Eternally Yours (17 page)

Jerry avoided his wife’s gaze. “Nothing significant.”

“As if you would know what’s significant and what isn’t!” She swatted his arm. “You men have no insight when it comes to matters of the heart. Tell me every word that passed between you, and let me decide for myself.”

“Look, Diane,” he said, his eyebrows crunching together, “You may like matchmaking, but please leave me out of this. If I run into that guy again, I don’t want to feel like I’ve been plotting behind his back, and I don’t want to have to worry about what I can and can’t say to him.”

“I never asked you to go to any great lengths--”

“But you make me feel like a spy,” he interrupted. “You get carried away with this stuff. Now, I’m going out and checking the tire pressure on the carJuly 28, 2006. When you’re ready to go, meet me out front.”

Giving his wife a last stern look, he left the kitchen.

Di turned to Lara and rolled her eyes. “Men! I don’t know what the big deal is.”

She shrugged, privately eager to change the subject. Wiping her hands dry, she hung up the towel. “I’d better run upstairs and find that raincoat for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll run outside and tell Jerry I’ll be ready in a minute--before he finds another reason to be annoyed with me.” She exited the room into the hall.

Climbing up the back stairs, Lara shook her head to herself. Thank goodness Jerry refused to go along with his wife’s schemes. The one thing worse than having no love life was having everyone around trying to arrange one for you.

She had just located the raincoat in her bedroom closet when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

“It’s just me--not a ghost,” her friend called from the hallway. She walked in and sat down at the foot of the bed. “Oh, good, you found it.”

“No problem.” Lara folded the jacket carefully to make packing it easier for Di.

“Jerry’s better now. I promised him that in the future I wouldn’t prompt him with any questions to ask Mark or tell him anything confidential about your feelings.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Di lay back flat on the bed. “I also managed to wheedle an encouraging scrap of information from him. He said that while he was talking to Mark, he happened to mention that you might be coming to Cape Hatteras with us. According to him, the news seemed to make your boy a little anxious. Jerry says Mark pressed him for reassurance that you weren’t likely to go at a minute’s notice. When Jerry told him what a spontaneous person you are, he didn’t look happy.”

The third-hand intelligence didn’t strike Lara as overly reliable. Besides, Mark hadn’t looked happy all morning, including when she’d invited him to come over again. She held out the folded jacket to her friend. “Wonderful, but what good does it do me to have him think I’m out of town for a week? Now if he actually gets the urge to call me, he’ll figure I can’t be reached.”

“The point is that he seemed disappointed that you wouldn’t be around. He wants to see you.” Di got up, tucking her package under one arm. “Besides, you don’t have to wait around for him to call. Come up with a reason to contact him.”

Lara shut the closet door. “I’ll keep it in mind, but I’m not eager for another dose of the cold shoulder.”

“Oh, come on, you’re exaggerating. He’s shown a lot of interest in you--and if you’re subtle enough, you can pursue him without him even realizing it. I still say you should get involved with the historical society. They could probably use an artist on their team.”

Lara shook her head, leading the way out of the bedroom. “No offense, but if I showed up at a meeting of the historical society, I think it would be pretty obvious I’m chasing him. And with my luck, he probably wouldn’t even be there. I learned back in high school that pre-planned ‘chance encounters’ always seem to backfire.”

“They worked for me with Jerry in college. When I saw him behind the counter in the music shop, I suddenly became a regular customer. After I’d come in a couple of times asking for his
expert
opinions, he started lending me tapes from his own collection. I showed up one Saturday night right before closing time, and it ended up being our first date.”

“I remember the story.” Lara wasn’t convinced but knew if she said so her friend would only treat her to more successful case histories.

When they came down into the kitchen again, Di let out a yelp of surprise. She hurried over to one corner of the counter by the sink and picked up a man’s watch. “Hey, this isn’t yours, is it?”

Butterflies stirred in Lara’s stomach. Mark must have taken it off when he’d helped her clear the dishes. “It must be his.”

“Perfect! You can take it over to his place tonight or tomorrow.”

