Fallen Angel Page 4

  Blush notwithstanding, I plunged back in with the question I really wanted to ask. “Has he dated anyone?”

  “No.” She laughed. “A couple of girls have crushes on him already, but I haven’t heard about him paying any particular attention to anyone.” She paused and smiled at me. “Until now.”

  I smiled back. My private little connection with Michael had suddenly become real.

  By the end of the week, I’d grown sick of talking about what I should wear on my date. Ruth had torn through my closet in frustration, judging my collection of dark-colored jeans, cords, sweaters, T-shirts, and tops completely unsuitable. She then steered me through her own closet, with its rarely worn but definitely cooler mix of casual clothes. But none of them worked on my slimmer, taller body. Desperate, Ruth finally dragged me to the mall—a place my parents frowned upon as a sad temple to materialism—looking for something “date-like,” whatever that meant.

  There was only one good thing about Ruth’s mad quest for the perfect date outfit. Between that and my regular schoolwork, I was so distracted that I barely had any time to think about the purpose for all this madness. So by the time 6:30 on Saturday evening rolled around, and my parents dropped me off in front of the Odeon with eyebrows arched at the fact that Michael didn’t pick me up, I wasn’t even that nervous.

  I stood at the Odeon’s doors all by myself watching the clock tick off fifteen minutes. Those fifteen minutes gave me ample time to review all my conversations with Michael and cringe over my awkward comments, to wonder what on earth we’d talk about, and to triple-guess my Ruth-approved outfit. I started to feel so anxious that I wondered if I should leave.

  But then Michael rounded the corner. When I saw him wearing a pair of khakis and a button-down, I was glad to have worn the vintage blazer, long-sleeve black J. Crew top, and skinny black pants that Ruth had insisted upon. And I was really, really happy that I had stayed.

  “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Ellie,” Michael said as he handed me a beautiful, gold-foil gift bag. “This isn’t an excuse, but I hope it explains my delay.”

  I took the bag with a small, cautious smile. I reached inside and slid out a box of expensive chocolate truffles with a cinnamon center. I couldn’t believe it. Over the course of the week, Michael had casually asked me about my favorite candy, and I’d named my dream treat. I never imagined that he’d get it for me.

  “I can’t believe you remembered.”

  “You didn’t tell me how hard these were to come by in Tillinghast.”

  “I can’t believe you found them in town at all. I’ve only ever had them abroad in duty-free shops when I traveled with my parents for those summer trips.”

  He smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t find them in Tillinghast exactly.”

  “Please don’t tell me that you went too far out of your way.”

  “Let’s just say that the gift shop in the big hotel in Bar Harbor carries a really nice selection of candy.” He took me by the hand and said, “Come on, we don’t want to miss the movie, do we?”

  Chapter Eight

  The movie and dinner couldn’t have gone better if I’d scripted them myself. The movie was a perfect choice, enough action and philosophy to satisfy us both, but no embarrassing love scenes. I had enough trouble concentrating on the movie given that my arm kept brushing up against Michael’s, without having to deal with some on-screen love interest. The diner where we had burgers and fries afterward seemed somehow transformed into a French bistro straight out of one of the movie scenes. And we talked easily all night.

  Over a shared dessert, we playfully debated some more foreign films. As we finished both the chocolate cake and our cheerful dispute, he said, “God, I’m glad you’re in Tillinghast.”

  I felt my cheeks burn bright red. I wasn’t sure how to take his statement, so I pushed the chocolate cake crumbs around the plate and said, “You are?”

  “I mean it’s so great to find someone in this small town who’s smart and interested in the world beyond Tillinghast. Someone who’s traveled to the same kind of obscure places and who’s dealt with the same kind of single-minded parents.”

  The way Michael said “someone” made me hesitate. Was he happy to have found just anyone with whom he could connect? Or was he happy to have found me?

  As if he knew what I was thinking, he said, “I’m so glad to have found you here, of all places. Imagine seeing you again in Tillinghast after first meeting you in rural Guatemala.”

