The Other Side of Envy: The Ghost Bird Series: #8 (The Academy) Page 4

  “Again, we’re lucky the holidays are coming up. We’ll have more free time,” he said. He held up fingers and counted off. “Mr. Morgan, Mr. North Taylor and Mr. Korba, so far, I believe are in agreement. Mr. Lee needs convincing, we know. Mr. Griffin is on the fence, but if Mr. Lee agrees, I feel he’ll follow. The others I’m not sure about, although I believe if you expressed your interest, they could be persuaded.”

  I counted off in my head, Victor, North and Silas, versus Kota and Nathan. Luke, I thought, was on my side. Gabriel I wasn’t sure about. “What about Dr. Green?”

  “He’s on my side,” Mr. Blackbourne said quickly.

  “And what is your side?” I asked.

  Mr. Blackbourne’s lips shifted, and that millimeter smile appeared. It threatened to distract me from his next words. “Believe it or not, I’m on your side. I wouldn’t force you into the Academy if you didn’t want it.” He leaned in a little then, the steel in his eyes softening to something more silver. “And if you told me you prefer to stay out of it, I’d respect that, too. You’ll always have the choice. No matter what, we’ll be here for you.”

  My heart warmed. I did want in the Academy, but I liked knowing I didn’t have to join to stay with them. That lead me to another thought and I nervously glanced around at the gentlemen drinking coffee at the counter, wishing we’d picked to go somewhere more private. “If...if for some reason I can’t convince them, would it be better if I told the Academy I wasn’t interested in joining.”

  “Maybe,” he said quietly. “But I don’t want you to lie to them, and I don’t want to hold you back, either.”

  I wasn’t sure what he’d be holding me back from. I’d already participated in their jobs, even if I didn’t join them on every single one of them. Most of the time I didn’t know where they’d gone or what they were doing. Being outside of the Academy felt more like I was being held back. I’d rather put off signing up for the Academy until we were all ready rather than signing up too soon if Kota wasn’t on board yet.

  “There’s another part we’ll have to straighten out, too,” he said.

  I was about to ask what it was when our coffees were delivered. The waiter politely informed us our breakfasts would be out very shortly. He dropped off a creamer and sugar for Mr. Blackbourne, nodded to us and then turned to address other customers just coming in.

  My eyes flitted to the family that had entered, waiting to be seated. Mr. Blackbourne started with his coffee and it distracted me. I watched as he poured in cream, and then one sugar and stirred with the spoon. He picked up the cup, sipped it quickly and then put it down.

  I picked up my own coffee, thinking to drink it before he asked me to. It wasn’t like the bottled coffee I was used to. It had more coffee in it and wasn’t as sweet, but it tasted fine. There was a bitterness to it underneath. I preferred the Frappuccinos.

  Mr. Blackbourne seemed to ease then. “I have some news. Your stepmother has come out of her critical condition and is asking for Marie.”

  I waited, anticipating him saying she’d been asking for me, too. After a second, I realized that wasn’t the case. Of course she wouldn't ask for me. She didn’t like me. Still, the news was something I’d been dreading. “Does this mean she’ll be out of the hospital soon?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “It seems her mental state is somewhat unstable still. Dealing with an illness this extreme can be hard on anyone.”

  They couldn’t keep her in the hospital forever. I didn’t know much about insurance, only what my father used to complain about over the years when my mother so often went into the hospital. The longer she stayed, the higher the bill got. She’d been away for a while, and would be there longer still. The costs must be great and adding up every moment. I tried to forget about it for now. “But she’s asking for Marie.”

  “We’d like to see if you could talk to her, though,” he said quietly.

  I gazed down at the mocha, looking at the ice through the glass. This felt like he was asking me to fulfill some family obligation. I ought to see her because she was the stepmother I’d grown up with and that should mean something. I should have been asking to see her before now, and possibly insisting Marie and I go. It wasn’t my stepmother’s fault she was the way she was. She’d done horrible things to me but she was ill.

