An Ever Fixéd Mark (37 page)

The idea of Lily was like the idea of
Harriet – someone from a distant time she would discuss on a tour.
Lizzie tried to put herself in Harriet’s shoes, living in that
house and then later as a grieving mother. It helped her to
understand the history of the museum and present it in a way she
thought was interesting to visitors. Lily was simply another
version of Harriet, with a more salacious history. Except she knew
people that Lizzie knew. Oliver knew her. He felt real emotion for
her. Lizzie couldn’t picture her from a glassy eyed portrait. She
could imagine the thoughts in her head and the pains of her heart
and the yearning to be someone other than what she is. She still
didn’t connect Lily with herself. She could sympathize with her
hurts and motivations… but it wasn’t her own. It wasn’t her
life.

The thoughts and details kept creeping back
into her mind. She wanted to know more. She wanted to know if Lily
liked Harriet. She wanted to know what Lily wore and what she was
expected to do every day. Did Margaret like her… or was it guilt
for her father’s sins? Did she like the world of Brattle Street? It
couldn’t have been a whole hearted passion, if she kept visiting
Oliver at the wheelwright shop.

Lizzie kept staring at the ceiling, watching
the bleary November dawn creep into the room. She realized Ben
hadn’t called her that night. She knew he anticipated a busy day of
meetings. He was undoubtedly exhausted… if he was well fed. If not,
he was restless and would… would he seek out a source in Chicago?
How was that different from feeding in Boston? It wasn’t… except
his words echoed in her brain. She knew she was not being
completely honest with him about Oliver. She feared his
trustworthiness because her own was lacking.

What good would it do to tell Ben about
Oliver? Lizzie knew the moment she spoke Oliver’s name, Ben changed
his mood. Lizzie didn’t understand that. Oliver was… he was so kind
to her. He wasn’t any more of a monster than Ben. She knew Oliver
committed … he did horrible things. So did Ben, though she didn’t
know those as well as she knew Oliver’s crimes. Oliver admitted he
was wrong. He knew he should take responsibility and try to
improve. To do good to compensate for the hurt he caused.

He ended a life. He ended her life… if it
was hers. Was it really something to do with Lizzie? If Oliver
didn’t stop Lily, would Lizzie exist? How did she know to pick the
next life that would lead her back to Oliver? Why go back to a
horrible end? What if this time it wasn’t going to end that way?
What was it that Meg said? The next time it would improve? What if
this time it was supposed to end with what Lily didn’t have? Did
that mean she was supposed to marry Oliver?

Was that why Ben said
nothing of him? Did he fear Lizzie would go to Oliver? Is that what
she was supposed to do? That didn’t make sense. She liked Oliver.
But Ben was… she loved Ben. She missed his warmth. She was jealous
he was in the company of other people. Lizzie wasn’t jealous that
Oliver was married and unavailable. She wanted Ben. She wanted Ben
to come home. She wanted him to tell her… she wanted him to tell
her about Lily. She wanted Ben to come to the Fulton House and make
her remember things. She wanted to dream about him. Why was he
leaving it to Oliver?

Chapter
Twenty-Four

Lizzie put away her groceries in the
cupboards. She felt at home in Ben’s kitchen, a room he seldom used
except to read the Sunday paper in the morning sun. It was
spacious, not quite as modern as Lizzie would hope for her own
space. It could be her own space.

She was slowly starting to wrap her brain
around the idea of Ben’s apartment becoming home. She wasn’t sure
how ready she was to give up her spot at Jefferson Park. She liked
that apartment and all its memories. Things wouldn’t end well with
Meg. Neither had made much effort to bridge the gap after
Halloween. Lizzie figured that would pass eventually. It seemed
trivial in comparison to the other thoughts plaguing her mind, even
though Meg was a more important part of her life than Oliver.

The ring of her phone jolted her back to the
present. Her heart sped at Ben’s name on the caller ID. She felt a
twinge of guilt that it rang just as another thought of Oliver left
her mind. She took in a breath and greeted him.

“Elizabeth,” she could hear the smile in his
voice that suddenly made her wish he was there. She wouldn’t let
herself want that. It was only Wednesday. He wouldn’t be back until
late Sunday. “How are you?”

