Shades of Darkness (14 page)

“Mom?”

“Sorry love, just thinking. I'm sorry you had to experience that. You know I wish I could keep you safe.”

“I know.”

“Keep them close,” she said.

“I will,” I replied.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I looked out the window at the crow sitting on the fir branch. I didn't need to try to keep them close—they'd be there no matter what.

I met Ethan and Chris on the commons just before noon. The boys stood beside one of the fir trees next to the admissions building—a squat log-cabin-style hut linked to the main academics concourse—and didn't seem to notice my approach. I was still too wrapped up in what Mom had said to really register that their chatter meant they got along, which meant Ethan would most likely later try to hook Chris and me up with renewed zeal. Reaffirming my no-romance stance was the last thing on my mind, however. What was Mom holding back?

“Hey brosephs,” I called as I neared. They both turned to me and smiled.

“Brosephs?” Chris asked, looking to Ethan.

“Ignore her,” Ethan replied. “Sometimes she says things.”

“And usually you laugh,” I said. “What's
that
tell you?” I stepped up to him and wrapped an arm over his shoulder.

“That I'm a good friend,” Ethan replied. “And a martyr for the cause. Keep a careful eye on this one, Chris. She's wittier than she sounds.” Chris just chuckled.

Ethan hugged my waist as we walked to his car, scratching his light stubble with his other hand. It was easy to fall into this moment, to forget Mandy's suicide and Mom's silence and the crows that seemed to be following me everywhere.
What have the crows said?
So far, nothing. But their presence was enough to set me on edge. Especially since the worst was supposed to be over.

They only appeared when I needed protection. So what was I being protected
from
? Memory flashed with the image of the crystal Mom sent. There was one way to find out. I just really, really didn't want to have to take it.

It had taken me so long to close those doors. Opening them again would be disastrous.
And that's why this is your fault,
Brad said. Just like his final words to me.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Ethan asked as we neared his car. It hadn't snowed hard since the last time we left, so blessedly we didn't have to scrape off the windshields or—even more fun—push the car from a snowbank. “I'm getting hungry and don't fancy pulling an all-day affair at Nanni's.”

“Sushi?” I asked, stepping into the backseat so Chris could ride shotgun. Hey, I could be chivalrous too.

“You trust Michigan sushi?” Chris asked.

“I'm sure I can find something that will suit your West Coast sensibilities,” Ethan said. He turned the keys in the ignition and began backing out. “Three-Two-Six it is.”

We drove without conversation for a while, because it's hard to think of topics when you know you're just killing time . . . which I suppose was a horrible analogy, given the circumstances. I watched the clouds and the crows roll past, but it wasn't relaxing. Brad's voice kept getting louder, and it took all my control to keep it shoved down. I really, really needed a break. Before I cracked. Finally, the music got particularly abysmal and whiny, so I leaned forward and reached between the seats to turn it down.

“So,” I said, resting my elbows on the armrest and staring at Chris. “What brings you all the way from . . . well, wherever the hell you came from.”

His grin never left his face, but it did seem to slip just a little bit. I knew that look; guess I wasn't the only one hiding from something. Unlike Ethan and me, Chris had transferred in just this year. A lot of people did, but I always felt like they didn't get the full experience. It sure as hell took me the first year to finally understand what this place actually was.

“Well,” he said, “my parents worked in tech development back in Seattle. They were transferred out here to help set up a new branch for the company.”

“But there's nothing
out
here,” I said.

Chris's smile definitely slipped off then. He sighed and looked out the window.

“Yeah, well, that's the thing. They moved to Detroit. I was looking into schools in the area and found Islington. I think my parents were actually sort of relieved when I told them about it. Meant they could focus on their job. Not like that's any different from life before.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” I said. “But, on the plus side, you got in. So there's that.”

He grinned. “Yeah. I'm still just hoping they admitted me for my portfolio and not because my parents bribed them.”

Ethan glanced over. “Don't worry—lots of rich celebs try to send their kids here to no avail. Money doesn't mean anything to the admissions panel, at least not on the faculty side. Though I'm sure charitable donations never go amiss.”

“Thanks, I think. I believe that was comforting.”

“That's Ethan,” I said, patting Ethan on the shoulder. “Our man's good at emotional support.”

“I thought gay men were supposed to be the comforting types,” Chris said.

Ethan shook his head. “I do
not
know where you guys are getting that idea.”

I just grinned and kissed Ethan on the cheek, then sat back and tightened my seatbelt again.

We didn't really talk after that, but we didn't turn the music back up, either. There was a comfortable sort of silence as we drove the rest of the way into town, watching trees thin out and become houses and gas stations and, eventually, the lakefront downtown. The lake was slate gray and stormy—it never froze, not fully, though chunks of ice floated like scattered shipwrecks. Whitecaps rode the waves, and the shore was thick with debris and tide. Above, the sky was just as tossed and frigid as the water.

“Looks like another storm,” Chris muttered.

“Yeah,” Ethan said. “Luckily this thing has four-wheel drive. Oh wait, it doesn't.”

