An Ever Fixéd Mark (3 page)

Chapter Two

Lizzie watched the cursor blink on her
computer. She wasn’t interested in the minutes she was typing from
the development committee meeting or the hours of invitation list
pruning that awaited her after lunch. It was a busy Monday, but not
very conducive to committed focus. She let her eyes wander towards
Richard’s office. He was busily discussing a new fundraising
project with Dr. Chiang, the chief cardiac surgeon.

Lizzie knew her boss’ attention was
enraptured by the beautiful doctor and wouldn’t notice her
distraction from work. She saved the document and switched screens
over to the Internet. She checked her email, which included photos
of bridesmaid dresses from Nora and Delany’s friend request from
Facebook. Lizzie logged onto Facebook to accept Delany. She glanced
over her profile and pictures from marathons and her wedding to
Dan. She was really striking, no surprise she won the heart of
SRHS’s boy wonder. Lizzie read through her interests and activities
and realized after running they might not have much to discuss.

Lizzie returned to the news feed and read
through the minutiae of everyone’s day. Sara posted a cheesy
proclamation of how happy she was to see so many friends at the
reunion. She wrote a similar comment on Lizzie’s wall… and Ben’s.
Lizzie clicked on Ben’s profile. She couldn’t tell if he logged on
since leaving her Sunday morning. Lizzie dared the thought he might
have checked her online personality… but there was no proof either
way. His wall had a few more comments from people she didn’t know,
much less recent than Sara’s vapid ardor. Most comments were idle
hellos or thanks for an add. Nothing substantial enough to give a
clue about what he did when he wasn’t at work or a reunion… or with
whom he might be doing them.

She clicked on his handful of photos.
Someone tagged him in something from his MIT days. He was a grainy
black and white head at the back of a crowd… with a hairstyle that
resembled his shaggy high school curls more than the neatly trimmed
coif he wore the other night. The other pictures were from a
picnic, with various persons. Maybe from his company? Maybe a group
of friends? There was one young woman in a couple of the pictures.
A pretty blonde with blue eyes and a skinny waist. Of course.

Lizzie clicked on his friends list. She
recognized the names of the faces she saw the other night…
including Sara. She saw his brother’s name and tried to click on
his profile. Oliver set privacy options that excluded her from
seeing it. The picture showed the older Cottingham didn’t look much
different than she remembered, with his dark hair and dark eyes. He
was straddled across a bicycle, next to a statuesque dark skinned
woman also seated on a bike.

Not much. She went back to Ben’s photos,
appreciating the freckles that went over his nose. She didn’t want
to like him that much… but she couldn’t stop her heart beating more
quickly with another glance at his gray green eyes.

She signed out of Facebook and clicked over
to Google. She typed in his name. There were a couple publications
in vocabulary about computers she couldn’t understand. She found
his company website, which also required some element of
translation. She understood there was a medical link to his
computer business. She also knew that he was the founder and CEO.
He had an impressive career… and no doubt bank account.

There was a Ben Cottingham in a WWI roster.
And a Dr. Benjamin Cottingham came up a few times… but with very
few details. Both were much too old to be him. Lizzie couldn’t
remember if his father was named Benjamin. In fact, she really
couldn’t remember his father at all.

She typed in Oliver’s name. His college
appeared, as well as his course listings from the previous spring.
She found a syllabus for environmental studies, as well as several
papers he had written on the environmental impact of plastics.

“Did you have a good Thanksgiving, Lizzie?”
Dr. Chiang passed her desk on the way out of Richard’s office.

“I did, thank you,” Lizzie offered up that
habitual smile. “And yourself?”

“Quiet,” Dr. Chiang retrieved her coat from
the rack. Lizzie nodded at the small talk, wondering why the doctor
suddenly expressed an interest in her holiday. She always knew Dr.
Chiang, as she was undoubtedly the most attractive of the
department heads. She was also incredibly young. But no one, not
even Richard, was bothered by that fact. Her bright blue eyes
triggered admiration from everyone with whom she spoke. “Richard
said you have a connection to the Fulton Foundation.”

