Figment. Part 3

FIVE.

The elevator doors opened to our flat entrance. It was still only six in the morning, and my father had gotten back from a quick business trip to Connecticut late last night, so he would be plenty jet-lagged.

I pressed my ear to the door of the flat, listening carefully. Nothing. Slowly, I slid my key into the lock and eased the door open, half expecting to see my mother in the middle of the living room, her hands on her hips.

But the only thing there to greet me was the gray London morning pressing at the windows. The kitchen was quiet and neat, too, like a still-life painting of a coffeemaker and a bowl of apples. I practically floated through to the bathroom and turned the water up as hot as it would go-which was lukewarm-before shedding the wrinkled tank top and jeans I'd worn to the Enterprise last night. It seemed like a year ago that I'd put them on.

Leaning my crutch against the sink, I stood under the weak spray for a long time, letting the water run over my head and down my back. I hummed, soaping my arms, reliving the sweet moments of last night in Davis's arms. I touched the faint mouth mark he'd left on my neck.

Shutting off the water, I heard the BBC come on in my parents' room. I wrapped a towel around my head and, back in my room, pulled on some yoga pants and my favorite UConn T-s.h.i.+rt. I wound my wet hair on top of my head and stuck a clip on the bun, then tucked my charm into the tiny key pocket in my pants.

By the time I got out to the kitchen, my parents were already sitting with the Guardian and coffee.

"Morning, guys." I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible. I pried apart an English m.u.f.fin and dropped it into the toaster.

"Morning, Zo," my father said. He had big circles under his eyes and looked to be drinking an entire pot of coffee on his own.

"How about some eggs? I have sausage, too." Mom pointed her fork to a covered platter on the table.

"Sure." I b.u.t.tered the m.u.f.fin and stuffed half of it into my mouth before sliding into my seat. I reached for the platter and looked up to see my mother eyeing me. "What?"

"Nothing." She paused. "How did you sleep, darling?"

My hand froze. "Fine," I replied warily. "Why?"

She shook her head. "You just look more rested, honey. That's all."

"Oh." I lifted the lid of the platter. "Mom, what is this?" I pointed to what appeared to be a mound of baked beans on the plate beside the eggs and sausage.

"It's a cla.s.sic English breakfast! We need to fit in if we're going to spend the summer here," she said. "Try it. They're delicious with the eggs."

"No, thanks. I might get confused and think I'm at a barbecue." I laughed at my own stupid joke, replaced the cover, and took another bite of my English m.u.f.fin. Then, casually, I got up and wandered over to the window. "The view is great from up here. I'm glad we got a high floor." I cleared my throat. "Isn't there a penthouse in the building?"

"Yes, we looked into it, actually. It wasn't available, though." My father turned a page of the newspaper.

Ah.

"Why not?" I scanned the landscape with ostentatious idleness.

"It's still under construction." He folded back a page and bit noisily into a piece of toast. "Major renovations, and the contractor bailed out. Something like that. The whole project's on hold until they get someone new."

Bingo.

"Oh, too bad. That would've been cool." I wandered back to the table and dropped lazily into my chair. I shoveled some eggs into my mouth, keeping one hand lightly on the charm in my pocket, like a talisman of Davis's presence.

"See?" Mom nodded at Dad. "I told you."

"You're right, Mary." He put down his paper and looked at me approvingly.

I stopped mid-chew. "What?"

"Oliver seems like a really sweet young man, Zo." My mother was beaming now. "Dad and I are so glad you're getting back on your feet and meeting some new people." She didn't say "boys," but we all knew that was what she meant.

"I know his parents vaguely." My father took another gulp of his coffee. "Dan Sampson handled some business for them. He mentioned they live nearby."

I smiled, just a little. Clearly, going to the Enterprise last night with Oliver had paid off. "Oliver's really nice," I agreed. That part wasn't a lie, at least. Time to make my move.

"Actually . . ." I stuffed the rest of my m.u.f.fin into my mouth. "We were thinking of hanging out some today. Maybe go see Big Ben." My hands were trembling a little with the lie. I fingered the charm in my pocket for courage. But as I took my hand out, the charm came with it and fell to the floor with a clink.

I dove for it, s.n.a.t.c.hing it up and stuffing it back into my pocket.

"What's that, dear?" my mother asked.

"A charm from Davis." The words slipped out before I could stop them. I swallowed, eyeing my parents, but Mom just nodded.

My father folded the paper and pushed back his chair. "Well, I have to run. Frances should have those doc.u.ments ready for me to review."

My mother looked up in dismay. "On Sat.u.r.day, Charles?"

"Just until six. Have fun, Zoe." He dropped a kiss on top of my head. "See you both tonight." The front door clicked shut behind him.

