Shadows of the Past (14 page)

He latches the window shut, turns around, and looks at me. We both laugh in relief. Oliver is in front of me in a few short steps. He wraps his arm around me, pulling me into him and hugging me tightly.
 

"There, love. It's okay. Just a bird."

I’m laughing so hard tears form in my eyes. “I think I peed a little. That little bird scared me to death! And you thought I made it up!”

He laughs. “I did. Although when it started to use its claws I was concerned. That wasn’t a nice noise. And what were you going to do with the fireplace poker?”

I shrug. “Whack it?”

He shakes his head. “You’re so cute.” He presses his finger to the tip of my nose.

I take a deep breath and step back. “It was just a bird.”
 

It's like an omen. First I thought it was a ghost. I can never seem to escape my own ghosts, so a ghost finding me here didn't seem far-fetched. I feel like fate is pushing me back home, but I can never go back. I can't face the things that happened or what I did after.
 

I sit down on the bed, pat the spot next to me and speak quietly.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" My voice is almost a whisper.

"No," he says without hesitation, his voice firm and final. "Do you?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" He doesn't say anything and doesn't make me feel stupid for not being sure. I look at my fingers, bending them back one by one as I speak. "Sometimes it seems like they haunt me," I whisper, afraid of how he'll react.

"What do you mean haunted?" I can tell he genuinely wants to know, and it makes me want to tell him. I’d like him to understand, although I never thought he would. But, now, here—I’m not so certain anymore.

"It’s complicated. I mean," I start, trying to figure out how to tell him this without exposing all my secrets. Telling everything would ruin not just the trip, but also our friendship. If he knew the horrible thing I did... "I don't think the people we lose just leave us. I think they hang around, trying to comfort and console us, or just unable to move on."
 

I look up at him anxiously, trying to gage his reaction. The pit of my stomach dips and I shiver.

There’s no judgment in his eyes. Oliver looks thoughtful as he constructs his reply.
 

"When I die, I don't want to roam Earth able to see people I care about, but unable to touch or talk to them. What kind of afterlife is that?" He pauses. "I prefer to believe when a person dies, they move on, regardless. They don't stick around here worrying about what we think or feel. They're at peace. That’s the one thing we all strive toward during this life. I’d like to think that’s what’s there in the end."

"Do you think everyone just goes to Heaven?" I swallow hard, wondering.

Oliver shrugs, "Or Hell." There's something in his voice when he speaks of Hell, but since I don't want to tell my secrets, I don't ask about his.

"You don't think anyone stays here to deal with their unfinished business?"

"I don't think you worry about unfinished business after you die," he says, shaking his head. "Worry is the opposite of peace. And I’m not talking about rest, I mean peace. People who didn’t get justice in this life will be shown mercy in the next. Everything that robs you of sleep, of joy, will suddenly slip away.”

“So you think we won’t care anymore?”

“No, that’s not it. It’s more that we’ll see what’s next. Hindsight is 20/20. I think we’ll be able to look back and see everything, but no one wants to embrace pain. So we move forward, to whatever’s next. Death is a change, a transformation from one part of life to another.” He’s quiet for a moment. I feel his gaze on my face and I know he’s wondering whom I lost.

"I wish I could believe that with the conviction you do. I feel faithless because I’m not sure of anything anymore." I wish I could believe my girls hadn't seen my actions after their death. I wish they weren't ashamed of me. I've done so many things trying to forget my pain.
 

How can they understand that? They were babies.
 

Oliver kisses the top of my head. "Hey, life is filled with heartbreaking stuff. I don’t pretend to know what you’ve been through, but I hear the remorse in your voice. I’ve been there, Kayla. I’ve beat myself up for things that I had no control over—"

I cut him off. “I had control over this. I chose wrong. I was wrong. What I did—” I swallow back my words as I look at him out of the corner of my eye. “Let’s just say that I’m not a good person.”
 

“Kayla?” I don’t look at him, so Oliver bumps my shoulder. When I glance up from under my lashes, I feel raw—exposed. “I see who you are and there is no way you’re a bad person.”

