Deep Betrayal Page 0,19

a lot of time in here.”

“It could have been Dad’s nursery, but if she was that close, why wouldn’t she have just taken him?”

The floorboards creaked in the hall, and I looked up in time to see the back of Dad’s shirt pull away.

“Let’s not talk about this now,” Calder said, and I could see there was still a lot of sadness there.

He took my suitcase from me and followed me into my room. Once inside, he said, “So, this is your room.” He trailed his hand along my patchy, homemade wallpaper. Before I’d left, I covered nearly half a wall with dead poet portraits, pages from Sonnets from the Portuguese, friends’ school photos, and magazine cutouts.

I opened the window to let in some fresh air while Calder yanked Robby Hache’s picture off the wall and slipped it into his pocket. He didn’t think I noticed, and I didn’t let on that I had. He could have it if he wanted.

When I came back to Calder’s side, he pulled me onto the bed with such force I bit my tongue and the box spring slipped off the frame, crashing onto the floor. “Geez, what are you doing? Do you want my dad to come running? I doubt this falls within his ground rules.”

His hand slipped behind my neck and held my face to his. My insides liquefied at his kiss, his fingers skimming the waist of my pants, his breath on my face, as he said, “I’ll be a safe distance away before his feet hit the stairs.”

“Yeah, okay” was all I managed to say. My fingers explored his face, the straight nose and square jaw, a slightly crooked tooth; I took a risk and stared straight into his eyes. Fascination, I thought. That was at least one thing I felt for Calder White. Pure and utter fascination. I couldn’t get enough.

“Besides, he has to know I’m perfect for you,” Calder said. “What other guy is going to put up with your mess of a family?”

He had an excellent point there.

Ultimately, it wasn’t Dad’s feet that pulled Calder away from me. It was the sound of tires crunching on the gravel below my window. We both went to look down on the driveway.

“And here come the Pettits,” he said. “Their timing is always amazing.” I watched Calder closely. Mixed emotions played in his eyes: malice, gratitude, disgust, fear. Sure, Jack might have saved me, but he was also Tallulah’s murderer, and there was something else in Calder’s eyes, too. Jealousy?

“I hate that that bastard gets credit for saving you,” Calder said. “It should have been me.”

“You’re being stupid,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter how stupid it is. I’ll never forgive myself.”

The Pettits climbed out of their van. Gabby had chopped ten inches off her hair, leaving it edgy and blunt. Jack was barely recognizable. His shirt hung crookedly across his sunken chest, and his overgrown hair stood out in odd angles around his face, as if he hadn’t showered in weeks. A black stubble covered his face. Mr. Pettit and an older-looking woman followed them.

Calder grimaced and turned away from the window with a growl low in his throat. “What is wrong with that Jack Pettit? I’ve never seen anyone put off colors like that. He looks putrid.”

Dad leaned in my doorway. “Jack came, too,” he said. “Maybe you should make yourself scarce, son.” Then his feet clomped down the stairs.

Calder blinked a few times and said, “Your dad’s probably right. I don’t think I could stomach being within six feet of him.”

“Good, because I kind of like the idea of you being trapped in my bedroom.”

He looked at the floor and said, “I’ve been trapped in worse.”

“I’m going to have to go down and be social.”

“Not too social,” he teased.

“No, not too,” I said.

I followed Dad downstairs. Mom greeted the Pettits in the doorway.

“This is so nice of you guys,” she said. “Jason! Martin’s here.”

Dad grasped Mr. Pettit’s hand, avoiding eye contact with Jack.

“My wife, Margaret,” Mr. Pettit said, introducing her. Mrs. Pettit was a tall, thin woman, prematurely gray. She and Gabby carried two foil-wrapped pans of hotdish with globs of burned cream of mushroom soup clinging to the sides. My stomach growled.

Jack pulled around his dad. Sophie took one look at him, yelped, and ran up the stairs. I thought at the very least he’d say hi to Dad, who had been at the top of the cliff with him. Instead, he charged