  I smiled and looked up. “Even if I can’t remember you from Guatemala?” I’d tried and tried to conjure up even one image of him from Guatemala, but couldn’t. It was like a wall in my head that I couldn’t scale or peer around no matter how hard I tried.

  He smiled back. “Even if I was forgettable in Guatemala.”

  We laughed over my forgetfulness, and I was hugely relieved. Up until now, we’d managed to skirt the issue of Guatemala and my strange amnesia about him. But I’d always felt awkward about it. Not anymore.

  As he helped me into my jacket after dinner, I thought about how I loved what I saw in Michael. He was funny, chivalrous, and thoughtful, always opening the door for me and even stopping to help an older woman struggling to cross the street in between the theater and diner. He was obviously well-traveled, and really bright. He had only one flaw: He seemed too good to be true. In fact, he was so comfortable it made me wonder whether he’d been on tons of dates before.

  We walked toward the diner door, and I wondered if I should call my parents for a ride. After all, Michael hadn’t said anything about driving me home, and he did ask me to meet him at the movies. Maybe he didn’t have a car, and I didn’t want to be presumptuous.

  I pulled out my cell phone, and started to dial. He asked, “Who are you calling?”

  “My parents.”

  “Do you always call them to report in midway through a date?” he said with a laugh.

  “No. Well, I don’t go on dates—” I turned bright red at my unintentional confession. “What I mean is I don’t have to ‘report in’ or anything—”

  He laughed. “I’m only kidding, Ellie. If you need to call your parents for some reason, by all means, please do.”

  “I just thought we were probably heading home and I should call them for a ride.”

  “A ride? I was hoping to drive you home myself.”

  “You were?”

  “Of course. If that’s all right with you?”

  I nodded happily.

  Michael was quiet as he helped me into his parents’ navy Prius and headed toward my house. I wondered if I’d done or said something wrong, and tried to fill the void with chatter. But Michael seemed perfectly content driving in near-silence, with one hand on the wheel and the other nearly touching mine.

  He pulled up in front of my house. Our little white Victorian, with its whimsically painted Kelly green trim and wide front porch that my parents had resuscitated from demolition, looked especially inviting. The warm lights coming from the kitchen were a sure sign that my parents were waiting up for me.

  “Would you like to come in?” I wasn’t sure if I should ask, but it seemed the normal thing to do. Plus I was nervous. I’d never been on a date before—let alone kissed a guy—and I figured that might come next. Part of me hoped it would, even though I didn’t have the slightest idea what to do.

  “Maybe it’d be better if I came in and saw your parents next time. I’d kind of like to keep you all to myself tonight.”

  The words “next time” had such a sweet ring to me. They were a reassurance of sorts that he had enjoyed our evening, even if he’d grown quiet. I put my hand on the car door handle and said, “Until ‘next time,’ then.”

  Michael reached across me and gently took my hand off the handle. “Are we done with ‘this time’ so soon?” If his voice hadn’t cracked when he asked the question, he might have seemed smooth, too smooth. Instead, he just seemed endearing.

  I didn’t want the date to end eith
er, even though I was anxious. I shook my head and looked down.

  With his free hand, Michael traced my cheek and lips, and rested his hand at the back of my neck, lifting my face to his. He slipped his other hand around the small of my back and drew me close. So close I could feel his breath on my skin.

  He leaned in to kiss me, and I surrendered. His lips were soft and gentle at first, as gentle as he’d been with me all night. I responded intuitively, following his lead as he grew more persistent.

  Slowly, so slowly, he parted my lips with his tongue. The delicate, but powerful, motion took my breath away. I waited as he ran his tongue around the tip of my own and then along the ridge of my upper teeth with an alluring deliberation. The movement sent shivers down my spine.

