THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Twenty-Seven
When I arrived at the garage, Adam was waiting in the passenger side of the Mini Cooper. I seated myself in the driver’s side, and Adam pointed out the buttons for adjusting the seat and mirrors. Waiting for the electric seat to glide forward far enough for my feet to touch the pedals took an embarrassingly long time. I kept having to test the brake and clutch, then scoot forward another inch. I waited to hear Adam make some joke about whether I intended to drive with the steering wheel pressed completely against my chest, but he never did. Once I was comfortable, he offered instructions for the gears.
“Should be mostly familiar. Gear shift has the same double-H pattern as most cars. Reverse is all the way across to your left and up; you’ll feel it stick a bit so there’s no mistaking it for first. Go on and try.”
He waited while I pulled the stick through the gears with as much confidence as I could muster.
“Good! Now for the clutch. Pedals are the same. Gas on the right, clutch on left, brake in the middle.” He pressed a button on the visor and the garage door opened behind us. “Go on and back out.”
I eased off the brake and onto the clutch, feeling it engage. The car inched backward, my left hand resting on the stick, my right hand struggling to turn out of the garage and into the driveway. Being on the right side of the car felt incredibly weird, and all my sight lines were completely out of whack. Adrenaline pumping, I shakily shifted into first gear.
“There!” Adam encouraged. “Not so bad, is it? Now a few tips for the road. Firstly, stay on the left side. Secondly, no turning on red. Finally, try not to run over any pedestrians.”
The last one made me forget my nerves enough to look over and see Adam grinning. You dog. I knew what he was up to, trying to calm me down by making me laugh, and of course it worked. “I’ll do my best,” I said, pretending to roll my eyes. With a steadier hand, I twisted the wheel straight and made it to the end of the driveway.
“Take a right here,” he said.
I flicked up the stem for the blinker, and washer fluid sprayed across the windshield. “Ack!” I cried, trying to turn off the wipers.
“Sorry, my fault,” Adam said, reaching across to flip down the stem. “Should have mentioned the stems are reversed. Turn indicator’s here,” he said, tapping the right side.
Timidly, I flicked the right stem, and the reassuring click-click sound of the blinker came on. I tried to pep myself up. It’s okay. You can do this, Lucy. Just get on the road and it’ll all fall into place. Like riding a bike that doesn’t belong to you and costs thousands of dollars and has a lot of buttons. Sigh. After a moment’s hesitation, I pulled out into the empty lane and put on the gas. First gear. Whew.
“That’s it,” Adam said.
The engine began to modulate upwards. Time to shift. I let off the gas while pushing in the clutch (at least that was familiar), but hesitated just a little too long trying to pull into second gear with my uncoordinated left hand. The car lost momentum, and the engine stalled out.
“Whoops. Don’t worry, just pull off there,” he said, indicating a wide gravel shoulder to the left of the road. I steered my way in and braked, shifting into neutral before releasing the steering wheel. Great start, Lucy. All wiper spray and stalled out in the first three minutes.
“You’re alright?” Adam asked.
I sighed. “Yeah, it’s just… I guess I’m kind of out of practice not driving for the last few weeks. And it’s harder shifting on the left than I thought it’d be. I’m sorry. Maybe you’d better take over.” I went to unbuckle.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Adam said, giving the gear shaft a thoughtful look. “Let’s try again. What if I help you shift? Would that let you focus more on steering?”
“Maybe,” I said doubtfully. “But how?”
“Well, perhaps, if you don’t mind, I could sort of, put my hand on top of yours? And when you’re ready to shift, you can call it out, and I’ll guide you into the next gear. Unless that would confuse you more.”
Of course, I couldn’t say no to such a reasonable suggestion. Adam laid his hand on mine, and while the warm pressure turned me into melted chocolate, I had the tiniest thought that maybe in addition to picking seeds out of each other’s hair and listening to romantic jazz music, holding hands while driving might not be typical housemate behavior. But who cared? My crush offered to let me drive his car and spend the next half hour with his full attention. Only an idiot would say no to that!
I chucked caution out the window and cranked the ignition. “Okay, ready for first.”
