Passage to Australia [Passage to Australia Trilogy Book One]

Chapter IX An Attempt

Chapter IX 

An Attempt to Help

Standing before the mirror, Paris smoothed her hands over the blue knee-length dress with nervous fingers. She had a vague idea as to why she was so jumpy this evening, but it took Janine's knowing glance to convince her it was obvious to others beside herself. She wrinkled her brow. "How do I look?"  

"Are you sure it's my opinion you want?" Her cousin replied with raised eyebrows, flinging her long single braid behind her shoulder.

Paris turned away from the mirror to hide her pink face.  How could she feel one minute that Erik was the most irritating man on the face of the earth and the next that his opinion was all that mattered?  But she knew the answer to that: she had seen first hand that he could be real as well as charming.  His devotion to Paul showed a warmth that she hadn't expected.  She didn't have time for further thought before a knock sounded on the door and Brandon opened it to admit Paul and Erik.  The five of them had planned a game night, largely at Erik's suggestion.  Parker and Fiona were pleased that they were, ostensibly, finally getting along and Paris said nothing to change their impression.

"Good evening, boys," the dark-haired girl welcomed them with a smile. "Come on in."

Paris took in Erik's dark blue button up shirt and lightly washed jeans with a quick glance and looked up to find him regarding her with obvious approval. She felt a blush stealing into her cheeks, but it only lasted as long as his silence.  

"How did you know blue is my favorite color?"  He asked with a knowing smirk on his face.  Whatever his true temperment was, tonight it was arrogance.  So much for the warm and compasionate Erik.  Instead of frowning at him like she wanted to, she simply gave him a too-sweet smile while her eyes acquired a dangerous spark.

"Apparently you knew it was mine," she nodded to his shirt.  

"What do you know," Erik grinned in that smug way that made her want to slap him.  "We dressed alike."

Paris didn't oblige him with a reply, wondering if he knew how much more attractive he would be if he dropped the act and let himself be honest.  But that was a subject for another time.

"Paul, I'm glad you came," she smiled at the oldest brother.  "Can I get you something to drink?"

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"She doesn't seem very pleased with me tonight, does she?" Erik whispered to Brandon.

"Hm, I wonder why?"  The youngest cousin pinned him with a meaning glance, then said frankly, "You know, what a girl most appreciates in a guy is honest admiration, which is something you don't seem to have."

"I know you're just trying to help, Brandon," Erik replied quietly while sending a covert glance at Paris' back. "But if you don't mind I'll do it my way."

"Oh, yeah?  And how's that working out for you?" Was her curt response. He opened his mouth to answer but she turned crisply on her heel and went to stand near Janine, who sent him a scowl of only slightly less degree than the one she reserved for Paul. I can't win with these girls! He thought with exasperation.

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"I win!" Janine squealed and raised her hands in a triumphant gesture. "That's the third time in a row."

Paris held her breath and sent a worried glance toward Paul. Janine had won each successive game of Domino's, and Paul had lost each game. He was obviously fed up with her cousin's shameless gloating, too, for he stood to his feet with a huff.

"I'm done," was said in a gruff voice, and with that he marched silently out of the room.

Paris looked to Erik and he jerked his head in the direction of the door. His eyes sent the silent message to follow Paul.  She rose and quickly followed the older brother out of the room. He gave her a sideways, almost startled look when she joined him in the hall, but didn't tell her to get lost. She took that as an invitation to walk with him. They ambled down the corridor for a few moments while she formulated the approach Erik had been sure would do the trick.

"Erik showed me a picture of your mother today," she began. "She's a very beautiful woman."

"Did you notice the highlights in her red hair?"  

The bland response was not at all the encouraging response she had expected, but she determined to play it for all she could. "Yes, I thought she showed great taste."

"Maybe she did, but you don't." Paul stopped abruptly and turned to face her with a look of sullen steel in his eyes. "My mother had brown hair with no highlights, much like you."

"Alright, so I haven't seen a picture of her," Paris admitted, conveniently overlooking the reference to her own hair. "But she interests me; I'd like to know more about her."

"How can she interest you? Erik and I never mention her." Paul continued walking and she fell into step beside him.

"And I've wondered why you haven't. A man's mother usually comes up sometime in the conversations of six days." She thought she was doing quite well for having made up her story as she went along.

"I might add that you haven't mentioned your own mother in those six days, Miss Turner," he retorted. Paris gulped uncomfortably, but she was not to be side-tracked.

"Are you on good terms with her?" She inquired persistently.

"How can you ask that, I've never even met your mother."

Paris glanced up quickly just in time to catch a glimmer of mischief in his eyes before the mask descended over his face once more. "You know darn well who I meant, and I'm not to be distracted, Mr. Troy."

"No, you're not, are you?" He sent her a quizzical look before saying coolly, "To answer your question, no, I'm not on good terms with my mother, or my father either for that matter."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It's so sad when children and their parents don't get along," she said feelingly while ignoring her own conscience on that point. Paul was silent. "Was it the divorce?" She finally asked softly, and watched as a bitter expression, like that produced when eating a lemon, transformed his face.

"Some things are better left unsaid," he responded shortly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to be alone."

Judging by his present attitude, Paris wasn't sure that was the best idea, and told him so.

"Just leave me alone!" He almost shouted at her, with such force that she immediately did as he wished.  She walked slowly back to her stateroom, rather afraid of what Erik would say of her attempt to help.  She had the pervading feeling that she had only made things worse, and at the same time making a hypocrite of herself.  "It's so sad when children and their parents don't get along", she had told Paul.  Well, she told herself, prepare to be sad when you get home, Paris Turner, because you and your parents are going to have a fight to end all fights.  And probably get her grounded for life.

Erik had gone when she opened the door, and the girls were nowhere to be seen.  More than a little relieved, she heaved a weary sigh and threw herself on the sofa, totally disappointed with her efforts. She had used to pride herself in her tact, but apparently she had none.  But as Paris sat dejectedly in her cabin, she could have had no idea of the tortured thoughts going through Paul Troy's head just then, or of the terrible plan that, in total desperation, he was forming.  

However, in his credit, let it be said that his motives were not altogether selfish, although he was not thinking clearly.  Erik had always been his parents' favorite and Paul felt the injustice of that deeply.  But he felt he could have borne that pain, if it hadn't been for the conversation he overheard the night his parents announced they were getting a divorce.  As he lay on his back gazing up at the stars from the top deck of the ship, every detail of that night passed vividly before his mind.  He could see his father's rigid form leaning over his mother, heard their heated conversation.  He felt the same fear that had filled his breast that night; fear that his father might strike his mother, and the frightful knowledge that the words uttered in that room were to destroy a family forever.