“I’m staring at your kitchen,” she laughed,
wondering if she should tell him she was contemplating improvements
to it. No, she told herself quietly. She was going to wait until
Thanksgiving, on the way home. “How’s Chicago?”

“Cold,” he said quickly. “Listen, I need you
to do me a favor.”

“Sure,” she pulled out the last of her
produce.

“Can you look for a file in my office and
then fax me the pages?”

“Where is it?” she went across the
hallway.

“In the right hand drawer of my desk. It
should be a folder called Hemo Financial or something like that.”
Lizzie went to the drawer and searched through the files. “Are you
having a good week?”

“Yeah,” Lizzie kept looking through the
tightly filled drawer.

“Anything exciting?”

Lizzie’s cheeks burned as she thought of
lunch with Oliver. Did he know Oliver was in town? How could he?
Would Oliver go to the clinic for a source? “Found it.”

Ben quickly gave her the number. She could
tell he was in a rush to get off the phone. She heard a
conversation behind him. He wasn’t much interested in the small
talk, and probably didn’t want to hear the minutiae of her week.
“Nothing really exciting, no,” Lizzie sighed. She missed him. She
wanted him to come home and fill her thoughts of something other
than Oliver and his information about Lily. She knew she needed to
tell him about Oliver. “You can’t talk long, can you?”

“Sorry,” his voice was genuine. “I will try
to call you later tonight. You won’t hold it against me, will
you?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll still fax your file.”

“Thanks,” he paused. “I love you.”

“Love you,” Lizzie said before the phone
disconnected. She went to his fax machine and watched as the papers
slowly copied. She waited for the transmission to clear and then
returned the file to its place. As she closed the door, she saw a
hanging folder labeled “Green Falls, NY.”

Lizzie pulled the folder out of the drawer
and opened it up to four or five files. They all had property and
estate information. Most of the papers were very old. Almost a
hundred years. They detailed the sale of a local goods store from
Benjamin Thomas to a Mr. David March. There was a deed of sale for
a house on 124 Union Street. Lots of tiny print that Lizzie found a
blur. She shifted through the papers of each folder until she came
to the last, labeled Maria Thomas.

There were many more old
pieces of paper. Lizzie didn’t understand what half the documents
entailed except the last. A death certificate. Lizzie scanned over
the page and saw she drowned in the Hudson River on the
20
^th
of May in 1915.

She closed the folder and put it back in the
drawer. She let out a shallow breath to curb the sudden sadness
curdling in her stomach. She caught the dim reflection of her face
looking back at her from Ben’s computer screen. Something about the
shadows across her cheekbones frightened her. As though it was a
ghost and not herself looking back.

She quickly pressed power on the computer to
erase the image. She wasn’t really curious about her email. She
wasn’t really going to see if Oliver wrote anything. They said
goodbye. It was done. She wasn’t going to see him again. Maybe
there was something from Ben. If he didn’t have time to talk, when
would he have time to write her an email?

She went to the address bar to find
Facebook, but scrolled down to cambridgeblood.org. She clicked
Ben’s login and entered the site. A window popped up alerting Ben
Cottingham that he was overdue for an appointment. She thought he
went when he was home. Didn’t he? She couldn’t clear her thoughts
enough to remember Saturday – or anything before Oliver filled her
mind with details of Lily.

She clicked the prompt and was redirected to
his profile page. It was kind of like Facebook, for someone who
didn’t idle so many hours in front of it as Lizzie. There was a
photograph of Ben. It wasn’t recent. His name was listed as Ben.
His location Cambridge, MA. It said he has been vampire since 1779.
She knew all that. She saw a small box for preferences. He checked
off a number of options, as one might on a dating website.
Clinical. Female. Athletic. Unmarried. He had no preference for
ethnicity. Did that matter with blood? His preferred blood type was
AB positive, but accepted all varieties.

Her eyes blurred. Why did it matter if the
woman was married? Was that because he used to sleep with them? Did
it matter now that he was in a relationship? Lizzie wasn’t AB
positive. She was O negative. Did that mean her blood wasn’t his
favorite?