My heart pounds harder. I want to believe him. “How do you know that?”

Oliver lifts a piece of hair from my temple and tucks it behind my ear. His hand drops to my shoulder and lingers for a beat.
 

“Because I see you. That night at the pub, there was something about you. I think you noticed too—we both went through something horrible. You’re a kind, caring person. I see her lost under the surface, trying to find her way back out.”

I speak without thinking about what comes next. I just say it. “It’s scary, trying to find my way back. I feel half alive at times. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like the part of me that makes me Kayla is lost inside, and my body is just going through the motions.”
 

“Sometimes all we can do is breathe.”

When he says that, I glance up at him. My heart beats harder when I realize we understand each other more than I would have thought. “I’ve said that same thing on days when things are horrible—just breathe and the rest will come—the thing is, the rest never came.”

“Give it time.” He places his hand on my shoulder and smiles at me. “And in the meantime, if you need a release for your urges, I’m here.” He grins as he teases.

"Yeah, I'll do that," I say, laughing along with him. I have to stop to yawn, and Oliver's eyes soften.

He disentangles himself from me, standing and running a hand through his hair. "Do you think you can sleep now? Or should I search for more attack birds?"

"I think I'm fine." I start to get up, to see him out, but he stops me.
 

"No, stay there. I can find my room." He grins, taking any sting out of the words and I nod. Oliver walks over to the door, opening it just before he says, "Sweet dreams, American Girl."
 

He leaves before I can return the sentiment, closing the door softly behind him, and I collapse back into my pillows. His cologne lingers on the sheets, and I fall asleep to the scent of him.

CHAPTER 22

When my eyes open, it's morning. I feel rested for the first time in years. I either need to buy myself luxury castle pillows or a bottle of Oliver's cologne. Or both. Despite the evil bird, last night may have been my best night of sleep ever. Just the memory of how terrified I was of that tiny little beast makes my face flame red.

I roll over, plant my face in the pillow and groan. Oh God. I went to Oliver for help. My knight in shining armor... who I desperately want to roll around with in between the sheets.
 

Today is going to be super awkward. When I lift my head, I notice the time and leap out of bed. It's getting late. I'm surprised he hasn't knocked on the door yet.

I take the quickest bath possible, and then dig through the bag of things I brought with me, trying to find something to wear. Just as I finish swiping lip-gloss across my mouth, there's a knock on the door.
 

“Hey, Ollie,” I smirk, remembering how playful he was last night. Much like me, he looks casual in a navy blue sweater and dark wash jeans. He smiles at me, his gaze traveling from the top of my head—where my hair is in a messy bun—down to my brown suede boots.

"Morning, Ornithophobic Girl."
 

“Ortha-what-now?” I glance over at him as I pick up my ring and slip it on my finger.

“It means you’re afraid of our fine feathered friends.”

I smile broadly. “Ah, you mean the flying rat that tried to kill me last night.”

“Case in point. I believe the score is two for Oliver and zero for Kayla.”

I fold my arms over my chest and throw my hip out.
 

“How do you figure that?”

“One for saving you from a beast of undetermined origin, and two for saving you from a bird.”

I wave a hand at him and walk over to the door, grabbing my keycard. “You’re insane. That was one save, not two.”

He follows me out and we stop as I pull the door shut. We’re on the tiny landing and he’s so close. The corner of Oliver’s mouth tips up.
 

“I think not. Saving a woman from a poltergeist is worth more than one point. I could have died. I didn’t even have a stick!”

I laugh and duck past him.
 

“I wouldn’t advertise that.”

“Oh, dear God, not this again.” Oliver laughs behind me as we head down the stairs.

Thoughts of the night I met him rush back, making me hyper-aware of how close he is to me. Distance. Add some distance.
 

Ducking my head so he can't see me blush, I race in front of him, taking the stairs two at a time once we’re on the main staircase. Oliver has to lengthen his own strides to keep up with me and just as I reach the bottom step his hand curls around my bicep, gently pulling me to a stop.
 

