THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Twenty-Five
THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Twenty-Five
It was after ten o’clock when we got back to the house. I waited beside the side door of the garage, admiring the starry night while Adam locked up. The sky over the Ratliffe House glittered with a dazzling beauty that far outshone the electric glow of London.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Adam asked, coming beside me.
I nodded. “I’ve never seen the sky here after sunset. It’s so… luminous.”
“You should come out more often.”
The evening was damp, close, and unusually warm. A faint scent of roses permeated the air with sweetness, like the very breath of the garden itself. Adam was right. The Scepter’d Isle roses might not be sexy, but they were fragrant. Romantic, even. If this had been a real date—
“Suppose we’d better head in,” Adam said. “Can you see well enough to the door? Seems I forgot to leave the kitchen light on.”
We advanced a couple of steps before my heel caught on an uneven brick, sending me reeling into Adam’s side.
“Steady there,” he said, catching me. “Better now? Perhaps you’d better take my arm.”
It would have been rude to refuse, right? Besides, it was awfully dark. With secret pleasure, I tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow and walked on clouds all the way to the kitchen.
Once inside, Adam flipped on a light. “There we are. Sorry, quite stupid of me to forget. You’re not hurt, are you? Didn’t turn your ankle?”
I was still reliving the sensation of that brief walk to the door.
“No, I’m okay.”
“Good. That’s good.” He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable again. “I suppose I’ll turn in, then.”
Turn in. Go to bed. Yes, that makes sense. My foggy brain suggested that I say goodnight and head to my room. Was it over already? I wanted to linger just a little longer. But what could I do to make him stay?
“Um, Adam?” I asked, finding my voice. Adam. The word was novel to me, rich and flavorful. I’ve never called him that before. I’ve never called him anything but “Sir.”
“Yes?” he asked. Oh, how I adored the sound of that smooth tenor, tinged with the lightest touch of anticipation!
Anticipation! Gosh, what was I going to say? I struck out in the darkness and grasped the first idea I found.
“I was just wondering, I mean, it’s kind of silly, not like it’s a problem or anything, but sometimes I hear these bumps from upstairs. Like I hear a fan, but the fan stops when the bump starts. I just wondered if it was an animal or something in the attic. Y’know, like a raccoon,” I blurted out.
Adam lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “Ah, the fabled English raccoon. Similar to his American cousin, but more refined in speech and manner.” He laughed, while I mentally banged my head against the kitchen counter. Really, Lucy? Racoons? “Sorry. Ahem. Strange sounds from upstairs, things that go bump in the night. Where exactly do you hear it?”
“In my room,” I said. “Only at night though.”
His eyes traced the ceiling in the direction of my bedroom. “Oh. That must be coming from me. I have some exercise equipment on that side of the house. An erg, some free weights. That sort of thing. I must have been careless in putting them down. If I don’t find time during the day, I run through a set at night. Helps me sleep. Sorry about the noise, though. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“You didn’t. Actually, the fan sound off the erg is kind of nice.”
“You know what an erg is?”
“My mom’s the sales manager for a sports equipment company. I’ve spent every holiday, sick day, and Take Your Daughter to Work Day sitting in her office rifling through catalogs.”
“Sounds fascinating.”
“It’s not. Trust me.”
Adam leaned back against the counter and folded his arms, grinning. “Well, if I am to trust you, perhaps you should tell me what you really thought the noise was. Madwoman in the attic? Some crazed ex-wife like Bertha Rochester, secretly setting pizzas on fire?”
I caught the Jane Eyre reference and shifted uneasily. “No, but I told my best friend Trish about it, and she said maybe it was a ghost. She’s really into the paranormal and stuff. Anyway, I figured you were just rearranging furniture or something.”
“Well, you can tell Trish that there are no ghosts and no ex-wives at Ratliffe House. Just a boring old bachelor attempting to ward off middle-age flab.” He stood up. “I’ll switch off this light if you’ll switch on the one in the hall.”
I crossed over to the hall and felt for the switch. Mine went on and his went off. Ok, Lucy. You’ve had your fun.But don’t expect anything to come of it.
I knew this was a rational chain of thought. That’s why it tasted like toothpaste after orange juice. Tonight had felt so much like a date. Taking a long drive through the English countryside. Listening to romantic jazz music. Flirting on the way home. Were we flirting? I hadn’t meant to …
“I suppose I’d better head upstairs to row,” Adam said, meeting me outside the kitchen. “Otherwise, neither of us will sleep tonight.” The smooth tenor had taken on a humorous tone.
I nodded. Wait, no. I should be protesting that he didn’t have to. What did he say again?
“Coffee tomorrow?”
I managed to say something in the affirmative.
“I’ll look forward to it. Goodnight, Lucy.”
“’Night … Adam.” I tacked on the last word, still unfamiliar, but was rewarded by a pleased smile across his face before he opened the upstairs door and ascended out of sight.
###
Back in my room, I plopped down on the bed and started to peel off my shoes, reliving the events of the evening. I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong, or been overly flirtatious with Adam. We’d exchanged some friendly banter. So what? That’s what normal people do when they hang out. It’s not like I was trying to turn him onto me. As for the feelings I had, they were no doubt unrequited and likely to remain so.
You could say no. Cancel coffee tomorrow. Quit hanging out, a little voice suggested. But I didn’t want to. And after all, I’d discovered a new layer in his mysterious persona: His taste in music. That definitely merited further exploration.
I opened up my iTunes and searched for the songs from our game. I had a few bucks left in my account from a gift card, so I went ahead and bought all three. While the music was downloading, a familiar ping came over the speakers.
Trish!
T: Hey
L: !!!
L: Where have you been???
L: I was starting to think you’d been kidnapped by vampires or something.
