Undeniable Page 5

  A discreet knock on the door brings me to my senses. I step back from Jackson just as the door opens, and a young man walks in carrying the rest of my luggage.

  “Well, enjoy your stay,” Jackson says, as if we’ve only been having a friendly conversation, then he turns and walks out of the room, leaving it feeling strangely empty in his absence.

  Chapter Six

  Past

  THERE’S a lot of noise in the pool area, loud shrieks followed by splashes whenever one of the girls gets pushed into the water. I’ve already been pushed in twice, once by Blythe, and once by her boyfriend Carter. It may have been my imagination, but I think his hands lingered at my waist for far too long.

  It’s one of those summer parties that start out of nothing. Usually Blythe hanging out with some friends and then more and more people show up until it’s a pool party.

  They’re usually fun, and this one is no different. I’m sitting at the edge of the pool, feet in the water, having an argument with May, my best friend from school, and Lettie Lockewood, Jackson and Blythe’s second cousin who’s staying for the summer, about how reading books is so much better than watching the movies made about them.

  “I want to be a doctor, so I’ve been reading Gray’s anatomy since when I was ten,” May says, “I watch movies to rest my brain, and I don’t have the time to read anything else.”

  “I watch Grey’s Anatomy.” Lettie says softly. She’s like a thinner, younger, and shyer version of Blythe. Her mother is a reclusive artist who never married, and according to Blythe, even Lettie doesn’t know who her real father is. “I also read,” she continues, “but none of the books I read ever gets made into movies.”

  I laugh, thinking of the stack of romance novels she brought with her to Halcyon. “Nobody’s going to make a movie based on a romance novel.” I say.

  “Why not?” She complains.

  I’m about to reply when the doors to the terrace open and suddenly Jackson is standing there.

  He’s been spending the summer in the city, interning at an investment firm and staying at the family’s Park Avenue apartment. I’ve missed him all summer, and now, seeing him, I feel as if I’ve slammed into something hard. I want to run over and throw my arms around him. I’m overwhelmed by a mixture of delirious happiness and tense confusion. I want so much, but I’m not even sure what exactly I want.

  He’s wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and knee length shorts, a pair of dark sunglasses perched on his hair. I watch him, unbelievably tense as he scans the pool, his eyes coming to rest on me.

  For a moment, it’s just us. I lose myself in his gaze. My heart stops and my skin flushes, suddenly hot and cold at the same time. I don’t know how long we’re like that, but someone calls his name and he looks away.

  I breathe, wetting my lips as I wait for my heart to return to its normal rate. I watch as Lindsay Gorman, wearing a tiny scarlet string bikini, leaves the lounge chair where she was lying and runs to throw her arms around Jackson, planting a kiss on his lips, no doubt eager to display their intimacy to the whole world.

  I look away, determined not to be hurt. She’s his girlfriend, or on again - off again girlfriend, as Blythe unrepentantly says to her face. Of course, they kiss. Of course, they’re intimate. It’s none of my business what they do together.

  At times like this, I wish I was older and more confident, then maybe I would be brave enough to tell him how I feel without being so afraid of what it would mean if he doesn’t feel the same way.

  Blythe comes out of the pool, soaking wet, but looking amazing in a black bikini, with her wet hair hanging down her back. She only has time to call out a greeting to her brother before she gets pushed back inside the pool. She emerges moments later to chase the culprit around the terrace, prompting laughter from everyone, but I can’t bring myself to join in the merriment.

  I sneak another look at Jackson and Lindsay. She’s pulled him towards her lounge chair, and they’re standing beside it, her body plastered against his as she whispers something into his face.

  I watch them, filled with an acute and painful jealousy, I don’t know how long I stare, but suddenly Jackson turns his face and looks right at me, and I freeze.

  I don’t know if he sees the hurt and jealousy written plainly on my face, and at that moment, I don’t care. Lindsay follows his gaze and turns around to look at me. Her eyes narrow and I flush, looking away.