Adam’s hand grasped a little tighter on mine and pushed the gear into place. I checked my mirrors, gave the car a little gas, and pulled back onto the road. Left side, stay on the left side, I reminded myself, fighting every instinct to pull to the right. The engine’s pitch began to climb.
“Second,” I called, and as I pushed in the clutch and began to pull the gear stick down, Adam added a little pressure. It locked into place, and I tapered back on the gas without a hitch.
“That was better,” Adam said.
Mmm hmm, said my inner melted chocolate bar.
The engine began to climb again as we continued down the country road. Here was the real test. “Third,” I called, and visualized the double-H as Adam and I pushed the stick up, across, and into third gear successfully. I tapered back on the gas, pretty sure I was glowing. A car approached on the right, and it didn’t even phase me when it passed. Soon, a stoplight appeared in the distance and even when I forgot to call out the gear, Adam helped me downshift to second and first as we decelerated. At the stop, he lifted away his hand.
“There you are!” he said, smiling. “Made it all the way to the zebra crossing. And no pedestrian fatalities.”
“I guess,” I said with relief. “But I don’t see any zebras.”
“The crossing’s not for wildlife, Lucy.” He painted to the white-striped crosswalk in front of us.”
“Oh, I get it. Cute.”
“At least it’s more imaginative than what Americans call them.” Adam teased. “‘Crosswalks.’ How pedestrian.”
“Har har,” I said, hiding a grin. Gosh, he was corny sometimes. The stoplight turned from red to red-and-yellow, which I’d noticed on our way back from London. Green would be next. My hands tensed up; we were about to cross and intersection and there was definitely more traffic through here.
“Adam?” I asked quickly. “Can you help me shift through here? Just till we get out of traffic?”
“Oh. Certainly. Sorry, didn’t think to ask,” he said, replacing his hand on mine again. There was something so reassuring about that grasp. Together, we navigated through the intersection and down a road with cars all parked in the opposite direction on the left side of the road.
“Am I on the wrong side?” I asked nervously. “I can’t tell with the way the cars are parked.”
“No, no, you’re perfectly fine. They can park either way on either side,” Adam said. He lifted his hand off mine and pointed to the next stoplight ahead. “There. Take a left and we’ll swing round through Wickwood. And don’t forget the—”
It was too late. I’d turned on the windshield wipers again.
“Sorry,” I said, feeling around for the blinker.
“No matter. Windscreen was probably dusty anyway from sitting in the garage.” We smiled at each other so long I almost missed the light turning red-and-yellow again. “Still need my help shifting?”
“I think I’ve got it,” I said, though I would have rather said yes. But of course, I couldn’t get too greedy. I made the one-handed left turn, and successfully navigated the roadway as it curved us back towards Wickwood. Adam’s watch chirped just as we were passing the Ruxbury Annex building on the outskirts of campus.
“Better turn back towards home,” said Adam, checking the time. “Do you see that traffic signal? Take a right, then continue straight on until the second intersection.”
I tried to follow his instructions, but as we passed the university, I was so busy watching for pedestrians I lost count of the turns. By then, we were out of Wickwood proper and back on another country road.
“Shoot, did I just pass it?” I asked, realizing my mistake.
“It’s alright, you can turn around in there.” He pointed to an ivy-lined brick wall. Just ahead, there was wide gap flanked by large urns spilling over with flowers. A small green sign with the words “Private Drive” was posted at the entrance of a gravel driveway.
“Are you sure?” I asked, slowing down. “What about the sign?”
“Don’t mind that. I know the chap who lives there. Sign’s more ironic than anything.”
“If you say so.”
With trepidation, I slowed and turned in, hearing the crunch of gravel under the car’s tires. The drive was too narrow for a three-point turn without running over the grass, so I kept going, expecting the path to lead to a wider parking area somewhere at the end, or to be accosted by some angry old-man butler. Instead, around a tree-lined bend, the empty drive opened to reveal an ornate fountain in front of a wide, red brick manor with towering windows and a grand entrance. Wow! Some place! I kept expecting Adam to make some comment about the eccentric rich guy who must live there, but instead he wore a nonchalant expression, as though he’d been down the drive a hundred times before. Finally, once we began to circle around past the manor’s door, Adam’s phone started ringing.
