“I can’t go. I have too much schoolwork and the play is getting close to opening night. You guys go ahead. Have a great time.”
“Okay,” Mom said, drawing out the word. “You’re awfully agreeable. More like your old self.”
I shrugged.
“In fact… The last time I remember you like this was…last summer? Right around the time of your birthday.” She frowned, thinking. “Willow.”
“Yeah?”
Her delicate brows came together, her manicured fingers drummed on the counter in that way she did when an unpleasant thought occurred to her.
I held my breath. I could almost see her—finally—putting together the events of last summer. Meeting Xavier at the Wexx Fourth of July party. Me telling her how we’d hit it off. How she’d been so happy because he was “the right kind of young man” for me. She didn’t know about the birthday party I’d thrown for myself a few weeks later, of course, but she knew I didn’t talk about Xavier anymore after that. It was all right there.
“Willow,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “You understand the Wilkinsons are very important to this family? Your father’s been a loyal employee to Wexx, and despite the move here, they’ve been good to us.”
My voice went dry, and I could only nod.
“With that in mind, is there anything that you want to tell me?”
It was painful to hear the words creak out of her mouth. What was I supposed to do with them? Tell her the truth and bring her entire lifestyle crashing down? For an accusation that had no evidence, not even my own clear memory?
There was nothing to be done about it, especially since Xavier wasn’t coming anywhere near my adopted state anytime soon. I had grabbed a little piece of happiness with Isaac. I wasn’t about to let it go.
“No, Mom,” I said and kissed her on the top of her head. “Got to run, I’ll be late for school.”
She patted her hair where I’d kissed her with an irritated sigh. But her fingernails had ceased to drum. “Have a nice day. Don’t be too late coming back from rehearsal. My God, it seems like you live at that theater.”
“The show is in two weeks,” I said. “We have tech rehearsals and full run-throughs coming up this week, and dress rehearsal next week…”
But she’d already gone back to her magazine.
After school, I killed time riding my bike around Harmony, waiting for Isaac to be done with work. I biked to The Cottages first. It formed one corner of my triangle of favorite places: The Cottages, the HCT, and the hedge maze.
Everything I could want in a two-mile radius.
I stopped in front of one of the cottages. A sweet little blue one with white trim. It had a For Sale sign in the front yard that looked as old and faded as the house. The real estate market around here wasn’t great, but I was glad this one hadn’t closed.
Someday, I thought.
I rode back to town and stopped in the bookstore to pick up a comic book for Benny. Isaac mentioned he’d been doing well in school. I’d yet to meet him, but Isaac spoke about him a lot and with warmth. I figured Benny deserved a reward, not just for his schoolwork, and for being important to my boyfriend.
Boyfriend?
The word had crept in, shooting a thrill across my heart. And though it was probably foolish, I kept it there.
A few minutes after four, I rode to the hedge maze, and set my bike against the informational placard out front. Isaac’s blue Dodge was parked at the far end of the lot already. The sun was bright and warm, thickening the air toward summer humidity. I held out my hand to shield my eyes from the glare. Beyond the hedge maze was a field of tall grass and trees. We’d had to sneak there a few times when other people came to wander the maze.
I navigated the hedges easily now, and found Isaac sitting in the windmill, a script on his lap and a pen in his hand. The end of the pen was mangled—he chewed it to keep from smoking when we were together.
I stopped and watched him for a moment, my eyes drinking him in, my body taking note of every detail. His long legs in denim, a black T-shirt that highlighted the broad planes of his chest. The bulge of his biceps and his tanned forearms, one bearing the tattoo, I burn. I pine. I perish.
He’d told me it was from The Taming of the Shrew, and that he’d chosen it because that had felt like the entirety of his life. Burning talent, endless want for a better life, and the fear he’d never reach it.
He’s going to reach it. But right now he’s mine.
&n
bsp; Isaac’s face was hard-angled and unsmiling above his script. But I knew the man beneath the stony expression. He was brilliant and poetic and protective. He’d been hardened by his experiences but they hadn’t broken him. He showed all his soft to no one but me.