Fallen - Lauren Kate [84]
“Lucinda!” Mr. Cole called, waving from the otherwise unoccupied meet-up point by the cemetery gates. “Over here!”
Mr. Cole clasped both of her parents’ hands warmly and even gave Penn’s shoulders a squeeze. Luce was trying to decide whether she should be more annoyed by Mr. Cole’s participation in Parents’ Day or impressed by his fake show of enthusiasm. But then he began speaking and surprised her.
“I practice for this day all year,” he whispered. “A chance to take the students out in the fresh air and explain the many marvels of this place—oh, I do love it. It’s the closest a reform school teacher gets to a real field trip. ’Course, no one’s ever shown up for my tours in years past, which makes you my inaugural tour—”
“Well, we’re honored,” Luce’s dad boomed, giving Mr. Cole a big smile. Immediately, Luce could tell that it wasn’t just Dad’s cannon-hungry Civil War buff side speaking. He clearly felt that Mr. Cole was legit. And her father was the best judge of character she knew.
Already the two men had started trooping down the steep slope at the entrance of the cemetery. Luce’s mom left the picnic basket at the gates and gave Luce and Penn one of her well-worn smiles.
Mr. Cole waved a hand to get their attention. “First, a bit of trivia. What”—he raised his eyebrows—“would you guess is the oldest element of this cemetery?”
While Luce and Penn looked down at their feet—avoiding his eyes as they did during class—Luce’s father stood on his toes to take a gander at some of the larger statues.
“Trick question!” Mr. Cole bellowed, patting the ornate wrought iron gates. “This front portion of the gates was built by the original proprietor in 1831. They say his wife, Ellamena, had a lovely garden, and she wanted something to keep the guinea hens out of her tomatoes.” He laughed under his breath. “That was before the war. And before the sinkhole. Moving on!”
As they walked, Mr. Cole rattled off fact after fact about the construction of the cemetery, the historical backdrop against which it was built, and the “artist”—even he used the term loosely—who’d come up with the winged beast sculpture at the top of the monolith in the center of the grounds. Luce’s father peppered Mr. Cole with questions while Luce’s mom ran her hands over the tops of some of the prettiest headstones, letting out a murmured “Oh my” every time she paused to read an inscription. Penn shuffled after Luce’s mother, possibly wishing she’d latched on to a different family for the day. And Luce brought up the rear, considering what might happen if she were to give her parents her own personal tour of the cemetery.
Here’s where I served my first detention…
And here’s where a falling marble angel nearly decapitated me…
And here’s where a reform school boy you’d never approve of took me on the strangest picnic of my life.
“Cam,” Mr. Cole called as he led the tour around the monolith.
Cam was standing with a tall, dark-haired man in a tailored black business suit. Neither of them heard Mr. Cole or saw the party he was leading on the tour. They were talking quietly and gesturing in a very involved manner at the oak tree, the way Luce had seen her drama teacher gesture when the students were blocking a scene in a play.
“Are you and your father late arrivals to our tour?” Mr. Cole asked Cam, this time more loudly. “You’ve missed most of it, but there’s still an interesting fact or two I’m sure I could impart.”
Cam slowly turned his head their way, then back at his companion, who seemed amused. Luce didn’t think the man, with his classic tall, dark, and handsome good looks and huge gold watch, looked old enough to be Cam’s father. But maybe he had just aged well. Cam’s eyes skimmed Luce’s bare neck, and he seemed briefly disappointed. She blushed, because she could feel her mother taking in the whole scene and wondering just what was going on.
Cam ignored Mr. Cole and approached Luce’s mother, drawing her hand to his lips before anyone could even introduce them. “You must be Luce’s older sister,” he said rakishly.