Oliver clears his throat, one eyebrow raised and I turn quickly to face the other direction so he doesn't see the feelings I'm sure are clear in my eyes. He takes my hand and changes the subject, providing me a chance to compose myself.

“What’s up with you this morning?” He looks down at me with those sexy blue eyes and I want to melt in his arms, hug him, cry, and maybe lick his chest.

The thought shocks me and my spine straightens. I blink rapidly like someone dumped ice down my back. “Nothing.” My voice comes out way too high-pitched and breathy.

“Uh huh.” He looks at me, and for a second I feel like everything will be all right. There’s something about Oliver that makes me feel protected and peaceful. I haven’t smiled so much in years, and the laughter has been amazing. I don’t want to ruin it, but the pull I feel toward him is growing stronger, and it’s not the sexual kind of tugging like on the first night. Yes, he’s hot, but it’s more than that. He’s a hot body and a kind heart.
 

For a second I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me. We’ve come so close together and his hand is still on my wrist, when he says, "Fancy a bit of shopping?"

I blink and step back, “What?”

“Shopping,” he tips his head toward the side like there’s a shop on the other side of the wall. “My treat. What do you say?”
 

"Am I a girl?"
 

Oliver opens his mouth, no doubt already armed with some witty remark. “Don’t!”

“But you walked right into it!”

I wave a finger in his face and smile, hard. “Leave it alone, Ollie.”

He makes a face. “You exasperate me at times.”

I lean in and peck him on the cheek. Before I can back away, he’s suddenly serious and his hands are on my arms.
 

“What was that for?”

“For coming into my room to battle a banshee in the middle of the night.” I walk away, heading toward the breakfast room. When I glance over my shoulder, Oliver is standing still with his hand on his cheek, covering my kiss like it’ll float away.

CHAPTER 23

Several hours later, we've perused an open market filled with treasures unlike any of the farmer's markets my mom took Shannon and me through on Long Island.
 

Endless bins of fresh fruits are manned by burly farmers in crisp, clean aprons, each yelling, “Buy your fruits here! Two pound per flat!"
 

We pass butchers, their products freshly cut and displayed out in the open, no sneeze-guards to be found, and people queued up eight deep to buy their meat for the week. It’s weird how differently people live on this side of the world. Americans like to preserve everything and wrap it in plastic. It’s like eating formaldehyde.

“Look here,” Oliver pulls me over to a stand with different cheeses. They have some samples displayed on wood trays and a few are on a piece of slate with ice underneath.
 

“Try this, it’s really good—if you like cheese.” Oliver points to a light yellow, dryish looking cheese that resembles pale cheddar.

I smirk. “I love cheese, but my favorite isn’t very, well, honestly, it’s a cheap cheese, Oliver.”

He watches me, trying not to laugh. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks up at me from under those dark lashes.
 

“And this favorite of all the cheeses in the world, well, it wouldn’t be American cheese, by chance?”

I burst out laughing. “I’m uncultured and the idea of eating fermented food is disgust—” I don’t get to finish talking because Oliver shoves the chunk of cheese in my mouth.

My eyes widen and I chew once, then twice. The panicked look on my face fades as a buttery smoothness turns to heaven in my mouth. I close my eyes and moan. “That is so good.”

“Well, we need to buy some of that.” He asks the woman how much and pays her before she puts the cheese in a little mesh sack and hands it to us.

“Seriously? We’re walking around with cheese all day?”

“I’m never putting this down. Did you see your face? This is magic cheese.”
 

“Why?”

He turns and hooks his arm in mine, and whispers in my ear, “I thought you noticed, love—instant orgasm.” I slap his arm and pull away, laughing. “I’m going to keep a hunk of this in my pants at all times.”

I tease, “Don’t get me started on what you should have in your pants.”
 

“Cheese, obviously.” He smirks at me before leading me to see more of the market.

Mixed in between the food stalls, other merchants sell antique jewelry, books, and touristy clothing. I purchase a royal blue pashmina and loop it around my neck the way I've seen other women wear them in London.