Page 10 of This Could Be Us
“Well, I’ll let you get back to…” Get back to what? Groping your relative? “I better get back. See you later.”
I think I’m as happy to get away from them as they are for me to leave. I’ve put it off as long as I can. If I don’t get back soon, Edward will come searching for me. Each step down the corridor becomes more agonizing, a sharp pain assaulting my pinkie toe and heel.
“I knew these shoes would be the death of me,” I mutter, reaching down to take off one stiletto and then the other. I hook the heels over my hand, even if for just a few steps before I have to put them back on. “Beauty is not worth this much pain. I’d kill for an orthopedic shoe right about now.”
I’m stepping cautiously with my bare feet on the slick marble floor when a sound from a room up ahead stops me.
Clack clack clack.
I approach, pausing before the ajar door and peeking in to find a library. Books line the shelves, and the smell of expensive cigars mingles with that of the lemon polish that must be making the hardwood gleam beneath a patterned Persian rug.
A boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, sits in one of two armchairs flanking a table holding a lamp and four Rubik’s Cubes. Wearing headphones, he holds another cube, seemingly oblivious to my presence. I’m about to leave when he glances up, meeting my eyes forthe briefest moment before looking away, fingers flying. I freeze, unsure why that stare, as brief as it was, felt familiar. He pauses long enough to slide one of the cubes forward on the table before resuming the swift motions of his hands. I’m not sure, but I believe that was an invitation.
I step farther into the room, crossing over to take the other seat and pick up the cube he offered. Edward’s left me waiting enough lately. He’ll be fine for a few more minutes on his own or with his pretty assistant to keep him company.
“It’s been a long time since I did one of these,” I say, laughing a little as I settle in and tentatively turn the bottom row. “What’s your name?”
It’s silent in the room for a few moments, and I start to think he won’t answer, that he can’t hear me with the headphones on, but then he replies, “Aaron.”
“Hi, Aaron. I’m Soledad.” I cross my bare feet at the ankles and turn the cube a few more times, dismayed when after several minutes I’m nowhere close to getting a side all one color. Meanwhile, Aaron places a finished cube down and picks up another without missing a beat.
“Wow,” I say, thoroughly impressed. “You’re really good at this.”
He doesn’t thank me or acknowledge the compliment, but keeps turning, twisting, lining up blocks into solid walls of color. It might appear odd to someone watching from the outside—me sitting with a young teenage boy I don’t know in silence, the only sounds in the room theclack clack clackof our Rubik’s Cubes. His movements swift and efficient. Mine slower and less sure. He’s finishing another cube when the door opens wider. Judah Cross stands there, leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb. My fingers falter.
“I see he recruited you,” Judah says without preamble, walking forward.
“I don’t know ifrecruitedis the right word.” I turn the bottom row, taking my eyes off my cube long enough to smile at him. “He’s going so fast.”
“You’re supposed to be racing,” Judah says, a bit of humor in his eyes and the slight curve of his full lips.
“Oh.” I stop and laugh, setting the cube down on the table. “Then I give up. I could never beat you, Aaron.”
“He told you his name?” Judah raises his brows.
“Yeah. Was he not supposed to because I’m a stranger or something?”
“Nah.” Judah shakes his head and comes closer, picking up one of the cubes. “He just sometimes doesn’t feel like talking. Isn’t that right, bud?”
Aaron doesn’t answer but flicks his father a cursory glance before refocusing on the cube.
“The only person who comes close to giving him a run for his money,” Judah says, “is my other son, his twin brother, Adam.”
“Wow, that’s…” I break off, my eyes widening. “You have twins?”
“Yup.”
“Is your, um, wife here tonight?” The question doesn’t come easily. Being attracted to a married man when you are a married woman makes things awkward that way.
“Adam’s with her.” He studies me before speaking again. “She has them most weekends. We’re divorced. Aaron sometimes just wants to stay in his room at my place. My ex was doing something he didn’t want to do. Thus…”
He doesn’t finish the thought, but nods to his son, who is completing yet another cube and picking up a new one.
“You’re terrific at that, Aaron,” I say, observing his supreme focus and the flying fingers.
My middle daughter, Inez, was a lunch bunch buddy for an autistic kid at her school. I guess hanging out with neurotypical students was supposed to help with socialization. I think Aaron may have autism, though I could be wrong.
“Did you finish your chicken?” I tease Judah lightly.