  I wanted to say this, but I couldn’t. In some way, after she’d gone, and especially since moving out of the house, I hadn’t been sure if I’d see her again. In small ways, the boys told me I wouldn’t. Some of them may have been unsure about wanting me to join the Academy, but all of them wanted me to stay, in one form or another, with them.

  Our breakfast came out then. The waiter placed my yogurt and fruit on the table, followed by Mr. Blackbourne’s omelet with spinach, tomato and mushrooms. Now that I’d smelled egg, though, I was hungry for it. Still, my stomach probably couldn’t take much more than a bite or two.

  The waiter nodded politely to us and then moved on.

  I focused on the yogurt, grapes, strawberries and granola in front of me. I mimicked Mr. Blackbourne, unfolding the napkin, placing it in my lap.

  Mr. Blackbourne took a couple of bites and touched his napkin to his lips before he continued speaking. “The reason I’m asking you to talk to her is actually for our own purposes. Otherwise I wouldn’t ask you to do it. There’s no need to see her again after this unless you wish to.”

  I lifted my head and his gaze held mine. “Do you need something?” I asked.

  “We’ve been having some trouble,” he said. “It’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  My eyebrows shifted and I put my spoon down, waiting.

  Suddenly his eyes dropped to his food. He placed his silverware down quietly.

  This was it. This was the heavy weight he’d carried since we’d sat down.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me for interfering,” he said. He picked up his head and the silver in his eyes sparked. “We’ve been investigating your father and your mother...your real mother.”

  The restaurant quieted then, or it was my own silence inside me, as my heart paused and I couldn’t breathe. I stared at him, disbelieving. My real mother was someone I tried to think about, but because of the activity around us, couldn’t. Sometimes at night though, I wondered about who I was, and who she was, and how all this had happened. I wondered how my life would have been different if I’d grown up with her.

  The questions were too much to consider, and I often tucked them away, thinking instead of the boys, of school, of the current situations and the future of the Academy, instead of a past I had no clue about, and of things I couldn’t change.

  “Did you find her?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No,” he said. “That’s the problem. We’re unsure where to start. We traced back through your hometown for deaths around the time you were born, but no one stands out as being a possibility. Either she’s in a surrounding town, which might take a lot of time to track down, or we’re missing a clue. It’d be helpful if we could gather a hint from your stepmother.”

  I obviously didn’t come from nowhere, but the way he said it made it feel like I had. “My father didn’t mention her name.”

  “We’ve tried different ways to approach him, but we don’t want him getting curious about you and coming back too soon. We didn’t want to alarm him by asking about her and have him make rash decisions.”

  Too soon? If he came back, I suspected he’d want me to move back in with my sister. They didn’t want that. I didn’t want it.

  “The only person we’re aware of that might know is your stepmother,” he continued. “You’ve got every right to know, and she might be willing to tell you. She’s in a more stable condition now. Even if she didn’t want to tell you for your own sake, she might tell you to spite him. We’ll have to take advantage of that. We just need a name.”

  Why? I asked the question repeatedly to myself. How much would finding out change? I glanced again at my yogurt, sudd
enly not hungry, but afraid at the same time to not eat and waste Mr. Blackbourne’s money. I scooped out a bite and ate it, giving myself time to consider how to answer.

  Part of me didn’t want to know. As much as I’d wondered about it, I was terrified to find out. It was why I’d never asked. My stepmother made it sound like my father had something to do with her death, and my father led me to believe that he cared about her a great deal. Either way, it sounded like she was underage at the time I was born, and I couldn’t imagine being sixteen, the age I was now, and be pregnant and have to deal with it.

  It was the part I didn’t want to face, a past I wasn’t sure I should know about. Not thinking of it was almost like it was a story rather than reality, and I could almost pretend it had nothing to do with me.

  Was that the life I wanted to lead? Not knowing who I really was? I was afraid of the truth. Mr. Blackbourne was sitting across from me, telling me he had been trying to find it and now was asking me to participate.