He parked in the lot beside the restaurant, and I was pleased to note that there weren't many cars. Wind swept around us as we made our way into the swank sushi bar.

326 was one of those upscale restaurants that charged extra because they had a lake view and giant glass windows from which to enjoy it. In the summer, apparently, the place was always crammed with tourists. During the fall and winter, though, when no one in their right mind wanted to venture to the upper wilds of Michigan for cold fish, the place was dead. Especially on a Tuesday.

“You could have warned me,” Chris whispered when we stepped inside, waiting beside a perfectly pruned bonsai on a black marble stand. “I would have dressed up.”

I shrugged and unzipped my coat, half-flashing him my paint-splattered T-shirt so he could see that I wasn't classy by any stretch of the imagination.

“Don't worry, they're used to us by now.”

By “us” I might have meant Ethan and me, who came here practically every week, or Islington kids in general. Not many high-schoolers went out for sushi on weekday afternoons, and even less did so while covered in whatever art they'd just pried themselves away from. We were easy to tell from the crowd, especially in a place like this: long sleek leather benches and shiny black granite table tops, everything black and crisp white, from the white linens and snowy orchids on every table to the mirrorlike ebony tile floor.

Save for two couples seated near the back bar, the place was entirely empty. Looks like we were the few dumb enough to brave the upcoming blizzard.

A waiter came out from behind the back curtain, saw us, and smiled. It was Jason, a local college kid who worked here pretty much every weekday. He was gorgeous in that high fashion cover model sort of way: short brown hair slicked back, black pants and white shirt, and tight black vest. You could tell he worked out from the way his sleeves caught on his arms, and a hint of tattoos peeked out from under his cuffs.

“Hey guys,” he said, stepping up to us. “How's it going? Day off?”

In normal situations, at any other restaurant beside this and T'Chai Nanni, I'd just smile and be polite and say things were great, how are you? But this was Jason. Jason, who would spend his slower days sitting at the table with us and talking about his dissertation on gender roles in comic books and, occasionally, moan about his boy troubles. Surprise surprise, backwoods Michigan wasn't teeming with gay men.

“Yeah,” I said. “We . . . we lost a student this weekend. So campus is pretty much closed down.”

Jason's face immediately switched from charming server to normal, concerned friend. “What do you mean? Dropped out?”

“Suicide,” I whispered.

“Shit. I'm sorry, guys. I hadn't heard.”

“It's okay. That's why we're here—trying to get our mind off things. Anyway,” I said, shifting into a lighter tone, “this is Chris.”

Jason held out his hand and introduced himself, then handed us a few menus and let us choose a table. We sat near the front windows, as far away from the other customers as possible. I didn't intend to talk about Mandy, but that didn't mean it wouldn't come up on its own. Chris sat first, and I sat across from him. Ethan didn't even hesitate when sitting beside Chris; he probably didn't want the poor guy to feel like the third wheel. Jason disappeared behind the back curtain and came out a few minutes later with a ceramic pot of jasmine tea and four tiny cups.

“Just in case,” he said, putting the fourth cup in the empty spot beside me. Which, I knew, translated to,
Hopefully, these other guys will leave and I can sit and drink tea with you.

Ethan poured the aromatic tea in each of our cups, starting with me and leaving himself for last. He raised his cup between thumb and forefinger and held it out to us.

“To Mandy,” he said. We all held up our teacups, clinking the black ceramics delicately.

“To Mandy,” we repeated.

Outside, the snow began to fall.

•  •  •

The place emptied out a few minutes later, halfway through our appetizers of edamame and fried tofu and miso soup. And yeah, I felt a small note of pride at the condescending looks we got from the well-dressed patrons as they left, as if
we
were the ones intruding on
their
sacred space. Little did they know it was quite the opposite, as proved by Jason, who went over and flipped the door sign to
CLOSED
the moment the last table left, giving us a conspiratorial wink. When he returned, he bore eight different maki rolls, only five of which we'd actually ordered.

“I won't tell if you don't,” he said as he set them down. “You guys look like you could use something positive today.”

“You have no idea,” I muttered. Jason smiled again, then went to the back to grab a fresh pot of tea before returning and sitting down beside me.

I glanced to Chris, who watched the whole exchange with a strange sort of fascination, like he wasn't used to people acting like, well,
people
around him. Must have been part of coming from money.

“Thank you,” Ethan said. He was trying very hard not to stare at Jason as the guy poured us tea. He'd had a crush on the waiter since day one, but had always deemed Jason “too old.” I think he was just scared of putting himself out there. At least now he had Oliver to hold his attention.

“No problem,” Jason replied. He poured some soy sauce in a dish and began mixing in wasabi. “Are you guys doing okay?”

I shrugged and took a sip of soup, looking out at the lake.

“We're managing,” Ethan said.

“So . . . Chris, was it? What are you studying?”

“Art,” Chris replied. “Painting, more specifically.”

“Very cool. How'd you all meet up?”

I looked to Chris then, wondering what he'd say, but it was Ethan who answered.