Silver is for Secrets (22 page)

“I hope it‟s not something we said.” Drea fakes a pout.

“Don‟t go,” I say. “They didn‟t mean anything.”

Clara leaves anyway, wiping her eyes as she takes off down the deck.

“Thanks a lot,” I say, lifting myself out of the water. “Is it so hard for you guys to be civil to her for one measly evening?”

“I tried,” Drea says. “I don‟t know what happened.”

“That
was trying?” I grab my T-shirt and pull it on over my head.

“Stacey—wait,” Amber says. She pul s herself out of the tub as wel . “I‟m sorry.

Do you want me to go talk to her?”

“We‟l both go.” Drea sighs.

“Forget it,” I say. If it wasn‟t for Jacob, I‟d obviously be on my own.

thirty-six

I end up having to knock a bunch of times before Clara actually comes to the door.

“Yeah?” she asks, peeping her head out through the door crack.

“I‟m sorry about Drea and Amber,” I say. “They mean wel , it‟s just—”

“Forget it.” She looks over her shoulder into the room before closing the door behind her and joining me out in the hal way. “We need to keep quiet,” she whispers. “Melanie got in a fight with her boyfriend. She‟s trying to get some rest.

She‟s pretty upset about it.”

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I‟m on duty here, that Clara‟s life depends on it—whether I believe she‟s a backstabbing ditz or not. “Wel , they wanted to come down here and apologize for themselves,” I say, pul ing at the truth.

“Don‟t worry about it,” she says. “I‟m not mad. They have every right to be angry at me. I screwed up.”

“Are you sure?”

“I‟m fine. I‟m just gonna stay with Melanie. She shouldn‟t be alone right now.”

“I don‟t know,” I say. “Maybe you should be with me.”

“What happened to 11:30?” she asks. “You said so yourself—I‟m not in danger until tomorrow, and tomorrow doesn‟t start until midnight.” I glance down at my watch. It‟s just after nine. “Okay, maybe we could both use a little break, but I‟l be back at 11:30, not a minute later.”

“Sounds perfect-o,” she says, with a giggle.

I ignore her peculiar enthusiasm, reminding her that if she needs me I‟l be right next door in Jacob‟s room. I take a couple steps down the hal way and knock on his door.

“Hey,” he says. “Did you find Clara?” He peers over my shoulder to look for her.

“I‟m alone.” I shut the door behind me. “But as of 11:30 tonight, I‟m surgical y attaching her to my hip.”

“Oh yeah?” he says. “And what are the chances that I could I get surgically attached to your other hip?”

“Jacob—” I laugh.

But his face is completely serious, the corners of his lips turned downward.

“What‟s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing. I‟d just feel better if I could be with you, if I could help you.”

“Why do I feel like there‟s something you‟re not tel ing me?” He shakes his head and looks away, avoiding eye contact. “What is it, Jacob?” I press.

“Just let me help you,” he says, staring down at his fingers.

“You know something.”

“Yeah,” he says, final y looking back at me. “I do. I know that if I were in trouble, you‟d want to be there to help me, both emotional y
and
physical y.”

“Wait, who says I‟m in trouble?”

“Nobody.” He sighs. “But why risk it by working alone?”

“Who says I‟m alone?” I ask him. “Of course I want your help. We‟re a team.”

“Good,” he says, with another sigh.

I lean against his chest, allowing him to cozy me up in his embrace. It feels so good to be held like this, by him—sometimes I forget how much.

“Have I mentioned yet how lucky I am?” I ask.

“Nope.” He smiles.

“Wel , I am,” I say, nuzzling a bit deeper into his T-shirt. He smells scrumptious—

like sea salt and lemongrass. “So, now what?” I whisper.

Instead of answering, he just kisses me—a warm, delicious kiss that sends goosebumps down my arms and makes my head feel all dizzy. Jacob takes my hand and ushers me inside the room. There‟s a eucalyptus candle sitting on his night table, the flame flickering up, the melted wax skirting out at the base. He grabs the blankets off his bed, spreading them out on the floor, picnic style. “We stil have a couple hours—let‟s make the most of our time.”

I look at him, into his slateblue eyes, and feel my heart beat fast, my blood start to boil up. “I guess we haven‟t exactly been the happiest couple lately.”

“It isn‟t your fault.”