“Sorry,” he said to me, pulling the Blackberry out of his chest pocket. “Hello?”
I heard the distant sound of a man’s voice come over the phone.
“Yes, we’re just turning ’round. Why, where are you?” Adam asked, looking behind him at the house. “Are you in the garden?”
“Should I stop?” I whispered to Adam.
He shook his head. “Keep going,” he whispered back, while the voice on the phone spoke again.
“Cameras?” Adam asked in response to the caller’s remark. “What do you need cameras for? I’m the only one who comes to visit you.”
Gosh. He’s pretty rude to his friend. If I had friends this rich, I’d never say something like that. I’d be too afraid of their butler.
“No, she’s driving,” Adam continued. “Oh, very funny. No, I can’t, I’ve a call in twenty. I don’t know, I’ll ask.” Adam held his hand over the receiver as I came to a stop at the end of the gravel drive. “He wants to know if you’d like to come to tea tomorrow.”
“Who?” I asked.
“My brother. Geoffrey.”
“That’s your brother’s house?” I shouted, pointing to the grand mansion behind us.
“Yes,” Adam said candidly. “Not really that interesting on the inside.”
Evidently his brother heard us, as there was soon an exclamation from the phone. Adam uncovered the receiver. “Of course I told her about you! Oh, shut it, Geoffrey. You’re the one ruining it with all your memorabilia.” He held his hand over the receiver again. “Is after four alright?”
With my nod, Adam wrapped up the details, traded a few more insults with his brother, and made enough hand signals to help me find the way back to the house. Once Adam had hung up the phone and I had parked and turned off the ignition, there was this lovely little moment of quiet. I’d made it! I let out a long breath. I guess I wasn’t too bad at this after all. And I’d been invited to tea! That must mean I was at least a little bit special, right?
Adam spoke. “Well? How was it overall?”
“It was fun. A little scary, but fun.”
“Not too difficult? Even with everything reversed?”
“Nah.” I said, grinning. “Easier than living by your house rules, anyway.”
Oh, fudge. The words that had sounded so cute and sassy in my head sounded downright rude the moment they came out of my mouth. Adam’s eyes widened. Wow, way to blow it, Lucy! I slapped my hand over my mouth for a moment before I began gushing apologies.
“Oh my gosh, that’s not what I meant! I mean, you’re not, I wasn’t trying to—”
Adam held up a hand. “It’s alright, Lucy. I’m not upset. Really,” he added as I tried to interject. “I… I know it was a mistake for me start off so harshly in the beginning. But the whole idea of sharing the house at all was so sudden, and unlike my brother,” he nodded in the direction of the manor, “I actually am a fairly private person. I didn’t really know anything about you, and I didn’t want to come down to breakfast and find last night’s dance partner making toast in my kitchen, or have to listen to a blasting stereo all day while I was trying to work. But I am sorry, because I imagined the worst, and that wasn’t fair to you. I should have trusted you to begin with, and then I think things would have gone much easier for both of us.”
“I do hope you know,” he added earnestly, “that I feel very differently now. And I’m glad we’ve got to know each other better, so we can do things like this.”
If it was possible for Adam’s green eyes to be greener than ever, they were, and what surprised me even more was that he now held out his hand to me. My anxiety over insulting him changed flavors instantly. He wants to hold hands! That must mean he likes me too! But was I ready to have my feelings reciprocated? I wasn’t even sure he knew how I felt about him—how I was beginning to feel about him. I stared at his outstretched palm, lump in my throat, unable to move.
“Lucy?” Adam asked.
I looked up, startled.
“Could I have my keys back, please?”
Gulp. While my High Hopes Love Rocket made a spectacular spiral back to earth, I sheepishly handed over the keys and tried to avert my eyes as I exited the Mini. Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid! This was why crushing on Adam Ratliffe was such a bad idea. Even his most innocuous words and gestures held a double meaning—he loves me, he loves me not—and gave me absolutely zero insight as to what he was actually thinking. How long was I going to keep torturing myself with this ridiculous guessing game?
