Chapter 9

When I opened my eyes the next morning, the sunlight was blinding. It seared my eyes like knives. My head was throbbing and I could barely focus my eyes on one spot. I groaned. Maybe the government was right. Alcohol should be forbidden.

It makes people do stupid things, I thought to myself as I untangled my bare limbs from Nathan's. He stirred but did not open his eyes. I surveyed his sleeping form from topped to bottom. His thick dark hair was matted around his face, soaked with sweat. He wore his trousers at least, but they sagged loosely around his waist belt buckle undone like they had been put on in a hurry, maybe just before falling asleep. I wore only my slip but either I or Nathan had flung his jacket over me as I slept.

I couldn't remember much. I remembered the drawing and my epiphany about my mother. I knew now Mr. Hockley hadn't been fantasizing when he told the story about his fiancée Rose and him on the infamous Titanic. I believed him and I believed the Rose he was referring to was my mother.

But after we stumbled into the little shanty hut my memory became hazy. I was sure we had done something wrong though. Why else would I have this sinking feeling in my gut? The feeling I usually got after I had misbehaved. I hated myself, I hated Nathan.

I remembered more about last night than I liked to admit and I did not want to be here when Nate woke up. I had been the drunken one, not him. He surely remembered everything and I just didn't want to hear it.

I got up and collected my things: my shoes, my backpack among other things littered across the sandy floor. The drawing lay beside Nathan and I couldn't help but lament that I had been too distracted to finish it properly. So bothered in fact I snatched off the floor and stuffed in my bag to work on later.

I was about to leave when I remembered my bargain with the twins. They didn't deserve any reward for the night; in my eyes was a complete disaster. Not only did I learn little to nothing about my mother and Caledon Hockley but I ended up getting smashed and losing my virginity inside my old playhouse. But if I went back on my word they might tell their parents all about the necklace and where Nathan was last night and I couldn't have that. Luckily, I had formed a loop hole.

I had told them they could keep the heart of the ocean, but I didn't say which heart of the ocean. Around my neck hung the silver locket my parents had given me for my first Christmas. It was a cheap piece of heart shaped metal that I had worn around my neck since as far back as my memory goes. To me, it was always this annoying thing that choked me when I slept and got tangled in my wild curls during playtime. But to my parents it was a symbol of their hard earned money that very first year together. It even had my initials engraved on it; E.O.D, Elizabeth Oceane Dawson.

I went down to the churning ocean, opened the locket and filled the tiny indent with clear salt water in case Nate hadn't bothered to tell them that my middle name was a French name meaning ocean, which was probably so. I dropped the cold, silver locket into his palm, before closing his hand with my own and kissing his knuckles. His eyes flickered open, and he just looked at me and smiled a smile that melted the regret from hear. But I couldn't stay.

"Bye, Nathan." I whispered softly. Then I turned and left without another word.

The house looked dark from the outside, but as I opened the door and crept quietly in I heard the faint crackle of a hearth fire burning in our tiny living room and I tiptoed over to investigate.

The warm glow of the fire cast long shadows in the otherwise dark living room. The outline of a figure was etched upon the adjacent wall, sitting hunched over in the armchair with a cup of coffee in his hands. My father was awake. Just as I turned to go up to my bedroom the floorboard I had so naively shifted my weight on let out a low moan and my father turned around and saw me standing in the doorframe.

"Lizzy what are you doing here?" He said holding out his hand and gesturing for me to come closer. His voice was not angry. It was never angry. In fact, I cannot even recall a time where my father ever raised his voice to me or to anyone in fact. He even seemed glad to see me. "I thought you were staying the night over at Ginny's." He smiled probably picturing my stocky smart mouthed friend in his mind.

"I was." I told him, trying to mask my guilt with my expressive eyes. "But I guess I got homesick. I came home as soon as I woke up. I hope that's okay."

"Of course it okays. Come 'ere." He laughed motioning for me to come sit with him. I did so, reluctantly. I felt awkward nestling my narrow shoulders under his arm and swinging my legs around so they rested across his lap. this is the way we used to sit at night, before Jack or Thomas's time. I'd curl up next to him by the fire and he'd tell me story after story, mostly about his childhood and his time in Europe and some fictional ones too like Peter Pan or one he made up for me about a poor boy and a rich girl falling in love on an ill fated ship. But at the tender age of six I couldn't really tell the difference between what was real and what pure imagination was and would ramble on about the characters all night as if I actually knew them. This would last for hours even, until I fell asleep in his arms and that was the way it always had been, at least until Jack came along.

"Did you at least have fun?" My father asked squeezing me lovingly.

"Uh...I guess so." I stammered, looking away from the fire as to not show him my blushing cheeks. I felt guilty sitting here acting like an innocent child when what I done just hours ago was anything but innocent. But I let myself breathe knowing he could never find out, for last night would stay between me and Nathan and no one else. Hopefully.

Part of me wished I could take it back, not just the other night but this whole Nathan thing. Maybe if we just hadn't gone to that party this never would have happened; I would not have lied so many times, I wouldn't have slept with someone at fourteen and most of all I wouldn't have caused so much worry over my interactions with Mr. Hockley and maybe my mother wouldn't be so cross with me. I just wanted to be a little girl again.

The stronger piece of me did not regret it at all though. I was coming so close to uncovering something about my beloved mother that I couldn't have conjured up in my wildest of daydreams. Something in her long forgotten past that altered her life forever. I was so close to finding the truth I could very nearly taste the bitter sweetness on my tongue. But in order to find the truth I had to keep going and not fall back to the sweet ignorance world I had so happily lived in before. Now was the time to grow up but in order to do that I needed a piece of my childhood back.