Lizzie’s cheeks pinkened at the expectation.
“Well, I work at the Fulton House on weekends,” Lizzie wondered how
much of an age difference there was from Dr. Chiang, how much more
accomplished she was in her thirties than Lizzie who typed up
minutes and gave tours for minimum wage at a museum. Nothing half
so impressive as running a cardiac department. “I’ve met a few of
the Fultons when they came to see the house. Gerard Fulton came to
speak to the guides one afternoon about his family history. He’s
probably the only one I can say I know… and even then…

“Would you feel comfortable sending him an
invitation to the gala?” Dr. Chiang buttoned her coat and looked at
Lizzie with those blue eyes. Lizzie was aware of Richard listening
through the door. “We would like to get him interested in the
hospital – as a funder for the new cardiac center.”

“Of course,” Lizzie smiled, even though she
thought Gerard Fulton was a spoiled little boy in the body of a
46-year-old, who really had no sense of history beyond the
longevity of his family name.

“Great,” she smiled back, fueling Lizzie’s
confidence. “You’ll let me know if he responds?”

“I will, Dr. Chiang,” she let herself be
charmed by the blue eyes.

“Thanks Lizzie,” Dr. Chiang lingered a
friendly glance before walking out of the office. Lizzie looked
back at the computer, no longer interested in Oliver Cottingham or
the internet. She felt a sense of purpose and opened the invitation
list to add Gerard Fulton.

*****

Lizzie watched the juices ooze out of the
tomatoes and across the sizzling pan. She added oregano and garlic
before stirring them all up again. “Hey,” Meg came into the kitchen
and grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

“Hey,” Lizzie didn’t look away from the pan.
“Stranger.”

Meg pulled the orange juice out of the
refrigerator. “Yeah,” Meg filled her glass before returning the
carton to its shelf. “Sorry to leave you alone this weekend.”

“Jackie got back Sunday,” Lizzie stirred her
mixture again.

“Even better,” Meg took a gulp of her
juice.

“Where did you go?”

Meg bit her lip. “Alec’s,” she sighed out
slowly.

“I thought you guys were finished.”

“We were,” Meg took another drink and set
the glass by the sink. “But…”

Lizzie stirred her pan, choosing not to say
what came into her mouth. She knew she couldn’t criticize Meg for
the frailty of her heart or its poor choices.

“I needed a couple books for the thesis,”
Meg argued. “He offered to loan them to me...”

“So you stayed for three, four days?”

“Lizzie, I forgot how much I like talking to
him… and kissing him.”

Lizzie watched the juices run together and
wondered if her cheeks resembled their color. “So you’re back
together?”

“Sort of…”

“Are you happy?”

“I don’t know,” Meg shrugged. “What are you
making for dinner?”

“Just sauce for spaghetti,” Lizzie looked
back at her pan. “There’s enough for you – and Jackie, if she wants
any.”

“How was the reunion?” Meg asked quickly
before Lizzie could turn the conversation backwards.

“
I saw some old friends. I
danced. It was a nice night.”

“Did your cousin show?” Meg got the orange
juice again.

“No,” Lizzie turned the heat down under the
pan.

“What about your friend who has lots of
babies and is married to the repressed homosexual?”

“Meg!” Lizzie tried to restrain her
laughter.

“Was she there?”

“She was,” Lizzie bit on her smile. “We
didn’t talk much though.”

“Then who did you talk to?” Meg softened her
curiosity, obviously seeing something Lizzie wasn’t able to conceal
from her expression.

“This guy Ben,” Lizzie tucked her hair
behind her ear and picked up the wooden spoon to poke once more at
her mixture.

“Did you talk to him in high school?”

“Actually, he used follow Sara around all
the time.”

“Oh.”

Lizzie accepted her misinterpretation and
concentrated on her dinner. Meg watched as she put the spaghetti
into the boiling water and tilted her head. “So what else
happened?”

“Um…” Lizzie faded as the smile she couldn’t
prevent crept onto her face.

“Did you get laid?”

“Meghan,” Lizzie laughed at her attempt to
scold her friend as the slam of the front door echoed up the stairs
and through the dining room into the kitchen. “Jackie is home.”

“Who cares? That Ben guy?”

“Yes,” Lizzie let Meg see her smirk as
Jackie came into the kitchen. “Hi,” Lizzie offered.

