My Soul Immortal (17 page)

“Please,” she whispers into my ear and then nibbles.

I moan softly. “Maybe you were sent to torment me.” With a deep breath, I begin. “You see, I didn’t know how to tell you I’m immortal without you thinking I was a complete nutcase. But after the cold shoulder at the coffee shop this morning—”

She winces. “I am sorry about that.”

“No need. We’ve both been confused about what’s been going on.”

Leah nods.

“I was planning on telling you everything tonight, no matter what. It was time. If you didn’t believe, I thought of a hike, but that seemed a bit extreme, so I decided against it.”

“I’m not following.”

“I thought of taking you to Bradbury Park. It’s north of…”

“I know where Bradbury Park is. And?”

“At some point, I would have climbed a tree… and fallen. You’d see I wasn’t dead. Then I could’ve told you what I was without you thinking I’m crazy.” My words rush out in a rapid flow of air. “It worked before.” I flash my best innocent smile.

Her jaw tightens. “Before?” she says, forcing patience into her voice. “Actually, I don’t want to know any more. What’s past is past. But you are going to promise me something. You will never think of doing anything like that again. I couldn’t bear watching it, even if you can’t die.”

“Okay, I won’t fall out of any more trees.”

“Wait. Any
more
trees?” She gapes at me with disbelief.

I chuckle and kiss her lips. “Remember, love, you don’t want to know.”

Leah yawns, shaking her head. “You’re right. I’m too tired to care anyway.” She snuggles into my side. “Lots to absorb. And next week is gonna be a bear.”

“Why?”

“Finals,” she says with another yawn.

My stomach sinks. “Will you be going to live with your mom for the summer?”

“No. Plans changed after I saw you. Couldn’t leave with you wandering around Portland, now could I? I’m staying at the dorms. More time to…” Her words give way to slow, steady breaths.

I lay on Leah’s bed, my arms wrapped around her. I listen to her quiet even breathing and daydream of a future I wished for, but until today, never deemed possible.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A weight shifts against my chest. My eyelids flicker open to the morning sun blazing in through the window. I peer down at the golden tangles of hair. Leah is still molded into my side.

She stirs, and her face turns to mine. A smile spreads across her lips. “Good morning,” she whispers.

“Good morning, yourself.” I grin. “How did you sleep?”

“Wonderful. And you?”

“Never better. First dreamless sleep in, well, a very long time.”

“Dreams aren’t good?”

I look out the window, measuring my response, and decide to keep my answer simple. “They didn’t used to be,” I say, looking to her.

“Oh.” Her stare darts away from mine.

“Did you dream?” I ask, just to get her attention.

“None of your business.” She smiles. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to make you blush.”

I brush my finger along her jaw, smirking. “That good, huh?”

She wriggles off me and stands. “How about I make some breakfast?”

“Breakfast? There’s no kitchen.” I glance around, stopping at the perfectly made bed on the adjacent wall. “Do you have a roommate?”

“Yeah,” Leah says, grabbing her towel and clothes from one of the dressers.

“What if she caught me here last night?”

Leah laughs. “Tina would’ve said, ‘Good work.’”

I grimace.

“Don’t worry. She doesn’t stay here anymore. She moved in with her boyfriend two weeks ago. Says she’s keeping the dorm room for her parents’ benefit. If they knew she was shacked up, they’d kill her.”

“Your roommate doesn’t sound—”

“Stop right there. Remember, like you said last night, times have changed. You sound like Grady. I have one man in my life who thinks he knows best. I don’t need two. So be nice. Now, I’m gonna shower then make breakfast, okay?” With a teasing scowl, she marches out into the hall.

Alone, I wander the small rectangular room. The crude bookshelf grabs my attention. I run my fingers over the worn spines of
Great Expectations
,
Wuthering Heights
,
Persuasion
, and Gaskell’s
North and South
, all crammed in whichever way they fit. I pick up the book that tops the stack—
Jane Eyre
. One of my constant companions, my own tattered copy sits in my bottom dresser drawer even now. I thumb through the dog-eared pages, to Charlotte Brontë’s closing words:
“… his mind will be unclouded, his heart will be undaunted, his hope will be sure, his faith steadfast.” I envy St. John’s brand of faith but not his locked heart. No, I could never barricade my love from Leah—not now, not ever—even if that act meant gaining his level of assurance. She seems to have the power to exhume me from my past, and I love her more for her effort.

