Rosethorn (30 page)

"My wife was also very sensitive," he said, looking away. "She died 18 years ago, of cancer.” Sera's suppressed laughter withered. If John was emitting anything, it would be profound sadness.

"I'm sorry."

"Very hard
,” he said, looking down on her. "Very hard.” John's voice trembled slightly. "But then I've been surrounded by sickness and death all my life. My mother died when I was young. She was ill for a long time, too. And then my wife..."

John looked as if his loss only happened last week. Sera didn't know what she would do if he started crying. She thought maybe she should pat his back, but she didn't want to touch him.

"I know we'll meet again and soon. In the next life."

Sera nodded mutely.

"My wife and I have at least had, oh, twelve cycles together, dating back to the fifteenth century. So, we just have to wait this cycle out and in the new one, we'll find each other again. Do you know your past lives, ever plumbed your memory?"

Sera shook her head.

"I have a feeling we've met before.” John was motionless as he peered down at her, his eyes magnified and unblinking behind the filmy lens of his glasses. "You've got an old soul,” he after a few minutes of wordless staring. "It's hard to tell here."

"Why is that?" 

"Too much interference."

"From...the dead?"

"Yes.” Again, Sera bit her inner lip.

"You're haunted...by something or someone. It will drive you far from home.” Unnerved, Sera felt prickling on her arms. John shook his head. "I can't tell much more. Now, if we were in Sedona, the spirit forms surrounding you would be clearer. Ever been? It's in Arizona. The temporal plane there is really conducive to visions and communicating with spirits. Here, there are too many competing vortexes."

The prickling on her arms stopped and her mind started to wander as John talked more about "vortexes" and "vibrations."

She looked around the largely empty, quiet cemetery. She could not imagine any place, well, more dead. She felt relief when she saw Frances walking briskly towards them, an even more pronounced frown on her dough-like face. The gypsy women emerged from behind a mausoleum and also made their way toward them.

"...That's why I avoid stairwells.”

"Oh
,” Sera said politely. She was already formulating a strategy on how to excuse herself.

They waited around for the Goth boy, but he had, it seemed, vanished, perhaps disappointed that there were no plans for drawing pentagons at the stroke of midnight. No one seemed surprised by his disappearance and after standing around in strained silence, John herded them all to the rest of the walk, pointing out, as promised, Colma's famous underground citizens, once more adapting the solemn and formal manner of an undertaker.

"It's like that alien movie, where everybody looks and sounds normal until you get them up close and something is totally off,” she described to Allison later that evening as they lay on the carpet of Allison's room, listening to "Nightbird.” "I mean vortexes?"

"Weird. But what about that haunted stuff?"

"I know. That creeped me out. Of course, we were in a cemetery."

"And what did he mean that it will drive you far from home?" 

"Maybe he meant this.” Sera took a piece of white paper from her pocket and unfolded it before handing it to Allison. An empty white envelope, stained and torn at the side, it was addressed to Sera's grandmother and posted from New York City. It bore no return address.

"I found it in the garbage a couple months ago."

Allison turned over the wrinkled envelope, examining it. She looked at Sera in puzzlement.

"I've seen an envelope like this in the mail before. And each time it comes, my grandma gets, I don't know, kinda angry, sad at the same time."

"Who's it from?"

"Well, she doesn't know anybody in New York. I looked through her address book. And it's handwritten, so I know it's not like a bill or junk mail."

"Did you see what was in it?"  Sera shook her head.

"Whatever it was, it was thin and shaped like a check. And I got my savings account statement two weeks later. The day after that came, my grandmother deposited $2,000 in my college fund.”

"So, what are you saying?"

"I think it's blood money. From Him."

"Your dad?"  Allison asked incredulously.

"Sperm donor
,” Sera corrected. "Why would my grandma get checks from somebody in New York City? And if she did, why wouldn't she put it in her own account? Why mine? And why wouldn't she tell me about it? Maybe He feels guilty so he sends my grandma money every now and again to make up for the fact that He abandoned me and my mother and caused her to kill herself. Like my mom's life's only worth $2,000,” she spat out.

"Maybe it's from someone else."

"I don't think so. In fact, I'm almost positive it's from Him. I found something else, too, at the bottom of my grandmother's jewelry box, next to pictures of my mother.” Sera fished out another piece of folded paper, on which was written 1152 Riverside Drive, New York, New York.

"Far from home.” Allison whispered. "It can't be a coincidence.” They stared at the piece of paper in silence. "So, when are we going to New York?"

Sera laughed. "What's scary and unbelievably awesome is that you mean it don't you?"

"What does Andrew think about all this?" 

Sera turned away. "But I don't know if I want to go see Him," she continued, ignoring Alli's last question. "What good will it do? He obviously doesn't care to see me or else he would have showed up a long time ago."

"But if he is sending those checks, that must mean he cares at least a little."

"Like I said, it's blood money. He has my mother's death on his hands and he thinks that this is the most efficient way of getting rid of it. Have I gone too far?"  She asked suddenly. "Do you think I should let all this go?"

"No, of course not! I would be doing the same thing if I were in your place. I used to think how horrible I had it that my parents were divorced and I only got to see my dad twice a year. I used to hate having to fly back and forth, and I still don't like it, but when I think of you...” Allison trailed off. "We'll figure it out
,” she said, putting her arms around Sera, who shook with quiet tears coursing down her face.

"He gets to live in New York and write out $2,000 checks, like some lord dispensing crumbs to his bastard. What about her, what about all her dreams, all the things she wanted to do? I'm not like that creepy cemetery guy am I
?” she sniffed. "In perpetual mourning?" 