Well, there was only one solution. I was just going to have to reign it in, starting right then. So, as we walked back to the house from the garage, I tried not to admire his figure from behind when he stopped to examine the leaves on a shrub. When the gravel crunched under our feet, I tried not to imagine the sensation of holding onto his arm the night before. And when we got inside the house and made plans for dinner that night, I tried to ignore how much I enjoyed the sound of his smooth, melodic tenor before we parted ways down the hall.
In short, I failed every time.
Back at my room I dropped down into my desk chair and stared blankly at the computer screen. And now I’m going to meet his brother too. Where was all this going? I wished I had a crystal ball to see four weeks into the future, to the end of the summer. What if the unimaginable happened and we fell madly, deeply in love with each other, only to say goodbye at the end of July? Would we have to break up? Try and keep a long-distance relationship?
Or what if he really wasn’t interested at all, like I thought before? Four more weeks of wondering what-if? That would be worse. I rested my chin on my palm and imagined seeing him out on the town with some modern-day Ada Lovelace, having drinks at a romantic rooftop bar in London. I realized how jealous I’d feel, and how real a possibility it was. He could have a girlfriend tomorrow, and I would just be the mouse in the corner, that silly American kid had who lived there for a summer, a scribbled postscript on his otherwise perfect life.
When I was too miserable to think about it anymore, I pulled a novel from my bag and buried myself in the text. Jane Austen must have known something I didn’t, since her heroines always got the guy. Pride and Prejudice, in particular, was one of my favorites, and like literary soul food the story floated me away from my own troubles. For the next couple of hours I was pleasantly consumed by the travails and trivialities of the Bennet family when a knock came at my door.
It was Adam, asking how I liked my crepes.
###
“This is about the one thing I know how to cook,” Adam said, rolling the thin batter across the pan. “Donnie taught me how to make a proper crepe while I was staying in Paris.”
I watched with fascination as the batter browned, and he deftly slid the finished crepe onto a plate.
“You said Nutella and banana, yes?” He brought the warm plate over to me at the island. “Go on, don’t wait for me. I’ll make a whole batch of them.”
I eagerly cut into the crepe and took a bite. Warm, gooey chocolate oozed out of the thin, eggy wrapping; the heavy richness of hazelnut balanced by the sweet banana.
“Thoughts?” he called from the stove, sliding off another crepe onto a plate.
“So good!” I managed through a mouthful, before shoveling in another bite. By the time I’d finished, he’d brought over two more with other toppings for me to try.
I gobbled them up, all the while keeping an eye on the way he cooked them. Low heat. Light brush of butter. He had a small, t-shaped tool he used for spreading the batter evenly over the pan. After batter browned on one side, he used one of those frosting-style spatulas to pick a corner and flip it for a last browning before sliding it onto the stack.
It didn’t take long for him to finish, and after he prepared his own crepes, he came and joined me at the island to eat. As we chowed our way through cream and chocolate and fruit, we traded car stories. I told him about the time I ran out of gas on the Illinois Tollway. He told me about his dad teaching him how to drive. I described how my mom and dad met when he helped dig her car out of a snowdrift. He related how he tried to impress his girlfriend by doing an e-brake turn in the parking lot at his school’s Winter Ball.
“What I had neglected to think of, besides the obvious, was that it had been raining that afternoon. So, when I pulled the brake, instead of making a simple turn we hit a patch of ice and slid twenty feet into the headmaster’s car.”
I gasped. “You’re kidding!”
“If only I was. Thankfully no one was hurt, but needless to say, she was not my girlfriend any longer after that. Probably didn’t help that she was the headmaster’s daughter.”
“I guess not!”
Adam grinned. “The only person who thought it funny was my dad. Of course, he still made me pay for all the damages.” He picked up his fork and began scraping the last of the sweet cream from his plate.
“I don’t think I can top that one. You have too many good stories,” I said. “I’m honestly kind of jealous.”
“Of what, me being an idiot? Well, give it time. Someday you’ll have your own.”
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