Purpose (11 page)

But it was different now. Instead of promises
of love and hope, the house now held guarantees of misery and
loneliness. Part of me wanted to leave. A very big part.

I inhaled deeply, telling myself I could do
this. I gathered the luggage and forced myself up the stairs. I
rummaged in his bag for the keys, taking time to feel each of his
belongings my hand came across, trying so hard to remember his
face, to feel his presence. Once I stepped inside, I didn’t have to
try. I could barely punch in the security code for the alarm, my
hands trembling and tears blurring my vision.

The memories of our unplanned honeymoon—so
long ago now—flooded over me as soon as I entered the kitchen. We’d
cooked so many meals here together, listening to U2, Nirvana and
Smashing Pumpkins, the only three CDs that had been in the Ferrari
at the time. Sometimes he’d taken me in his arms and spun me around
for a short dance as we waited for the sauce to thicken or water to
boil. I remembered him chasing me around the island with lobsters
in his hands before he dropped them in the big pot of steaming
water. My eyes traced over the crack he’d left in the granite
countertop the day we had to leave and tears streamed down my
cheeks.

I dropped the bags and stumbled through the
unchanged family room into the master bedroom. It looked exactly
the same, with a colossal bed and dresser in the main part of the
room and a chaise lounge and little table in front of the sliding
glass doors, which led out to the screened-in balcony. Everything
was white, with splashes of jewel-tone colors in the fabrics and
decorations, making it feel like a tropical island. He’d named it
the Caribbean room.

My breath caught as I remembered our first
night here. He was so happy I loved the place as much as he did.
And so loving and gentle as he took me for the first time.

I threw myself on the bed and sobbed. When
the racks of pain subsided, he swam into my vision. I saw clearly
his beautiful face with the sparkling eyes, smelled his delicious,
tangy-sweet scent, felt the electric pulse as he touched me, heard
his lovely voice say, “I love you,
ma lykita
,” as if he lay
right next to me. He felt close again.
So close
. And just
like that first night at the safe house, I
felt
his presence
in the world. Really felt it, like a nearly tangible energy
reaching into my chest, surrounding my heart and filling my
body.

I knew again, really
knew
he was still
alive. Any doubt had been erased. He lived…somewhere.

I pulled the bedding into me and sobbed
harder, clinging to it as though it were him, wishing like hell he
would just come back to me.

When I felt like I had no more tears, I
pulled myself out of the bed and examined the house. Mom had hired
a management company to care for it and everything seemed to be in
working order. I figured Mom had called to let them know of my
pending arrival once she realized I’d headed to the Keys. With a
push of a button, the hurricane shutters lifted and I went out to
the balcony. I curled up in the chair Tristan always sat in,
pretending I sat on his lap again, snuggling against his chest
instead of the cushion. And I bawled.

It was a horrible, heart-wrenching day and
night. But definitely not the worst of my life. In fact, I relished
the agony because it made me remember. And remembering made me feel
so close to him. I let the wounds open widely. I welcomed the pain
when I saw the cracked headboard, a consequence of our heated
passion. I embraced the burning throb as I stood at the shower
door, reliving some of my favorite memories.

“Baby, I feel so close to you now. Please
come to me.” I moaned myself to sleep, curled in a ball on
our
bed, my hand clutching the pendant as a lifeline. My old
memory-dream played throughout the night and I savored every
moment, knowing how important it was to hang on, even in my
dreams.

The next day came slightly easier and I knew
this was the right decision, coming here. After ignoring this place
for so long, it gave me what I’d needed all along—real memories, a
place he had been, where I could physically feel him and his love
for me. The longer I stayed in our bed, the less the memories felt
like an assault shattering my heart and more like a cozy blanket
surrounding me with warmth. The reassuring sensation continued
everywhere in the house and on the three-acre property as I worked
my way around to each special place. I sat on the little beach for
a long time, just gazing out over the water, remembering how we’d
swam and snorkeled and skinny-dipped in the moonlight.

