Speed of Light (46 page)

He nodded. “I know. I’ve remembered more about my mother and what happened because of you.”

I nodded and touched his cheek. “I love you. All of you.” I lifted his chin and made eye contact. “I mean it. I love you even more now, knowing everything about you. All those experiences made you who you are. Let me love you the way you love me, okay?”

He nodded. “It all came back to me too. I remember the mounds, the trip, my mother. My father. I don’t know what it all means, though.”

“We’ll figure it out together.” Because that’s what we did. “We don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready.”

“Good, because I’m very tired. But we’ll talk; we have time.” Tens kissed me lightly on the lips, shifting against me. “You’re thinking too hard.”

“I am not hard.” I giggled.
He is
. “I thought you were sleepy.”

“I am, but you smell good.”

We’d promised each other to wait until we were both ready, until there would be no regrets, no rethinks, no wishes for do-overs. “Can you read my mind now?”
“I want to make love with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“More than anything.”

His touch lost the hesitation, the holdback, that I’d sensed he had difficulty maintaining. As I pushed his
shirt up off his shoulders and neck, he lifted my tank top. His mouth trailed kisses down my chest until his lips locked on my nipple. I lost track of where his hands caressed, where mine explored.

I loved touching him, feeling the textures, the roughness of his body hair over dense muscle and velvety soft skin. I loved listening to him catch his breath, to his involuntary moans of pleasure. I loved the freedom he touched me with, as if he could explore me all day and never tire or grow bored.

I felt an urgency, a pull toward the unknown, beyond the line we’d drawn in the sand months ago. When he slipped on the condom and settled back on top of me, there was a moment of the unknown that scared me.

“Okay?”

I nodded. Feeling him press inside, I lifted my hips and wrapped my legs around him. After the initial discomfort, I smiled.
“You’re in me. I like you inside me.”

He laughed against my lips.
“Good thing, cuz I like being here.”

As we learned our rhythm, it was just us, just a girl and a boy in love. Just Meridian and Tens.

“I would have come looking for you, you know,” he whispered against my ear. “If you weren’t on that bus, or a plane, or in a cab, I would have found you.”

“I know. You’re my home.”

As we fell asleep tucked around each other, fingers
entwined, sweat sticking our bodies together, I heard Custos pad into the cottage living room and take her place on the couch instead of on the bed with us.
“Maybe she likes me now?”

“Nah, she’s just too tired to fight you for your side of the bed tonight,”
Tens answered me.

C
ars lined the pathways of Riverside Cemetery. I’d learned from Rumi Memorial Day in Indiana meant gathering with the departed. Around us, families dug holes to plant fresh peony plants or laid vases of cut flowers.

Row upon row of American flags marked the fallen, from the Civil War to present day. Sparkling white rectangles and crosses perched starkly against the green of the freshly sheared grass. Today there were no violets. Only red, white, and blue. Bunting swagged over monuments and mausoleums.

Peony bushes fell to the ground, their arms unable to hold up the fragrant bounty of their heads. Tulip trees offered golden cups toward the heavens. The buzz of bees, call of birds, and lazy dips of yellow swallowtail butterflies reminded us this wasn’t a place of death but of celebrating life.

We spread blankets on the earth and unpacked a picnic lunch from Shapiro’s deli. Thick, juicy Reuben sandwiches, potato and macaroni salads, veggies and chips. I opened a grape soda and leaned my back against a walnut tree. We were all accounted for: Tens, Juliet, Fara, Rumi, Tony, Argy, Gus, Nelli, Joi, and Robert. Bodie and Sema were taller with gap-toothed smiles and new interests.

Rumi recited verses from James Whitcomb Riley’s “Silent Victors” as he cleaned and tended the gravestones.

All around us, people scrubbed headstones and laid flowers in the arms of stone angels and at the feet of lambs. Several Woodsmen and their families joined us, laying rosemary at the Fenestra and Protector graves. We loved extra attention on those of our fallen family. Kirian and Roshana were laid to rest side by side. Neither stone was changed to that of a Fenestra or Protector, though Rumi’s Spirit Stones hung from each grave marker.

Bales and Faye were also together with a spot next to Faye for Gus when the time came. Gus and Nelli talked
quietly; they were no longer just uncle and niece but the living halves of couples. They planted gardens of summer flowers and scrubbed the stones, pink granite for Faye and moonstone for Bales. I didn’t know when Nelli would ever move on and let that kind of love into her life again, but the baby she held gave us all hope that Bales’s last gift would bring her a lifetime of joy.

After dessert with Juliet’s fruit tarts decorated like flags, Rumi passed out bottles of bubble juice and wands. Bodie and Sema started up a game of tag, involving a lot of squealing and fewer rules.

Auntie’s grave was marked but empty. I didn’t need to bury her to let her go. Since the race, we hadn’t seen any of our loved ones at the window. I hoped it was because we didn’t need them as we used to.

An official remembrance program with military bands and speeches started over the hill at the Gothic Chapel. We stayed nearer our loved ones but listened, leaning against each other in all the ways that mattered. I looked around the family we’d cobbled together and couldn’t help but feel as if everything worked out as it needed to. Even the horrid, painful parts served a purpose.

Juliet watched her father with shining eyes. I saw Argy sketching Roshana as he tried to explain a funny story about the first time they snuck out to see a movie called
Ghost
. It was their first date. Juliet confided last winter she was drawn inexplicably to water; Argy planned to take her to see the Pacific Ocean next month.

Death changes things
.