  May and Lettie are still talking, but I’m not interested anymore. I mumble some inane excuse to them and pick up my towel, getting up to go into the house. I’d rather be upstairs in my room reading a book than have to watch Jackson make out with his idiotic girlfriend.

  I go into the house, leaving the noise and the sun behind as I move towards the stairs. I don’t go very far before I hear the door to the terrace open behind me.

  “Hey, Livvie…” I turn around to see Lindsay coming into the house behind me. “It’s Livvie, isn’t it?” She continues sweetly, “I always forget.”

  I bite back a sarcastic retort about memory loss. “Do you want something?” I ask politely.

  “Yes actually.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Some loser poured a drink on my towel. Can you get me another one?”

  I shrug and go to the linen closet. It’s close to the back of the house, beside the laundry and the kitchen. I’m surprised to hear her footsteps following behind me. I open the closet and retrieve a fresh towel, when I close the doors she’s standing right beside me.

  “Here.” I hand it to her.

  She reaches for it, and then pauses without taking it from me. Her pretty eyes are hard and unfriendly as she looks at me. “You think Jackson is hot, don’t you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve seen the way you look at him,” she continues, as if she didn’t hear me, “I’m sure you think it’s really convenient that you live in his house.” She smiles tightly. “Just don’t forget that he’s mine.”

  She’s looking at me with a challenge in her eyes. I almost pity her, because I know how insecure she must be to confront me like this. “If he were yours you wouldn’t need to warn me off him.” I say frankly.

  Her face contorts in an expression of scorn. “Do you think I’m the only one who’s noticed how your eyes follow him around? You’re making everyone uncomfortable and making a fool of yourself. Even Jackson’s noticed and he feels sorry for you. Why do you think he spends so much time away?”

  I keep my eyes square on her face, determined to hide the flood of pain that’s threatening to drown me. From her satisfied expression, I can tell she knows that she’s hit her mark. At that moment, I hate her more than I’ve ever hated anyone or anything in my life.

  “Do you want the towel?” I ask calmly.

  She looks as if she wants to say something else, but after a moment, she snatches the towel from my hand and flounces away.

  Summer passes, and in the fall, Blythe goes back to school, and once more I’m left practically alone in the big house with only Mrs. Shannon for company.

  “Where have you gone?”

  “What…?” I snap out of my thoughts to see Mrs. Shannon watching me from the other side of the kitchen island. She’s a plump, good-natured woman somewhere around middle age, and right now, she’s watching me with a frown on her face.

  “I thought you said you wanted to learn how to bake a pie,” She says, shaking her head and going back to kneading the lump of dough on the board. “All you’ve done is sit there on that stool and stare into space.”

  “I’m sorry.” I sigh, “I just have a lot on my mind."

  “At your age?” She chuckles. “Like what?”

  Like my conversation with Lindsay, which I haven’t stopped thinking about since it happened. Like Jackson. Ever since that day at the pool, there’s been some sort of subtle shift in our relationship. He hardly came home through the rest of the summer, and when he did, it was almost as if he didn’t want to be anywhere around me. I had no
choice but to conclude that Lindsay was right. He can see my stupid obsession with him written on my face, and he’d rather avoid me than watch me continue to make a fool of myself.

  “Now you’ve gone off again.” Mrs. Shannon shakes her head, “You’re not learning anything here. Maybe you should go take some pictures with that camera of yours, or better yet, you can go pick me some apples.”

  There’s an apple orchard adjoining the property. It’s called the Lockewood orchard, even though it’s owned by the town and not the family. Every fall, a lot of people go there to pick apples and enjoy the outdoors.

  “I’ve never been to the apple orchard.”

  “Why not?” She exclaims. Her eyes go to something behind me at the door. “Jackson,” she calls, making my head snap back towards the door, and sure enough, Jackson is standing there. I didn’t even know he was home. I catch myself before I make a fool of myself by staring at him and betraying the all-consuming yearning I feel for him. After a quick hello, I hastily turn back to Mrs. Shannon.

