Jezebel (16 page)

Chapter 17

Annabelle

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to hear your voice again.”

~ Hurt, Christina Aguilera

Jezebel had been silent for the last five minutes. It made her apprehensive.

“Jez?” Annabelle touched her friend’s arm. Jezebel snapped her eyes to Annabelle’s, her expression slightly confused before she smiled.

“It’s time to rinse!” she exclaimed looking at Annabelle’s head. Annabelle grinned and followed Jezebel’s lead into the bathroom.

“Lean your back on the edge of the tub there,” she pointed, “and I’ll rinse for you.”

Annabelle did as she instructed. It was an awkward and uncomfortable position but she didn’t have much of a choice. Jezebel leaned over her and started the water. After a few moments, she ran her hand under the stream from the faucet, checking the temperature. Holding a cup under the flow of water she filled it up.

“Close your eyes kiddo.” Annabelle did as she was told. Warm water followed by the soft stroke of Jezebels hand. Annabelle couldn’t remember the last time someone had washed her hair this way,
outside of
a salon of course. Jezebel repeated the process
over and over again
. Warm water, the soft stroke of her hand over Annabelle’s head. Small trickles of water that ran into her ears or eyes were wiped away gently and quickly. It was motherly, tender even. Annabelle relaxed, savoring the moment.

When the water shut off she opened her eyes just as Jezebel covered her head in a towel and placed a palm on the back of her neck, pulling her to an upright position. With two hands, Jezebel ruffled the towel around on Annabelle’s head, like a mother would a small child. She chuckled.

“We need to blow dry it now.” Jezebel tossed the now damp towel into a nearby hamper.

“I can do that,” Annabelle answered.

“Absolutely not. There is no looking until it’s done.” Jezebel winked.

Annabelle planted her rear on the toilet, straddling it facing the
tank
. Jezebel ran a brush through her long hair, working out the knots one by one. When was the last time her own mother had done this? She couldn’t remember. Her throat tightened and she
bit her lip
and closed her eyes to ward off the tears she felt coming. Once the tangles were worked through, Jezebel blow dried her hair, every so often pulling out the collar of Annabelle’s shirt, sending the hot air rushing down her back. When she squealed and laughed, Jezebel did too.

“Can I see yet?” she said as she studied her cuticles and chewed her nails—effectively ruining the manicure she’d received last week.

Jezebel’s hands snaked through her hair a few more times before she sighed and leaned back against the opposite wall. “There. You can look now.” Jezebel replied, sounding very pleased with herself. A thought hit her hard and fast, Jezebel was like the North Star, there to guide her, although to where—she wasn’t sure. A freeing sort of feeling moved through her, a self-effacing smile bloomed on her face, as she stood slowly and stretched her cramped legs.

Moving to the mirror she drew in a breath and looked. A gasp left her mouth. It was beautiful. Her dark locks weren’t all dyed, the way she had imagined. Jezebel had woven the dye throughout her hair in highlights, caramel streaks peaking and popping from all angles. She loved it. It was infinitely better than having done her entire head the one color. Beyond that, Jezebel had
blown her
hair out to epic proportions and somehow managed to create loose curls at the bottoms of the strands so they all curled the same way.

“It’s amazing!” she squeaked. Behind her in the mirror, Jezebel grinned widely.

“Yes, it is.”

“You’re such a smart-ass sometimes.” Annabelle laughed.

Jezebel raised her brows. “I’m allowed,” she said dryly.

“Yeah, you are.” She snorted and rolled her eyes.

~
***
~

Neither of her parents had mentioned her hair for two days. She forked a bite of meatloaf into her mouth. It was becoming increasingly difficult to
deal with her
home life in the absence of any technology to distract her. Everything appeared more pronounced: the silence, the denial, the animosity between her parents.

“It’s all a farce isn’t it?” her mother said, a distant expression on her face.

“What?” Annabelle’s brows knit together at her mother’s strange outburst.

“Life,” her mother answered.

“Mom, what are you talking about?”

“You think you have it all but really, you have nothing. Things—people, can just be stripped away from you.” Her mother’s voice held no emotion. It made Annabelle’s stomach twist into a knot.

“Jesus, Monica.” Her father snapped. Her mother speared him with a scathing expression and pushed away from the table disappearing into the kitchen. Annabelle shot up to follow her mother.

“Sit down Belle,” her father barked. She skidded to a stop and
cut her
eyes to her father. “Sit and finish your dinner. Let her be.”

Annabelle fumed but stopped herself
before responding with some flippant, sarcastic remark. It wouldn’t help anything. She bunched up her fists in irritation and sat down hard in her seat.

~
***
~

Six nights.

Four dreams.

All different.

All upsetting.

