, laying that asshole Micah Price flat with one punch. Poe, staring at me in the sliver of light as we lay together in the crawl space at the Dragon’s Head tomb.

“Amy.” Malcolm was waving his hand in front of my face. I rolled and moved a piece, blindly.

“You can’t do that.”

“Right, because…it’s not an open point?” I said, hopeful.

“No, because it’s my piece.”

Crap. I stared at the board and made a different move. Malcolm sighed, shook his head, and sent me to the bar.

I needed a real bar. Were we getting cocktails before dinner? I swallowed, but my throat remained dry. Okay, so I wasn’t
repulsed
by Poe. He was a young man, had all his limbs, no major deformities, and…

Oh, Jesus, Amy, who are you kidding? He’s perfectly attractive.
Not in league with George Prescott, of course, but then, who was? It was just tough to tell sometimes, what with that permanent scowl, and his ratty clothes, and his misanthropy…

Why was I even thinking about this? It shouldn’t matter to me if a guy liked me, unless I was into him. Look at Brandon. I’d gotten involved with him because he liked me, and it all ended in tears. Never again.

I’d never been so relieved to head for dinner as I was that night, and I took great pains to fill my table with knights from my club so there would be no danger of sitting near the focus of all my recent thoughts.

The crusty caretaker made some sort of welcome speech (which I listened to as carefully as I had Malcolm’s backgammon instructions) and then we poured the wine. Thank heaven. I filled my glass.

“Here’s to an awesome Spring Break!” my brother Kevin said, raising his glass. “May it make up for all the Spring Breaks I’ve spent singing big band standards for Rotary Clubs from here to Kalamazoo.”

“Here, here,” said Clarissa. “And where is Kalamazoo?”

“Michigan.” Kevin shuddered. “The Midwest.”

“Hey!” I said, coming out of my haze enough to defend the flyovers.

“May this week be filled with new opportunities and experiences,” said Harun, clinking his soda against the one belonging to Jenny, who sat beside him.

“May we all survive being unplugged,” she added begrudgingly.

“May I not be sober again until classes restart,” George said, already refilling.

“Agreed,” Demetria said. “And may Ben finally agree to take me on in tennis.”

“You got it, Billie Jean,” Ben said. “Prepare to be annihilated.”

“Billie Jean won, moron.”

“Oh.”

Clarissa raised an eyebrow in my direction. “And may we all convince Amy to get back up on that horse. Or boat, as the case may be.”

I almost spat my wine at her. “Hell no. I’m heading up the landside sunbathing team.”

“Awww, come on, Amy,” George said. “Don’t be a loser. What are you going to do back here on the island by yourself all day?”

“Vacation?” I replied coldly. “Eat junk food, catch up on my reading, just chill?”

“Leave her alone,” Jenny said, and I took the opportunity to excuse myself and head for the salad bar.

But George, as I well knew, was not one to be sidetracked. He caught up with me between the croutons and the chickpeas. “I need to talk to you,” he said softly, loading up on romaine.

“So talk.” Did anyone really like canned beet slices?

“Are you angry at me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting like a bitch.”

“
Now
I’m angry at you.” I stabbed the tongs into the cucumbers much more violently than they deserved. “Me not wanting to get on a boat again has nothing to do with us.”

“I mean in general. Can’t you let bygones be bygones?”

“Not when you’re holding it over me. Last time we spoke, you as good as threatened to tell everyone in the club about our little…thing.”

A young patriarch’s wife was picking through the tomato wedges on the other side of the sneeze guard. I smiled at her, but she only had eyes for George’s megawatt grin.

“Hi there,” he said, and as she moved on to the dressings, he turned his attention back to me. “Come on, Amy. I was
joking
. Besides, you already know why I left it off the C.B.”

“Enlighten me.” I rolled my eyes. “Wait. Don’t tell me: I was
special
.”

“No, because everyone knows. It’s not a story.”

“Everyone knows you slept with half the girls in our class, too. You told
those
stories.”

“So the only other option is that I’m trying to blackmail you?”

I’d reached the end of the salad bar. There was no way to continue this conversation without moving on to the dessert table, which brought with it the base instinct to smack George in the face with a cream pie. Tempting.

“What exactly is it that you fantasize I’d be blackmailing you to do, Amy?”

I wasn’t about to dignify that with an answer, so I just picked up my plate and left. Barely two steps toward my table, I froze. Malcolm and Poe had drawn up chairs and were squeezing into a heated argument about the current Democratic National Platform.

Oh, well. At least it wasn’t snorkeling. But between trying to keep up with the debate from folks who were way more politically savvy than I (Malcolm’s background gave him an unfair advantage, I think), and avoiding eye contact with Poe, I had a tough time following everything. Eventually, I gave up and resorted to familiarizing myself with the china pattern.

Some Spring Break. First, I’d almost drowned, now I was in the middle of a big steaming pile of
awkward
with approximately one-fourth of my companions. What else could possibly go wrong?

“Do you think the Gehrys will come to dinner?” Kevin asked.

“I doubt it,” Clarissa said. “He’d have to show his face in front of us, and he’s in as much disgrace with this club as he is with the rest of the country. I was surprised the Gehrys even let their son on the boat today, considering the risk.”

“What risk?” Jenny asked.

“Of one of us telling him exactly why they’re hiding out here,” Clarissa said, casting a quick glance in Demetria’s direction.

“You don’t think he knows?” Kevin asked.

“I doubt it,” Clarissa said. “At least, I didn’t get that impression this afternoon. And I heard the wife and kids left town before the whole immigration thing blew up. If your kid’s nanny was about to be deported in a huge public blowup, don’t you think you’d want to shield your child from all that?”

“If so, then it’s really shocking that Kurt Gehry would leave his son alone with your club,” Poe said. I didn’t dare look up. “Everyone knows how much D177 hates him. Why would he risk giving you that kind of ammo?”

Demetria didn’t miss a beat. “Why would it be
our
club in particular?”

“Only your club disavowed him,” Malcolm argued. “He’s still our patriarch, and thus, we’re still obligated to keep his secrets.”

“Come on, Malcolm,” I said, trusting myself enough to speak to my big sib, if not his friend. “Don’t tell me you like Kurt Gehry.”

“Who cares whether or not he likes that slimeball?” Demetria asked. “It’s not a society secret if it’s being looped on CNN.”

Malcolm only laughed and leaned back in his seat. “If it’s a secret from someone in particular, though, I’d say we have an obligation to a fellow knight.”

I noted the way his hand rested on the back of Poe’s chair. Was that a hint? Like I said, Malcolm was very well politicized. He knew how to make comments without making them.