The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (31 page)

“I can’t imagine that. He seems so easy going.”

Sebastian looked uncomfortable.

“I guess. But … he doesn’t get why I won’t tell him who I’m … dating.”

I couldn’t help sniggering. “I’m sorry, really. It’s just … dating?!”

He gave a half-smile and ran a hand over his hair.

“Whatever. He said that I shouldn’t expect him to cover for me with my folks if I don’t trust him with the truth.”

I felt a shiver run through me.

“Has he had to cover for you?”

He didn’t reply.

“Tell me!”

He grimaced.

“Mom … she noticed that I wasn’t there for two nights. She … she kind of made a big deal out of it.”

I groaned. “I knew it!”

“She phoned Ches’s mom and Ches said that I’d stayed over. I guess Mrs. Peters is covering for me, too. She knew I hadn’t been there.”

“We’ll just have to be more careful,” I whispered.

“Maybe … maybe I could tell Ches. He’d keep it a secret, I know he would.”

I was appalled. I understood why he wanted to tell his friend but I couldn’t let that happen.

“We can’t risk it, Sebastian.
I
can’t risk it. And … if anyone found out, he’d be complicit in … in a crime. You do understand, don’t you?”

He shrugged and looked down. “Yeah, I guess.”

He obviously wasn’t happy with my answer.

I sighed. “Do you want me to run you to the country club? I could drop you at the entrance and get there before you. No one would be any the wiser.”

“Okay,” he muttered. “Thanks.”

A thunderous knocking at the front door made me jump.

“Fuck!”

I heard Sebastian’s oath as if from a great distance but I couldn’t move.

The banging on the door started again.

“Caro!”

Sebastian’s panicked voice unfroze me. He was thrashing about, dressing as quickly as possible. There was nowhere to hide. He couldn’t get down the stairs and out through the back without being seen. This was every nightmare I’d imagined, played in fast forward.

I pulled my robe around me more tightly.

The pounding started again.

“Caro! Get the fucking door!” mouthed Sebastian.

I ran down the stairs and stumbled to a halt. I took a deep breath and pulled the door open.

“Delivery, ma’am,” said a man in a red and yellow DHL uniform as he handed me a large parcel. “Sign here, please.”

I started giggling: I couldn’t help it.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

“Yes!” I gasped, wiping tears of relief from my face.

He gave me a strange look and headed back to his van shaking his head.
Hysterical woman alert: just walk away.

I sank to the floor and began to cry in earnest, more from shock than anything else. Sebastian came down the stairs and sat on the floor next to me.

“Fuck! That scared the shit out of me! Don’t cry, Caro. It’s okay.”

He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and rocked me slowly.

Eventually, he pulled me up off the floor.

“Come on. Let’s get some breakfast. I’ll make you one of my special omelets.”

“I thought you couldn’t cook,” I said, my voice still shaky from the rush of adrenaline.

“I can’t—that’s why it’s special.”

He sat me at the kitchen table and started rummaging through the fridge.

“How many eggs do I need?”

“How hungry are you?”

“Starving!”

Of course.

“Then get six. And you’ll need to add a drop of milk in the mixture.”

He peered at me from around the door.

“Really? Milk? Oh, okay.”

He frowned and disappeared back inside the fridge.

I stood up to fetch the frying pan and mixing bowl but he waved me back to the table.

“I can manage,” he said, confidently, as he turned on the stove and placed the frying pan on top.

I waited for a moment, twitching in my chair. I had to speak.

“Um, Sebastian?”

“What?” he said, staring intently at the eggs as he whisked them sloppily.

“The frying pan is getting really hot and you haven’t put any oil in it…”

“Oh, fuck!”

He pulled the pan off the stove and swore as the hot metal burned his wrist.

“Quick! Run your hand under the faucet!”

He stood with his hand under the running water cursing softly. He really was adorable and I couldn’t help grinning at him.

“What?”

“Will you let me help you now?”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “You can help.”

In a calmer, more organized fashion, I showed him how to make a plain omelet, seasoning it with black pepper and a little salt; fried some tomatoes to go on the side, put on a pot of coffee and breakfast, or rather brunch, was ready.

“By the way,” I said, a thought occurring to me, “what were you planning on doing—you know, if it had been someone … else at the door?”

“Fucked if I know,” he said honestly. “Climb out the window, hide under the bed? Any suggestions?”

“Not the window—you could fall and get hurt. Besides, that window is right above the front door—it would have been kind of obvious.”

“I could have flattened the bastard,” said Sebastian easily.

While I went back upstairs to shower, Sebastian insisted on clearing away the dishes, which was a novelty for me. I hoped he would manage not to break anything.

I’d just finished rinsing the conditioner out of my hair when the shower door opened and Sebastian pressed his chest against my back.

“Mmm, you smell great,” he said approvingly.

“Sebastian!” I said, my voice a warning, as he ran his hands over my breasts and kissed my neck. “We don’t have time for this.”

“I’ll be quick,” he mumbled into my skin.

I didn’t even try to resist him.

Which made us horribly late.

“I told you!” I said crossly, as the highway traffic congealed in front of us. “You’re going to be late
and
get fired!”

“It was worth it,” he grinned, reclining his seat all the way back and pulling his sunglasses over his eyes.

He was acting like he hadn’t a care in the world.
How did he do it?