Annabelle shoved her way through the school hallway and out the front doors. She skipped the bus and decided to walk the four miles to Glenview. It would cut into their time a bit, but she didn’t think Jezebel would mind. She hoped the long walk would help clear her head. What it really did was leave her lingering with her thoughts for too long.

She was grumpy and irritable, and she had been since her mother’s strange words days ago and her father’s seemingly cruel reaction. She blew into Glenview barely registering anyone on her way in forty minutes later than she normally arrived. She didn’t care though. She pushed Jezebel’s door open with force, dumped her bag to the floor and
settled down
into her chair near tears.

“Well aren’t we a ray of sunshine,” Jezebel tittered. She stood at the windowsill watering her plants.

“I’m not in the mood,” Annabelle said curtly.

“And what makes you think
I’m
in the mood for
you?
” Jezebel volleyed back as she approached.

Annabelle scowled as Jezebel sat across from her. “What is
with
people?” she slapped her palms on the arms of the chair. “They’re hot then cold. Every freakin’ step forward sends us all back ten steps. It’s been years! Eight years! I’m so lost.” A sob tore from her throat. “I’m so lost. We all are.” Her voice faltered and broke. Tears streamed down her face and she let them.

Jezebel stood without answering her. She crossed the room and climbed into her bed, stretching out and making herself comfortable. Then, she patted the space next to her. Annabelle gave her a confused expression.

“Don’t be daft kiddo, get up here with me.” There was only a moment of hesitation before Annabelle did what Jezebel asked. As she crawled into the bed, Jezebel hooked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a silent embrace. Relief flooded her. Nothing felt better than being snuggled in Jezebel’s arms like this. Two months ago she couldn’t have dreamed up this scenario but now . . . now it was exactly perfect. She cried—no—she sobbed openly into Jezebel’s shoulder as she clung to the woman she’d grown so fond of. Long quiet moments passed. She finally ran out of tears. Her sniffles and choppy breaths evened out.

“The world is a complex place tiger. If you try to make sense of it you’ll end up reflecting your whole life away. Good intentions aren’t enough. You’ve got to act on them.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Annabelle’s voice was scratchy and hoarse.

“If you’d like,” Jezebel answered.

“It was his birthday.”

“Today?”

“No, no. the night I got the DUI. It was his birthday, or would have been. I wanted to forget so badly. He would have been twenty. I lied to my parents, told them I was hanging out at Madison’s that night. I went to Damon’s instead. We drank. I got emotional and claustrophobic and needed to just be alone so I ran out on him. I was driving home and instead of turning down my street, I went down
that
street. I left the car running and sat on the pavement where I found his body. I was a mess. The cops were just doing a normal patrol that night. I had just gotten back into the driver’s seat when they pulled up behind me. The car was still in park. Not that it mattered. It was stupid to begin with and I should have never driven that night anyways. But the rules are . . . if the keys are in the ignition and you blow drunk, you’re going down. I never told my parents that. I don’t even know if they paid enough attention to the report to notice
where
I was bagged.” There was a
brief moment
where Jezebel’s eyes clouded over and she appeared heartsick as Annabelle met her gaze. Was she heartsick for her? She didn’t have the time to decipher before Jezebel’s expression changed.

“I don’t know what losing a child or sibling is like honey, but I imagine it changes a person.”

“It’s not unique though. It happens. Every. Single. Day. People get over it. They move forward. Why are we so broken? So stuck?” she asked.

“I don’t have the answer to that one,” Jezebel said and tucked a lock of highlighted hair behind her ear. “Just think though, you only have four more months and then you’re free. You can go off to college and be whoever you want, move forward however you want and feel however you want.”

Jezebel was right. She had four months left before she could leave this town and choose her own path for moving on. It lightened her mood a smidge. “Well in the meantime—you got any sage advice for me? Four months can seem like a lifetime in my house.”

Jezebel snorted and grinned at her. “Sorry kiddo, I got nothing. Your house sounds miserable and without knowing your parents, I can’t really offer anything up as far as insight. I can only show you the door, you’re the one who will have to walk through it.”

“Maybe I should make them come and visit you too. You’re better than a grief counselor.” She chuckled at the thought of her parents sitting in this room and taking Jezebel’s crap. What a freaking show that would be.

Jezebel startled and made a choking sound. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Jeez, I was kidding. Relax,” she assured her. Jezebel blinked a few times. “Tell me more about Celeste.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Hmm,” Jezebel scrutinized her for a moment. “Alright then, Paris, nineteen eighty-nine.”

Chapter 18

Celeste

Paris 1989

Celeste loved watching Gabriel work. It was as though nothing else in the world existed except that very moment. His white lab coat suited his frame and his pocket protector was adorable and made her giggle. She
watched his mouth
pucker as his brow furrowed, a sure sign he was stumped.