“I guess it‟s both our faults. I just don‟t want to fight anymore.”

“Then let‟s not.” He takes my hands and faces me. “At least not tonight. Let‟s take a break from secrets, from being jealous—”

“From being bitchy?” I add, thinking about some of the things I‟ve said lately, how I got angry at him yesterday for
not
being jealous. “What did you have in mind?”

“I thought we might do a union spel to focus on breaking down barriers, burning away the power that secrets hold.”

I nod, hoping that such a spel can work, wondering if it‟s a barrier that keeps me from tel ing Jacob how I truly feel about him. Or maybe I‟m using Jacob‟s secrecy as an excuse to keep that barrier up. Whatever the reason for all this negative energy, it can‟t be healthy, so I‟m more than happy to burn it away.

Jacob squeezes my hands, his cheeks turning slightly pink, like what he‟s feeling is emanating right through his skin. “Are you ready?” he asks, swal owing hard.

I swallow, too. And look away, hating myself for doing so. For not being able to wrap myself around him completely and whisper into his ear how much I love him—

how much I head-over-heels, two-swans-forever
love
him.

“I love you,” he says, doing this exact thing to me. He wraps me up like a favorite gift and whispers these three gigantic words into my ear, and all I can do is say them back inside my head, and kiss his cheek, and hope he doesn‟t mind the silence.

We sit down on the covers, and Jacob reaches up to pull a bottle from the night table. He shows it to me.

“Ylang-ylang oil?” I say, reading the label.

“Have you ever used it before?”

I shake my head, knowing of its sensual qualities, how it has the ability to open the senses and ease the nerves.

“Neither have I,” he says. “I picked it up at the herbal shop downtown. I‟ve been saving it for a while, but maybe now might be a good time to give it a try.” I nod, wondering what he means, what he plans to do with it. He pulls another bottle from the table—almond oil—and pours a couple tablespoons into a ceramic bowl, followed by a few droplets of the ylang-ylang. The spicy exotic scent overpowers the sweet smell of almonds and makes my head spin slightly.

Jacob dips his finger into the mixture, swirling the two liquids together until they become one pale yellow color. He faces me, his eyes almost watery.

“Are the fumes too strong?” I ask.

He shakes his head and looks away.

“Then why do you look so sad?”

“I‟m not,” he says, looking back at me, the wel s of his eyes about to overflow. “I just want everything to be okay.”

“It wil be,” I assure him. I take his hand, his oily fingers so soft and warm against my skin. “We‟re working together now. Everything wil be fine.”

“I know.”

“Then what?”

“I guess I just want to be close to you.” And with that, the tiniest tear strays from the corner of his eye.

I lean in to kiss it, to kiss him, to run my fingers down the length of his arms, hoping he knows that it‟s him I want to hold me always.

Jacob responds by running his oiled fingers along my neck and up my chin. “I thought we might try a little aromatic massage,” he whispers. His lips are so close, his eyes zooming right into mine, making me feel all off-balance, but in a good way

—a way that feels oddly stabilizing.

“That sounds good.”

He pulls off his T-shirt, revealing his tanned upper body and the smooth, velvety skin, but there are scratches, too—claw marks, like from a cat, all across his chest.

“What happened?” I ask, running my fingers over them.

“A bad dream.”

“Do you want to tel me about it?”

He nods. “I want to tel you everything—just not now. Tomorrow, I promise.” I nod, confident in his reply, that he will tell me everything—when he‟s ready.

Jacob watches me watch him—his toned upper body and the ripples of muscle down his abdomen. It makes me want to crawl beneath his skin and wrap myself up in him, to lose myself in his spicy scent.

I pull off my T-shirt as well, revealing my tankini top with its crisscross straps. I tug at the hem, working it over the extra inch of snacking around my waistline, but Jacob interrupts me, as though reading my mind. He kisses me again, whispering into my ear how beautiful he thinks I am, how much I mean to him, how he‟l be with me always.

He reaches into his duffel bag and pulls out a silver candle. Tall and thin, the wax almost twinkles beneath his fingertips. He sets it in a holder, rubbing more of the almond oil down the length and around the circumference to consecrate it. “As above,” he whispers. “And so below.”

“It‟s beautiful,” I say, referring to the shimmering color.

“It‟s for secrets,” he says. “To help burn away the strength they‟ve held over us.

To help us remember what‟s real y important.”