Tens and I were moving forward in our studies and teaching Woodsmen what we knew about Fenestra and Protectors. I spent time each week at the hospice with Delia, having a cup of tea and greeting the newly deceased as they departed.

Rumi’s business boomed like his voice and he’d taken to selling Tens’s wood carvings, including little cars and wolf-dogs.

Word reached us last week that an elder Fenestra in Rhode Island wanted us to visit to help her transition. I finally looked ahead, not in fear but in love and life. I opened a blank book and picked up my pen,

“Supergirl, look up!” Tens yelled, and I put down my pen. Above our heads, a giant, vivid rainbow appeared, stretching from one side of the sky to the other. We stood and clustered together to get a better look. The bright
sunny day left no indication as to how or why a rainbow appeared. As we watched, pink petals fluttered from the sky, covering us all. A light breeze danced them around us happily.

No trees around us were blooming. None were pink.

Rumi raised astonished eyes, and even Bodie and Sema stopped running around to stand in the swirl of petals.
Faye? Auntie?
I smiled and blew a kiss to heaven.

In the distance, the rainbow doubled, then tripled, each color level brighter than the last.

Ingredients

Preheat the oven to 350°F and place a rack in the center of the oven. Grease two 9-inch cake pans and line with parchment paper.

Cream the butter with an electric mixer; add the sugar and beat until fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the vanilla and the melted chocolate and beat well.

In a small cup mix the red food coloring with the buttermilk and the cream of coconut. Use only the solids in the cream of coconut can (they look like bacon fat) if possible, saving the liquid for the frosting.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, the cocoa powder, and the salt. Add the dry ingredients gradually to the butter mixture, alternating with the buttermilk mixture.

In a small cup mix the vinegar and the baking soda—it will fizz. Quickly fold into the batter.

Divide the batter between the prepared pans. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. The cakes will pull away from the sides of the pan, and if touched gently should spring back.

Once the cakes have completely cooled in the pans, refrigerate them for an hour or more. This makes frosting the cake easier.

For the frosting, beat the cream cheese until smooth. Add the vanilla and the powdered sugar and beat until smooth. Gradually add the whipping cream and the cream of coconut liquid until the frosting is thick enough to spread. It should be the consistency of sour cream.
Add more sugar, about a teaspoon at a time, if needed for consistency.

To assemble the cake, spoon frosting onto the bottom layer and spread evenly. Top with the second layer and cover the top and sides of the cake with the remaining frosting. Garnish with toasted coconut flakes if desired.

Refrigerate if not serving immediately.

My health proves complicated and challenging even in the best of times, but I’m blessed to have the most compassionate old-school physician in Dr. Heidi Rendall in my corner. Dr. Jean Dydell, who was ready to do whatever it took to help last December. And Dr. Michael Towbin, who removed my appendix and gave me my life back. I owe my ability to write this book to you all.

Marty and Tom Davis of Crown Hill Cemetery and Crown Hill Heritage Foundation proved invaluable. Their knowledge and willingness to answer my many questions about the cemetery are much appreciated. If you are in Indianapolis be sure to stop by and take part in one of the many events and public tours. Crown Hill is truly one of the most beautiful cemeteries in the country. Visit
CrownHill.org
for information.

This isn’t a world in which projects can keep moving at the right speed without technology, so special thanks must go out to Gail LaForest and Bruce Alexander for keeping my tech happy.

To my beta readers, who fielded “what do you think about’s” and helped work out plot points and other questions—thank you, especially to Trudi Trueit, Jen Greyson, Lisa Bjork, and Sarah Diers.

I have to give special thanks to my fans—many of whom share with me music recommendations for my writing sound tracks. I’ve found perfect songs because of
you. Thank you for reading, for sharing, and for spreading the word. I couldn’t do this without your support!

Picking Meridian’s favorite grape soda was no easy feat, and I must acknowledge my panel of experts: the LaMars, the Wicks, Steve and Laura Cooper, Rachel Kizer.

Michael of Historic Indiana Ghost Tours at
UnseenPress.com
provided a fantastic tour of Westfield, Indiana, with tidbits that proved inspirational for this book. I give a hearty recommendation for a tour if you’re in Indiana. Many thanks as well to Amy Kraft and Tiffany Obrecht for joining me in this ghostly research trip.

I adore the Indianapolis 500. It’s a family tradition that goes back generations. Many thanks to Kate, Mark, and Tim LaMar for joining me at Qualifying/Pole Day. Sarah Lamar continues to be a much-loved contributor to my career—love you, girl!

Memorial Day is only one day, but the sacrifices made by our men and women in uniform are made 365/24/7. They serve our nation while I exercise my freedom of speech—you make my life possible and I am forever grateful. A special acknowledgment must be given to the children of those who’ve died, especially Pilot Bryan Nichols’s son and the thirty-two children left behind when the helicopter went down in Afghanistan. Know that your parents are as proud of you as we are of them. I will never forget.

Barney and Beth Wick were wonderful hosts for my May research trip. They were patient and loving with my odd requests, the window-ruining plot board, and my hail
damage panic. This book’s authenticity was possible because of you.

Finally, to my mother, who passed down our family’s traditions as both Indy 500 race spectators and Memorial Day grave tenders. Cemeteries will forever be places where I hear stories in the silence because our family doesn’t fear death. I am grateful for that lesson and so many others. Mom, I thank you for your unyielding love and support, and for having a new favorite book every time I ask.

FIND OUT HOW IT ALL BEGAN
WITH
MERIDIAN
!
CONTINUE WITH
WILDCAT FIREFLIES
,
THE SECOND MERIDIAN NOVEL.