the moment. I decided to skip both classes, a first for me. I rolled over on my side, for some reason wanting to cry.
Instead, I took a shower. I stood under the spray of hot water, just letting it flow over me, when the answer became clear. Mom had mentioned his kin—she must have dated his father or brother or other relative.
She had many boyfriends over the years and it always ended badly. She never explained what happened with most of them, whom she seemed to love one day and couldn't get away from fast enough the next. We moved immediately after every break-up. I could only figure she was unable to love a man and let him love her, because they were usually good men, according to my sense. Except for Lenny….
My mind flashed the memory of Mom throwing Lenny across the room, his body hitting the wall with a thud, blood smears on the white paint as his limp form slid to the floor. Two minutes before, he'd tried to kiss me. I was twelve. 'Don't worry, he's not dead,' she had said once we were in the car, driving to a new city. I shuddered at the memory. He was bad and, if they were related, it would explain her reaction to seeing Tristan. It would also explain his non-reaction when Mom said I was her daughter.
But why did they hide this from me? Why all the secrets?
As afternoon started to slip into evening, I began to grow anxious. I was used to being home alone during the day and even if Mom came home after dark, I at least knew she would be home. Now I had a long, lonely, scary night to look forward to. Until the phone rang.
'You weren't in class today.' Tristan's lovely voice. I couldn't help my smile. Did he miss me?
'Sophia and I had an argument.'
'Ah. Is it safe now?'
I didn't know what to say at first and briefly considered lying, but there was no point in it. After all, I hid just as much as he did, probably more. Besides, if my theory was correct, it wasn't fair for us to hold Lenny or anyone else against him. And whatever Mom was so concerned about, it couldn't be too bad—she made it clear to him she was leaving me home alone. 'Yeah. Actually, she's gone for the weekend.'
'Would you like to go to the beach with me? The sun will be setting soon.'
I thought about it—for half a second. 'Sure. That'd be great.'
Not able to sit still, I waited outside, pacing the driveway. I heard the Harley from more than a block away and butterflies fluttered in my stomach by the time Tristan arrived.
'Ride or walk?' he asked over the rumble after pulling into the driveway.
'Let's walk.'
Our cottage was less than two blocks to the beach, the street covered with the broad canopies of the many- legged banyan trees that were larger than the Old Florida-style cottages they guarded. It was a gorgeous evening, the warmth of the afternoon still hanging in the air. We walked in silence the entire way. Every once in a while, Tristan would look down at me and smile and I'd automatically smile back.
I tried to ignore all the questions soaring through my mind, because they all had to do with a conversation I probably wasn't supposed to hear. I wished I had the chutzpah to just flat out ask him who he was and what happened between him and my mother. But I didn't. Besides, I'd realized this afternoon, there were two problems with seeking the answers to my questions.
One, it would likely lead to me being on the other end—the one answering questions instead of asking. If I wanted to know more about Tristan, then I had to be prepared for him to know more about me. And I wasn't ready for that yet. At least, not the deep stuff. He already knew too much—one of my biggest secrets—Sophia was my mother. Surely he had to have his own questions about how that could be, which leads to the second problem. Two, getting into the deeper conversation about all of our secrets meant giving up any kind of normalcy to our relationship—or whatever it became. And I wasn't ready for that, either.
I was probably lying to myself, trying to make it all more than it could ever be. But, for now, I wanted to at least pretend this was a normal girl-meets-boy situation.
'Penny for your thoughts?' Tristan asked, breaking the silence as we crossed the boardwalk accessing the beach.
'Hmph. They're worth more than that,' I teased.
He chuckled. 'Okay, a Benji for your thoughts?'
'Huh?'
He pulled a one-hundred-dollar bill from his pocket. I raised my eyebrows and he put it away, laughing. 'You're right. Your thoughts are priceless.'
We walked to the edge of the water, kicked off our shoes, and then turned and meandered along the wet sand. It gave me a chance to edit my thoughts before sharing them.
'I wouldn't go that far,' I finally said, 'but…I was just thinking that we've been hanging out for a couple months now, and I hardly know anything about you.'
'Ah. What do you want to know?' He peered down at me from the corner of his eye, seemingly hesitant—like I felt when someone asked about me.
'Um, well, where are you from?' That was an easy one, especially in Florida. Hardly anyone was from here.
He was silent for a moment, as if it was difficult to answer, and then said cryptically, 'Lots of places… nowhere in particular.'
I could relate to that. It could be my own answer.
'So…you moved around a lot?'
He shrugged. 'You could put it that way.'
'What do your parents do?'
'They don't do anything. They died a long time ago.'
'Oh.' Oops. I didn't know I was headed into heavy stuff . 'I'm sorry.'
He looked down at me and smiled gently. 'You didn't know. I hardly remember them anyway. It was a long time ago. I was raised by…distant relatives, I guess you could say.'
'Did they bring you here?'
'Oh, no, I came here alone.' There was that steely undertone again. 'I've been on my own for quite a while.'
More silence as I thought for a minute. I remembered what he'd told Mom…he'd never gone back and he never will. I thought about how awful it was to lose his parents and then to have to live with what must have been dreadful relatives. I decided to leave that subject alone.
'So where were these 'lots of places' you grew up?'
'Pretty much everywhere, but mostly Europe.'
' Really ? You don't have any kind of accent.'
He chuckled.
'I've been in the U.S. for a few years and I adapt easily and pick up the local accent quickly.' He changed his tone and spoke with a perfect English accent, 'Would you rahther I hahd an ahccent ?' Then he switched to French, rolling the R's, 'Or, pear'aps Francais eez better, ma lykita ?'
I laughed. Although I couldn't understand it all, the French accent was especially delightful with his lovely voice.
'Do you speak other languages, then?'
'Seven altogether.'
'Wow,' I breathed with awe. I tried to imagine growing up in Europe, moving around as much as I had, but to places such as London, Rome and Paris. I probably glamorized it, but it seemed much more exciting than my life.
'If you came here by yourself, what brought you here?'
He didn't answer at first and kicked at a wave. Then he shrugged and said, 'Just needed a change.'
'Oh.' That was a non-answer.
He looked down at me. 'Actually, I want to be honest with you. I came here for a job…or an assignment is more like it…and stayed because I like the people.'
'Oh, okay.' I hadn't realized he had a job. I started wondering what he did besides a couple college classes. He had mentioned once he had lots of other things going on in his life, but he never talked about anything.