  I didn’t want to. It might change me. Somehow, it felt like if I found my real family, my mother’s family, maybe I’d be forced to return to them. What if they wanted me to come stay with them? Could I tell them no?

  Would I want to?

  I stared down, unwilling to meet his gaze. I didn’t want to tell him what I was thinking. “I don’t know,” I said quietly.

  “You shouldn’t be afraid of her,” he said in a sharp tone. “She can’t hurt you again.”

  “It isn’t that,” I said, although I was afraid of my stepmother. I was afraid I’d talk to her and she’d yell at me again and tie me up and put me in the closet, or in a shower, even if the fear might be unrealistic and the boys wouldn’t allow it. I was also scared she’d tell me far more than I wanted to know. “Do we have to do this now?”

  Time passed. I continued to stare at my yogurt. Mr. Blackbourne remained still on his side of the table. The knot in my stomach became bigger with every second that passed, neither of us willing to give in. He wanted answers. I wanted to forget it for now. I wasn’t ready to face it.

  “No,” he said in a softer voice. “You don’t have to talk to her at all if you don’t want to. We can find another way.”

  As he returned to his omelet, the silence became so heavy that I wanted to slip to the floor and hide under the table to relieve the pressure. I didn’t want to ever say no to Mr. Blackbourne, but now I was. He must have thought finding out my real mother was important to me, and I simply couldn’t deal with it right now. Ask me anything else. Ask anything of me. I’d do a million other things, but I couldn’t do this.

  I closed my eyes, seeking out the words to explain to him. “It’s not important,” I said.

  “Back to the other matter,” he said quietly, granting me reprieve from the conversation about my mother. He spoke slowly, and quietly, and when I looked up, willing the discussion to go in this direction, his voice rose to normal tones. “I’m not fully aware of how Mr. Coleman feels about you joining the Academy. I think that’s the first step. To discover how they all feel about you joining. I’ve asked him, and he said he was okay with it, but I’m not convinced by his answer. He’s protective of you, and if Kota can convince him joining the Academy might put you at risk, he may reconsider.”

  My heart was still heavy from the previous conversation, and I was eager for Mr. Blackbourne to give me another task so I could show I wasn’t angry or upset with him. I wanted to work on my place in my new family, and get some secure footing before I tiptoed out into muddy waters of the past. “I wanted to tell you that I would like to divide my time up a little better. I don’t get to see Gabriel as often as I’d like since he lives so far away.”

  “If you need me to manage your schedule,” he said, “I’ll be able to do so. You’ll also need to let me know if you need free time to yourself.”

  I nodded, although the thought of being alone wasn’t a big deal to me. “I’d rather focus on Gabriel for now. And then the others. Perhaps if I convinced everyone other than Kota, then maybe Kota will change his own mind.” I was repeating Silas’s thoughts from earlier, but it fit.

  “It’s a possibility,” he said. He used his knife, cutting his omelet into pieces, and started to eat. He seemed to think while he ate, focusing on his food and occasionally looking up at me while he sipped at his coffee.

  I followed his actions, allowing myself to pick at the yogurt. My stomach was still knotted, so I slid the yogurt over a bit to look like I’d eaten more than I had. The fruit wasn’t as heavy, and I ate what I could of it.

  Time passed as we were quiet. After denying his request to help him locate my real mother, something was different between us. We’d come to a crossroads. I wasn’t sure how to get around it. I wasn’t sure what to talk about other than the guys.

  There wasn’t much I knew about Mr. Blackbourne personally.

  That lead me to start listing things I could talk about with him. I glanced at his food. He liked garden omelets. He liked one sugar and a little bit of cream in his coffee. He could play violin and piano. What else could he do? What was the real Mr. Blackbourne like outside of school and the Academy?

  If I needed to get to know and spend time with each of them, I needed to get to know all of them, including Mr. Blackbourne. Here I was having breakfast with him, and I found it difficult to start any conversation.

  I fought for a question. All of them sounded horrible in my head. So you like eggs? Have you played the violin lately?