Later, Owen and I left for groceries and when
we came back, I didn’t have to sob in the driveway. I had to admit
it helped to have Owen here. His presence gave a sense of comfort,
providing a link between the past and the present.

“Where do you go?” I asked him when we pulled
in front of the house. When I wanted to leave, I just called his
name outside and he was suddenly walking up the driveway. “I mean,
when you’re not right here. You’re obviously somewhere nearby.”

He chuckled. “I’m around.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He shrugged. “It’s true. I just hang around,
keeping an eye on the place.”

“Where do you sleep?”

“Where I feel like it…last night I slept on
your balcony. I wanted to be close.”

“
Really?
I didn’t know….”

“Well, yeah, you’re not supposed to. I’m here
at your beck and call. Otherwise, I’m supposed to keep my distance
and just protect. But I’ve always been there, through everything,
behind the scenes, protecting you…except when you were with…when I
knew you were safe.”

I knew who he was about to say. He hadn’t
needed to protect me when I was with the one person who could
protect me better than anyone—my husband. Because he himself was
the most dangerous creature on earth.

“You can stay in one of the bedrooms,” I
offered.

His lips formed a small smile. His eyes mixed
with kindness and empathy. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You
came here to be alone, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Don’t worry about me, okay? This is my job.
And, really, I love it. You’re a lot more interesting to protect
than Rina or Sophia.”

I snorted. “Glad I keep you entertained. You
probably heard all of my sleep talking and screaming.”

“Actually, not last night. You slept
peacefully. Boring for me, but good for you.”

“Thanks, Owen,” I said quietly. “For
protecting me. And for being a friend. If you need anything, like
to use the shower or anything….”

“Yeah, I did.” He chuckled again.

I stared at him, my eyebrows raised.

“While you slept. Gotta clean up somewhere,
don’t I? But it’s nice to have permission now. And you have fair
warning, you know, in case you wake up.”

I imagined finding him unexpectedly in
our
shower. “You
are
using the second bathroom,
right?”

“Yep…but that big shower of yours is
sick
.”

I narrowed my eyes. “It’s off limits.”

He threw his hands in the air. “Understood. I
noticed you don’t even use it. Your soap and shampoo are in the
other one.”

“Yeah, well…” I couldn’t tell him about the
memories the shower held for me. “It’s just too big to get
warm.”

“No need to explain yourself to me.”

He was too kind. “Thanks again, Owen.”

“See ya ’round. Holler if you need anything.”
He disappeared.

I went inside and dealt with the memories
again. Like this morning, it was easier, because I felt my love
there with me. I didn’t want to admit feeling his presence meant I
was getting worse, not better. Because I just didn’t feel like I
was worsening. In fact, the anger and insanity seemed to be
receding.
Yeah, that’s a good sign I’ve fallen into the
abyss.
Or, I’d finally found my way out. I wasn’t sure which
was right.

“Are you sure you’re okay there?” Mom asked
me when I checked in with a phone call before heading to bed.

“
No
!” I cried. I took a deep breath.
“But I will be.”

“I don’t like you there alone, Alexis.”

“I need to be, Mom. I’m sure I’m fine.
Besides, Owen’s been around.”

She ignored the as-if-you-didn’t-know-that
tone to my voice. “How are you doing physically? Are you eating and
sleeping?”

“No, not exactly.” I shrugged, though she
couldn’t see it. “But I physically
feel
great.”

“Like
what
?” She almost sounded
alarmed. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I don’t know, just energetic, I guess. I
feel like I need to move a lot.”

“Like your sudden interest in running?”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s exhilarating.”

“Anything else?”

I debated whether to tell her how the
intensity of my senses seemed to have increased exponentially. I
decided not to. It seemed weird, but not my normal freakiness.
Weird as in…maniacal.

“No. Why?”

She kept silent for a moment. “I’m sure it’s
nothing,” she finally said. “You’ve been under a lot of emotional
stress and I’m sure your body is just reacting to it.”

