Becoming Calder (A Sign of Love Novel)(23)

I was surprised. We were strongly encouraged not to engage with other members of the "big society" where wickedness, evil, and imbalance prevailed. Except for the council members who worked, and Hector who went on pilgrimages when the gods ordained it, no one else had any reason or desire to venture from Acadia. Aside from the main lodge, we were totally self-sufficient, reliant on no one other than ourselves.
"He does?"
Calder nodded. "He's formed friendships with a few of them. When we were kids, we used to steal from the station. Or rather, Xander did the stealing; I just did the partaking. Anyway, a couple years back, he got caught red-handed. Only, instead of turning him in, the woman who caught him asked him what he liked best of all the things he was taking. He told her, and now sometimes she brings candy and other things just out of kindness." He looked away again, thinking. "I don't think every single person out in the big society is wicked and evil, Eden. Maybe some are, maybe most. I don't know. But, the point is, I don't think Hector's completely right about that." He shrugged. "And if he's not right about that, maybe he's not right about a few other things, too—like the fact that you shouldn't have an education. I know the gods talk to him, but he's also human."
We sat there, looking at each other silently. The small waterfall next to us provided gentle splashing sounds, and somewhere far away, a dog barked.
"It's why I have to get a place on the council," he said quietly. "I have to see what's out there, Eden. No matter how much time we have before the floods, I just have to know."
My heart was beating fast, not just because of Calder's closeness, but because talk like this simply wasn't done, at least as far as I had ever known. Something stirred deep inside of me, seeming to come to life.
"You trust me," I said, knowing he wouldn't have told me what he did if that wasn't the case.
He nodded once. "I started trusting you a long time ago."
Warmth and a fierce feeling of pride filled my chest. Being trusted by Calder Raynes made me feel more special than I'd ever felt in my whole life. "My parents were kind," I said. "I remember so little of them, but that's one thing I know. They were kind."
"Will you tell me about them?" Calder asked, very gently.
I sighed, struggling to remember. "They were both blond." I took a piece of my own hair between my fingers and then let it fall. "Surprising, right?" I smiled and so did Calder. "And um, my mother, she smelled like flowers." I closed my eyes and inhaled as my mind conjured up her sweet, delicate scent. When I opened my eyes a minute later, Calder's head was tilted as he watched me, and his eyes looked darker somehow. I swallowed.
"What else?" he whispered.
"I think my dad did some kind of work with other people's money. And my mom, she didn't work, at least not that I recall. We lived in Cincinnati, I do know that." I shrugged. "I know they were good friends with Hector. I remember him being in our home. I remember my mother telling me we were coming to live with him. Here I'm assuming. But then . . . they were gone, and it was only Hector and me in a different house for a long time, years maybe. That's it. I've tried so hard to remember more from the time before, but it simply won't come. And I was young, I suppose."
"Do you know how your parents died?"
"It was a car accident. That's all I know."
Calder had his bottom lip between his teeth again in that way he had when he was thinking hard about something.
"What?" I asked.
He let his lip free, licking along it with his tongue before responding. "Nothing. I'm just sorry you lost your parents is all."
I had the feeling he had been about to say something else, but didn’t. I nodded anyway and said, "Thank you."
"So," he said, starting to get up. "Tomorrow? Same time? Same place?"
I stood, too, and nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. Um," I nodded toward the pad in his hands, "can I see your sketch?"
He looked down at it. "Oh. Yeah, sure." He turned it around and my breath caught.
He had sketched our—for suddenly that's what it was, ours—spring. He had only used charcoal pencil, but somehow it was lush and beautiful, the shadows and highlights hinting at the depth of color in the water, the rocks, the grass, and the sky. It was . . . breathtaking.
"Calder. You're . . . I've never seen anything that good. You've never had any lessons?"
He shook his head, watching me closely as if it mattered very much to him what I thought.
"You're just gifted, then. Very, very gifted." I felt awed by his talent and I was sure it must show in my expression.