Nightingale

Chapter 10 A Breed Apart

Bron woke that morning feeling refreshed and relaxed. Apparently there was some sort of tradition of having big Sunday breakfasts, so Olivia got up and made waffles with bacon in them, smothered in fresh blueberries, with whipped cream on top.

The concoction tasted better than it sounded, and apparently it was one of Mike's favorites, so he ate a mountain of them. Bron planned to go to his room and practice his music, but just as soon as breakfast was done, the doorbell rang.

Mike looked at Olivia, and she peered back at Mike. Apparently they didn't get many visitors. "Sunday tourists," Mike suggested, "come to feed the cows?"

He went to the door, but it wasn't tourists. He shouted, "Hey, Olivia, the Mercers are here."

A small family piled in, a stunningly beautiful blonde woman with a perfect figure and a huge basket of fruit that included bright peaches, kiwis, and red apples. She introduced herself as Marie, and her daughter—even more stunning—as Galadriel.

The daughter, whom Olivia had warned was an "idiot," had a gymnast's lithe body and hair like her mother's. She was even prettier close up than Bron had thought when he saw her in her swimsuit. She had a heart-shaped face, with a broad forehead and penetrating eyes so dark blue that Bron could never remember having seen the like. Her petite nose, he decided, was elfin in size and shape.

She wasn't the kind of girl that he would normally introduce himself to. In fact, one look at her, and he couldn't even speak.

Olivia took the fruit basket from Marie, who apologized that her husband Doug was on a business trip in Alaska, fishing at a lodge with some senators and a general.

The women went into the kitchen and sat down at the table to "catch up." Olivia watched Bron just stand there like a moron, and suggested, "Why don't you go show Galadriel the cows?"

"Good idea," Mike encouraged, and shoved Bron toward the door.

Bron felt like a buffoon. Mike and even Marie acted like they were trying to get him and this girl off alone. Mike thought it was funny. Bron didn't know much about cattle, except that they could be eaten as hamburger—or killed by mysterious animals up in the woods.

Galadriel strolled at his side, and Bron tried not to stare too much. He led her down to the fence, just beside the barn. A cow was standing nearby, and others grazed off in the distance.

He waved with a flourish and said, "Cows."

Galadriel smiled, laughing more at him than with him, he decided.

He wanted to say something informative. "They're called Oreo Cookie cattle. They're from Scotland, so they all moo with a brogue."

"Is that right?" Galadriel asked.

"Yeah, and they play the bagpipes at all hours of the night, and they can all dance the

Highland Fling. Some of the more talented ones are hoping to audition for Riverdance."

Galadriel grinned like a cat that had just eaten a mouse. "Riverdance is Irish, I'm pretty sure."

"Yeah, but what's an Irishman but a wannabe Scot?"

She laughed outright. Her teeth were dainty, white, and perfect, and her eyes smiled as much as her mouth.

She was beautiful.

Galadriel leaned against the fence, peered at the animals in the field. "Your cattle are called Scottish Galloways," she said. "And the cow you just waved at, he's a bull. He wouldn't like you calling him a 'cow.' His name is Lazarus Wisdom, and his stud fee is $100,000. Mike has been perfecting his line for years. Lazarus is one of the best breeders in the world."

"Oh," was all that Bron could think to say. He kept trying to figure out just how much money Mike and Olivia really had. He decided that they were cow rich, cash poor.

"So what do you guys do for fun around here?" he asked.

"There isn't much to do in town," Galadriel admitted. "You can go fishing up at the reservoir, or hang around one of the parks. If you've got satellite TV, you can watch it, or you can play on the internet. But I'm grounded from both, right now. My mom keeps telling me to go outside and play, enjoy the summer while it lasts."

"It's pretty here," Bron admitted. "But you can't go running at night."

"You guys have a pond on your property, just up the creek," Galadriel suggested. "You want to go swimming sometime?"

Bron's breath went out of him. The prettiest girl he'd ever seen had just asked him to go swimming. "I... would, but I don't have a swimsuit."

She smiled broadly. "You wouldn't need it with me," she suggested. "Swimsuits are optional—for both of us." She gazed into his eyes, studying his reaction.

If I fall for the bait, he thought, shell laugh at me, claim that I misunderstood her, and that I'm a dope.

"We could just swim in our clothes," he admitted.

She stifled a laugh. "Bron, I'm a naughty girl. That's why I keep getting grounded. You and I are going to go swimming, tonight, without any clothes on. I'll meet you at midnight."

Bron's mouth slowly fell open. He'd lived in half a dozen homes, and in each one of them the rules were different. He'd lived with a Mormon family that studied from the scriptures every morning, and he'd lived with an atheist family where the mother had pierced his nose when he was only eight, and talked to him fondly of the day when he'd get his first tattoo.

In none of the families that he'd been with, though, had he been propositioned by the neighbor girls.

She's heard that I've been placed here by social services, he realized, and she thinks I'm trouble. He'd met that kind of girl before. He corrected himself: no, she hopes I'm trouble.