"So? Can I go?" I asked my mother's back. She was already standing at the sink, rinsing the dishes.

"Of course." She sounded more subdued now. "Have a wonderful time-the fresh air will do you good."

I almost skipped back to my room to get dressed. I couldn't possibly have arranged it better-Oliver was the perfect excuse. The glowing, pink-cheeked girl in the mirror stared back at me as I slipped silver drops into my earlobes. Even my leg wasn't hurting for the first time in nearly two weeks. I pulled my hair forward so it brushed my cheeks. You could hardly see the missing patch. And the scabs at the corners of my eyes were just faint red spots now. I was healing.

I picked up my crutch to head out, but then something stopped me. I put the crutch on my bed and carefully, slowly, tried walking the length of the room. My hip twinged a little, but that was all.

I opened the door and looked back at the crutch lying on the striped bedspread. I had Davis to lean on now. I went out into the hall, closing the door behind me.

"I'm going now. Oliver's waiting for me," I told my mother, who was standing at the sink, her arms soapy to the elbows as she washed the dishes.

"Bye, dear." She wiped a plate and smiled fondly at me, her gla.s.ses pushed to the top of her head.

"I might be kind of late. Is that okay?" I wanted to give myself as much time as possible with Davis.

"I don't think-" Then she stopped herself. "Well, if you're with Oliver, I'm sure it will be fine. Your father does know his parents."

I felt faintly guilty as I waited for the elevator-after all, I'd just told a bald-faced lie. But when I thought of how they'd kept Davis and me from each other, the hurt stirred deep in my gut. I could lie every day for the rest of my life, and it wouldn't make up for what they'd done to us.

I held my breath as I stepped out of the lobby doors. The sky was cerulean blue with just a few puffy white clouds sailing high overhead, and the air was soft.

Davis was lounging against the side of the building, his lean frame making a kind of triangle with the brick wall. He turned when he heard me, brus.h.i.+ng his blond hair from his eyes.

"Morning, princess," he said. "Where's your crutch?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him hard. "Didn't need it. You're good medicine, I guess." I leaned back, with his arms still around me, and looked into his face. His eyes matched the sky behind his head. "And good news about the penthouse. You're safe. My dad said no one's working up there right now."

"Awesome." He took my hand and pulled me to the sidewalk, then looked around at the busy street-students with headphones snaking from their ears, bikers with messenger bags strapped across their chests, black cabs waiting at the lights. "I need some food, fast. Did you eat?"

"Sort of. My mom tried to serve baked beans." We strolled north, hand in hand. I felt like I was gliding a few inches off the ground. "Let's get coffee."

We crossed at a light, waiting beside a tall man in a rumpled suit who was talking loudly on his phone, then ambled down the next block, peering into shop windows. We turned and started heading steeply downhill. The Thames sparkled in front of us. All along the waterfront, people were strolling with baby carriages and dogs. A pair of drummers beat on djembes on the corner, and food carts with cheerful striped awnings stood out in the suns.h.i.+ne.

"How about this one?" Davis stopped at a green cart with a tempting array of pastries and what I figured were English pies-the kind with meat in them instead of fruit.

"Great." I studied the selection. "Two coffees, white, and an almond croissant," I told the grizzled vendor.

The man smiled, revealing a missing side tooth. "A coffee addict, yes?"

"Not really." I smiled, a little confused.

The vendor handed over our drinks and the croissant in wax paper. "Thanks," I called as we walked away, and he nodded and waved.

"So tell me," I said as we perched on the back of a bench looking out at the water. "What happened-you know, afterward?" I couldn't bring myself to say "the accident." It made it seem real all over again.

Davis took a sip of his coffee. His eyes looked moody now. He stared out at the river, where two sculls of rowers were gliding by rapidly. "They wouldn't let me see you, wouldn't tell me what happened to you. I practically broke down the hospital door trying to get in. Did they tell you that?"

My heart twisted, thinking of myself inside at the same time, screaming for him. "No, they didn't," I whispered. I set my coffee down, suddenly unable to swallow.

I watched a young mother feeding her little boy sips from a juice box. "Davis, there's something I've got to ask you," I said slowly.

"What?" He took my hand and ma.s.saged the back.

"My father." I didn't want to hear the answer, but I made myself go on. "Did he threaten you at all? You know, like saying he'd press charges about the hacking thing if you called me? Or . . ." I hesitated. "Did he offer you money if you stayed away?" My voice dropped until Davis had to lean forward to catch my words. "Is that why you didn't come to my house after the accident?"

"Are you serious?" He jumped up from the bench, his face flus.h.i.+ng. "Do you actually think I'd give you up for some kind of bribe? Who do you think I am, Zo?"