Monique, his assistant, said
something
she couldn’t hear. He laughed, brushed a swath of dark blond hair out of his eyes and tied his hair back in a low ponytail. Celeste loved his laugh—it was throaty and deep and sent her pulse racing. She watched Monique and realized their expressions mimicked each other’s. Her pulse raced for her husband but her blood boiled over his assistant as she looked at him from under her veil of black eyelashes.

She knocked on the glass barrier between them securing his attention. A wide, dimpled grin appeared on his face that made her feel warm inside. She noted Monique’s expression fall but paid it no attention.

“Quand on parle du loup,”
speak of the devil,
Gabriel said opening the door and stepping into the corridor. She
chewed her lip to keep from saying something she might regret involving Monique.

Monique stepped out of the lab behind him, her mouth settled into a grim line. “You’re not due here for another four hours,” she stated. “Gabriel,” she nearly purred his name, “we have a lot to tie up.”

Celeste’s nostrils flared. She peeled her eyes from Monique and set them on her husband and held up a full white paper sack. “I come bearing lunch. My husband has to eat right?”

“We ate.” Monique commented before Gabriel had a chance to speak.

Incredulous, Celeste drew a deep breath in and chose instead to focus on her husband.

“It was a snack,” Gabriel scoffed, “I’d love to have lunch with you. I’m the luckiest lab rat here you know—stunning wife bringing me lunch.” Monique made a garbled sound and speared Celeste with a murderous look before stomping away.

“Gabriel, can’t you do something about her?” she pouted.

“Celeste,” he drew her name out in that sexy way only Gabriel could, “she’s harmless. It’s a pathetic crush that I don’t respond too. You are the only woman for me.” He rubbed his palm on his forehead as though he had a headache.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked.

“Yes, just tired and stumped today,
Il y a quelque chose qui cloche
and I can’t figure it out.”
Something’s amiss
.
“What did you bring for lunch?” Celeste smiled at him and ran off the list of things she’d picked up as his hand landed on the small of her back and guided them toward his office.

When they had finished the bulk of the food she had brought, he propped her up on his desk and placed a fresh cherry into her mouth. His eyes grew dark as she bit into the flesh surrounding the pit. Cherry juice trickled down her chin as he removed the pit from her mouth for her. His thumb caught it and wiped it up.
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear how much he wanted to slip his finger between her legs and feel how wet she was. Her breath hitched, and she swore her body combusted. She wrapped her legs around his waist and a hand around his neck—drew him to her and kissed him hard. As he worked the buttons on her jeans, she swore she saw someone standing outside his office through the blinds, and she had an inkling she knew who it was. She said nothing.
Good
,
she thought. Let her watch.

~
***
~

Saturday, Celeste cooked supper for them. Gabriel’s favorite—pot roast, potatoes and carrots in a red wine sauce. She hated that he had to spend his Saturday in the lab but he’d promised to be home by dinner and kept that promise. More than that he’d walked through their door whistling a light, upbeat tune, a sure sign he was in a good mood.

“Friday, I’d like to leave by nine,” she said after swallowing a bite.

Gabriel moaned as he chewed. “Fine by me. I still can’t believe she’s getting married.”

“I think Charles is perfect for her. No one else could have tamed Mara,” Celeste laughed.

“Well I certainly couldn’t have done it,” he chuckled.

“I can’t wait to see you all dressed up,” she mused.

“I can’t wait to strip you out of your bridesmaid dress. I peeked the other day when you tried it on—you looked edible.”

Celeste blushed and shook her head at him. “You’re devious.”

“No,” he stood and took her plate. “I’m lucky.” She grabbed his elbow as he passed. He stopped, leaned down and kissed her forehead. Gabriel was uncompromising about doing the cleanup himself. After some bickering about it, he shooed her into the living room, insisting that she relax while he finished cleaning up. The cushions and throw pillows surrounded her as she sank into them.

Gabriel joined her and they watched
Quantum Leap
before retiring to the bedroom and reading together for hours snuggled under their duvet.

~
***
~

Breakfast was a long and lazy affair. It was Sunday and they had nowhere to be. They ate on the bed like children, Indian-style with trays on the wrinkled bedspread. Their home was
cozy and homey, replete with overstuffed furniture and bursting bookcases and she loved it. In the afternoon they walked to the farmer’s market and snatched up enough fresh produce for the week. They sampled various mouth-watering cheeses and stopped for a Parisian hot chocolate, Celeste’s favorite treat.

As they curled up in the living room together that evening Celeste felt full and complete. She put her stocking clad feet up on the coffee table as he ran his hand down her side, finding her hand and intertwining their fingers. Bringing them to his lips, he kissed each one. She felt content knowing she had managed to create a life that not only appeared wonderful on the outside but one that felt perfect on the inside. She looked down at the twinkling of her wedding rings and smiled.