  “Livvie says she’s never been apple picking.” She tells him, unaware of the hard knot my stomach has become, and the tension that has taken over my body. "You should take her.”

  “He doesn’t have to.” I say quickly. If he’s trying to avoid me, then I’m not going to force myself on him. “I’m sure Jackson is busy, and I can manage by myself.”

  Mrs. Shannon gives me a queer look. I can feel Jackson’s eyes on my back. I cringe, embarrassed and desperately wishing I could just disappear.

  “I remember when you used to get so excited at the prospect of going over to the farms to pick apples you’d almost throw up.” Mrs. Shannon says to Jackson. If it’s supposed to make me laugh, it doesn’t work, but I hear Jackson’s chuckle. I sneak a look at him, and he’s leaning on the doorframe, looking amused.

  “What do you say, Olivia?” He says, his mesmerizing smile turned toward me. ‘Shall we go pick some apples before my inner child gets overexcited and starts throwing up?"

  I nod slowly, despite all my reservations, very ecstatic at the thought of spending time with him. “I’ll just get a jacket.” I say, getting up from the kitchen stool.

  “Don’t bother,” he says easily, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to me, “You can wear mine.”

  I put it on gratefully. It smells like him, light cologne mixed with a scent that’s just him. I would have liked to go up to my room, brush my hair and maybe apply lip-gloss, but getting to wear Jackson’s jacket makes up for losing the chance to do all that.

  Mrs. Shannon is looking at me with a queer expression. I realize I’m hugging the jacket close to me, and I free it quickly.

  “Don’t forget to get me some apple cider.” She says.

  “Okay,” I reply, following Jackson to the door.

  Outside, it’s a little cold, and the view from the house to the river is dotted with trees that are already red and gold with the season. It’s beautiful as usual, and the reason why the valley was such a popular retreat for wealthy New Yorkers back in the day. Jackson also takes a moment to admire the view, breathing in the clean, crisp air and giving me a small smile before starting to walk towards the gardens and the trees beyond. A fence separates the farm from the estate, with a tiny iron gate. It’s not locked, and Jackson reaches through the bars to move the bolt, opening it.

  “I didn’t know you were coming home.” I say, as he holds the gate open for me to step onto the stone path that leads to the farmhouse.

  “Yeah,” he shrugs, “I have some friends who think weekends are meant for partying until we pass out. This weekend I’m taking a breather from roommates who are either puking or nursing a massive hangover.

  I giggle. “So you abandoned them to their fate.”

  “Yes, I’m an awful friend.” He says with a laugh.

  “No, you’re not.” I reply earnestly.

  He smiles at me but doesn’t reply. At the farmhouse, we get the cider, a box, and a picker pole.

  “My dad used to bring us here when we were little,” He says, “Me, Blythy, and my mom.” A shadow crosses his features, and I realize he must be thinking about his parents. They’re dead, like mine.

  “Why is it called the Lockewood orchard?” I ask Jackson, as we move through the trees. The sweet smell of autumn and apples is thick in the air. I take a deep breath and smile shyly at him.

  “It used to be part of the Lockewood estate,” he says carelessly, using the pole to pluck an apple from the top of a nearby tree. “The first Lockewood who lived here was a farmer. His son rebelled and went into the ferry business. He made a huge fortune in transportation, and when his father died he gave some of the farmland to the town, tore down the farmhouse, and built the old house.” He looks at me, “Are you bored yet?"

  As if. “I’m not,” I reply. I’d seen old sepia tinted pictures of the old house in the library. “What happened to the old house?”

  Jackson leans the pole against a slender tree trunk and pauses to roll back the cuffs of his shirt. For a moment, I forget what I asked him and just enjoy looking at him.

  “There was a fire around the turn of the century, and it burned to the ground.”

  “Oh, that’s awful.”

  “Yeah,” he shrugs, “My great, great, great grandfather built Halcyon,” He looks at me. “You know what it means?”

  “Heavenly,” I tell him.

