Chapter
Eight: Waiting for Peace
The garden was our date locale most
nights. During the day, we’d sit together talking about random things or join
in the games. The children accepted Nick because I did, but they were wary of him,
as if his skin or breath were poisonous. I had asked why, one day, and they all
pretended to know nothing about it.
Some nights we sat and shared the
past, his arms curled around me to protect from the cool weather. Other nights,
our chatter was dispersed between kisses and laughter over funny faces and even
more amusing jokes. I didn’t know what you could call what we had. For me, I
wasn’t sure if I would call it love; but it was such an extreme affection, I knew
he wasn’t just a friend I regularly kissed. Nick never said what it was for
him; the look in his eyes before he kissed me, the crooked curve of his lips
when we were together during the day, or the way he’d hold my hand said it all.
I warred with myself whether it was
fair to Nick that I didn’t know how I felt about him. When I was with him, none
of it seemed to matter. Perhaps it was my power or some other force I wasn’t
aware of that caused me to feel as though he was part of me, and I was part of
him. That every time our lips touched or his hand slipped into mine, we were
melding together.
The month passed as such—a
not-so-secret relationship and a series of private meetings. When Drei happened
to be around while we were playing games, I couldn’t help but notice he always
glared at Nick. I had a sinking feeling that the thought of us together was
more dangerous than bounty hunters. At least in the case of Drei. Perhaps that
had some impact on my uncertainty.
One night, I sat in Nick’s embrace,
my arms crossed loosely and resting lightly on his. My head lay on his
shoulder, my eyes closed as he spoke to me. Not because I was tired, but just
because his voice had a different quality that way.
“One day, Kit was running around with
Kate’s doll, her favorite one,” he started, his voice excited as he launched into
the tale. “Kit insisted it was hers and she should be able to play with it and
the white jeep Mom had bought her for Christmas. Of course, Kate was crying
when she came to me; our parents were at some company party my dad had to attend.
When I yelled for Kit to bring the doll with her, she showed up sniveling and
saying she was sorry. They were in preschool and I guess they hadn’t learned
about sharing yet. She kept muttering apologies; Kate only plugged her ears and
started yelling that she’d never forgive her again.”
“Oh dear. What did you do?” I had a
feeling I knew what he would say already. It was really similar to another
story I’d heard before.
“We sat down together, Kit still crying
a little because she had been found out, Kate still stubbornly pouting, the
picturesque victim. I asked Kate why she wouldn’t accept the apology, and she
insisted that it wasn’t sincere. So Kit started crying full out again until I
stopped her and told her Kate didn’t mean it. Kate complained I was lying, but
I asked if she loved Kit, and she stopped. Then she apologized for being
stubborn and mean. Kit hugged Kate, telling her she was sorry.
“That night when my parents returned,
they found I’d been cornered into playing dolls with them to keep the peace—which
unfortunately also involved playing dress up,” he finished, a blush in his
voice as I laughed. “It never happened again. Dressing up, that is.”
“It’s still funny,” I insisted,
turning to look at him, less mystified by his ending.
He smiled down at me, that special
curve to his lips; “Have I told you you’re beautiful?”
“Never.” I smiled and waited for what
came next.
“Well you are,” he replied, leaning
in to kiss me.
“What are you doing here?” a vicious
voice snarled from a few feet away.
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