"I don't!" I reached for his hands, which were balled into fists, and held them tightly in mine. "Sit down, please."

He ignored me and started pacing up and down in front of the bench.

"I knew you wouldn't go through with it. I just had to ask, to know what my father was capable of. Don't be mad," I pleaded.

He stopped and nodded. "It's okay. Sorry I flew off the handle. I'm just under some pressure right now, that's all."

"What do you mean?"

A scrim of hardness dropped over his face. He balled up his croissant wrapper and aimed it at a nearby trash can. "Nothing." The hardness was gone. He stood up and took my hand. "Come on."

We wandered away from the river and found ourselves at the foot of a steep, narrow street made of uneven cobblestones. VICTORIA LANE, read the street sign. Old stone and brick buildings were squashed together, lining the sidewalks, wooden signs hung out front.

"This looks cool. Let's check it out." We started up the hill, hand in hand.

The shops we pa.s.sed were small, dimly lit, and stuffed with treasures, I imagined. At the top of the hill, I stopped at one shop with a giant stuffed owl in the display window. MARGRAVE'S APOTHECARY was painted in peeling gold letters on the gla.s.s.

"Ooh, let's go in here." I pulled open the carved wooden door.

A bell tinkled overhead as we stepped in. The place was a dim, musty fantasyland of shelves crowded with oddly shaped bottles, huge cabinets full of tiny drawers, and gla.s.s-fronted cases crowded with strange little figurines and boxes of b.u.t.tons. A bra.s.s-and-wood ceiling fan lazily stirred the thick air. At the back, a wizened, white-haired man sat very still on a stool with his arms folded and his chin resting on his chest. It took me a minute to realize he was asleep.

"It's like something out of d.i.c.kens," I whispered.

"Or a horror movie." Davis pinched my b.u.t.t, and I squeaked. The man at the front woke up with a start.

"Oh, excuse me, welcome." He straightened up. "May I help you with anything?"

I smiled at him. "Just looking around." I opened a random drawer in the cabinet nearest me. It was filled entirely with old political b.u.t.tons. The next drawer held coins with holes in the middle.

"I'm getting you this." Davis held up a small gold powder compact.

"Davis, seriously?" I examined it more closely. It was beautiful-surprisingly heavy, with engraved violets on the lid. I flipped the minute catch, and the compact sprang open to reveal a mirror and a silk powder puff.

"To remember me by." He grinned at me.

"Stop-don't talk like that." His words sent a s.h.i.+ver through me.

"We'll take this." I handed the compact to the proprietor, who wrapped it in white tissue paper. Davis moved to pull out his wallet, but I beat him to it by taking out my credit card-the only thing my parents hadn't taken away. Davis had spent enough just getting here; it felt like the least I could do.

"Enjoy," the old man rasped.

The suns.h.i.+ne seemed brighter after the dim shop. On the sidewalk, I paused and unwrapped the compact. I held it up, admiring the rich gold, then pretended to powder my nose. "What do you think?" I lifted my face up for him to admire.

"As pretty as the first moment I saw you." He leaned forward and kissed me.

"Do you remember when that was, even?" I teased as we started strolling again along the sidewalk.

"Of course I do. It was the first day of freshman year."

"Really? I don't remember that." I squeezed his hand.

"I remember it perfectly. Patrick and I were coming out of the cafeteria, and you were coming in. Do you not remember this at all?" We pa.s.sed under some scaffolding. Overhead, workmen were hammering busily. The old-fas.h.i.+oned buildings were disappearing, and the street was widening out. I could see a crowded traffic circle ahead of us.

"No." I shook my head. "We met at that New Year's party at Mark's house."

We stopped to wait for the light at the traffic circle. Ahead of us, across a wide green lawn, Buckingham Palace loomed.

"That was the first time we talked." Davis helped me down the curb. He broke off from his story suddenly. "Here, let's go see the Beefeaters. They crack me up." He steered me toward the palace gates. "But the first time I saw you was when I was going into the cafeteria, and you were coming out. And I thought something like, Hey, cute girl. You had your hair in a bun. I said hi, and you just looked right through me like I wasn't even there. Total rejection." His eyes twinkled.

"How can it be a rejection when I don't even remember it?" I rolled my eyes at him. We crossed the brilliantly green gra.s.s and the wide pavilion in front of the palace. The ma.s.sive black and gold gates were closed. "I was probably worried about failing my algebra test and didn't even notice."

"See? Great impression I made." Davis wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close. We pressed our faces to the cold iron bars of the gates and stared at the soldiers marching slowly up and down in their perfect red and black uniforms.

"Their hats always make me think of something you'd take to bed with you," I said.