  I tried one that didn’t seem too weird. “What are your plans for the day?”

  “Mr. Lee will be needing groceries for his house, but he’ll be busy with those children we brought in,” he said immediately, as if he’d been waiting for me to ask just that question.

  What an odd idea: Mr. Blackbourne at a grocery store. “You go grocery shopping for Kota?”

  “For any of them,” he said. “If we’re gone on assignments, someone needs to stay behind and make it look like everything is normal. For those of us with family, we need to appear to be around more than we are. At least for now.”

  “For now?”

  “One day,” he said, “we won’t need to check in with parents. You’ll all be eighteen and then we’ll be on our own. You’ve got a bit of a head start.”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way. My cheeks heated. I’d moved out, but I felt far from being grown up and on my own. I fiddled with my yogurt. “What happens when we’re all eighteen?”

  “I could make some guesses,” he said. “Right now, though, we’re trying to survive our year in high school.” He picked up his napkin and dabbed it at his lips. “How’s your yogurt? Is it not to your liking?”

  I should have guessed he’d notice I wasn’t eating much. “I wasn’t really hungry this morning,” I said. “The fruit is more than enough.”

  “As long as you don’t forget to eat,” he said quietly. “Keep up your strength. We’ve got a ways to go. I know it hasn’t been easy, but all the hard work we’re putting in will pay off. Maybe not in ways we expected.”

  I looked up at him then, at the gray eyes, and questioned his meaning silently. He met my gaze with confidence. In some way, it felt like whatever they were expecting, I was the interruption, the change to what they’d planned before.

  I couldn’t formulate the question to ask his full meaning, but I was saved by the waiter bringing over the check and asking if he could box our food. Mr. Blackbourne paid quickly in cash and declined the boxes.

  When the waiter left with the cash, including tip, in hand, Mr. Blackbourne took one more sip of coffee and glanced at me. “I don’t want to rush you,” he said.

  I shook my head quickly, pushed my chair back slightly and stood. I liked spending time with him, but felt like I’d ruined the moment earlier and wanted a chance to step away, rethink what happened, and perhaps come back later with an apology and an explanation. “I know you need to get going.”

  He straightened his suit jacket, buttoning it ba
ck up and then touched the knot of his tie again. He guided me to walk with him toward the exit.

  This time, I got just the slightest of touches near the base of my spine as we headed for the door. Fingertips only. No palm. No hand holding. He was tentative around me.

  Don’t be like that. I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. I wanted to go back and change my answers, but I couldn’t. I still felt like I needed to forget the past. My father refused to speak of it, and my stepmother had kept it tucked in her memory for sixteen years without a word until recently, a secret they’d meant to bury forever. Unearthing my mother’s history might mean something far worse to deal with than we could imagine. In my heart, I knew Mr. Blackbourne meant well, but could he possibly understand my feelings?

  I didn’t want to let him think I was angry at him for it. I was actually touched that he was making an effort. I didn’t want us to change, whatever we were; part of a family.

  When we got to the door, Mr. Blackbourne moved ahead to open it, and stood by, waiting.

  I caught my opportunity. Instead of moving far away from him to exit, I made sure to move straight past, as close as possible.

  I reached out slightly, brushing my fingers against the back of his hand.

  “Thank you for breakfast,” I said quietly as I stepped outside. My heart was in my throat. Was that inappropriate to touch him? He was acting as a teacher, but he wasn’t really. Like Dr. Green, he was only three years older, and a spy for the Academy, not really someone in authority. He was part of our group.

  There was a pause in the world. Mr. Blackbourne paused mid-step. His eyes were forward, his gaze steady. Not breathing. Not talking. Simply calmness. It was for only a second, but the second lasted a while, and I had enough time for my heart to skip and wonder if I’d been mistaken in how to handle my approach.

  He followed immediately, letting the door close behind him. “My pleasure,” he said, quickly. “We should do this more often.”

  I smiled and nodded, although I hoped more breakfasts with Mr. Blackbourne were friendlier and without confrontation.