“No way.” She grabbed the watch and put it back on the counter top. “Now stop nagging me. How does Jerry get you to promise to drop these uncomfortable subjects? I think I could learn a lesson from him.”

Di said nothing else, but as they walked out of the kitchen she glanced at the watch again, then gave Lara a meaningful smile.

Lara just turned away.

After her friends had at last set out on the road, she looked around the house and wondered what job to begin with. The overload of tasks on her list of things to do made it hard to get moving on anything. Worst of all, she didn’t seem to have any creative energy. Though sunlight streamed in the windows, making the house look cheery and ghost-free, the empty rooms left her feeling lonely. She was used to seeing or talking to Di almost every day. With her best friend on vacation, the week ahead would be a long one.

Not in the mood to paint, she occupied herself for a while straightening and cleaning the downstairs rooms. While dusting the parlor, she noticed the original love letter Mark had found, still lying on the window seat. Since that first day, she’d been afraid to touch it, but in broad daylight the piece of paper

looked harmless.

She set down her dust rag and tentatively picked up the note. Luckily, she didn’t feel any strange rush of cold. Unfolding the paper, she skimmed through the contents. The words that had charmed her the first time around sounded empty now that she knew how the story ended.

“Mark was right from the start,” she said to herself. “‘G’ was a snake.”

A soft sound pricked up her ears. She thought she heard a man’s voice whisper, “I didn’t know...” The phenomenon happened so quickly she couldn’t tell whether it was real or a figment of her imagination. Goose bumps rose on her arms, but she didn’t feel the chill she’d associated with the ghost before.

“Didn’t know what?” she asked the air.

She stood still, listening carefully, but silence filled the room. The voice had to have been in her head. She remembered hearing a similar sound in the secret room the night of the storm, but she hadn’t been able to identify it as a voice. This time she had a definite impression of a man speaking. Not Mariah, she noted, surprised.

Thinking of that night, she realized she’d forgotten all about the poem in Mariah’s letter to “G.” What had it been about? At the time, she’d had enough emotional trauma for one night and hadn’t even wanted to hear the rest of the letter. Now she wondered if it could be significant.

She went to the kitchen, where she’d left the photocopy Mark had brought her. Skipping down the page, she reached the poem:

As you read these lines coming from the grave,

Despair of your own eternal rest to save,

Until you advance a love to stand in place,

Of the love you once had but chose to debase.

By the time she’d finished, her hands were shaking.
Good grief,
she thought. Mariah had cursed her lover to roam eternally.

As the full implications came to her, the photocopy fluttered from her fingers to the floor.

“G”
was the ghost, not Mariah.

She froze in place, half-expecting some sort of supernatural onslaught to herald her revelation--another thunderstorm or maybe even an apparition. Nothing in the room moved. Sunlight continued to stream through the windows, the lighthearted chirping of birds drifting into the house along with it.

Scanning her surroundings for anything unusual, she took an uncertain step toward the hallway. Nothing happened. In the stark daylight her fear seemed ridiculous even to her, but she still couldn’t shake it.

Slowly she worked up the nerve to fetch her purse from upstairs, moving a few steps at a time. She got to her bedroom and back to the kitchen without incident. Snatching up Mark’s watch from the counter, she buckled it onto her wrist and dashed out the back door to her car.

She drove straight to his apartment building and parked in the first empty spot she found in the crowded lot. Nervous energy spurred her to jump out of the car and start running across the asphalt. The heat of the blacktop radiated through the soles of her sandals.

About twenty yards ahead of her a redheaded woman got out of an SUV. Karen, she realized.

Lara stopped abruptly and ducked behind a van, praying she wouldn’t be seen. In her current harried state, she didn’t feel up to facing the woman’s cool stares and insinuating remarks. What was Mark’s ex doing here again anyway?

The woman leaned back into her vehicle. Wearing a short pink skirt and a white scoop-necked top, she looked as fresh as a daisy. Still puffing from her sprint, Lara wiped a streak of perspiration from her cheek. She glanced down at her own short set, now smeared with dirt from the attic. Suddenly khaki seemed a dull choice of color. Why hadn’t she bought something brighter? Compared to Karen, she felt so dowdy.