  I wanted to provoke the same reaction in him. Ten-tatively, I touched his tongue with the tip of mine and then sought out his upper teeth. Mimicking his motions, I ran my tongue along the ridge, but it was razor-sharp. I cried out in pain, as my blood filled both of our mouths.

  Instinct told me to pull back and I started to apologize, but Michael grabbed hold of me. Just like that, the intensity heightened. His kisses became more and more demanding, and I found myself swept away by his ardor and my own. My pain did nothing to lessen my desire. The feeling was so new . . . but the rush felt almost familiar. Like I was in one of my nightly dreams, flying high above the town below.

  Panting, Michael broke away first. We looked into each other’s pale, pale eyes, and I saw a hunger in his matched only by my own. I never knew that kissing could be like this. Not even from the movies.

  “I think we should stop,” he said.

  I’d never dreamed of feeling so much, so quickly. I didn’t want it to stop. As if in a dream, I said, “No, I don’t want to.” And I reached for him.

  “Yes, Ellie.” He placed his hand on mine to keep me at bay.

  Still, I wanted more. “Please, Michael.” I pressed forward, against the pressure of his hand.

  He pushed me back into my seat. Gently, but it was enough to break the spell.

  What on earth had come over me? I was mortified at my aggressive behavior, and embarrassed by his rejection. I recoiled into the far corner of my seat, as far away from his spurning as I could get. But it wasn’t far enough. More than anything in the world, I wanted out of that car.

  As I reached for the door handle, he grabbed my hand. “Ellie, please believe me when I say that I’m stopping only because we are meant to be together. And this is just the beginning.”

  I tried to wrench free of his grip. “Don’t bother letting me down easy, Michael. I may be inexperienced, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  Michael locked his hands around mine. “Please, Ellie.”

  I met his gaze as if I understood—and agreed with—his excuses. But I nodded only so he would release my hands. Once free, I opened the door and ran from the car. From him.

  Chapter Nine

  I tossed and turned for hours after our date. I was restless, both mentally and physically. My mind raced with replays of our evening together, while my body was plagued by a longing for Michael that even memories of his pushing me away couldn’t shake.

  When I finally fell asleep sometime near dawn, I sunk back into my recurring dream. It started out on its normal course; I flew out of my bedroom window and into town. I made my usual pause at the village green and town church before heading out to the sea.

  Before I could reach the rocky cliffs bordering the ocean, I noticed a clear blue light coming from a house near the beach—a serious departure from my dream’s customary path. It was the only visible illumination in the otherwise black landscape. Somehow my body knew precisely how to perform, and I streamlined my limbs to gain speed.

  Within seconds, I neared the street and circled the perimeter of the house. I noted a few lit lamps in the empty family room and kitchen, but this was not the illumination I sought. Although the rest of the house seemed dark, I soon realized that the blue light came from an upstairs bedroom—Michael’s bedroom.

  Michael sat at his desk, staring out at the sea. I couldn’t see the source of the blue light, so I flew close to his window. He looked so handsome and contemplative that I wanted to touch him. Even though he didn’t see me, I reached out my hand for him. But then the wind kicked up and begged for my attention. I watched as it whipped through the copse of apple trees in Michael’s backyard, violently rustling the branches and late summer leaves.

  For a moment, I left Michael behind, and followed my undeniable compulsion to rise. My head tilted upward toward the sky, and my shoulders broadened as if I had wings unfurling. My eyes closed as the wind swept me into its arms, and the sky tugged me gently toward the heavens. I surrendered to the joyous feeling of flight and freedom.

  But then my body lurched downward, tangling me in the apple trees. I looked down, expecting to see hands clutched at my ankles or sinuous branches wrapped around my calves. But there was nothing. Nothing except the earth keeping its hold.

  * * *

  The next thing I remembered was the phone ringing. I sat up with a start, surprised to see bright sunlight streaming through the slats of my window shades. What time was it? I groped for my clock, and couldn’t believe it was almost ten o’clock. I never slept this late, even on the weekends. I just wasn’t wired for it.

