A few minutes later would have been quite a little disaster for us, I thought. I stood.

“Hey.”

“This isn’t the place or the time, Aaron.”

“You wanted to see me. I thought . . .”

“I want to be with you, but look how close that was. For both of us,” I added. “Your father would probably take your new car away permanently.”

He nodded and stood. “You’re right. I knew there was a reason I didn’t join the Cub Scouts.”

He took my hand, and we walked back slowly.

“Think about what I said,” he told me when we reached my bike. “Work yourself back into your grandfather’s favor. You don’t want to become the Lady of Shalott or something.”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“A poem you’ll learn when you’re a senior, probably,” he said as we walked back to the playground. “It’s about this lady who was cursed and lives in a castle, where she weaves images of what she sees in a mirror. She never looks directly out the window at the world. Until she sees Lancelot, that is. Then she leaves her tower, puts her name on a boat, and floats down to Camelot. She dies before arriving.”

“How sad.”

“Right. So don’t miss out on reality,” he said.

“Or when you do after waiting so long, you’ll die?”

“Something like that.”

“Are you my Lancelot?”

“I’ll be anyone you want.” He smiled and kissed me.

Would he be?

And did I live under a mysterious curse, too?

14

We sat on one of the pinewood benches at the playground and talked until Paulie returned for him. Aaron revealed more about his family and his relationships with his father, his mother, and his older sister. I had the feeling he was telling me things he had never told anyone else—especially any other girl—about his sister. Stories illustrating how his feelings for her grew stronger as he grew older and he began to appreciate her feelings for him.

In my heart of hearts, I felt something special was happening between us. Gradually, the image of him that other girls were trying to impose on me was crumbling. I thought he was very sensitive and caring, and in some ways, he was as vulnerable emotionally as I was. Was I being too naive, gullible? Or was I simply desperate to be close to someone at any cost?

Now some of the adults who knew Aaron and his family and a few who knew my grandfather and me came by to say hello to us. Two mentioned Willie and how sad they were for me and my grandfather. Others avoided the topic, and I was grateful. One mother, Mrs. Willow, who had twin girls, talked to us the longest. I could see from the way she was looking at us, catching that we were still holding hands, that she was probably thinking about her own yo

uthful romances or maybe just one, maybe the most serious one that had gone in the direction we were heading. Maybe she thought we were already there. She had that know-it-all expression that made me blush when she talked about how cute we looked together. I even thought she was flirting with Aaron. I was happy when her children grew bored and she walked off.

Paulie barely looked at me when he arrived. He glanced at me, smiled when I said hello, and then looked away quickly, as if I was already someone forbidden and he didn’t want to be caught smiling at me. Maybe he’s just terribly shy, I thought. Aaron’s kissing me good-bye definitely embarrassed him.

“Think about what we discussed,” Aaron said before he got into Paulie’s car. To be sure that I knew what he meant, he added, “The Lady of Shalott.”

I watched them drive off and then got on my bike and started for home. When I reached the place where the truck had plowed into Willie and Myra, I stopped and stared at it for a while. A few rows of the hedges were still looking damaged. This area had become special now, almost a holy place. On this section of sidewalk, I had seen my brother alive for the last time. At that moment, he had been barely clinging to life, if I understood what had happened correctly. I couldn’t be sure if he had heard my voice when I called out to our grandfather. I hoped he had.

Suddenly, I wondered. What if he had lived but had been in a wheelchair like the poisoned boy? What if something had happened to his brain and he couldn’t remember us, just the way the poisoned boy couldn’t remember his family? Grandpa would have done all the same things for him as he had done for the poisoned boy, for sure. I would have been there for him every day, of course. And I would have cried for him every night. I wouldn’t be happy as long as he was ill, and maybe I wouldn’t have even gone on a date with Aaron or gone to a party or had any social life at all, for that matter. Maybe I would have been Mrs. Camden’s real assistant. I’d like to think that if that had been the case, I would have helped bring him back. The first time he would have said my name would have been like my birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas all rolled into one.

Would it be like that for someone who loved the poisoned boy when he finally opened his eyes and said his or her name, clearing the way for his return to them? I had to admit to myself, however, how odd it was that no one was advertising that he was gone and pleading for information that would lead to his return. As Myra would say sometimes, it’s a “riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”

I walked my bike the remainder of the way to the gate and then up the driveway, thinking about all of it. I had to admit that by this time, Willie would have been very interested in the poisoned boy. He was always curious about other boys his age and eager to make friends with them. On his own, he would have shared all that he had with him. He would have wanted me to help. He would have expected it and even believed that I would have made a difference. I could almost hear him say it as I approached the house. You could help him, Clara Sue. You could make him well again. Don’t let him be sick.

Doctors and psychiatrists, nurses and nannies, all were adults. No matter what my grandfather gave him and no matter how much tender loving care he received from Myra and My Faith, the boy would always be distrusting. I was sure of that even though I had no proof of why. I probably really could make a difference. I was just being a selfish, stubborn little fool because I wasn’t helping. No one could help him get back to his family faster than I could if I put my mind to it. Deep down, that had to be something he wanted, didn’t it? Should I really help, I mean, for good reasons? I wondered. Aaron was probably right. Grandpa would be nicer to me. If I thought this way about my reason for cooperating, I might not hate myself for being such a conniver trying to get what I wanted. That would just be a bonus.

Tags: V.C. Andrews
Source: readsnovelonline.net