Waiting for the Moon

He turned his face away. "No one can help me."

"Maybe if we just ... talked ..."

I

221 "He

Andrew pressed his face tighter into the pillow, said he'd kill me if I told anyone."

"He'd have to kill me first."

Very slowly, Andrew turned back toward Ian. "You'd protect me?"

Ian nodded.

Andrew started to cry quietly. It was a long time before he could stop.

Ian said nothing, just sat there, waiting. Finally Andrew wiped his face and looked up at Ian through eyes that were pathetically hopeful. "I need help, Dr. Carrick."

A lump formed in Ian's throat. "We all do, Andrew. We all do."

Chapter Eighteen

The moon was bright and full and ringed by clouds. It cast a bluish white aura of magic across the dark night.

Selena followed Ian from the house.

He sl

ipped through the garden's wrought-iron gates and went to the gazebo, sitting on the granite bench inside, leaving the gate open behind him.

She followed slowly, careful not to step on a twig or branch or make any sound. At the gate she paused, allowing herself-just for an instant-to believe that he'd left it open on purpose. A silent invitation.

But she couldn't lose herself in the fantasy. This morning she'd glimpsed another, darker side of Ian, and it had frightened and confused her. He had been cold and needlessly cruel.

His selfishness made her feel frighteningly alone. As if some integral, necessary part of her soul had splintered. For hours she'd sat on the porch steps, trying to understand what had happened. There was no one she could ask. Johann would be sarcastic; she was certain of it. Edith wouldn't allow herself to speak of "the master" that way, and Maeve . . .

Selena sighed. Poor Maeve had spent the day in the kitchen, making her long-dead husband a cherry tart.

Selena had wandered through the silent house, time and again passing in front of Andrew's closed door. She

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waited patiently, and not so patiently, for Ian to leave the boy's room, but the door had stayed closed until a few moments ago.

In her need to understand Ian, she'd consulted book after book, but none of them answered her question. Until finally, when she'd almost given up, she'd opened a book of poetry that Ian had once read to her. Almost magically, it had fallen open, and she'd found the words she needed so desperately.

If thoust must love me, let it be for naught Except for love's sake only. Do not say I love her for her smile-her look-her way Of speaking gently-for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day- For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee-and love,

so wrought May be unwrought so.

It had taken her a long time to understand the poem's true message, but finally she saw that Miss Browning was explaining the very nature of love.

With the words, Selena began to understand the emotion she'd given so freely. Her first true memory was of Ian. It sounded trite and ridiculous, but for as long as she could remember, he'd been her sun, her moon, her world. Naively she'd thought she loved him; it was the only word that fit the enormity of her feeling. But now she saw her mistake. She'd been mesmerized by Ian, bewitched by his quicksilver moods, captivated by the most brilliant smile she'd ever seen.

It had been an illusion, though, a young girl's whimsy. If she was to cross the yawning channel between infatuation and true love, she would have to do it now, with her eyes wide open and her heart too vulnerable to bear. She would have to accept his imperfections, his vices,