The Saint
Page 67
“I don’t care who the hell she is. I have a fake driver’s license. If you both don’t get out of the way, I’m taking off on my own.”
“I’m out of here.” Sam gave them both a salaam-style bow. “You two kids have fun at the funeral.”
“Keys are in the ignition,” he said and Sam walked over to his Ducati.
Eleanor threw her duffel bag in the trunk and got behind the wheel.
“So we’re doing this?” she asked as Søren got into the passenger side.
“We are.”
“We’re going to your father’s house in New Hampshire. This is a real thing. This is not a joke. And I am driving.”
“All of that is correct. Are you nervous?”
Eleanor didn’t answer. Instead she watched Sam rev up his Ducati and head out to the street. The woman handled the bike like a pro. How was it that Søren had all these amazing friends she knew nothing about?
She started the car and closed her eyes as the engine purred to life.
“Eleanor? Do you and the car need a moment alone together?”
“I came already. Let’s go.”
She drove out of the wooded back driveway. With the new trees he’d planted in early spring, the rectory now stayed hidden almost completely from the church. People could get in and out without anyone noticing. Wasn’t that convenient?
“I have no idea where I’m going,” Eleanor said as she turned onto Oak Street.
“I know where we’re going.”
“I also have no idea what you and I are going to talk about for the next four hours.”
“We can talk about whatever you like.”
“Can we talk about your father?”
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Can we talk about Kingsley and what his deal is?”
“That’s a more complicated question than four hours could cover.”
“So the whole ‘we can talk about whatever I want to talk about’ was …”
“Not an accurate statement.”
“I give up.”
“Don’t give up, Little One.”
“Fine. So … hobbies?”
“Piano playing.”
“Phobias?”
“All my fears are rational.”
“Pet peeves?”
“Calvinism.”
Eleanor glowered at him.
“What?”
“Calvinism? Your pet peeve is Calvinism?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor sighed as she turned onto the highway.
“This is gonna be a long drive.”
Luckily Søren came to her rescue. More accurately, his little sister did.
“We should talk about Claire since she is your new identity.”
“Claire’s your younger sister, I guess.”
“One of two. Freyja lives in Denmark. We have the same mother.”
“And Claire?”
“Claire is the daughter of my father’s second wife. She was born when I was fifteen, although I didn’t know she existed until my older sister—Elizabeth—found out and told me about her. I met her for the first time when she was three.”
“So Claire’s a year younger than me, then?”
“Yes. Does that bother you?”
“No. Does it bother you?”
“I’ll admit I’m trying not to think about it.”
“Because, you know, it would be like Kingsley and Claire together.”
“Eleanor, are you trying to make me carsick?”
She laughed openly, easily. It felt so good to be alone with him, teasing him, being near him.
“Sorry. I promise Claire and I will be cool.”
“Good. I’ve been worried about her lately.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Søren adjusted the seat to give himself more legroom. This was not an issue she ever had. “Claire has been a marvelous correspondent. I have almost a thousand letters from her. She’s been writing me since she first learned how. I receive at least one a week. Or did until two months ago, when she stopped writing. I’ve spoken to her on the phone a few times and planned to talk with her at Thanksgiving. She’s been secretive, unusually so. I’m hoping she’ll talk to you since she won’t talk to me.”
“I’m not going to spy on your sister and report back to you. That is a violation of the Girl Code.”
“The Girl Code? Is this something you’ve invented or is it actually codified somewhere?”
“It’s a real thing. You can’t write the rules down because that’s also a violation of the Girl Code. Boys might find a written copy, and then they’d know the secrets.”
“Are you violating the code by telling me about the code?”
“Yes, but the Girl Code is really f**king stupid, and I only follow it when I feel like it.”
“And I assume you feel like following it now?”
“Right.”
All the way to New Hampshire, she and Søren talked. They started with music. She confessed that for the past year she’d been trying to learn about classical music. He confessed he’d borrowed Sam’s copy of Pearl Jam’s Ten so he’d know about this mysterious band she adored.
“So Sam’s a Pearl Jam fan, too?” Eleanor asked.
