Part 13 (1/2)
”No, thank you.”
Astrid and Cordelia exchanged glances over the odd swiftness of his reply.
Then Astrid frowned theatrically, which caused Charlie to return to the sweet tone he'd been trying to win her over with all afternoon. ”Maybe a boat ride instead? I could take you out on one of those ferries that tour all the inlets and serve champagne. Wouldn't you like that?”
”Boats bore me,” Astrid replied acidly. ”And if I find out you've taken your other girl up in an airplane, that will be the end of us.”
It was not her first comment of the kind that day, and she could see that this latest really chafed Charlie. ”There's no other girl, so stop laying into me,” he shot back.
”I don't see any other other reason why you wouldn't take me up,” Astrid went on airily. reason why you wouldn't take me up,” Astrid went on airily.
”Not after you disappeared the other night. If I let you go up in a plane, what's to guarantee me you'll ever come down?”
Astrid's lips a.s.sumed a pout. ”Aw, I said I was sorry, didn't I?”
Cordelia, supporting herself on a long, sun-darkened arm and s.h.i.+elding her eyes with the flattened fingers of her other hand, leaned back to look at the show high above them. ”I've never been in an airplane,” she said to no one in particular.
”Take us, Charlie!” Astrid demanded girlishly.
But all her prodding must have irritated him too much-she was trying to be kittenish now, but it appeared to be too late. ”No,” he said and turned away.
There was something very stern about the vertical slabs of his face, which must have amused Cordelia, because she laughed and asked, ”Oh, why not?”
Charlie cleared his throat, and when he addressed Cordelia, he softened his voice. ”I'm afraid of-I don't like heights.”
”Charlie,” Astrid said, smiling. ”You've never told me that!” Astrid said, smiling. ”You've never told me that!”
”Yeah, well, now you know.”
Cordelia changed the subject. ”Well, I could go and make sure she behaves,” she offered. ”I'm blood, after all.”
Charlie, who was resting on a thickly muscled forearm, squinted at his sister, seeming almost to consider her proposal. ”Yes, you're blood, and I'm just starting to feel grateful for it, but it's still too soon after your little indiscretion for me to let you go off by yourself in a flying contraption.”
”Oh, Charlie,” Astrid exclaimed flirtatiously, spreading her fingers against his stomach. ”Don't be mean to dear Cordelia! She didn't even know who the Hales were ... and who knows, maybe it's true love, and they'll be like Romeo and Juliet, and bring peace to rival houses.”
”Juliet dies at the end of the book,” Charlie snapped.
Perhaps he was just fearful of the idea of going up high, or maybe she had teased and pushed too much, but either way his tone stung. The sound of his voice had ruined her afternoon. ”It's not a book-it's a play, you big fool,” she huffed.
Cordelia, seeing that she had not been successful in bringing harmony back to Astrid and Charlie, watched a little red-and-black biplane making figure eights high in the air. All across the field, arms reached heavenward, pointing to show young children or old folks what daring feats were possible in the modern world. For a while it had seemed that the novelty of escaping Dogwood, and the company of good friends, would be enough to distract her, but now that Astrid and Charlie had retreated into their lover's quarrels, Cordelia's thoughts returned to Thom. Soon after that came the longing. She would have taken any tiny sc.r.a.p of him-a glimpse of his sideways twist of a grin, or the grazing touch of his arm if by lucky chance they pa.s.sed in a crowd.
”That's Max Darby's plane,” Charlie said after the girls were quiet awhile.
”Max Darby?” Cordelia's eyes met her brother's. ”How strange-I saw him flying my first day in New York.”
Astrid, who was glaring off into the distance, stood up suddenly. ”I'd like to be taken home now,” she announced to no one in particular.
”That boy's going to get himself killed.” Charlie shot Cordelia an exasperated expression, ignoring Astrid. ”He's only eighteen, and he's always trying to do some ridiculous stunt just for the attention-he's planning to fly to the Florida Keys now, and they say he wants to be the youngest man ever to make a solo transatlantic crossing.”
”Transatlantic?” Cordelia listened to the word echoing in her thoughts, trying to imagine the vastness it implied. ”You mean-”
”New York to Paris,” Charlie interrupted.
New York to Paris-Cordelia wasn't sure she'd ever heard such a wondrous phrase. The delight of it faded, however, when she realized that Astrid was stamping her foot, her fists placed angrily at her hips.
”What?” Charlie shook his head, but did not wait for her to answer before standing. ”All right, all right, we'll take you home.”
Then Cordelia rose, too, and the three of them walked into the wind, toward the car they had borrowed from the Marshes' garage. Astrid charged ahead. As her hips swished, the peach overlay of her evening gown was pulled tight against her skin. Charlie walked along beside her, and Cordelia, who was uninterested in whatever game it was they were now playing, turned and walked backward for several strides, taking in the great expanse of green and brown, the crowds of spectators off to the side, and the big gla.s.s-and-metal hangars beyond them.
