The Waking Moon

Chapter Twenty Seven

Rhodes spent the entire ride home from Manitou grilling me about Jack.

He tried to sound uninterested, as if he were just making conversation. But it was a grilling. I’ve never asked you about your friends from the old school. Like this Jack guy. He’s from the old school you went to, right? I’m such an idiot to think I’m the only friend you’ve ever had. I mean, you’ve probably known this guy a while, right? Friend of the family, maybe? I have friends like that, too. It’s always awkward, running into them when I’m with one of my real friends. That was seriously awkward, wasn’t it? Other than telling him that my old school was girls-only, I didn’t tell him a thing. By the time we pulled up in front of the house, he was annoyed again.

“Sometimes talking to you is a wonderful learning experience,” Rhodes said as we walked up the flagstone walkway. “As in, ‘I wonder what I learned from that experience?’”

I shrugged. “Sometimes your conversations feel more like gynecological exams.”

It was still a cloudless night, and the temperature was dropping quickly. Rhodes walked ahead, his steps long and brusque. I knew that he could sense the shift in me. In the car, I’d gotten so lost in a daydream that he’d ended up snapping his fingers repeatedly in front of my face. Conversation cue! Conversation cue! This is where you give me a token grunt and pretend that you’re listening!

But it was hopeless. I was too busy playing and replaying in my mind the moment I’d seen Jack coming toward me. His unruly hair pushed back from his face. Hands shoved into his coat pockets. Black boots under blue jeans. I’d close my eyes and remember the touch of his fingers as he slipped the strand of hair behind my ear. And each time I would scold myself with the same admonition. What are you doing, exactly? Falling in love with a dead boy?

Rhodes climbed the porch stairs ahead of me, and then stopped at the door and waited for me. But even when I’d caught up and stood beside him, he made no move to open the door.

“What?” I asked.

He gazed at me, his pale blue eyes more intense than I’d ever seen. “I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

He lifted his arms and then let them drop helplessly to his sides. “About you. About you, Paulette. I don’t know what to do about you.”

I shook my head, confused, but said nothing. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his long coat and leaned against the side of the house. The leaded crystal porch light glowed softly above him, as if he were an actor on the stage.

“Look,” he said, his voice unusually flat and hushed. “I know we haven’t known each other very long. And I know I’m not exactly a lady killer. I’m a little…quirky. I know that. And I may not be Mr. Greek God, like your pal Jack. But I’m loyal to a fault. I’m devoted. I’m dependable. I’m genetically predisposed to produce tall children. And I’m utterly, completely, thoroughly, unconditionally, madly in love with you.”

I stared at him, astounded. All my life I’d been Judy’s plain younger sister, the gawky late bloomer who’d never even come close to having a boyfriend. My head felt dizzy, as if I’d been drinking rum again.

“Rhodes…” I breathed.

No words came to mind, and so I just looked at him. I did like Rhodes. He was funny and smart. His eyes were beautiful. His features were nice, if a bit angular. And there were times when his blond curls fell into his eyes and he almost looked sexy. I knew it would be the wise thing to do, to let myself fall into something normal. Something safe. As if sensing an opportunity, Rhodes leaned down suddenly to kiss me. But his head came in too fast and his chin caught my nose hard enough to make my eyes water. He winced, his face reddening.

“Did I mention my smooth moves?” he said, staring down at his feet.

I smiled. We both knew the moment had gone. Rhodes shrugged and shook his head. He was flustered and embarrassed.

“Anyway,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs and watch a movie and pretend I never said anything, okay? I’m feeling it’s maybe a mafia moment.”

“That sounds great.” I leaned my head briefly against his arm, just to let him know I wasn’t running away.

He dug around in his coat pockets and then, brow furrowed, searched his pants pockets as well. “Shit.” He closed his eyes and thumped his forehead against the door. “Shit, shit, shit, shit…”

“What’s wrong?”

“My key,” he groaned. “I left it for the housekeeper. She needed a replacement. I forgot to grab it before we left.”

“So where’s the spare? Doormat? Garden gnome?”

He groaned against the heavy glass on the door. “I lost my keys in the park over the summer. So this one kind of was the spare.”

“What should we do?”

He sighed. “I guess we’ll have to go to the hospital.”

I blinked at him. “I was thinking more like Denny’s or something.” 

“My dad’s hospital. He’s working nights right now.”

I suddenly felt sick. “I don’t like hospitals.”

“Do you want to wait here?” he asked. “It’s really close. I’ll be right back.”

I shook my head. There was no way in hell I was waiting alone in the dark. “Just tell me it’s not Monument Hospital.”

“Why, what’s wrong with Monument?” 

I thought of the day I’d watched my sister die there, the day I swore I’d never go back. But I rarely talked to people outside of our family about Judy. I hated the sad, tilted head, the heavy exhalations, the pointless I’m sorrys. It always just made me feel worse.

“Is that your dad’s hospital?”

He looked perplexed. “Yeah.”

I took another look around the porch, wondering if it would be so bad to wait there. But I couldn’t do it. The Noirs were on the hunt, and regardless of how unlikely they were to find me there, I didn’t want to take the chance.

“Okay,” I said, steeling myself. “Let’s go.”