When Leah returns, she’s dressed in an oversized Bruins T-shirt, and her wet hair is wound up into a sloppy bun. The shirt’s hem barely touches her mid-thigh, showing off the long slender curve of her legs. My face flushes, and I drop my attention to the floor before being caught ogling.

She kneels to haul a plastic bin out from under the bed. Rummaging through a collection of small appliances and kitchen utensils, she removes a frying pan and a battered camp burner with a frayed cord.

“You’re going burn this place down with that thing.”

“We college students have to be resourceful.” She smiles and winks.

Soon, the room is filled with the savory aroma of coffee, eggs, and bacon. A knock draws Leah’s attention toward the door.

“Expecting someone?” I ask.

“No.” She bites her lower lip. “It’s probably just Nathan or Max from across the hall, wondering if I made enough grub for them, too. Would you mind getting it?” she asks, flipping a second batch of bacon.

“My pleasure.”

She must catch the glint in my eye, because she adds, “Be nice.”

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman. I promise.”

A more frantic knock thumps the door. Maybe Nathan having the wrong impression wouldn’t be such a terrible thing. I ruffle my hair then make quick work of the lock, and the door swings open to reveal a nervous Grady.
Shit!
He stares dumbfounded while seconds tick by.

“Where’s Leah?” he finally asks.

“She’s here,” I say. “Everything all right?”

Grady jerks past me then stops dead. His eyes rove around the scene, and mine follow. It’s seven thirty in the morning, his sister is wearing only a T-shirt, and I’m answering the door with bedhead. The scene doesn’t look innocent—that’s for sure.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I whisper.

His wary glare snaps to me, then he looks at Leah. His features soften. “You okay?”

“Of course I’m okay,” Leah says.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“All right. Let me finish. Then we can all sit down for breakfast and talk.”

“Alone,” he grumbles.

Leah scowls at him. “You’re being rude.”

“No worries,” I say. “I need to get to work anyway.”

She tosses me an apologetic glance. “Will I see you tonight?”

“Definitely,” I say, sitting on her bed and slipping on my sneakers.

My response earns me another glare from Grady. Ignoring him, I walk over to Leah. She places her hands around my neck. I kiss her on the forehead.
No need to hurl Grady over the edge just yet.

“See you tonight,” I whisper.

When I arrive at work, the bookstore’s windows are dark, and the door is locked. Ed might be the most disorganized man on the planet, but he’s always at the store before me. I check my watch. 8:00.

Five minutes later, Ed hustles down the sidewalk in my direction, muttering. He looks more unkempt than usual. His shirt’s untucked, and what hair he does have is sticking up in all directions. As he unlocks the door, his eyes stay riveted to the brass locks, and he doesn’t acknowledge me at all.

“Everything okay, Ed?” I ask.

“Sally’s still mad. She’s never held a grudge like this,” he says, more to himself than to me. “Tried apologizing. Didn’t come out right. Actually, I think I just made her madder.” He flicks on the lights and heads straight for the back without another word.

Ed’s done so much for me. Besides being a great boss, he’s a good friend. I want to repay his kindness somehow. By lunchtime, I have a plan—an apologetic ploy I saw work for my father. I might not be able to smooth things over with Grady just yet, but I certainly can coax forgiveness out of Sally. I pop my head into the storage room. Ed’s sitting at his desk, staring at the ceiling, his feet propped up. He looks like a lost puppy.

“Ed. I’m going to grab some lunch.”

“’Kay.”

“Do you want something?”

“Nope.”

I flip the sign to CLOSED on my way out.