She saw a blinking icon on the top of the
page. She pulled her eyes away from his profile and clicked it,
switching her over to a mailbox. The top message was a reminder for
his missed appointment. She opened it. It was a generic email
informing Mr. Cottingham that his appointment with Samantha Wells
was canceled. If he was unable to find an alternative, the
following sources were available for appointments this week.

Lizzie clicked one of the options. She was
young. Much younger than Lizzie. She was athletic. Apparently the
recommendations paid attention to his preferences. Fair skinned.
Blue eyes. Blond hair. Lizzie shut her eyes. She reopened them and
went back to the inbox. She opened the reminder from a previous
week. There was a link to the appointed source, Genevieve Coulson.
She had red hair, brown eyes, and was 25. Just like Ben.

She logged off the website. She paused for a
few seconds and shut off the computer. She didn’t want to know any
more. She didn’t want to think about what Ben wanted. About what
she never was. Young and athletic. He didn’t want her until she ran
that half marathon. He always knew where she was, but he never
cared for her until her body fit his preference. All those women…
she only saw two… but she knew all the rest fit his profile. She
knew they were the ones he would unofficially date. The ones whose
blood he wanted to drink. The ones with whom he was surrounded as
he screened sources for the Chicago clinic. When he was far away in
another city and didn’t have the time to talk to her, not even to
tell her to stay away from Oliver. So she wouldn’t.

*****

Lizzie received Oliver’s email at work. He
didn’t mention lunch at all, but simply encouraged her to come to
his talk at UMASS that evening. She thought very quickly about
inviting Andrew, but immediately talked herself out of it. She
wanted to keep Ben’s brother out of any part of her life that
involved Ben.

She was intrigued by the topic. It appealed
to both her professional world in museums as well as her passion
for the environment. She would have gone if it weren’t Oliver
Cottingham. She would have gone if there wasn’t a chance that the
evening could end with another piece of the Lily mystery colored
in. That’s what she kept telling herself as she took the train ride
across Boston.

They were in a small lecture hall. She was
impressed by the full audience. She noticed a crowd of giggling
coeds in the front row. Were they fascinated by the topic or by
visiting Professor Ol? She wondered if anyone knew what he was.
Could one of them be a willing source? Maybe one was even a
vampire, for all Lizzie knew.

She hid in the back row and found herself
compelled by his statistics. Her thoughts focused on his topic and
didn’t wander to speculation about vampires or Lily. She was
impressed that he was a good teacher as well as politician. She
wondered if that was the lawyer coming through.

Lizzie got up slowly from her seat and
waited in the back of the room as Oliver greeted all the eager
young women. They left in a flurry of giggles. She caught his eyes
following them until they met hers. She waved slightly as he turned
to a handful of professors. Lizzie collected her coat and
approached slowly. He turned his eye to her in between breaths of
conversation. After several minutes, the professors headed out of
the hall.

“Hi,” Oliver smiled warmly with a direct
look at Lizzie.

“Hi,” Lizzie returned as Oliver gathered his
papers and shut down his laptop.

“I’m very glad you came,” he said with the
same extra charm he offered the giggling girls. “Shall I take you
to dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“At least a drink,” he zipped his carrying
case.

“Very well,” Lizzie agreed. It was just a
drink.

*****

“You know, truth be told, sometimes I think
I am just full of it,” Oliver cast his eyes up as the waitress set
down two glasses of wine at their table.

“No, it was really fascinating,” Lizzie
hastily took a sip. “You know your material well. You know how to
make it interesting. Not just some flat scientific facts. You could
give Al Gore a run for his money.”

“I doubt that,” Oliver laughed. “I’m glad
you liked it.”

Lizzie set down her glass gently. She looked
at Oliver’s enthusiastic expression. She was surprised he was so
pleased by her good opinion of his lecture. After her pathetic
excuse of a tour she gave him, he couldn’t be much impressed by her
notion of good public speaking. He was very upbeat, energetic.
Lizzie expected there was a sense of accomplishment. She also
imagined he fed before the lecture.