"Daddy, let's say you and me and mother and the boys go and have a picnic on the beach like we used to?" I implored. "I could help Mamma cook and everything and we could spend the afternoon there?"

"Well it's up to your mother but I don't see why not." He said.

"Good." I sighed. "And daddy, could you take me and Jack up to that cliff we used to jump off of and go flying like we used to."

"I can't believe you remember that." he mused. "You were so young when I first took you up there. I remember Rose almost didn't let me do it you were so small."

"I remember everything." I told him. "So can we?"

"Sure." He said.

"Good." I said, burying my face in his shoulder, feeling like a six year old again.

That day could have easily have passed for the best day of my life. Not only did we have a picnic on the beach but Jack and I raced up onto that outcropping like Nathan and I had just a day before only this time we jumped into my father's arms down below.

We even patiently played in the sand with baby Thomas and this time Thomas did not wail or kick when I tried to hold him, he giggled that sweet high baby giggle. We built sand castles and played pirates using sticks of driftwood as swords and my father had brought a surprise for us. It was a camera and he had us all pile on top of our mother who lay sprawled out in the sand and make our funniest face for the picture.

And at the end, when the sun was dipping below the horizon just as it had the day before, my father and I snuck away from the group onto the outcropping once more and he held onto my waist as I stood at the very edge of the cliff and flew against the sea breeze. It was the best day ever…until we got home.

It was nearly time for bed that evening. My mother and father sat on the sofa with Thomas fast asleep in their arms as Jack and I sat in the armchair while I helped him read the story Peter Pan which he had never even heard of before. I had finally captured Jack's elusive attention and I wasn't letting go until we'd finished the story.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw my mother, who I thought was silently dozing off in the sofa beside me, reach over and grab my bag from its place beside the fire. Jack looked at me puzzled as I watched her prod open the flap of my rucksack and look inside, right in front of me like I wasn't even there.

"Eliza keep reading." Jack ordered sleepily as he followed my gaze to my mother's prying eyes. they got wider as my eyes filled with animosity directed at my mother for going through my things. My private things. But I kept my vexation bottled in until she pulled out a slightly wrinkled piece of paper, studied it for awhile and then looked at me with her own blazing stare.

"Eliza who is this?" She said, letting me see my own half stark drawing of Nathan. My father looked over as well and I felt my stomach dropped about a thousand feet. The drawing was signed and dated which meant she would know that I had lied about where I was last night.

"It's nobody." I said. "I go to the beach sometimes by myself. That's just some boy I decided to draw yesterday afternoon. I was bored."

"Really because he looks quite posed." She said pointedly, her voice becoming much higher and much bitterer.

"Well it's not like I asked him to take his shirt off." I snapped, returning my focus to the book as not to show any guilt.

"Jack." She said, turning to my father. "Why don't you get the boys ready for bed?"

"Sure." he answered. He was not curious or vexed by my more or less provocative drawing, mostly because he knew I was an artist like him and there for he thought an artist should be entitled to what and who they draw. Besides, judging from his art he'd be hypocrite if he was.

I watched as he scooped a drowsy Thomas into his arms. I tried to grab hold of Jack as to make him stay but he was too quick and got up and followed my father out of the room before I had the chance.

Once we were alone, my mother took her fiery stare off the empty stairwell and directed it straight towards me, throwing daggers with the sheer anger in her eyes.

"Elizabeth, I want the truth." She said in a low harsh voice. "Who is this boy?"

"Why, do you recognize him?" I said tauntingly.

"I'm being serious, Elizabeth. How do you know him?" She said, her voice was growing more hoarse and dangerous.

"Why do you want to know?" I yelled, my horrible temper rearing its ugly head. Everything was going so well until now. Why did she have to know, or did she already know something?

"Because I'm your mother and you have to listen to me! Now who is it!"

Something must have snapped inside me, for my body filled with so much rage so fast I couldn't contain it. "I'm your mother you have to listen to me!" I didn't have to listen to anyone one, my mind fumed. I wanted to send her through the roof, I wanted to make her so mad she'd explode.

"His name is Nathan Hockley and I drew his portrait last night at the beach." I said through gritted teeth. "And after that we went down to that stupid little shack Dad built and we did it, happy!" I said it just loud enough so she'd know it was meant to sting without the males upstairs hearing what I had to say.

It took her a while to process what I said. Her thick eyebrows knitted together and her lips unparsed in her thought process. In, fact she was just about to inquire what I we did when it hit her like an incoming wave. She looked startled and hurt.

"But you're just fourteen." She said, her brow still furrowed trying to take in the news with as much composure as possible but she just couldn't fathom it. "You don't know…"

" That didn't stop us." I muttered as she stared at her hands hard, still processing.

"Why?" She asked, her voice cracking. I could've told her what really happened. That I was inebriated and didn't know what I was doing but I was still so incredibly angry that that answer didn't seem harsh enough.

" Because I wanted to." I growled with satisfaction. "And I liked it, too." I said victoriously which seemed to hurt her even more. Her face grew pale and I heard her whisper something like "It's happening all over again." Quietly to herself. She was silent for a while and when she spoke again I found myself wishing I could recant everything I had just said.

"You do realize I will have to tell your father about this." She said solemnly like it was more a duty than a privilege.

"I don't care!" I spat. But I did care, so much I was prepared to stick a knife in my heart to spare myself the look on my father's face as he took the news.

"Good." She said vacantly. "So when he comes down shall I tell him or will you do the honors?"

"You do it." I said forcefully, stomping towards the door. "But I won't be here when you do!" And before she could stop me I fled out the door and into the night.