“She is.”
“Can I ask a theological question?”
“I’m out of here.” Sam gave them both a salaam-style bow. “You two kids have fun at the funeral.”
“Keys are in the ignition,” he said and Sam walked over to his Ducati.
Eleanor threw her duffel bag in the trunk and got behind the wheel.
“So we’re doing this?” she asked as Søren got into the passenger side.
“We are.”
“We’re going to your father’s house in New Hampshire. This is a real thing. This is not a joke. And I am driving.”
“All of that is correct. Are you nervous?”
Eleanor didn’t answer. Instead she watched Sam rev up his Ducati and head out to the street. The woman handled the bike like a pro. How was it that Søren had all these amazing friends she knew nothing about?
She started the car and closed her eyes as the engine purred to life.
“Eleanor? Do you and the car need a moment alone together?”
“I came already. Let’s go.”
She drove out of the wooded back driveway. With the new trees he’d planted in early spring, the rectory now stayed hidden almost completely from the church. People could get in and out without anyone noticing. Wasn’t that convenient?
“I have no idea where I’m going,” Eleanor said as she turned onto Oak Street.
“I know where we’re going.”
“I also have no idea what you and I are going to talk about for the next four hours.”
“We can talk about whatever you like.”
“Can we talk about your father?”
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Can we talk about Kingsley and what his deal is?”
“That’s a more complicated question than four hours could cover.”
“So the whole ‘we can talk about whatever I want to talk about’ was …”
“Not an accurate statement.”
“I give up.”
“Don’t give up, Little One.”
“Fine. So … hobbies?”
“Piano playing.”
“Phobias?”
“All my fears are rational.”
“Pet peeves?”
“Calvinism.”
Eleanor glowered at him.
“What?”
“Calvinism? Your pet peeve is Calvinism?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor sighed as she turned onto the highway.
“This is gonna be a long drive.”
Luckily Søren came to her rescue. More accurately, his little sister did.
“We should talk about Claire since she is your new identity.”
“Claire’s your younger sister, I guess.”
“One of two. Freyja lives in Denmark. We have the same mother.”
“And Claire?”
“Claire is the daughter of my father’s second wife. She was born when I was fifteen, although I didn’t know she existed until my older sister—Elizabeth—found out and told me about her. I met her for the first time when she was three.”
“So Claire’s a year younger than me, then?”
“Yes. Does that bother you?”
“No. Does it bother you?”
“I’ll admit I’m trying not to think about it.”
“Because, you know, it would be like Kingsley and Claire together.”
“Eleanor, are you trying to make me carsick?”
She laughed openly, easily. It felt so good to be alone with him, teasing him, being near him.
“Sorry. I promise Claire and I will be cool.”
“Good. I’ve been worried about her lately.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Søren adjusted the seat to give himself more legroom. This was not an issue she ever had. “Claire has been a marvelous correspondent. I have almost a thousand letters from her. She’s been writing me since she first learned how. I receive at least one a week. Or did until two months ago, when she stopped writing. I’ve spoken to her on the phone a few times and planned to talk with her at Thanksgiving. She’s been secretive, unusually so. I’m hoping she’ll talk to you since she won’t talk to me.”
“I’m not going to spy on your sister and report back to you. That is a violation of the Girl Code.”
“The Girl Code? Is this something you’ve invented or is it actually codified somewhere?”
“It’s a real thing. You can’t write the rules down because that’s also a violation of the Girl Code. Boys might find a written copy, and then they’d know the secrets.”
“Are you violating the code by telling me about the code?”
“Yes, but the Girl Code is really f**king stupid, and I only follow it when I feel like it.”
“And I assume you feel like following it now?”
“Right.”
All the way to New Hampshire, she and Søren talked. They started with music. She confessed that for the past year she’d been trying to learn about classical music. He confessed he’d borrowed Sam’s copy of Pearl Jam’s Ten so he’d know about this mysterious band she adored.
“So Sam’s a Pearl Jam fan, too?” Eleanor asked.
“She is.”
“Can I ask a theological question?”
