He’s the dark boy who filled my dreams last night. I want him there again, tonight and every night.
He is the first one on his feet when the last note fades. His choir joins him. The rest of the audience rises. No cheering. Decorum reigns at the Choral Olympics during the judging. But the clapping doesn’t stop. We march out, our dresses swirling dramatically around our feet, with the audience still applauding. They don’t stop until one of the judges makes them.
The chaperone moms herd us into our dressing area. We can’t scream like we want. Or even hug. We make do with high-fiving and cheek-kissing.
Meadow’s mom directs the others as they unzip us and help us out of our gowns. We all change into off-white capris and ballet pink blouses with puffy short sleeves and eyelet-lace accents. We even wear matching sandals. I dress automatically, thrilled by that ovation and the pleased look on the judges’ faces and the way Derek’s mouth trembled at the song’s close. I wish I could take my hair down, but we’re supposed to leave it up.
I wipe off the heavy lipstick they made me wear to perform and smooth on Watermelon Ice. Reminds me of Scott. Poor Scott. He’s so far away from me here and now. So different from Derek. Steady. Loyal. Sweet. Friend.
Derek doesn’t seem like any of those things. Especially the friend angle. But sweet? For sure. Last night showed sweet. And singing for him just now was extreme sweet. But that was in me. How did he feel? What could he possibly see in me? Maybe it is all an act. Those guys have been around. He’s had a lot of chances to perfect picking up a girl to pass the time with at a festival. I never imagined something like that happening here, but, heck, I’ll play along. Why not? He doesn’t know who I really am. I am free here. He thinks I’m beautiful.
We meet Derek and Blake at the pizza place across the road from our hotel. The pizzas are all named for movie stars—mostly American. The guys got us a table outside on the sidewalk. Kind of loud with cars going by but way European.
“Great job.” Derek shakes my hand in both of his—holds onto it while he says, “Beautiful, Beth. Exquisite. How do you do that?”
I draw my hand back. “I heard you sing. You know how to do it.”
“Not like that. I can’t sing like that.”
Blake leans over his shoulder and looks me up and down. “Maybe you just need the right inspiration.”
He gets another elbow in the gut and, “Shut up,” from Derek.
We order pizza to celebrate. Blake cheats again with the dairy, but Derek gets pasta with meat sauce. When his order comes, he takes out a handful of capsules and swallows them—notices my stare, shrugs. “Vitamins. My mom is way into macrobiotics.”
I believe him. Every word. Honest.
This place serves authentic Italian pizzas—thin crust, wood fired. I stuff a slice melting with mozzarella into my mouth. It’s so different from home. Fresh and chewy. And the tomatoes are sweet. I close my eyes to savor it better—can’t believe I’m actually eating with him. I’m learning this guy stuff as fast as I can.
“You don’t eat it like that.” Derek watches me swallow from across the narrow table. He picks up a slice of my pizza, folds it over. “Here.” He slides it into my mouth. Obedient as always, I bite and manage to chew without turning too pink. He’s staring—looks like he’s starving.
“You want a piece? This is way too much for me.” Everyone gets their own small pizza here, not giant ones that will serve a table like back home, but it’s too much.
He shakes his head. “Cheese.”
“You guys sing tomorrow, right?”
“I hope you’ll come.” He looks at me the way he did while I sang.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I gaze back at him and hope I’m sending the right message.
I’m lost somewhere deep in his velvet-brown stare when my cell phone rings in my bag. I’m carrying it today. Mom said she’d call to see how our performance went. She warned me that calls from Europe cost a fortune in roaming and long-distance charges, so we’ve made due with emails, but today actually talking will be worth it.
I find it before she hangs up. “Mom?”
“Beth?” She says something I don’t hear.
I shout, “Hang on a minute,” and get up, walk up the sidewalk. “I think this is better.”
“How did it go, honey?”
“Great, Mom. I sang like I never have before.” I glance back at Derek sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair, staring at me. He holds my eyes, makes my face hot. “We met some nice guys from Amabile—over the border in London.”
“Good, dear. I’m glad you’re having a nice time.” She sounds down.
“You okay?” I worry about her alone.
“Sure.” Her voice breaks.
“What’s going on Mom?”
“Nothing that can’t wait until you’re home next week.”
I close my eyes. No, not today. Agree with her. Hang up. Wait. You don’t want to know. “Is it that test?”
She doesn’t say anything, but I can hear soft crying sounds.
“It was positive, wasn’t it?” Something deep inside me clenches hard against the pain that’s cutting into my heart. “I’m a carrier.”
“We’ll go see a genetic counselor when you get home.” She takes a deep breath, tries to control her voice. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.”
“Okay. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Don’t let this news ruin your trip. Forget about it and have a great time. We’ll deal with it when you’re back. The doctors wanted you to go on the pill right away, but I told them we didn’t have to worry about that. I’m proud of you, honey.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so—so—sorry.” She’s crying again.
“I love you, too.” My voice cracks on the last word. The phone goes dead. My eyes sting. I figure I have about two minutes before I fall apart. No way can I go back to pizza. And calm, cool, beautiful Derek.
There are yellow stripes on the road in front of me. Crosswalk. Good. I step into it. A car slams on its brakes. I jump. I’d be dead in Detroit, but the Swiss stop. I look up at the leathered face of an old Swiss man, raise my hand to thank him. He smiles and waves back. A lump grows in my throat.
