Levi read the sentence when I held it out; tension seemed to seep from his body. “Keep it, Elsie.”
I shook my head. Moving to lift it over my head, he was suddenly before me, holding my arms down at my sides. I met his eyes, unable to read what was in their depths. I heard his breathing deepen and his hands briefly tensed on my arms.
I breathed too, soft simple breaths, until Levi stepped back, pointing at the sweatshirt again and assured, “Keep it.”
Dropping the hem of the sweatshirt, I went to retrieve my jar, when the lamp on his desk caught my eye. I glanced to the books on the table, and took hold of my pad. “You don’t want to sleep?” I wrote and held it out to Levi.
Levi read the words, then shook his head, no. Sensing he wasn’t going to say anything else on the matter, I peeked at the page that was open on his desk. The page featured the picture of a painting. It looked like an old painting. Needing to move closer, curiosity controlled my feet. I stood right in front of the picture and bent down to inspect its details.
The picture showed water, images of people drowning under stormy waves: several images of men and women. I studied the men and the women closer: I realized all the images of men were the same man, and the images of the women were all the same woman. My heart lurched at such a sad portrayal, particularly since the picture displayed their bodies tumbling in a strong current, each image showcasing a phase of their struggle. Sadder still, they were reaching for one another, but they couldn’t quite catch each other’s hands.
They were being driven apart.
My chest ached. Yet I remained transfixed on the page; on drowning lovers desperately trying to hold on to one another, but failing in their efforts. For a moment I had forgotten Levi was in the room, too lost in the tragic scene.
“Hero and Leander.” Levi’s husky voice retrieved me from my trance. I turned my head and he had moved right beside me, his arm just a fraction from touching mine. I looked to his face, and he pointed to the painting. “Peter Paul Ruben’s ‘Hero and Leander’. It was painted in the seventeenth century.”
I stared at this boy, this beautiful boy, and hung on his every word. Levi’s hand fell away from the page and he stepped back from the desk. He appeared embarrassed about what he’d just told me.
Reaching for my pen and paper, I hesitated to write my question, not wanting to appear stupid. As if sensing my concern, Levi tapped the page my pen hovered above and said, “Please, ask whatever you wish.”
Quashing my embarrassment, I wrote, “Who are Hero and Leander?”
As Levi read the question, he smiled and his stormy gray eyes lit up. But he wasn’t laughing; I could see that whatever I asked had sparked something in his heart.
Levi glanced behind him, then moved to the side of the room. He picked up a chair and brought it to the desk, right beside the one in which he’d been sitting when I entered the pool house.
Levi held the chair out and flicked his head for me to sit down. Clutching the pen and paper to my chest, I sat on the soft chair, and Levi slipped onto the chair beside me.
This close I could smell the spice and warmth of his scent, the smell brought me comfort and peace. I sighed in contentment at the stark change—of being here in the warm, safe with this boy—compared to where I had been mere days before.
Levi shifted on his seat, drawing my attention. He sat forward and pulled the book closer to the edge of the desk. My eyes sought the painting on the page, and I waited eagerly for him to speak.
Levi flicked his gaze at me from the corner of his eyes before pointing at the page again. “Hero and Leander,” he started quietly. I could hear the nerves in his voice, a fact I found only endearing. “They are lovers, found in Greek mythology.” Levi paused, met my eyes, then explained, “That’s what I’m studying in school. Mythology, it’s my major.”
I nodded my head, so bowled over by everything I was discovering about this boy. He was a mystery to me. When I first saw him at the college that day, I assumed he was just another typical jock. All about sport and girls. Given his looks, it was an easy assumption to make. But being in his company for just a few minutes, I could see he was nothing like he appeared on the surface. There was so much more to him than I could have ever imagined.
“Anyway,” he continued, “at the moment, in class, we’re looking at the story of Hero and Leander.”
On my paper, I asked, “What happened to them? This painting looks sad.”
Levi read the page and nodded his head. “It is, sad that is. They are known as the doomed lovers. The story’s a real tragedy.”
My pen hovered over the paper while I debated what to ask. Taking a chance, I asked, “Could you tell me it?”