Of Mochas and Macchiatos

Part 12

The next two days pass quickly and there's no sign of Rafe. A few times, I hesitate in front of his room, contemplate knocking. But I don't. Stupidly, I imagine that scene from Frozen when Elsa is trying to keep Anna out, casting her icy veneer to the world so that nobody will get too close to her. I feel like that sometimes. A lot of the time. But does Rafe also feel the same way? I wish that I could ask him.

*

I get my answer at Montague Manor. My students have finished studying 1984. 'Finished'. You never really finish studying anything in English, and I get the sense that an analytical or comparative essay about Orwell is coming up soon. Now they're studying The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. And I feel so conflicted. Orwell's one thing but Atwood? Let them be kids, I say. Unfortunately, I am unable to control the school syllabus, and so I am resigned to delve into the unimaginable horrors of Gilead.

As disturbing as the novel is, I think that Lucas and Madeleine are incredibly mature as we read and annotate the text. It makes me sad to think that the world has become desensitised to such atrocities. After we spend a few hours with Atwood's thoughts, we abandon the books at the large oak table of Lucas' family' library and curl up at the window seat with steaming cups of hot chocolate and watch the rain outside. I can't stop thinking about Offred and Serena Joy and even the Commander and so, desperate to cast my mind elsewhere, I spill out the events of the last week.

Luke and Lena exchange furtive glances and I see the worry etched upon their faces as I talk quietly, my normally bright tone missing. When I talk about the suspicion that the arsonist left a calling card, Madeleine confirms it -how do they already know this?- and Lucas elbows her and presses me to keep going. I'd already told them about my living situation with Rafe. But then I talk about his coldness. How standoffish he can be. That incident at the library when he ditched me to sleep with some girl. The way he threw a piece of technology into the actual fireplace. When I run out of things to say, MadeLucky are silent, and then Lucas hesitantly asks me a question.

"Have you ever met Rafe's father, Evie?" I look at him, searching his deep intelligent brown eyes for answers.

"No. Why?" Lucas looks away and Madeleine takes it upon herself to answer.

"Eva! His mother is dead." Madeleine blurts out. She looks reproachful of her outburst but continues on anyway. "His father raised him. And by raised, I mean carted him off to boarding schools and Swiss finishing schools half his life. Shipped him overseas to England for years to stay with his cousin." Aghast, I raise a hand to my mouth. God, I didn't know that.

"Camille Archer's death nearly ruined them. Rafe and his father. It broke them. Archer Senior had always been distant but after that he became cold, cruel, vindictive. And Rafe? That English expedition saved him. His cousin is the one person in this world he truly loves. And trusts. Evie. Don't you realise the trust that Rafe has put in you?" I frown. Not understanding. What trust? Madeleine continues.

"I don't think he's ever let any girl stay the night with him, ever. And you- you've literally been living with him." I wonder how on earth Lena and Lucas know that. I wonder if they keep tabs, or maybe literal files on everybody, snatching at pieces of gossip and tucking them away in their minds for later. I wonder how much they know about me.

This time Lucas takes over. "I know he's...what? Dark and bitter or whatever you said. But he isn't really like that. That's not real. He's just... sad." And that hits me hard.

Oh.

Tragedy can break a person. I, of all people, know that. But more than that, I know how truly awful it is to feel all alone in the world.

Lucas makes some kind of excuse. "Del. Come on. I hear my father calling for us." When Madeleine protests, he grabs her arm and tugs her toward him. "Delllll, come on!" And she reluctantly allows herself to be dragged out of the room, letting me be alone with my thoughts in the half moon curve of the window seat, looking out into the blueness of the cold, wicked night.

*

When I return back to the suite, the fire is on and I am sure that Rafe is home. Once again, I linger in front of his door. What if there's somebody else there? I can hear voices. Is he watching Netflix or something? But after a minute, the voices go silent and I knock.

"Rafe? Can I come in?"

"If you must." He drawls.

I enter the room and stand near the doorway, leaning against the wall and trying to avoid eye contact for a few seconds. He's lying on his bed with his laptop in front of him, "Are you okay?" I ask tentatively. He stares at me.

"Uh, yes?" There is a chime from his MacBook and he glances at the screen for a moment, a smile -real, happy- lighting up his face before he shuts the laptop and as the glow of the screen dies, so does the emotion on his face.

I gesture towards his bedside table. "You got a new phone?"

"Leger, is there a point to this interrogation?" He asks, brow curling as he sits up on his king-sized bed, tucking the laptop under his arm.

"I just-" I falter. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright." I know what it's like to wish people would check up on you. "I haven't seen you for two days. You're avoiding me." But I try to inject the accusation with some humour, turn it into a kind of joke.

"I'm sorry-" Rafe says quietly. And although he continues on after a brief moment, I know that he really means those two words, about everything. "-that you feel that I am avoiding you, Evangeline. I'm not, alright? Now, will you leave me alone?" I nod. Oh, I hope I'm not this difficult when I'm feeling melancholy. "Dinner at six. Meet down in the lobby at ten to six, okay?"

"Okay." A myriad of questions struggled on my lips but all I could manage to say say was okay.

Typical.