Shall Not Sleep [bxb]

Chapter Twenty-Three

The morning dawned, full of possibility. I planned to walk up to Lansing Hall as soon as May stuffed some food into me. Mom watched me as I ate dry toast.

"No time for butter or jam?" she asked, pushing the can of homemade strawberry jam toward me.

I shook my head and stood. "It's already in my stomach, Mom."

"Where you hurrying off to?"

"Lansing Hall. Um, lots to do."

She nodded and looked down at her hands, which pushed the jam jar around the tabletop. She made my heart sink.

"What're you gonna do?" I asked quietly, so I didn't push her over the edge or something.

"I'm going to help May in the garden." She smiled. "And then she's going to take me on a tour of the village's best gardens. Of course, her's is the best. The others are just nice."

I smiled back. "Have fun?"

"I think I will," she said. "You have fun too, baby."

She said it just as I was tripping out the door and down the walk. What did she mean? Did she think—? Nah, I didn't even want to wonder.

No matter what she thought, the reality was weirder.

Wesley opened the door as I came up the walk. He squinted in the bright morning sun and raised his hand in greeting. I waved back.

"Sleep well?" he finally said when we were face-to-face.

I nodded. "You?"

"Not so well. My imagination was kind of running wild. See, it's not every day a boy arrives on your doorstep from overseas, with proof that he broke the laws of physics and fell in love with your great-great-uncle almost a hundred years ago."

I laughed, but my stomach started to hurt. At first it was a twinge, but as Wesley lead me inside the chilly, still, stately house and to the library, it became an all-out rumbling ache.

"Listen, Wesley," I said. The safe, still hanging open, drew my eye. Rows and rows of words from Alastair to me, still to read. "I don't know how I feel about you helping me. I'm sorry."

"What? Oh, I don't want to read them," he said. "I won't do anything you don't want me to, I promise. I just... want to know. You can't blame me, can you?"

"No, no, it's just that—" My eyes filled with stupid, stupid tears. "I'm sorry. Ugh. You're right. But..."

I closed my eyes to stop the stinging, but all I could see behind my eyelids was Alastair's face, glowing in the light of my lamp. I missed him so, so much. Even though I had barely had him.

"Oh," Wesley said. "Oh, I didn't think. God. I'm sorry."

I opened my eyes. Wesley sat on the desk, looking into the safe with a sadness I never expected in his eyes.

"Why do you want to know any of this stuff?" I asked. "Isn't it, like..."

Weird? Creepy? Gay? All those words went unsaid, but heavily implied.

"It's my family history," Wesley said slowly. "Of course I want to know. But more than that, it seems like you need the load lightened for you. It must be hard, having this secret."

It was. I couldn't even tell him to what degree. The fact that he knew this without me even saying it told me that he got it. He knew what it was like, to have a secret. To have something to protect.

"Stay," I told him. "I'll let you read some stuff. Just... I have to read it first, okay?"

His smile was wide and tender and surprised and it made me feel warm. I was proud of myself for causing it.