The Village Florist is two blocks down. The scents inside blend to create a unique stinging-sweet fragrance all its own. The little shop is made smaller by the shelves crammed into it. Each is cluttered with decorative planters, gardening supplies, and random collections of all things Maine. Seafaring knickknacks are scattered among stuffed animals of seagulls, seals, and red lobsters. Even sea-glass jewelry is tourist ready.

A stout lady greets me from behind the long counter that stretches halfway across the store. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?” she asks, cheerily.

“I need fifteen red roses. Can they can be delivered today?”

“Is it in the area?”

“Yes.”

“No problem. Just fill this out. I can make the bouquet now and have it delivered as soon as my driver gets back from lunch.” She pushes an order form toward me and then steps to a cooler stuffed with colorful blossoms, some recognizable, some I’ve never seen before. She selects long-stemmed roses from a bucket in the front, looking each one over before placing it on the counter.

I fill in Sally’s name and address. Now for the hard part: the message.
Hmmm.
What should I say? I mean, what should Ed say?
I sigh and begin planning the words in my head.

My dearest Sally,

I am sorry for any pain I may have caused you.

I stop.
No, that’s me, not Ed.
I need to keep the apology short and to the point. Ed’s the no-frills type. Finally, when I think I have the right tone, I grab a pink slip of paper.

Dear Sally,

I’m sorry. Please forgive me.

Love, Ed

I read the note again. Definitely not the way I would apologize to the woman I love. Nevertheless, this isn’t about me. My phrasing is as close to Ed’s manners as I can impel myself to get. The “please”
and
“love” might be overdoing things just a bit. Still, both need to be said.

I return to the bookstore with two subs in hand and coax Ed into a bite or two.

The rest of the afternoon goes on in a routine fashion, except for the fact Ed is out of commission, staring aimlessly at the ceiling in the back room—until four o’clock, when Sally marches in. She gives me a little smile but doesn’t slow her beeline for the office. I notice something different about her, but I can’t put my finger on the change. Then it hits me. She’s dyed her hair darker, to cover the gray.

Half an hour later, she emerges and leans against the counter. “Thanks for the flowers.”

Dammit.
“Flowers?”

“Don’t even try it. Ed Growley isn’t the type to send fifteen long-stemmed red roses from a florist. I’m lucky if he gives me carnations from the supermarket. The fifteen was a nice touch, by the way. You were listening to my lecture on Victorian floriography.”

I didn’t need reminding; I knew the language by heart. “You forgave him?”

“Yes. It was time. I love him too much to let something so silly get in the way.”

“I’m glad. He was missing you,” I say.

“I missed him, too.”

“Like the hair, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks. It’s just out of a box.” She gives the ends a flip.

Ed hurries out from the back room. “Hey, Jack? Can you close up? I want to take my girl out on the town tonight.”

“Sure thing.” I grin, watching Ed and Sally arm in arm.

The misunderstanding with Grady is not so easily mended. A week passes, and nothing changes. Grady is avoiding me like a plague, but every evening, he calls Leah, and every evening the two of them fight. Leah doesn’t like to talk about Grady’s disapproval. From the few details I’ve gathered, Grady doesn’t believe I’m good enough for his sister, and Leah is tired of him butting into her business. Sally’s words gnaw at me from the deep corners of my mind.
I love him too much to let something so silly get in the way.
I love Leah too much. But what to do? I can’t make Grady accept me, and I’m not giving her up. We’re at an impasse. The whole situation is a mess, and the separation has Leah frazzled. Her stress is hard to watch.

Despite all this, Leah and I spend as much time together as we can between work and school. Our free time is filled with motorcycle rides along the curving rocky shore, hand-in-hand walks through the city at twilight, and talking, loads of talking. She tells me how she visits her father’s grave every May first, on the anniversary of the day he was buried. She loves the Golden Oldies, but fiercely dislikes the Beatles—we agree to disagree on the subject. Leah tells me she discovered her love of painting while she was sick in the hospital. I share stories about my childhood and family, but right or wrong, I avoid my past after Lydia. Although Leah has every right to know all, I’m not ready to confess my sins. Not yet. Not with Grady gunning for me.