  As I grabbed my things for the shower, I noticed the caller ID alert on my cell phone. I checked and saw that I had messages from Ruth and Michael. I could guess what Ruth was dying to talk about, but what did Michael want? To offer his sugarcoated excuses again? I didn’t think I could face either one just yet.

  Instead, I made my way down the hall to my bathroom. I hoped a long, hot shower would help wash away some of the dream and the thoughts of Michael that started to creep back into my consciousness. After I dried my face and moved on to the thicket of my hair, I heard my mom call from downstairs.

  “Ellie? Ellie, honey, are you up?”

  I cracked open the bathroom door, and called back, “Yes, Mom.”

  “Good, we need to leave in fifteen minutes.” Although my parents weren’t sticklers for church every Sunday morning, they did insist that we serve at a local soup kitchen on Sundays. They believed God was best worshipped by action, not words.

  “I’ll be ready.”

  So, there would be no long, hot shower this morning. But maybe a morning at the soup kitchen was exactly what I needed. Hard reality would wipe Michael right out of my head.

  I raced to get ready, but my brush kept getting stuck in a particularly dense knot in the back. I tried to separate out the tethered strands one by one with a comb. When the knot refused to budge, I realized that something was holding the hairs together. Finally, I shook the object free to the floor and bent down to pick it up. It was a single leaf from an apple tree.

  I lifted the leaf up to the bathroom light to be absolutely certain. There was no denying what it was. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been anywhere near an apple tree. Except in my dream. Last night.

  Chapter Ten

  I successfully avoided Michael on Monday and Tuesday. He tried to get my attention as I left a few classes, but I feigned obliviousness. I did not want to relive the humiliation of our date, and my raw need for him toward the end. In the light of day, walking around school, it was hard to believe I’d actually acted that way. Just to be safe, I kept Ruth by my side as a shield. She thought I was making too big a deal out of it, even after she heard what happened, but she supported me. As always.

  By Wednesday, I didn’t see Michael waiting anywhere. At first, I experienced overwhelming relief that I could stop the playacting. But as the day progressed, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Even though I was still cringing over my actions and Michael’s response, I was drawn to him.

  Following an after-school meeting on Wednesday, I walked to the town library by myself. Ruth’s yearbook meeting was running even later, so she couldn’t drive me. And truth be told, I looked forw
ard to the short stroll in the crisp autumn air—alone. I needed some solitude to clear my mind of the all-encompassing thoughts of Michael and refocus on my neglected schoolwork.

  I rounded a lazy bend in the road and spied the library a few blocks off. The library was a marble and granite confection from the eighteen hundreds, when the prominent millinery families still had money to spend on Tillinghast, and its founders had spared no expense on an entry staircase worthy of the building’s grandeur. I was just about to walk up its imposing steps when I spotted Michael’s car idling in the no parking zone in front of the library. Did he know I was coming?

  Quickly starting up the stairs, I kept my head down. I reached out for the huge brass door to pull it open. I began to let out a sigh of relief, when I felt a hand on my upper arm.

  “Please, Ellie. Just listen to me for a second.”

  I couldn’t pretend any longer. Turning around, I stared into Michael’s pale green eyes. Keeping hold of my arm, he whispered to me in a rush, as if he was scared I’d run off.

  “Ellie, I’ve never been more certain about anything than my feelings for you. In fact, they’re so strong that they shock me sometimes. I pushed you away the other night because I wanted you too much. And I was afraid I’d scare you if I gave in to my feelings.”

  Michael stared into my eyes as he spoke, never wavering in his gaze or his words. His confidence made me feel doubly mortified. How could I have refused to give him a chance to explain over the past few days? I broke our connection and looked down at my feet. I wasn’t sure I deserved his persistence.

  He put his finger under my chin and lifted my face so he could look into my eyes. But I kept them averted. “Ellie, you did nothing to be ashamed of on Saturday night. I wanted you, too. I slowed us down only because I wanted things to be perfect between us.”