When she looked up again, the woman had straightened up.

She now held a navy-blue button-down shirt, which she flung over one shoulder. Lara recalled that at their last meeting Karen had mentioned she needed to return a shirt of Mark’s. She felt a pang of jealousy.

I have his watch
, she thought with a sense of possessiveness about him.

What she saw next made her feel even worse: In Karen’s other arm she cradled a casserole dish. Apparently she and Mark were having dinner together. Had they patched things up? It seemed unlikely that estranged lovers would share a home-cooked meal. No wonder he had been distant earlier.

Lara watched through the windows of the van until the other woman had gone inside the building. When she felt sure she wouldn’t be spotted, she rushed back to her car and sped out of the parking lot as quickly as she could.

Driving home she felt almost nauseous. Her unannounced trip to Mark’s had been pathetic. She was so naive, so stupid. What if she’d arrived fifteen minutes later and walked in on him and Karen in the midst of a romantic dinner? The thought of being their third wheel made her cringe. She felt like such a fool she could hardly stand her own company. Now that it looked like they were a couple again, she realized how much she’d wanted a chance with him.

Searching for something to take her mind off the pair, she considered stopping at the mall or her mother’s house, but she felt too dirty and hot. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. Since she still had full daylight to “protect” her from the ghost, she headed home instead.

When she first let herself in she moved cautiously, but she felt no cold drafts or sensations of being watched. Thankfully, the house still had a normal feel. The rooms were empty. She was utterly alone.

Tired and depressed, she microwaved a frozen dinner and ate in the dining room. The pieced-together “slices” of turkey fell apart on her fork and tasted dry. Meanwhile Mark and Karen would be eating homemade casserole, probably some specialty of hers. No doubt it contained
real
meat.

She felt lonely. She longed to tell Mark her theory about the ghost being “G.” Who else could she discuss such a weird concept with? Her mother would probably freak out over any mention of a ghost. Di was on the road to Cape Hatteras and didn’t need Lara disturbing her. Any of her other acquaintances would be sure to think she was crazy if she brought up the subject.

She wondered if Ron knew anything about a packet of old love letters belonging to Mariah Sulley. If they’d been stored in a special way, they might be considered a family legacy. Maybe he’d taken them with him when he moved out.

Glancing across the hall into the kitchen, she spotted her cordless phone on the counter. She rose and picked it up, along with her address book from the phone stand in the hall. Flipping through to the page listing Ron, she punched his new number into the pad.

His answering machine picked up. “Hello, this is Ron...” Hearing his voice after all these months seemed surreal--so familiar yet unfamiliar. She got flustered and didn’t even catch most of his message. Before she knew it the machine beeped. She had no idea what to say.

“Uh, hi, Ron, this is Lara. Sorry to bother you. I, um, had a question about the Sulley family. I’m just wondering about some letters you may have. Nothing important, though. There’s no real need to call me back. Thanks anyway.”

She hung up, immediately regretting the call. Once she’d started speaking it had been too late to turn back. She could only hope he wouldn’t get back to her.

The phone rang and she jumped. Her heart pounded in her chest. It had to be Ron; he must have just missed her call. The ringer sang out a second time. She didn’t know whether or not to answer, but she couldn’t very well pretend she hadn’t called a moment ago.

She picked up the receiver and pressed the “on” button. “Hello?”

“Lara, it’s Mark.” His voice sounded excited.

“Oh--hi.” Her first thought was that he must have seen her outside his apartment and wanted to know what she’d been doing there, but that had been hours ago. He had certainly taken his time about calling. Had he been waiting for Karen to go home first? But it couldn’t be late enough for a date to be ending.

Remembering that she still had his watch on, she glanced at her wrist: seven-thirty. Maybe the woman was still with him.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said, “but I think I have a really interesting lead on ‘G.’ Do you still have that letter he wrote--the first one we found?”

She wondered if he had also deduced that “G” was the ghost--but, no, Mark didn’t believe the ghost existed. “Yeah, I was just looking at it today.”