“Look, I’ll drop you around the back of the country club; you haven’t got time to run down from the entrance.”

“Whatever,” he said, carelessly.

I shook my head, a little irritated, even though I was just as much to blame.

I drove too fast down the avenue leading to the club and skidded into my favorite parking lot at the back.

“When can I see you again?” he said, curling his fingers into my hair.

“Tomorrow morning?”

“That’s ages away. Can’t you sneak out tonight? I mean, you’re in the guest room—he’ll never know, right?”

“Sebastian, I don’t think so. It’s too risky. We’ve just got to be careful for three more months and that’s it. After that you’ll see me every day and you’ll soon be sick of me.”

“That’s not funny,” he said frowning.

“Sorry. Bad joke.”

He sighed. “Okay, tomorrow, then.”

Instead of getting out of the car, he pulled me toward him and we kissed with the desperation of our imminent separation.

For a moment, he leaned his forehead against mine, and then pushed open the passenger door. And froze.

Ches was staring right at us—and from the shock on his face it was obvious he’d seen everything.

The floor dropped away and I stared back at him in horror.

“Fucking luck,” said Sebastian bitterly. “Let me go talk to him: it’ll be fine, Caro, I promise.”

My hands locked on the steering wheel as Sebastian walked toward his friend. For three of the longest minutes of my life, I watched them talk. Well, Sebastian seemed to be doing most of the talking; in fact it looked like he was pleading with Ches. It was a twisted replay of yesterday’s scene with Brenda, except this time it was Sebastian who was doing the begging.

Ches’s body language was hostile, his arms folded across his chest, his face stiff and angry. Eventually I saw him nod curtly then stalk off in the direction of the clubhouse.

Sebastian looked upset as he got back in the car and pulled the door shut.

“He’s cool,” he said, an expression of pain on his face.

“What did he say?” I whispered.

“He promised not to say anything.”

“He didn’t look very happy about it.”

Sebastian sighed. “He wasn’t.”

“What did he say?”

Sebastian shook his head.

“Please tell me,” I said softly. “I’d rather know.”

“It doesn’t matter—the important thing is that he won’t tell anyone.”

“Please tell me,” I repeated, quietly.

“Why?” said Sebastian, angrily. “What difference does it make? He’s just pissed at me generally.”

“I thought you wanted us to be honest with each other,” I reminded him gently.

His temper exploded.

“Why do you do this, Caro? Why do you have to drag out every last fucking, miserable word? Why can’t you just let it go?”

“How the hell am I supposed to ‘let it go’?” I snarled, my fear and anger getting the better of me. “I’m the one who’ll be prosecuted if Ches tells anyone!”

“He won’t!” shouted Sebastian.

“Well, I’m glad you trust him so much!” I yelled back, “Because he’s the loose-lipped idiot who told Brenda that you got a job here!”

“What the fuck has Brenda got to do with this?”

“Nothing! Everything! I don’t know! Just tell me what Ches said—I
need
to know!”

“He said I was a stupid fucking asshole for screwing a married woman who probably just wanted to get her rocks off for the summer, and he hoped the fucks were worth it because my dad would beat the shit out of me when
he found out. Happy now?”

He looked away from me and slammed his fist against the car door.

I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hand, refusing to cry.

We sat there in silence for several minutes, the atmosphere tense and angry.

“You’d better get to work,” I said at last in a low voice.

He stared at me coldly then flung open the door and stormed off.

I kept waiting for him to turn back or turn and look at me—some slight acknowledgement. But he didn’t.

Bile rose in my throat and I hurriedly leaned out of the car and vomited, watching my brunch slowly sink into the gravel.

I drove home feeling weak and shaky.

All afternoon I waited for Sebastian to text me, but he didn’t. A dozen times I picked up my cell to send a message, but I didn’t.

When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I tapped out five letters.

* Sorry *

Why had I forced Sebastian to repeat Ches’s angry words? Why did I continue to allow my pathetic insecurities to spoil the best thing that had ever happened to me? Was it some form of deliberate self-destruction, some way of proving that I didn’t deserve Sebastian’s love? And it must be love—why else would he put up with my ridiculous outbursts and lead-weighted emotional baggage? Because it sure wasn’t for the
fun
.

Feeling wretched, I tidied up the guest bedroom,
my
bedroom, and contemplated the sorry state of my life. I really had an amazing talent for making a complete fuck-up of everything. If the military could bottle that negative energy, they’d have one helluva weapon of mass destruction.

As I hung up my robe, a thought occurred to me—something I’d forgotten about in the
whirlwind of the last three weeks. I reached into the pocket and pulled out the lock of Sebastian’s hair that I’d saved from the bathroom floor the night I’d found him at the park, the night we’d made love together that very first time. His hair was light brown near the root, bleached by the sun to a golden blond at the ends—the surfer boy he’d been when I first met him.

I took an envelope from David’s study and carefully sealed the lock inside, simply writing Sebastian’s name and the date across the corner. Then I placed it between the pages of my copy of
Lolita
—a book so profane that I knew David would never so much as touch its dust jacket; it was also my private joke—not that I felt like laughing. In fact it was everything I could do to keep from crying.

And I knew I was on borrowed time with David—he wouldn’t take another night of me sleeping in the guest room without some sort of explanation.

I had two choices. I could lie:

‘I’m fine, I just need some space’.

Or I could tell part of the truth: