Jezebel (8 page)

“I . . . need to use the room,” she stuttered out.

“Go ahead.” He stepped aside.

“Gabriel!”

“What? Is it, you know?” A slight tug of a smile on his lips.

Her hand came up to her mouth and her cheeks felt inflamed. She was definitely nowhere near the peeing with him in the room phase, nor the other thing he was suggesting.

“Aww, mon amour, you’re so sweet. So innocent.” He walked to her and cupped her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. “I know girls use the bathroom.” Again her cheeks heated. She pursed her lips.

“Yeah, and I know you do too, but I don’t want to see it.” She deadpanned.

Gabriel’s face broke into a cat-ate-the-canary grin, laughter rumbled from his mouth, his chest shook and his shoulders rounded. Celeste shuffled left, slowly maneuvering him, as he laughed, toward the door. When he was just far enough through, she smiled at him. He looked at where he stood and a mischievous gleam shone in his eye.

“Oh no. I really have to go!” she squealed, thinking he was going to come back in. She started to close the door on him. He fisted the fabric of the towel at his waist and yanked. She stopped moving. He stood naked and proud as her jaw dropped to the floor. Reaching forward, with a sated smile, he put his hand on the door and pulled it closed, leaving Celeste gawking at the painted door. She snapped out of her daze and hurried to accomplish what she had set out to, so she could hurry to the dashing male prowess that waited for her.

The flight home was quick on Sunday. The drive from the airport even shorter. As he pulled up to her dormitory she frowned not wanting the weekend to be over yet. Saturday had been picture perfect in her opinion. After
finally
leaving the hotel room around noon, they’d rented bikes and peddled for miles exploring. By the time they returned from their exploration, they were both tired and ate together in their room instead of going out.

~
***
~

Waking in Gabriel’s arms this morning, again, had set her belly aflutter. She felt as though she had won the lottery with each look he gave her, each lingering touch, each quiet moment spent together. Now they were home.

“Why the frown?” he asked.

She turned her head to him, reached out and cupped his cheek. “I’m sad the weekend’s over. I had so much fun.”

“It doesn’t have to be, mon amour. Come home with me. We can have all the mornings and all the nights.”

She smiled as she rubbed the pad of her thumb over his five o’clock shadow. “I’d never get any studying done. You distract me.
Always.
”

“Celeste,” he started.

“No, Gabriel. It’s only three semesters. Three semesters and I’m yours.”

“I don’t like waiting,” he complained.

“Don’t I know it.” She threw her head back and laughed at his little boy pout. He was sexy even when throwing a tantrum.

Turning the car off, he exited and ran around the hood to get her door for her. She took his hand and stepped out. They lingered a moment, chest to chest, before he stepped backward. She watched as he closed her door and then retrieved her bag for her.

“Want me to carry it up?” he asked.

“Sly, Gabriel, real sly,” she teased.

“A man can try, can’t he?”

“I hope you never stop.”

He walked her up the steps to the door and set her bag down before lifting her into his arms and peppering her face with light kisses.

“I love you. I’ll miss you tonight,” he whispered in her ear.

She placed her mouth next to his ear. “I’ll sleep with you in my heart tonight.”

One passionate kiss and lingering hug later he was gone. Celeste pushed through her bedroom door, plodded to her bed and set her bag down.

“You’re back!” Mara squealed from the doorway. Matteo stood behind her but quickly pushed past beating Mara to her and wrapping his arms around her in a firm embrace.

“We missed you this weekend,” he said.

“I missed you guys too,” she said before laughing, “okay, I was a little too . . . preoccupied to miss anyone,” she admitted. Mara mock gasped before a laugh tumbled out while Matteo watched her a moment too long before joining in. Briefly she wondered what his issue was before pushing the thought aside.

“You’re such a brat.” Matteo gave her an exaggerated smile.

“Yes, but that’s why you love me,” she teased.

“Yeah, that’s why I love you all right.”

Matteo plopped down on her bed causing her overnight bag to bounce and fall. He lunged to catch it in time but the bag hit the floor upside down with a thud.

“Well thank god it was zipped.” Mara quirked.

“Sorry, mio fiore,” Matteo muttered bending at the waist to retrieve her bag for her. As he did a long black velvet box fell from the front pocket to the floor.

“What’s that?” Mara asked bounding from her perch on her bed. Celeste watched as Mara scooped it up from the floor before she could.

“I don’t know, give it here.” She held her hand out expectantly. Mara opened the box just a smidge before snapping it shut. A huge grin spread across her face.

“I knew you guys were getting serious,” Mara said with assurance.

“What?”

“He’s buying you jewelry! What says
serious
more than jewelry?” Mara asked.

“I assure you there was no jewelry given this weekend.”

Mara forked over the rectangular box to Celeste. She took a minute to look it over.
Where had it come from?
She peeked inside and saw a note. Opening the box fully she pulled the note from atop a stunning gold locket.

It read; Je suis à vous.
I am yours.

She picked up the locket and turned it over in her hand. The cool gold chain snaked between her fingers as she inspected it. The locket was tasteful, heart-shaped with a keyhole emblem on the face of it. She opened it. Vous êtes la clé.
You’re the key,
was engraved inside. Her heart felt swollen. She couldn’t contain the smile that blossomed across her face. Celeste had never received anything of value from a man before. Her insides grew warm and she was sure her cheeks flushed.
How’d he manage to slip that into her bag without her noticing? And furthermore, what if she hadn’t found it straight away? Would he have said something?
Celeste turned it over again and stroked the precious metal between her index finger and thumb.

“
What’s it say?” Matteo asked peering over her shoulder. Celeste held the locket out for him and Mara to read.

“Damn,” Mara breathed. “He is like the king of romance. You are one lucky bitch Celeste Fogarty.” Celeste didn’t know what to feel. She didn’t know what to say. She was lucky and she knew it but Gabriel was different from anyone she’d encountered before. He was vines of honeysuckle and clematis growing up along a trellis, extra-sweet, ripening the surrounding air. He was a house that smelled of potpourri and homemade candles and fresh baked cookies. He was so much more than anything she could imagine. She bit her lip in thought.

“What are you the key to?” Matteo chimed in.

Mara and Celeste shoulder bumped him at the same time while emphatically saying, “His heart!”

“That’s cheesy.” Matteo chuckled. “And so are you two.”

Mara made a face at him but Celeste didn’t bother to respond. Matteo was romantic at heart. They’d shared many conversations over the last three years about love and life and she knew that he would gladly give his heart away when the time came, cheesy or not. Instead she held out the locket to him and asked, “Would you?”

Without hesitation he took the necklace from her. Celeste turned her back to him and lifted her hair from her neck. The locket dropped in front of her until it rested in her décolletage. Matteo’s warm fingers worked deftly at the nape of her neck securing the clasp. Her skin tingled at the contact and goose bumps broke out down her arms.

“There. Let’s see.” He asked turning her to face him and Mara. He trailed his hands down her arms, hiding the goose bumps until they were gone.

“It really is beautiful,” Mara said. “Simple but stunning.”

“It suits you perfectly,” Matteo agreed.

“I think maybe I need to make a thank you phone call,” she trilled with a flutter in her belly.

Chapter 7

Annabelle

“You left me empty on the floor. Without even looking back.”

~ L’ame Immortelle—Betrayal

“Listen, I have to run. My parents get all bent out of shape if I’m late and the bus never seems to be on time,” Annabelle complained. She pulled her hair into a ponytail as she stood.

“Yes, yes. We don’t want you getting in any
more
trouble.” Jezebel gave her a wry smile. Annabelle could not help but think it held a secret. There was something endlessly intriguing about Jezebel.

“Yeah, alright,” she responded.

“Annabelle,” Jezebel called as she stepped through the doorway into the hall, “there is a part of you that clings to your brother; to a different time. We all cling to that time when we’ve lost someone, but it doesn’t mean we’re going to get it back. Things change. As do we. And many things changed the day your brother died and that’s okay.”

Annabelle thought about her words and nodded to her before turning to leave.

The air was heavy with the earthy scent of impending rain as she waited at the bus stop. It made her think of her brother. Of how he would have had the window open in his bedroom so he could listen to the storm as it rolled in, bringing in the sodden, earthy smell of rain. She would have been scared when the thunder boomed. The best part of having him around was sneaking into his room when she was scared. Together, they would count the seconds between the strike and the clap of thunder exploding across the night sky. When the storm was far enough away she’d curl up in his bed with him and fall asleep.

The sound of squeaking brakes broke her memory. The bus came to a stop and Annabelle boarded. There were few seats left this evening—people didn’t want to chance getting caught in the rain. She pushed through the narrow aisle, found a seat and stared out the window. As the bus moved on to its next stop she watched kids speeding down the sidewalks on bikes, their smiles wide and playful. It made her think about how she and her brother used to get in trouble for riding their bikes on the crowded sidewalk downtown. They’d lean their bikes against the wall of a building, never bothering to lock them, and go inside the stores to buy supplies for whatever Saturday adventure they’d planned for that week.

The bus brakes squeaked before lurching to a stop, jarring her thoughts. Annabelle wiped away the tear rolling down her cheek. She gathered her emotions and blotted her eyes, reminding herself that the world doesn’t stop so you can grieve. The death of a loved one doesn’t make you special.

The heavy oak door looked oppressive as she climbed her front porch. Once inside, she kicked off her shoes and hurried to the bathroom. Annabelle held on to the edge of the sink. In the mirror, her reflection stared back with flushed cheeks. She took a moment to regroup, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on her face. She took a calming breath and headed for the dining room.

Her father drained his glass. The ice clinked. At dinner she had asked them each what the high and low were from their days—a game her mother used to play with them
before.
It was painful, but they’d both answered. After dinner she’d helped her mom with the dirty dishes. She’d switched on the stereo, tuning into the oldies station. Her mother had raised an eyebrow at her but Annabelle caught her humming along after a minute or two. Her dad’s office, with its rich, dark molding and wainscoting, made her nervous. It was serious, so formal. He gave her a gentle smile as he stepped behind her and shut the door. She heard the lock click shut. Outside his bay window, rain fell in the shafts of yellow light from the street lamp.

He sat behind his desk and shuffled papers around. “What did you need to ask me?”

“How come we never talk about him?”

Her father huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Belle.”

“What?” she replied in a snit.

“Why are you dredging this up?”

“Why are you burying it?” she pushed. It was a tired argument, and she was tired of having it.

“Because,” he boomed. She startled. His tone softened. “Because, Belle, it does no one any good to think about it. To feel it.” He left the statement hanging in the thick air between them.

“It makes me happy to remember him.” She lifted her chin defiantly.

“Then remember him,” he said dismissively, “It doesn’t mean you need to do it
out loud.
” He shut her down, quickly and efficiently.

“This entire family is screwed up. We all stopped talking about him. We all stay silent. The silence in this fucking house is deafening! We used to be a family,” she yelled.

Her father stood. “Yes, we did.” He looked pained as he let out a long breath.
Good,
she thought. At least it meant he was feeling
something.

“Dad?” she hedged. He looked to her, “I miss things . . .”

“We all do.”

“But, we’re still here.
I’m
still here. Why don’t
I
get to have a family?”

To this there was no response. She was met with familiar silence. The kind that broke hearts, shattered dreams and slowly ate away at your soul like an insidious parasite. For tonight, she could not, would not try any more. She stormed from his office to her room barely giving her mother a passing look as she inquired what was wrong.

Outside the window, the rain sheeted across the sky and struck hard on the flat roof, pinging as it funneled through the gutters and downspouts. She felt the fatigue in her limbs as she sunk into her bed. Her door creaked open with a soft knock.

“Belle?” Her mother’s voice was faint.

“Come in.”

Her mother glided across the carpet gracefully and came to a seat on the edge of Annabelle’s bed. Her face wasn’t pinched like normal. She appeared soft and thoughtful. Annabelle didn’t bother moving from her spot. She closed her eyes when she felt her mother’s hand run through her long hair. She inched her own hand toward her mother. When Annabelle’s hand found her mother’s free hand, she laced their fingers together and squeezed gently. Her mother squeezed back.

Annabelle fell asleep thinking how small holding hands seems but how large it
feels.
And about her brother’s easy smile.

~
***
~

A towel turban entwined her hair. She thought about Jezebel. Parents and denial be damned. Annabelle turned on her MP3 player and connected it to the docking speaker. She flicked through playlists until she found one to suit her mood. She sang along to words and danced as she got ready for school. She applied mascara and eye shadow, added a touch of perfume to her wrists and neck, and headed downstairs to the smell of bacon.

“Wow!” Annabelle said entering the kitchen. Her dad stood at the stove flipping eggs. He turned and grinned at her. For a moment she was lost in déjà vu. Her father, when home, always made fabulous breakfasts for her and her brother.

“Coffee?” he asked and nodded at the pot on the counter.

“Yeah, I have a big test today.” She shuffled to the counter.

Annabelle poured herself a mug and then asked her father how he took his before fixing one for him as well. He piled her plate with bacon, a side of eggs and a slice of toast.
Just the way she liked it.
She sat at the breakfast bar and dug in as he did the
New York Times
crossword puzzle, which meant the coffee had kicked in.

“What’s it in?” he asked after sipping his coffee.

“Calculus,” she groaned.

~
***
~

Her father’s surprise breakfast had set the mood for the rest of Annabelle’s week. She felt lighter, happier and more secure. He’d left for a business trip the next morning and wouldn’t be back for two weeks but the breakfast had made everything, for the moment, better. It was as if he was
trying
or apologizing—she couldn’t be sure which, but either option made her heart feel lighter. Maybe he had heard her after all. She had floated into school in a slightly upbeat mood.

“Damon. No.”

It had taken Madison until Thursday to tell her about last weekend. Annabelle felt like a fool. For three days she’d been none the wiser. How dumb Damon must think she was.

“Belle, come on.” He sounded like a five-year-old. It irritated her. The more he pushed her to disobey her parents’ grounding, the more annoyed she became. She propped a hip out and rested her hand on it.

“I can’t. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“You don’t have to be a bitch about it,” he snapped.

She snapped her eyes to his and glared. “A bitch? Really Damon? Madison let me know you were at Matt’s party Saturday night.”

“And? I’m not grounded Belle,” he shot back.

“And you had Sierra sitting on your lap,” she spit the words at him in quick succession.

Damon reddened slightly and then, “Anything else you’d like to inform me about my life?”

That was the last straw. Annabelle dropped her bag to the hall floor and slapped him across his cheek. Hard. “Yes. You’re now single.”

She lifted her bag and stomped away from her
ex
-boyfriend. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she pushed them back and willed herself to ignore the sorrow she was feeling. It wasn’t real. It was the simple fact that rejection had occurred. It overwhelmed her but it would pass. This pain was nothing to her everyday norm.

Damon was a distraction, and a crappy one at that. She knew it wasn’t love but still, hearing about him and Sierra had put a dent in her self-esteem. Madison had tried to make her feel better when she told her about the party Saturday, saying Sierra was sloshed, but it did nothing to ease the hurt she felt.
Fake it ’til you make it.
If you don’t feel good, pretend you do because eventually you will. She repeated that mantra the entire bus ride home from school.

As she trudged through the entryway twenty minutes later the sound of
Born in the U.S.A
blared through the house. Annabelle hoofed it to the kitchen and the source of the music. Her parents had often played Bruce Springsteen’s CDs growing up. Her mother had claimed it was the secret to baking the perfect cookie.
Ha.
As if Bruce made a cookie good—but it was her mother’s tradition and right now, it brought a smile to her face. Traditions proved soothing when you felt less than stellar.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Belle! You’re just in time,” her mother greeted. Her cheer was refreshing, but it also caused confusion to stir in her gut.

“For what?” she asked and offered up a smirk.

“Cookie batter,” she stated as she held up a spoon.

Annabelle crossed the kitchen and snatched the spoon from her mother’s hand. Depositing it into her mouth she groaned. There really was nothing better than eating cookie dough. The sound of unfamiliar laughter rang out. Opening her eyes she realized it was her mother’s.

“Mom?”

“What?” her mother answered cleaning up some of the mess she had made.

“Did you and Dad ever cheat on each other or maybe think the other one was?” Her mother’s face clouded over. Her features became pinched and tight. Annabelle instantly wished she could take her words back. She wanted the carefree look back.

“Why would you ask that?” her mother asked carefully.

“Damon,” she answered.

“That boy isn’t worth a moment of your time. If you suspect or know he cheated, then it’s time to cut your losses. He’s nothing but trouble, always was.” Her mother carried dishes to the sink.

Annabelle fidgeted in her spot. “Mom?” she called.

“Yes?” Her mother looked over her shoulder to her.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, hon.” Her mother smiled. It didn’t quite reach her eyes though and that made Annabelle’s heart ache.

They worked silently together placing spoonful’s of cookie dough onto greased baking sheets and listening to the E Street Band. It was more than Annabelle could have hoped for on a bad day. She was greedy and would take what she could get.

~
***
~

One month. This particular Tuesday marked the fourth visit to Glenview. Only five months or twenty more visits until freedom belonged to her again. Strangely, this made Annabelle slightly anxious. She couldn’t quite understand why though. A month ago, she’d arrived at the assisted living facility wishing the weeks away. Now, however, she was disturbed at the thought that they would end. Not today, but, they would end. Perhaps it was simply because she had grown to enjoy Jezebel’s company or maybe it was just that she liked the woman’s story. Either way, she realized that her last visit with the woman would be bittersweet.

“Hi, Jezzie,” she greeted as she entered Jezebel’s room.

“Well hello to you.”

“How was your week?”

“Did you just ask me how
my
week was?” Jezebel balked.

Annabelle shrugged. “Yeah.”