T: Funny story about that …
L: Are you ok?
T: LOL yeah I’m fine.
T: I did have a date with a vampire though.
L: …
T: LOL ok not really.
T: Do you remember the waiter with the pointy teeth from your mom’s wedding?
L: Barely.
T: Well, his name’s Joey.
L: What?
T: Long story …
L: Dish!
T: You remember how I gave him my number after the wedding, right?
L: Yeah.
T: Well, he never called me.
L: OK
T: Yeah no big deal. Anyway, a week ago he called.
L: It’s been six months!
T: He said he lost it in his suit pocket. He works part-time for his aunt’s catering business and he hasn’t had a gig until this summer. He found it again and he called and asked me out for coffee.
L: So that was your mystery person?
T: Yeah. I wasn’t going to do it but then I was like why not? And afterward he asked me to see a production of Hound of the Baskervilles with him and y’know … the rest is history.
L: Couldn’t turn down a good monster mystery, huh?
T: *shrug*
T: So yeah we’ve been hanging out a lot. He’s cool. He goes to Roosevelt for Tourism Management.
L: That’s awesome! You deserve it. *heart*
T: eh … well let’s just say I’m glad I said yes to coffee.
I knew that was Trish’s way of managing both our expectations by not going too deep into detail about the relationship. After the way things ended with the last guy at the student paper, I didn’t blame her. So even though I was excited for her, I didn’t press for more.
T: How are things with Old Man Grumpus? England’s most eligible cardboard box?
T: Wait, don’t tell me. “He’s not that old.” I got it.
L: …
T: J/k. How are you, for real?
L: Good. We kind of had a fight over the thermostat and I blew up and then we kind of smoothed things over.
T: So … you’re getting along now? Or what?
L: Yeah, we’re kind of hanging out and talking more.
T: What’s that supposed to mean?
Uh-oh. Trish had caught the scent of a bigger story. Once she got that way, she was like a bloodhound on the trail of an escaped con. I could only evade her for so long until she’d drag the truth out of me.
L: Um, we went out to see his friends’ band play tonight.
T: Where?
L: In London.
T: Like at a stadium?
L: No. It was a jazz band.
T: So, at a club?
L: Yeah.
T: With a group?
L: Not exactly
T: Meaning what?
L: Well it was just the two of us that went to the concert, but we talked to his friends while we were there.
T: But I thought they were performing in the band?
L: They were. But we talked between sets.
T: Uh-huh. And who did you talk to the rest of the time?
L: You can’t talk much when music is playing. It’s too loud.
T: Ok. So did you meet him there after class or something?
L: No. He drove.
T: Why? I thought there were trains everywhere over there.
L: There are but--
Here, I paused. How could I explain a simple drive through the English countryside alone with a guy in his car and not make it sound weird? Trish saved me the trouble by cutting straight to the point.
T: Was this a date?
L: No! We were just hanging out. I mean he asked last minute, and you know I love jazz music, so what was I going to say?
T: Say ‘no thanks, weirdo.’
L: He’s not a weirdo.
T: uh, ok
T: You’re the one who called him a cardboard box. Doesn’t sound like my idea of a fun night out.
L: Well maybe he is kind of quirky. But he’s nice too.
I felt my pulse quickening. Why was Trish being so rude about it?
T: If you say so.
L: He is.
T: Hey, no judgment. I just thought you kind of hated him or something.
L: It’s ok. I get it. I guess I just didn’t understand him very well before. And now that I’m starting to, he’s more like a friend.
T: That’s cool.
L: Yeah.
I wasn’t used to not having anything left to say to Trish. We’d spent most of our lives gabbing to each other about everything. And now, I felt a crack beginning to form between us.
My iTunes pinged. Download complete. I wanted to listen to Adam’s music again, and I definitely needed to take off my makeup and get a quick shower before bed. I heard the swishing of the rowing machine overhead and glanced at the clock.
L: Hey it’s super-late here. I gotta go shower.
T: Cool. Hey, I’m glad you’re having a better time over there.
L: Me too.
L: Say hi to the vampire for me :-)
T: LOL will do.
I put up my away message and clicked on the first song. After listening to all three, I made myself gather up pajamas and head for the bathroom, still humming along to myself. While I wiped the mascara from my eyelashes, shaved my legs, and brushed my teeth, I kept turning over the songs in my head. The music, the lyrics. They were like poetry, at once both specific and metaphorically vague. But there was a theme that linked them together, it seemed. Lonely people, reaching out for the sublime, hoping for love and acceptance and connection, but finding only the most tenuous proof that their desperate wish might be granted. Maybe they weren’t all that different from my favorite jazz songs. The same unmet desire. The agonizing hole in the heart. Was I the one making myself miserable, feeding myself this meal of emptiness over and over? I thought it was just keeping me connected to my dad. Mom never cared about it, so it was my job to carry the torch. Right?
I remembered Adam’s words from the car. He said he had listened to that music when he was younger. But he didn’t seem depressed, even if he was lonely, which I wasn’t sure about. And yeah, Dad had a lot of jazz records, but he listened to other genres all day long with his job. Mom had her soft-rock James Taylor tunes. Maybe it was time for me to branch out too.
What kind of music does Frank like? I wondered, then blanched. Wait, what? The thought was so repulsive to me I had to spit in the sink a second time. I didn’t care what Frank liked. That’s the whole reason I was here, right? To spend as little time as possible getting to know the most boring person on earth, so I could cut right out of college to my own place and minimize contact to holidays and special occasions. If I wasn’t too busy living my own life, which I probably would be.
I rinsed off my toothbrush and turned off the light behind me. Forget it. I could listen to whatever I wanted. It was my life, and I wasn’t going to let anybody shame me for my choices. Not even myself.
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