“Finally in a good way, I guess. My pooch is
almost gone.” I rubbed my hand over my stomach. It was much smaller
already.

“Just take care of yourself, Alexis. And
please tell me anything that’s going on. I need to know these
things. I can help you through them, you know.”

“Sure, Mom. So how’s Dorian?” I got her to
change the subject and heard all about their days without me. She
handed Dorian the phone so he could tell me he loved and missed
me.

Grief hit me again when I hung up and
remembered I was still alone. The only other time I’d ever been
alone overnight in my entire life was when Mom went out of town
that one weekend…that one glorious weekend…when we became a couple.
Remembering that extraordinary chapter of my life, I made my rounds
to the special places in the house and let myself cry it out. I saw
his face clearly as I dozed off.

Burning pain surged through my muscles and
nerves, waking me up. I rolled and thrashed in the bed, not able to
get comfortable, my muscles and joints tight and throbbing. I got
up twice to take a pain reliever, but it didn’t help at all. When I
finally fell asleep again, I awoke gasping from the intensity of
the burn. I felt the consequences of those runs when I’d been so
out of shape, physically paying for those stupid impulses. I
finally fell into a more comfortable sleep just long enough to
enjoy the memory-dream.

When I woke up at five, I felt completely
refreshed. In fact, I felt unusually strong, both physically and
mentally. The burning in the night was a distant memory. I ran
around the property several times since I had nowhere else to
safely run, then I went for a long swim, pushing myself harder on
each lap I made parallel to our private beach. I felt good.
It’s
like my body is becoming more powerful by the minute, like it’s
changing
.

That thought rushed me out of the water and
back inside.

I stared at myself in the mirror for what
seemed like hours, twisting and turning my body to study it from as
many angles as I could. The woman staring back at me no longer
looked fifty-something. My reflection looked completely different
than it had just a week earlier. A spark of life shone in my eyes.
Color brightened my skin again. Although wet, my hair felt thicker
and the grays had disappeared. Even with less sleep and intense
emotional strain, the dark circles under my eyes were hardly
noticeable. The wrinkles were shallow, almost invisible.

And my body
… I didn’t understand, but
the running and exercise—and forgetting to eat—had dramatically
reversed the damage I’d done. The pooch had shrunken into just a
shadow of its former self. My hips and butt were noticeably
smaller. No wonder I had to keep hitching up my shorts. Even my
breasts looked almost back to normal. And
perkier
. They were
almost pre-baby.

Should I call Mom?
I debated the
question for quite a while. In the end, I decided not to. After
all, I’d been through hell this week. My body just reacted in an
unusual way, as my body tended to do. It was probably just healing
itself from the long-term damage once I decided to let it.
These
may not be permanent changes. Not the Ang’dora
. I had little
knowledge of what the
Ang’dora
would be like, but I knew I
was too young and I wasn’t going to let my hopes rise…yet.

There was one definite difference about me: I
started to feel alive again. Really
alive.

By the next day, comforted with both sleeping
and waking memories and the feeling he was close, if only in
spirit, I felt real hope. Psycho and Swirly hadn’t made any
appearances since I’d arrived, Foggy seemed to be dissipating and I
actually felt like Almost Alexis, even without Dorian. And for some
reason, this made me feel like I could finally finish my book. As I
set up the laptop on the screened-in balcony, Owen bounded up the
outside stairs three at a time and flew through the screen
door.

“It’s Sophia,” he said, sounding a little
anxious. My cell phone rang. I looked at him and he raised his
eyebrows.

“Alexis, are you okay?” Mom asked. She
sounded more than just a
little
anxious.

“I’m fine. Why?”

“Listen, honey, we have some serious
problems.”

“What?” Panic immediately set in at the tone
of her voice. “Is Dorian okay?”

“Yes. He’ll be fine.”

“Then what’s going on, Mom?”

“Are you almost done with that book?”

What? Why is the book so important?
“Actually, I was just getting ready to write. I think I can finish
it soon.
Why
?”