Now traffic is stopped for me, going both ways. I hurry across, pass paddleboats and a place selling ice-cream cones and soda, walk down to the lake. There’s a ferry terminal on my right. Big trees. Benches. I find one that’s mostly hidden behind a fat tree trunk and bushes.
I sit down, try to get a grip. The lake is a mirror today. Really blue. The sky, too. A few fluffy clouds and sunshine. Mountains, blue in the distance with white jagged peaks, rise up on the other side. It’s so serene. I can’t look at it. I need clouds. Driving rain. Crashing waves. The beauty of this place mocks me, screams
Da-amn ugly
back in my face.
I almost escaped him. Almost escaped all of them. Every guy who’s ever called me a beast. I’d started letting myself hope I had a shot at something like a normal life. A relationship. Marriage. A family. I’d resigned myself to that blind guy when I was forty, but this new facade transformed my fantasies.
Look at Derek. Even Scott.
Crap. At the prom, Colby hit on me.
Somebody could love me. I’m not repulsive anymore. Meadow’s painful intervention gave me that gift. Kind of amazing.
This death sentence on my unborn slams the door shut. Natural selection wins. I am the Beast. Who could love that? The risks are way too high.
Maybe I can get them to rip it out of me—all of it. Everything that makes me a woman, that makes me yearn to love somebody, everything that makes me cry right now for babies that will never be.
Empty.
God, take all these feelings,
Let me just be
A shell
Alone on the seashore
While life swells around me.
Soft tiny fingers,
That sweet baby smell,
Still the dream lingers.
Please, take me from this new hell—
Tears slide down my face. I wipe at them, angry. He shouldn’t have the power to make me cry. My father is a faraway shadow. I never even knew him.
Hot liquid pours out of my nose. Gross. I bury my face in my purse.
Somebody sits down on my bench, hands me a packet of tissues.
Derek.
“Thank you,” I whisper, rip out a soft white tissue, and wipe my nose. I try to hand the package back to him.
“Keep it. I’ve got a suitcase full.”
I clutch the package, fumble to open it up again.
“Bad news?”
“Kind of.” I get out another tissue and sop my face.
“I’m sorry.”
He sounds sincere. I want him to be—desperately need him to be. “Thanks for finding me.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “I was watching you. I can’t stop watching you, Beth.” He’s rubbing my back now—like you would a hurt child. “I could tell the call didn’t end well.”
I close my eyes. The tears are coming back.
“Is your family all right?”
I nod, swallow hard. “I had some tests done right before we left. My mom got the results.”
His hand stops moving. “You’re not sick, are you?”
I shake my head.
“You’re not going to die on me?”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m sorry. Do you want me to go?”
“No.” I sit up and stare at the lake, try to get a grip. “I can’t have kids.” Saying it out loud, to this velvet boy, makes it real, seals my fate. I break apart, can’t stop it—even with Derek watching.
“Come here.” He puts both arms around me, tucks my face to his shoulder, and holds me. The sobs win.
He whispers soothing stuff, hums a tune I’ve never heard, and rocks me back and forth. Never once does he say, “It’s okay.” You could love a guy like that. Easy.
I finally get control. His shoulder is wet under my face. I raise up a little. “Crap. I made a mess of your shirt.”
“I have four more just like it.”
“Your pasta will be cold.”
“I like cold pasta.”
I manage a smile. My lower lip shakes. “I’m sorry.” I smooth the wet spot on his chest.
He presses my head back down. “I’m not.”
“I must look awful.”
“I’m not looking.”
“I guess you can let me go now.”
“Do I have to?”
“No.” My throat aches like the tears are going to start again. “If you don’t mind, it helps.”
“Good.” His lips brush my forehead.
“Derek?”
Now he’s kissing my temple.
“I don’t really know you.” Is he taking advantage of me or does he know this is exactly what I need?
His mouth drifts across my face. “Sure you do.”
I close my eyes—can’t breathe.
His mouth finds mine. He kisses me, soft and tender, whispers, “Does this help, too?” And kisses me again. “I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks—since we chatted.” His lips caress and soothe as much as his hands did. “You’ve got me in some kind of spell. Am I rushing you?”
“I think—” My eyes drift open. “I want to be rushed.”
That brings his kiss back. My lips move against its soft touch.
“You’re beautiful, Beth,” he breathes into my ear.
“Don’t say that. Not today. If you knew the real me—inside.”
He takes my face in both of his hands. “What—you’re an ax murderer?”
That distracts me into half of a smile. “How’d you guess?”
“I knew it.” He bites my lower lip and tugs on it. “I love dangerous women.”
His kissing gets faster, more intense.
I pull back.
“Rushing?” He touches my face, kisses me slow and soothing again. “Are you feeling any better?”
I put my hand over his and whisper, “Don’t stop. It’s amazing therapy.”
“For me, too.”
“You need therapy?”
“I’ve had my share.”
Drug habit. Therapy. Dangerous. Genius. Artist. Who is this guy I’m making out with on a park bench in broad daylight on the banks of Lake Geneva in Lausanne, Switzerland? He’s no Colby. Not even Scott could be this understanding. He looks like an angel, sings like an angel. He found my breaking heart and coaxed it into a new rhythm. A rhythm so sweet, so captivating, so enticing, I can’t get enough.
Who is he?
His arms wrap around me, his mouth moves to my neck—
And I don’t care.
chapter 12
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