Free Cloudburst by V.C. Andrews Page B

way.
    Why was he interested in seeing me leave?
    It was exactly this confusion about him that fanned the flames of my interest, no matter how I tried to smother them. I was comfortable with most of the boys in this school, because they were, as Kiera might say, “as easy to see through as a new plate-glass window.” I hadn’t met anyone who was clever and subtle enough to catch me off guard—anyone before Ryder Garfield, that is. Was I thinking about him because I was genuinely interested in him, or was I simply annoyed that I couldn’t figure him out and pigeonhole him along with the other boys? Even the expert, Kiera March, would have trouble this time.
    When I drove up to the house, I saw Jordan sitting out by the tennis courts. She was alone and looked as if she was so deep in thought she hadn’t heard me drive up. As soon as I parked, I hurried over to her. I knew she was deep in thought because she didn’t realize I was coming over to her until I was practically on top of her. She turned and smiled.
    â€œOh, you’re home,” she said, and looked at her watch. “I had no idea how late it was.”
    â€œAre you all right?”
    â€œYes, yes,” she said. “Once in a while, I like to stop to smell the roses, something Donald hasn’t learned to do, apparently. Come, sit beside me,” she said, starting to move over on the bench, and then she stopped. “No, better yet, drop your schoolbag here, and let’s walk to the lake. We had some geese on it last night, you know. They’re flying south.”
    I put my bag on the bench and walked beside her over the stone-tiled path.
    â€œDid you hear the geese this morning?”
    â€œNo.” I didn’t want to tell her I had gotten up late again. “I wasn’t outside very long before I got into my car. They must have gone by then.”
    â€œOh, I bet you’re the cat’s meow with that car. My father loved that expression,
the cat’s meow.
Ever hear anyone say it?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œMy father said it a lot, especially if I was feeling a bit down. He’d boom, ‘What’s the matter now?’ and then, lowering the tone of his voice, he’d add, ‘You have nothing to worry about, Jordan. You’re the cat’s meow.’ My brother, Gerald, always made fun of me when my father said that. He’d start meowing or hissing. Sometimes he does it even now. Can you imagine a man that age meowing on the phone? Imagine if his secretary overheard him doing that.”
    She laughed.
    â€œMy brother, the big, important Washington lawyer.”
    â€œWhy doesn’t he come here more often?” I asked. Since I had been at the Marches’ home, Jordan’s brother, Gerald Wilson, had been here only twice, and one time was to help with Kiera’s legal troubles. He brought his wife, Danielle, only once. From what I could see, she rarely called Jordan. Their three boys had little contact with Jordan and Donald March.
    â€œHe’s like Donald, too busy to breathe,” she muttered, not disguising her bitterness.
    â€œMaybe you two should go on a holiday.”
    She paused and looked out at the lake. “Yes, to recharge our love batteries,” she said. “It’s what the doctor is ordering.”
    â€œA real doctor?”
    â€œNo,” she said, smiling. “A therapist we see who specializes in marriage counseling.”
    â€œOh.” I hadn’t realized she and her husband were seeing a marriage counselor, but it didn’t completely surprise me. I heard her suck in air the way someone who was in pain would. She wiped her eyes before any tear could emerge.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” I asked.
    â€œOh, just silly stuff, I’m sure.”
    There was a bench at the lake so people could sit and look out at the water. She sat, and I sat beside her. It was very quiet, the only sound being the gentle lapping of the