The House in the Cerulean Sea(79)

It was a challenge, and one Linus couldn’t meet. Whatever his recommendation would be, it was still up to DICOMY. “You said they didn’t happen often. At least not anymore. And I think I would have noticed something like this during my time here.”

“I thought—I hoped he was moving past them.” Arthur sounded frustrated.

“What brought this on, then? Do you know? Did something happen today?”

Arthur shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. I think … however grotesque it may be, I think there’s something to it when he says he has spiders on the brain. There is much we don’t know about what it means to be the Anti—”

“Ah,” Linus chided, squeezing Arthur’s hand. “We don’t say that word around here.”

Arthur smiled quietly. “No, I don’t suppose we do. Thank you for reminding me. The spiders, while certainly not actual spiders, are a representation of what’s going on in his head. Little threads of darkness woven into his light.”

“Parts of a whole,” Linus said. “We all have our issues. I have a spare tire around my middle. His father is Satan. Nothing that can’t be worked out if we try hard enough.”

Arthur tilted his head back toward the ceiling, closing his eyes as his smile widened. “I rather like you just the way you are.”

Linus felt overwarm again. He was sure his palm was sweating heavily, but couldn’t find the strength to pull it away. “I—well. That’s … I suppose that’s good.”

“I suppose.”

He was desperate to change the subject before he said something he’d regret. It was a battle he was losing, but he had to fight.

He let go of Arthur’s hand as he said, “So, to the village, then? I see you’ve made up your mind.”

Arthur opened his eyes and sighed. He looked at Linus. “You were right. It’s probably time. I worry, but then I always will.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Linus said, taking a step back. “And if it’s not, I assure you I’ll speak my mind. I don’t have the time nor the patience for any rudeness.” He felt strangely untethered, as if he were floating outside his own body. He wondered if this would all seem like a dream tomorrow. “Time for bed, I think. The morning will be here before we know it.”

He turned, sure his face was bright red. He was almost to the door when Arthur said his name.

He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“I meant what I said.” Arthur’s voice was hushed.

“About?”

“Liking you the way you are. I don’t know that I’ve ever thought that more about anyone I’ve ever met.”

Linus gripped the door knob. “That’s … thank you. That’s very kind of you to say. Good night, Arthur.”

Arthur chuckled. “Good night, Linus.”

And with that, Linus fled the bedroom.



* * *



He didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

Once he’d pushed his bed back to its rightful place in the guest house bedroom, he’d collapsed on top of it, sure he’d pass out after the night he’d had.

He didn’t.

Instead, he lay awake, thinking of the way Arthur’s hand had felt in his, the way they’d fit together. It was foolish, and most likely dangerous, but in the quiet darkness, there was no one who could take it away from him.





FOURTEEN


Merle stood on the ferry, gaping.

Linus leaned out the open window from the front passenger seat. “Are you going to lower the gate?”

Merle didn’t move.

“Useless man,” Linus muttered. “I don’t know why we’re supposed to trust him in charge of a large boat. I’m surprised he hasn’t killed anyone yet.”

“Are we going to crash and sink in the ocean and maybe die?” Chauncey asked. “That would be neat.”

Linus sighed. He really needed to learn to censor himself better. He turned around to look in the back of the van. Six children stared at him with varying degrees of interest at the idea of sinking in the ocean and dying, Lucy and Chauncey more so than the others.

Zoe, sitting in the third row, arched an eyebrow at him, indicating without so much as a single word that this was his mess and he might as well own up to it.

He hoped he wouldn’t live to regret this.

Chances were pretty high he would.

“We’re not going to sink into the ocean and die,” Linus said, as patiently as possible. “It’s merely an expression used by adults, and therefore, children such as yourselves shouldn’t say anything like it.”

Arthur snorted from the driver’s seat, but Linus ignored him. He was on very strange ground with Arthur since the night in his bedroom. Where once he’d had no problem in speaking his mind to the master of the house, he now found himself blushing and sputtering as if he were a school boy. It was ridiculous.

“Do adults think about death a lot?” Lucy asked. He cocked his head at an odd angle. “That must mean I’m an adult too, because I think about it all the time. I like dead things. I would still like you if you were dead, Mr. Baker. Maybe even more.”

Zoe smothered a laugh with the back of her hand and turned to look out the window.