  “Yeah,” He picks an apple off a low branch, and places it inside the box I’m carrying, then he takes the box from me. "Heavenly house.” He smiles again, making me forget that I should be trying to hide how I feel about him. I stare at him, mesmerized, “I’d forgotten how much of a nerd you are.” He says with a teasing note in his voice.

  I don’t bother to deny it. “I wondered about it, so I looked it up. I couldn’t find any information about the farms though, and the old house."

  “Why didn’t you ask me?”

  I busy myself with picking a few low hanging apples. During the summer, I’d been convinced that he was avoiding me. There was no way I’d have asked him anything. I turn to place the fruit inside the box he’s holding, and he’s looking at me intently, waiting for me to say something.

  “You hardly spoke to me all summer.” I blurt.

  When he doesn’t say anything, I start to babble. “Lindsay said you were avoiding me because it was so obvious I had a crush on you and you didn’t want me to keep making a fool of myself whenever you were around.”

  His expression is one of disbelief. “Lindsay said what?” He drops the box on the grass, “and you believed her?”

  I swallow. “It felt like you were avoiding me.”

  He sighs. “Lindsay has no idea how I feel about anything,” He says, “Okay?”

  I nod, confused. He picks up the box and starts to walk back towards the gate. I follow him, half exhilarated that I was wrong about him avoiding me, and half embarrassed because I’ve just told him that I have a crush on him. Well at least he hasn’t said anything about that.

  At the gate, he pauses and turns to look at me. “So do you have a crush on me?” His tone is teasing, but his eyes are serious. I flush, embarrassed at having revealed something I’ve kept so close to my chest for years. A crush doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel for him.

  I want to say yes, but something holds me back. For the past few weeks I’ve been determined to keep my feelings to myself, and for some reason, even though now I know Lindsay was lying, it still feels risky to let him know the extent of all the things I feel for him, after all, for whatever reason, he did keep his distance throughout the summer.

  “Everybody my age has a crush on something or someone.” I say, with a flippant note in my voice.

  He chuckles. “That’s fair.” He opens the gate and lets me through. I wait as he puts the bolt back into place, then he turns to me.

  “Olivia.” He says.

  “Yes.”

  “I think you’re sweet, beautiful, and intelligent. You’re a
n awesome girl, and if you had a crush on me, I wouldn’t think you were making a fool of yourself. I’d feel honored.”

  There’s an erratic fluttering where my heart should be. I stare at him, unable to say anything through my dazed happiness. He doesn’t wait for me to say anything though. He keeps on walking, carrying the box full of apples, leaving me to follow him back to the house with a stupid grin on my face.

  Chapter Seven

  Present

  I unpack my clothes, mentally trying to compose myself. I have only about an hour until dinnertime, so I manage a shower and a quick nap before brushing out my hair and pulling on a flattering deep green shirtdress, with a belted waist and a hem that’s just above my knees. It’s not too dressy, but it’s not casual either and seems suitable for the semi-formal dinner arrangement that’s always been the style at Halcyon.

  I let my hair hang down around my shoulders, and after a moment’s hesitation, I apply a little makeup. Somewhere inside, I know I’m taking such care with my appearance because of Jackson. I hate myself for caring how he sees me. I really shouldn’t, not after everything.

  I descend the grand curving stairway, remembering all the times when I went up and down the same stairs as a teenager. I trail my fingers down the smooth wooden banister, which is polished to perfection, and gleams richly in the lights from the chandelier. I study the patterned marble floors of the foyer, the paintings hanging on the walls, the fresh flowers from the garden on the side tables, and I’m consumed by wistfulness. With nobody else in the room to remind me of how much time has passed, I can almost believe that things haven’t changed at all and that I’m still the child who was so happy here.

  However, I’m not, I’m a grown woman now, and I’m here to do a job. In the time since Jackson left my room, I’ve toyed with the idea of calling Grace and telling her to find a replacement. I’ve tried to come up with excuses to give her, but it’s no use. There’s nothing I can tell her that won’t make me seem immature and unprofessional.