Allison wiped Sera's face with a tissue. In a gentle voice she asked, "Why, are you vibrating?"

Sera laughed and snorted at the same time, shaking her head.

"C'mon then," Alli said brightly, "A bag of potato chips and extra sour pickles should lighten up your aura. And," she said as she rubbed her hands with glee, "Speaking of creepy, there's a Twilight Zone marathon o
n T.V."

Chapter 20

Sera placed a finger on Andrew's throat. "You would not make a convincing woman," she murmured as she pressed lightly on his Adam's apple. "This thing is huge."

They were twined loosely, unself-consciously so that Sera always marveled how familiar his body was, his long limbs seamless with hers, his fairness in contrast to her own skin. It was May again, warm enough that afternoon so that they lay on top of the blankets and sleeping bags they kept in the old house. They were in the great room off of the downstairs foyer, by the fireplace flanked by carved griffins. It had been weeks since they needed to build a fire.

Andrew's skin always looks like soft marble in this room, with the light diffused from the starburst window seemingly drawn to him so that he glowed. Usually spent, he would sleep a little while she stayed awake, tracing her fingers over every inch of him as if engraving him to the memory of her touch. But today, he was alert, looking back at her, his muscles taut and wired still.

"Guess what I found today?"

"Hmm?" Sera burrowed deeper into the space by Andrew's side so that her head fit beneath his outstretched arm. Her hand traveled from his throat to his chest.

"A 1976 bug in mint condition, only 95,000 miles. Exactly what you said you wanted. Well, except it's blue. Danny's friend said he could paint it cherry red for three hundred bucks. He would cut us a good deal. Fred Dean's cousin's asking eighteen hundred for it."

Sera's hand strayed below his torso. "And you know what else would keep you from being a convincing woman
?” she said as she started playing with him again.

"Hey, cut it out.” Andrew shook her hand off and sat up. "We gotta get going if we have to find you a car, get an apartment, and move before August, before you start school.”

Sera looked away from the expectation in his face, the dread she had kept at bay for weeks now suddenly too powerful to ignore. Not now, she thought, wishing for more time.

"Well? What do you think? Wanna take a look at it
?” he asked when she didn't answer. "It should last you at least a couple years, especially if we get an apartment in San Rafael."

"Come here," Sera pulled him down to her, "You're so far away," she said playfully.

Andrew held her arms away from him. "You said you wanted a bug, I found you a bug. We're not gonna do better than eighteen hundred."

"It's not that," she said uneasily.

"Then what?” 

Andrew let go of her arms.

"I don't think I'm going to need a car."

"You wanna live in Berkeley instead?"

"No.” Shivering, but not with the cold, Sera wrapped her arms around herself.

"So you wanna commute four hours every day between San Rafael and Cal? That's two buses and BART each way!"

"No."

"I know you don't wanna jinx it, but you have nothing to worry about. You'll get a big, fat package from Cal any day now.” He put his arm around her reassuringly and kissed the top of her head. "Stop stressing out.”

Sera wanted to push him away from her and hang on to him at the same time, wanting to silence him with kisses and make him forget about everything but the two of them entwined, unaware and lost in each other's flesh. He smelled so unbearably sweet, of soap and sweat and the wild strawberries they just discovered growing in the shadow of the rampant rose bushes.

"And I know you're worried about what your Grandma's gonna think about us moving in together.” Andrew lowered his voice, just a shade above a whisper. Hesitant and painfully tender, he said his next words carefully. "I've been thinking about it, too, and, I was thinking, you know, what if, what if we weren't living in sin?” His voice was so low she couldn't be sure she heard him correctly.

Here we go, she thought as she took a deep breath.

"I've been accepted to Columbia
,” she broke abruptly before he could say anything else.

"Columbia
?” He said the word as if it were in another language, foreign and incomprehensible.

"The school. I got the acceptance letter a week ago."

"Columbia, like New York?” Andrew looked stunned. She wanted to laugh out of pure anguished nervousness. "You didn't get into Cal,” he flatly. Sera looked away again.

"Jesus, Sera, why didn't you tell me?” He turned her face so that she was looking at him. "They rejected you, right?” Sera lowered her eyes. After a long minute, he let go of her chin.

"I've decided to go to Columbia."

"When did you decide this
?” he asked quietly as he stared at the fire grate.

"Just this past week. I didn't want to say anything until I was sure."

"That's strange 'cause unless they changed the rules, I know that you have to have applied at least six months ago. You've been planning this for a long time.” Andrew got up and started putting on his jeans.

"That's not true, Andrew. I only applied just to see if I could get in. Besides, Mr. Leach told me I should always have a backup.”

"Mr. Leach told you,” he with a snort. “A backup would be SF state, not an Ivy League school three thousand miles away."

"That happens to have a prestigious journalism department.” Letting the blankets fall from her, Sera lay back down and stretched out, inviting and seductive. She reached out a hand to Andrew, who stood over her.

"Come here," she smiled as she softened her voice. They were on the lip of a precarious edge and it would take much to bring them back to safety. He remained looking down at her with dark, calculating eyes.

"And what's more," he murmured, as if thinking out loud, "You got accepted to Cal, didn't you?”

Sera dropped her outstretched hand.

"I don't understand.” Andrew shook his head, bewildered. "You love Cal. All those games we watched from Cheapskate Hill, that time we played hooky so you could sit in on a lecture. You even made me go to a protest rally on campus. You've wanted to go to Cal for...ever."