The Fate of the Muse - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,16
up.
“San Francisco’s not that far, Mom,” Cruz’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle as he patted her hand reassuringly, “I’ll come visit a lot, and I’ll be down here for the rally next weekend.”
“I know,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes, “It’s just that everything’s changing so fast.”
I picked at my food, unable to eat. A terrible feeling of remorse welled up within me when the conversation turned to Congressman Hill’s untimely death. Dutch and Cruz started speculating about whether or not alcohol was involved.
“I drive that stretch of highway all the time,” Dutch said, “You’d almost have to be trying to run off the road there.”
“They say that the body was burnt to a crisp,” observed Cruz as my stomach turned, “So we’ll never know how wasted he was,” he helped himself to more shrimp risotto, “But it was three in the morning, so he was probably pretty drunk.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say!” scolded Abby. “No-one can know what goes on in someone else’s life.”
“Yeah, right mom,” Cruz was back to his sarcastic self. Ethan’s eyes met mine, and he squeezed my hand under the table.
“I’m just really tired,” I said, “It’s been a long day.”
I got up to clear the table after everyone finished and Abby shooed me out.
“Cruz and I can take care of it,” she said, “You should go lie down. We can’t have you all worn out on graduation day.”
“Walk me out first,” Ethan took my arm and led me to the front door, closing it behind us and stopping to wrap me in a tight embrace on the porch. “It wasn’t your fault,” he spoke softly into my ear, “Stop blaming yourself.”
My voice was small, “I was really angry with him… Just like I was angry with Peter.”
He took my face in his hands and looked at me sternly, “Listen, bad things just happen sometimes! To good people and to bad people. You’ve got to stop tearing yourself up about it, okay?”
I nodded, “OK.”
“I love you Dollface,” he said, right before he kissed me goodnight and sent me off to sleep. Once more, he was making me love him more than I ever thought possible.
I curled up in bed, tucking Charlie under my arm and listening to his motorboat purr. Maybe Ethan was right– accidents happened every day, and my newfound awareness had been making me paranoid. I scratched the cat under his chin and listened as his purr shifted into higher gear. I thought about Ethan and relaxed, snuggling deeper under my quilt, finally falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
OMEN
We’d been handed a diploma, capped, gowned and photographed to prove it; it was official– we were now high school graduates. Ethan and I drove out to take a walk on his land after the ceremony, promising to come home early for cake with Dutch and Abby. Being out there once again, and seeing the way Ethan looked at it, refocused my energy. I was more determined than ever to prevent it from being turned into a golf course, and I put the congressman’s death firmly out of my mind.
Shayla joined us at the house, and Cruz decided she should sleep over so we could get an early start on our trip to Evie’s the next day. She was wired, nervous about the impending modeling interview, and needed some distraction to keep from sabotaging herself with doubt and insecurity.
Ethan looked less than happy to hear our plans, and I realized that he was probably thinking about sleeping over himself to make sure that I didn’t go night surfing. With everything that was happening, I think he could tell I was getting antsy. My cravings for the sea had been reawakened since I’d been out to see Lorelei; he knew the signs.
“Do you need to get anything from home?” I asked Shayla.
“I’m good,” she said, nodding towards her tote as she tossed it onto my bed. She seemed to live out of her bag lately, seeking refuge more and more at our house in the past few weeks. Abby was always happy to oblige her, intuitively sensing that Shayla had good reason to avoid her mother’s trailer as much as possible. Cruz liked having her around as his own personal mannequin, and she liked to hang out in his room, flipping through his vast collection of Vogue magazines and practicing poses while he banged away on his sewing machine.