The Pool Boy(31)

I grit my teeth. “You can’t make me do this. You can’t force me.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” I say, straightening. “There are other options. Other places I can go.”

My father leans back in his chair with an infuriating smile. “Where, exactly, would you go? To whatever slum your poor boyfriend lives in?” My mouth falls open and he grimaces. “You thought I didn’t know that you’ve been slumming it with one of the caretakers? Letting him fuck you all over our property? You can be sure he’ll never work for us again.”

So this is speechlessness. My father doesn’t stop speaking.

“And what would you do instead?” he asks. “The entire architecture community knows that I want you to work for me. No one will want to get on my bad side by hiring you now, and you’re trained for nothing else. You start on Monday. See you at nine sharp.”

He gets up from behind his desk and comes around it, stopping in front of me. “I suggest you take this weekend to think very carefully about your future, Vera. Because if you’re not in my office on Monday morning, don’t bother coming back to this house.”

I gape at him, unable to combat the fact that he’s ignoring everything but his own logic. He’s going to disown me if I disobey. I can’t believe this is happening. I turn and storm out of the office, brushing past my mother who is watching from the door. There’s a look of shock on her face, and I hear her voice mixing with my father’s as I sprint down the stairs.

I go outside, unable to be in the house for a single second longer. I go to my garden, my refuge, and I scream at the top of my lungs. It feels so good that I do it again, louder, and then I collapse onto the bench.

I’ve always used this garden as a refuge, as a safe haven. There is no other place that I would even think to go. Except for the fact that it doesn’t feel the same, and this isn’t where I want to be—the shock that I want to be with James comes just as strongly as the desire to be in his arms. I don’t question it. I can’t. Instead I run out of the garden and toward the back of the property. He was working on the hedges, I remember. There are so many that’s probably what he’s still doing.

I’m right. In the back corner, I find him. The shears are in his hands and he looks so at ease that I start to cry before I even reach him. He sees me coming toward him and has the good sense to drop the shears to the ground before I jump into his arms. He crushes me in his embrace, and I’m sobbing because now I can and someone else will hold me. Tears are pouring out of me because it’s not fair. His voice is in my ear asking me what happened and if I’m alright, asking me what’s wrong.

Somehow I find my voice and tell him. I tell him everything about how my father ruined my chances for this job, and every other job I’ve applied to this summer. That he knows about us. That I never thought he’d do this to me. That he’s going to disown me if I don’t obey.

James doesn’t say anything, instead holding me against him. When I’ve finished, he releases me long enough to take off his thick gloves and drop them on the ground. Then he scoops me up in his arms and starts walking.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home. To my home.”

I put my hand on his chest and try to get down, but he’s not having it. “What about the work? What about Mike?”

James snorts, “The property is immaculate, and I’m sure the hedges can survive another couple of days before Mike comes back. And if your father sees me and tells me to stay, I’m going to tell him that it’s going to cost him two million dollars.”

I laugh through my tears and let James carry me away.





14





Vera





James barely gives me time to grab my things. He’s almost more eager to be out of the house than I am, but I’m not going to spend this weekend in my pajamas either. I throw my small suitcase on the bed and gather what I need: underwear, jeans, a few t-shirts, contingency clothes, my toiletries, laptop and phone. I look around, and even though I’m only grabbing things for the weekend, there’s nothing I really want to take with me. It all just seems like stuff. My now-old room is filled with meaningless stuff.

I zip up the suitcase and hand it to James, at the last second grabbing my portfolio. Then we’re out of the house and into his car and I feel like I can breathe again. I open the window and close my eyes. The noise of the wind and traffic, the feeling of the air on my face, it all distracts me from rethinking everything. The breeze steals me away from reliving my father’s words over and over again. Or at least I try to pretend that they’re not popping into my head every other second that passes.