Kristie Cook - Promise

I glanced at the single piece of mail and my eye caught on the corner where the return address should be. Instead of an address, though, there was a strange, yet vaguely familiar symbol and the word "Amadis" embossed into the paper. I picked the envelope up and studied it closer, holding it to the light, but I couldn't read anything inside. I briefly debated whether I could get away with opening it and resealing it, but eventually just dropped it back into the tray. It was probably from a publisher and I had seen the symbol on a book's spine. Or, for all I knew, it was just junk mail, not worth the risk.

Curiosity gripped me all morning. As soon as Owen arrived and relieved me of my duties, I hurried home to search Mom's room. I didn't expect to find anything I hadn't already discovered while unpacking, but there was something right on her nightstand. A lone piece of paper with that strange word "Amadis" printed at the top. The paper contained a list of names with numbers next to them. Some were obviously phone numbers; others had the wrong number of digits and I didn't know what they meant.

Two names stood out: Katerina and Stefan. Katerina because it was my middle name. Does the name on this paper mean anything? The number next to it wasn't a phone number. I wasn't sure why Stefan struck me. The name was familiar, but I couldn't place it.

A sticky note with Mom's handwriting clung to the bottom corner of the page:

Alexis, This is for emergency use only. If Owen can't help, call these people until you reach one. They will know what to do. If this is not an emergency, though, you put us at risk. SO STOP SNOOPING! Love, Mom

I snorted. She knew I'd be prying. I put the paper back and lay on her bed, thinking. What did Amadis mean? Who were the people on the list? Did she actually go to see one of them this weekend? And how would I be putting us at risk? That last question made me anxious. I knew Mom well enough to know she wouldn't joke about this. Is just calling them risky? Or is all of my research? I sighed. Regardless of the answers, my research and snooping only led to more unanswered questions.

I tried to study, but my mind drifted in various directions, eventually toward Tristan. I didn't know when I'd see him again and as the afternoon wore on and evening encroached, I really didn't want to be alone. As if in response to my thoughts, the sound of a motorcycle resonated right outside the cottage. I sprang to the window and my breath caught.

Tristan still sat on the metallic-blue crotch-rocket, looking like a dream. He ran his hand through his wind-blown, sandy-brown hair, slightly taming the wild look. His muscles strained against his just-tight-enough t-shirt, tucked into faded jeans cinched at the waist with a black belt. He slowly pulled the dark sunglasses off and studied the cottage, his eyes sparkling brightly. I almost expected to see cameras—he looked like a model in a photo shoot. Is he really here for me ?

He swung his leg over the bike. I beat him to the door.

"Guess I can't sneak up on you," he said, smiling.

"I seem to be specially tuned to the sound of motorcycles."

He chuckled. I hoped he understood my innuendo.

"So, I have these exams to study for and I thought it wouldn't suck so bad if I was sitting on the beach," he said, then added with a smile, "and if you were there, too."

My stomach fluttered. "Just give me a sec, okay?"

I hurried inside, threw my books into my bag and grabbed a beach blanket. Tristan took my bag from me and we walked again, but not in silence this time. We talked about how boring the day had been for each of us so far and how we'd both been procrastinating on studying.

Once on the beach, we spread the blanket out on the sand and then spread our women's studies books out on the blanket. We read in silence, stopping now and then to ask each other a question or make a comment. More than once we discussed the differences in how each gender thinks. He didn't act superior at all and seemed genuinely interested in learning the thought patterns of females…well, at least mine.

"Of course, I'm not exactly your typical girl, so take it for what it's worth," I said. I packed up my books and stretched out on my back, staring at the white wisps overhead. My brain couldn't take another minute of studying and the sun was low in the sky anyway, hovering just over the horizon, like a timid swimmer not quite ready to make the plunge.

Tristan packed his things, too, and tossed his backpack to a corner of the blanket. He lay on his side, facing me.

"I think it's worth a lot," he said. "And I'm glad you're not the typical girl."

He picked up my hand and turned it over, then traced the lines on my palm with his finger. I continued staring at the sky, the cloud wisps turning peachy-gold against a deepening blue background, wondering what he would think when he found out just how atypical I was. It was just a matter of time—one small cut on the finger was usually all it took. Of course, I reminded myself, he already knew more than he should, seemingly more than I even knew. Because I knew so little.

"What are you thinking?" he asked quietly. I turned my head to look at him. He watched his fingers on my hand, now moving them along my wrist and inner arm, light as a feather. I fought the urge to pull back from the tickle.

"About how you know more about me than I do about you," I said honestly.

"Ah. But you're wrong. I know so little about you. You don't share much. I can't even tell how you're feeling most of the time."

Good. I'm doing my job then. But I frowned because I could hear sadness and frustration in his voice.

"I think there's a reason for that shell you have around you," he said. "You have experienced betrayal and have a difficult time trusting people."

Bam! Hit the nail on the head! So, although I was good at hiding my feelings and thoughts, I was, at the same time, transparent. I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping myself into a protective ball. I stared out at the water, avoiding his eyes.

"Ah. I think I'm onto something." He sat up, too, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me against him. "You've been hurt, I can tell, and I accept that as part of you."

I blinked back the tears pooling in my eyes, refusing to let them fall. I dropped my head to my knees and whispered, "You don't have to."

"But I want to, Alexis. I hope one day I'll be the chink that cracks your shell and I'll know all of you. I won't push you, though. It's up to you. It just pains me to think of someone else getting in there."

"And if you don't like what's in here?" I could hear the edge in my tone.

"Is that what you're afraid of? That I won't like you?"

I didn't answer, didn't even acknowledge the question.

"Ah, I see." He leaned his head down, his lips against my ear, and whispered, "It's a little too late for that."

I turned to look at him and he shrugged.

"I already know the kind of person you are and that's all that matters to me. I have my own issues and yours can't be any worse. Trust me. Unless…" He pulled back and lifted an eyebrow. "You're not really a guy in there, are you?"

I smiled. "Not the last time I checked."

"Because that would cross my line. Anything else…" He shrugged again. "I can handle."

He must have seen the doubt in my eyes.

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Lex. Please trust me."

His eyes delved into mine, searching deep for something buried under layers of betrayal and pain. As I looked back into his beautiful eyes, I knew I didn't want to push him away. But what he asked for…I didn't know if I had it to give.

"The problem with trust," I said slowly, deliberately, "is you don't know it's broken until it is, when it's too late."

"But you can't know you can trust me until you try," he countered.