“That sounds perfect.”

Jacob lights the candle and we sit and watch the flickering for several moments, reveling in the warmth of the room, the combination of soothing scents. I concentrate on the hint of eucalyptus tied with the ylang-ylang, noticing how completely at ease I feel, how unbelievably at peace.

“I‟ll start.” I dip my fingers into the oil mixture and position myself behind him. I begin at his shoulders, working the oils into his skin, noticing how warm it feels beneath my fingertips.

“That feels amazing,” he says, his voice al moist and dewy, like the room.

I kneed my fingers into his muscles, noticing where his shoulder blades meet his ribs, how the back of his neck has freckled a bit from the sun. I move myself in front of him and glide my fingertips down his chest and over his stomach, loving the way his skin feels—so slippery and smooth.

“Are you okay?” Jacob asks, probably noticing the heat I feel is visible on my face.

I nod, feeling his breath at my forehead. I look up and he kisses me—a kiss that softens, like velvet and warm honey.

He swirls his fingers into the oil and begins at my shoulders, working his way down to my hands. I close my eyes, feeling him massage tiny spirals inside my palms and down my wrists. He moves around to my back and threads his fingers around the straps of my tankini—instant jolt material. Not just my heart. My whole body.

“Stil okay?” he asks.

Okay? I feel amazingly
perfect.
For the first time in my life, I want more than anything to be one with someone—to be one with
him
—completely.

I glide the straps down my arms to free up my shoulders, and then we sink down into the blankets, illuminated only by the soft glow of the silver candle.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

I nod. “I love you,” I say, the words flowing out my mouth as natural y as my own breath.

With that, Jacob drapes himself over me with kisses and love.

The sun is so bright I can barely see. It sits alone in the sky, a perfect golden circle that reflects its rays down over the ocean. I move out onto the beach, the powdery sand warm and gritty beneath my feet, and I stare out at the ocean. The tide is coming in, bringing with it the sun‟s golden ripples—more beautiful than anything I‟ve ever seen.

The ocean breeze flies through my fingertips and combs back my hair; it rustles the bamboo wind chimes, bonging somewhere in the near distance. I feel awake—

more awake than I‟ve ever known. And yet I‟m asleep. I know this is a dream. A trickle of blood rol s down my cheek, like a tear. But I have no idea why I‟m crying.

A few moments later, I see it—him. The man from my dream. The one carrying the bouquet of death lilies. He rolls in with the sun and waves, treading through the water to get to the beach. I squint to try and make out his face and, as he gets closer, I can see it.

It‟s Jacob.

He approaches me, his eyes full of tears, the bouquet of death lilies pressed against his chest—like it‟s his, like it‟s a part of him.

“No!” I yel out.

But Jacob just shakes his head and looks down.

“No,” I say, wiping the blood-tears from my eyes so I can see. “Those lilies aren‟t for you. It‟s not your time.”

Jacob gets about two feet away from me. I reach out to touch his face, but my fingers end up passing through him.

And then he disappears.

“No!” I scream, dropping to the ground, rocking back and forth on my knees.

“You can‟t leave me. Not now. Not ever.”

thirty-seven

I wake up alone and look at the clock. It‟s 11:28.

Where‟s Jacob?

I throw on a T-shirt and pull on one sneaker, barely even getting the back on over my heel, al the while tel ing myself that he‟s just in the bathroom or getting some air.

I look around for the other shoe. There‟s a mound of blankets on the floor. I yank them up, revealing my other sneaker and, beside it, a folded-up piece of paper.

I grab the paper, eager for it to be a note from Jacob telling me where he went off to. I unfold it and look down at the handwritten words: WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT STACEY.

MEET ME ON THE MAIN DECK AT 11:15

TONIGHT. COME ALONE AND DON‟T

TELL ANYONE. STACEY‟S LIFE

DEPENDS ON IT.

My mind whirls with questions. What does this mean? When did Jacob get this note? Why didn‟t he say anything about it?

I press my fingers into the paper‟s grain, trying to sense something. Death—it crawls up my arms and around my neck, like a million hungry ants.

I drop the note and whip the door open, the sound of bamboo wind chimes all around me. Someone has hung several sets along the hallway, probably to promote the whole Hawaiian theme.

I bang on Clara‟s door.

“Yeah?” One of her roommates pokes her head out through the door crack.