“Say,” Troy said, “neither of us had any dessert. How about I take you to the place that makes the best ice cream sundaes in Pennsylvania?”
“With that description, how could I refuse?”
He sped up but didn’t go over the speed limit. “Now, besides your favorite movie star, singer, color, fruit, and television show, what interests you?” he asked.
“What would you say if I said myself?”
He glanced at me. He didn’t smile as much as his lips relaxed in the corners, and when an oncoming car’s headlights washed us in a moment of illumination, his eyes seemed to glow with pleasure. I didn’t want to be caught staring at him, but he was very good-looking, the way someone who was said to have a cinematic face was, and I felt like I was snapping pictures of him with my eyes. When he heard something that pleased him, his face lost its veil of gloom.
“I’d say you were one of most honest people I’ve met,” he replied. “Everyone is interested mostly in himself, but I don’t know many, actually any, who would admit it.”
“I don’t mean to sound self-centered. What I mean is I’m constantly wondering about my own thoughts and feelings, why I have them. So I guess I’m interested in psychology. When we read something in literature class, I’m usually intrigued with character motivation, like Iago in Othello. God, listen to me. I sound like some sort of intellectual snob.”
He laughed a laugh that reeked of amusement and pleasure. “If you’re an intellectual, most people, especially in our school, think you’re automatically a snob. I doubt there have been too many conversations in your dorm room or at the cafeteria table about why Iago did what he did to Othello.”
“No, but I’m fine with that. You do have to relax sometimes.”
He was quiet so long I thought I had just turned him off me completely. Part of why I was afraid even to attempt any sort of relationship with a boy now was that he might think I was too serious all the time. Here I was telling Troy it was important to relax, but I didn’t think I’d really had a single relaxing moment yet at Littlefield. I was too on guard, constantly distrustful, and worried that my story would emerge, break out like some horrible rash, and reveal every painful moment of my abduction and what my own sister had done to cause it. I’d be seen as some deeply wounded person, so scarred I might as well be an untouchable. There was no way to outlaw discrimination against my kind, victims.
“I think that’s why you drew my interest,” Troy said, and glanced at me.
“What?”
“Despite what you prescribe, you don’t seem to relax. I don’t relax, either,” he quickly added, like someone who when criticizing someone had to admit he or she suffered from the same fault.
“You could tell that so fast?”
“As they say, it takes one to know one. I’m one. I’m sure you have your reasons. I know I have mine.”
Now it was my turn to be silent. The obvious question was Why don’t you relax? I was afraid of the topic, afraid of how it would quickly lead to why I was not relaxed, so I avoided asking him his reason.
“There,” he said after about thirty or forty seconds. “On the right.”
I looked up at an enormous gray stone house at the top of the knoll. It was well lit and loomed over everything before it, rising higher and higher as we drew closer. It seemed to go on forever.
“What is it? The governor’s home?”
“Almost. That’s my house,” he said, “or, more accurately, my mother’s house.”
He slowed down so I could get a better look at it. The driveway looked like it was made of glass with black marble beneath it. There were lampposts on both sides all the way up. The driveway wound around and disappeared behind the rise. Even in the darkness, I could see that the grounds were elaborate, with trees and bushes so perfect they looked like set pieces on a movie lot.
“It’s so large.”
“It’s Georgian-style architecture,” he said, coming to a stop. “Thirty-two thousand square feet on ten acres. It’s one of the biggest houses in this area. We have seven bedrooms, a ballroom, a den with a pool table, a media center, my dad’s home office, and two kitchens.”
“Two? Why two?”
“One is solely for catered affairs like celebrations, business anniversaries. Sometimes my mother does a charity event. People pay five thousand dollars to attend and then bid on things donated, like a ten-day cruise or something. As I mentioned, we have two full-time maids, and we also have three regular grounds people. You can’t see it from here, but there’s a small building behind the house. The maids sleep there. It has a small kitchen, too. There’s a pool off to the left, with a cabana and whirlpool, and to the right are a tennis court and my dad’s putting green.”
“It belonged to the owner of a coal mine?”
“Yes, but my mother redid the whole place, changed flooring, replace
d all the furniture, and added some new windows and lots of new curtains. My father modernized much of the technology. Those driveway lamps are all solar. About five years ago, they added a wing to the house, too. It’s mostly my father’s home office and library, his sanctuary where he can smoke a cigar and have meetings at home.”
He started to drive again. I looked back once.
“Very impressive,” I said.