Before she could turn again, she heard a collective gasp rise up from the crowd: The black-and-red biplane was heading straight for the ground in a nosedive. Cordelia's hand jumped involuntarily to cover her mouth. But just when the plane seemed perilously close to cras.h.i.+ng to Earth, the pilot pulled back and his trajectory reversed-for a moment, he seemed to skim the ground, and then he climbed upward in the direction of infinite blue.
”Hey!” Charlie called. ”You coming?”
Cordelia s.h.i.+vered and turned toward her brother's voice. He had reached the car, and Astrid was already situated in the front seat, her eyes gazing directly in front of her. Smiling privately, Cordelia hurried after them. That morning she had felt bound, but she didn't feel that way anymore. It was as though she'd drawn some inspiration from the aviator's fearlessness, the way he charged toward heaven or h.e.l.l just as he pleased, as though there were no such thing as gravity. She wanted to be fearless, too, and follow the yearning within her heart to see Thom Hale again.
19
CORDELIA HAD ONLY THE SOUND OF HER OWN breathing to keep her company as she stepped through the cool darkness. Occasionally she put out a hand to touch the wall, which was lined with unfinished planks, and she quickly learned to do so gingerly for fear of picking up splinters. Taking the secret tunnel that began in Dogwood's library was more frightening by herself, but more thrilling, too.
Still she was relieved to come upon the flight of stairs that ended in a trapdoor. She pushed up through it and found herself, for the second time that day, in the tall reeds of a sandy stretch of land near a pebble beach. The sky was a deep blue by then, and the pier where she and Charlie had hailed a pa.s.sing fisherman that morning jutted out in front of her, over the smooth, l.u.s.trous water. She went to the edge of the dock and stood there in her red dress. She had been specific about the red dress. The air was warm enough that she didn't even need to cover her shoulders; all that was required was a few yards of silk, secured with inch-wide straps above a U-shaped neckline, falling loosely away from the skin.
Then she went through the series of actions, just as she had described them on the telephone. She took a cigarette from the small eel-skin purse she carried and lit a match. The flame flared up, a flash in the warm night air. A few seconds pa.s.sed, and then she heard the lazy splas.h.i.+ng of oars moving through still water. She didn't make him out until he was almost at the pier, and by then her face tingled with antic.i.p.ation.
Thom was sitting in a rowboat, wearing white slacks and a navy collared s.h.i.+rt with tiny gold stripes under a beige cardigan. His hair was burnished with oil, and his face was lit with a subdued smile that grew when they were close enough to see each other in detail. It was strange to see him now, when she knew what kind of life he came from, for he wasn't at all like Charlie-he had none of her brother's bluntness, and his features were so much more whittled and fine, and he seemed to take everything in stride instead of going so extravagantly hot and cold.
Placing her cigarette between her teeth, she lowered herself so that she was sitting on the edge of the pier. He stood, balanced himself in the well-worn boat, and then extended his hand. She bent, took it, and falling a little against him, came down into the hull. There was unsteadiness beneath her, but Thom had her solidly by the shoulders. A bird cawed overhead, and the sound echoed across the lonely bay waters. He took the cigarette from her lips and threw it over the side, and then paused, studying her with those calm green-brown eyes. She waited for him to kiss her. When he finally did, any trepidation she had had-about seeing him against her father's wishes or using Charlie's secret to her advantage-all but disappeared. She swayed with it, her consciousness rising up to the place where her mouth was open to his.
”I've been thinking about doing that since I last saw you,” he said, bringing his head back but still holding on to her by the torso.
”Is that right?” she answered playfully.
His only reply was that heartbreaking smile.
How interesting she felt to be out in the world without a single soul knowing her whereabouts, and at the same time wearing a very fas.h.i.+onable dress. Something he'd said to her on the first night they met, about it being a perfect moment, repeated in her thoughts. Now it seemed to her that every moment with him was its own variety of perfection, and she was happy to be in this one as long as it lasted-the boat rocking just slightly, the mingling smells of salt and musk, his grip on her light and strong at the same time.
What followed was a string of moments, each following the last in a glittering strand: They coasted across the water, coming eventually to an abandoned stretch of road where he'd left his car. She hardly cared if they went anywhere, but then he started the motor and they headed in the direction of the city.
”More speakeasies?” she asked as they drove.
”You'll see,” he answered.
Along they went, in no particular hurry, into the darkness and the city beyond. The weather had been fine for some weeks now, but that night was the first that held the heat of the day even long after dark had settled in. All over town, in every kind of joint, people were drunk with summer.
Eventually Thom pulled over on an East Side block at the heart of the metropolis, although it was quiet at that hour. He came around and helped Cordelia out, draping his sweater over her shoulders as she stepped onto the curb.
”But I'm not cold,” she protested sweetly.