Of course a girl like that would only make life impossible for him. She might try to lure him into doing something exciting—like taking her dad's car for a joyride, or hopping into bed.

But when it came time to face the consequences, Bron would be left to deal with them on his own. Galadriel's family had wealth and prestige. If they stole a car together, he'd go into juvenile detention while she got grounded. That's the way it worked with rich kids.

Bron hadn't realized it, but he was clenching his fists. Suddenly he noticed something odd, strange calluses around the rims of his fingers, and there was something creepy going on with his hands, too—it felt like there was lightning in them, just waiting to escape.

He broke out in a sweat, caused by nervousness around Galadriel, and fear. He glanced down at his fingers and saw the weirdest thing: a ring on the tip of each finger, like the suction cups on an octopus.

It's like some weird disease maybe, he thought. Can you catch something like this from cows?

His heart hammered, and he worried that Galadriel would see. He could feel his hands throbbing, those calluses pressing hard, as if to make themselves permanent.

He wiped sweat from his forehead, turned away nervously, and clenched his fists in order to hide.

"Are you all right?" Galadriel asked.

He was scared nearly to death, and angry. He really just wanted her to leave, but he didn't want to be impolite, so he tried to change the subject. "So, Galadriel, your parents were Tolkien fans, I'm guessing."

He stuck his hands in his pockets, turned to Galadriel.

A pained look crossed her face. She'd probably been teased often enough. "Cate Blanchett has nothing on me," she said. "She never looked this good on the best day of her life." She stood straight, then turned to the side, as if posing for a photo shoot.

Sweat dribbled down Bron's face, and he breathed heavily. If anything, her seductive looks only made the tingling and throbbing in his hands worse.

"Yeah, you're right," Bron said. He decided that this girl was all kinds of trouble. He growled, "Look, you can go skinny-dipping out back all you want, but I won't be joining you in the moonlight. I'm ... not interested in sleeping around. I've decided that I'll probably only ever fall in love once in my life, and I'm going to save myself for my wife."

"Ugh," Galadriel said. "Are you a Mormon?"

Bron had been baptized at the age of ten, and the truth was, he'd burned with righteous desires, but had moved out of that home a year later and had seldom ever gone back to church. Like a coal taken from the forge, the fire in him had cooled long ago. But he still held to certain ideals. "Yeah, true blue, through and through." He hoped that would appease her.

"You're so boring," she said. "I was hoping for better from you. This whole town is boring!" She screamed, like a little girl having a tantrum, and pretended to pull her hair. "I want to get out of this place so bad. Do you ever think about running away?"

His hands were still throbbing, and he felt odd—as if the energy was coming from outside of him, shooting through the air, and gathering into his hands. His whole body seemed to respond to it, humming like a crystal glass when exposed to song.

I'm really sick, he decided, in a panic.

He looked around Pine Valley, at the decorative homes and the idealistic atmosphere. Couldn't she see: this was practically paradise? "No," he said.

But the truth was that he'd thought about running away often, when he was with the Stillmans.

"If you ever decide to go," Galadriel said, "let me know. I want out of here sooo bad!"

The initial fear was past, and Bron relaxed just a little. In fact, it seemed as if the ridges on his fingers were vanishing. He could feel something odd in his wrists, as if a muscle that he never had known even existed had been cramping. He let it relax.

"Where would you go?" he asked.

"Vegas... or Hollywood."

Bron could understand that—people having dreams. "So, are you an actress, or a dancer?"

"Neither," she admitted. "I don't want to do anything there, I just want to go there."

Oh, a tourist, he thought, disappointed. Galadriel had zero ambition. She had a great body, and stunning looks, and with her parents' money, she had every opportunity in the world. But there was nothing of value inside her. A moment ago, she'd practically been driving him crazy. Now she repulsed him.

"If I was going to Hollywood," he said, "I think I'd want to be an actor first. It would take years of study and preparation."

"Ugh," Galadriel said. "You sound like Olivia. She tried to get me to go to that school of hers, but I don't want any part of it."

Now Bron saw why Olivia had tried to steer him away from Galadriel. The girl was a total loss.

He understood something else: Olivia was offering him an opportunity, perhaps the greatest one of his life. She could teach him to be something, gain a skill that he'd never really hoped to master. At that moment he decided to make the most of it.

"I think I'm going to go in now," Bron suggested. "The mosquitoes are coming out."

Galadriel smiled coyly. "I'll be here at midnight, if you change your mind. You're staying in the back room? I'll meet you by your door...."

He hoped that she wouldn't come. He could imagine her there in the dark, at his back door, less than twenty feet from his bed. The girl was beautiful, so beautiful that it messed with his mind. He couldn't give in to her. So he wished that she would change, that she'd just give up on all of her stupid, irresponsible plans.

Suddenly the suction cups sprang upright on his fingers again, and a wave of dizziness struck. He had a powerful urge to grab Galadriel by the head, try to shake some sense into her.

He fought the urge.

Galadriel watched in shock as Bron turned and headed back into the house. Bron felt sure that no one had ever abandoned her like that before.