“Hi,” their third roommate muttered as she
grabbed a can of soda from the fridge and left the kitchen.

“I’m guessing she doesn’t want spaghetti,”
Meg stuck a finger in the sauce, tasted it, and met Lizzie’s eyes.
“Do you think you’ll see him again?”

“
He’s nice… but it was
just one night,” Lizzie cautioned, not wanting to get swept up in
Meg’s manic concept of romance. “It was great sex, but it’s not
going to be a relationship.”

“
You don’t think you’ll
want to get together for more great sex?” Meg lingered by the
stove.

“I don’t know,” Lizzie slowly took the spoon
out of the red sauce. “He… I always think of him in terms of Sara.
I never had a thing for him myself. I never thought of him that
way… really… until right before we went upstairs.”

“So it was a good weekend?”

“An excellent weekend.”

“Lizzie?” Meg took the strainer from the
cupboard. “Don’t tell Nora about Alec, okay?”

Lizzie took the strainer from her hands.
“Okay.”

Chapter Three

Lizzie dusted along the dresser, careful not
to upset the few china objects displayed on the lace coverlet. She
paused and looked up at the portrait of Harriet Fulton. She
wondered if Harriet was ever distracted by a young man. Lizzie
couldn’t imagine Harriet thought about the things that kept filling
her mind. Maybe she did. Over Lazarus Benedict before he became her
husband. Or maybe the boy who delivered coal.

Lizzie went over to the
window and ran the cloth along the window sill. She looked down at
the cold gray parking lot. The outside of the Fulton House seemed a
strange contradiction to the scarce 19
^th
century furnishings within.
It often seemed that the house was in its own place, its own skewed
time. It wasn’t quite a step into the past, with fluorescent lights
buzzing on some of the ceilings or the motion sensors hanging above
the doors. Nor was it completely in the present. Just somewhere in
between.

A few guides liked to suggest there were
ghosts roaming about the rooms. Lizzie was seldom able to blame the
chills she got in the bedrooms on other worldly occurrences. It was
just that cold. Then again she often walked into a room and felt
her mood change suddenly - as though walking into a memory that was
stuck in the air like all the dust dancing in the sunbeams.

Harriet’s room, more than any other, made
her feel sad. She wondered if it was Harriet’s sadness… or another.
Or her own. Lizzie accepted the fact she had an active imagination
and that the few details of intrigue about the Fultons were not
enough to make the talk of furniture and wallpaper interesting … to
her at least.

“Lizzie, are you finished in here?” Paula’s
voice called her back to the focus of the task at hand.

“I just… a few more minutes,” Lizzie smiled
at her manager.

“Andrew just started a tour,” Paula diverted
her eyes from a direct glance at Lizzie.

“Oh. Okay,” Lizzie persisted her smile. She
never knew what to do with Paula. It was difficult to understand
whether or not Paula liked Lizzie and her disdain for staying on
script with the tours. Lizzie didn’t really care about the
furniture as much as everyone else. She was fascinated by the
Fultons, who actually slept and sat upon the beds and chairs. They
were more interesting than the wood and upholstery. That’s not
really what they were supposed to discuss. Paula had a sense of
humor… but Lizzie often thought she was silently cursing her lack
of respect. But Paula was too sweet to say anything.

“So if you could do the three o’clock, that
would be good,” Paula let herself turn her glance back to Lizzie’s
smile.

“Absolutely,” Lizzie moved over to the bed
posts and gently wiped along them with the dust cloth. “Paula, do
we have any more information about Harriet?”

“What do you mean?”

“We know when she was born, when she got
married, when she died. We know whom she married, that she had four
babies and lost three of them. What else do we know?”

“You have her portrait,” Paula walked to the
dresser.

“Do you think she looks happy? Or … like
she’s thinking of something?” Lizzie stopped herself from leaning
against the bed post.

“I think that glassy stare is the paint,”
Paula laughed. “No, there isn’t much information about Harriet. She
wasn’t as involved in the community as her parents. There aren’t
many records of her activities. We don’t really know much about
her.”

“Nothing in the archives?”

“I’m afraid not,” Paula shook her head.
“Why?”