The Seeker A Novel (R. B. Chesterton) (7 page)

He turned away and stared into the distance. “And you saw no one near here?”

“I’ve never seen anyone here. Except you.”

He cupped a hand on my elbow. “Let’s get you back to a warm place. You might be over the worst of the cold, but freezing won’t do you any good.”

I’d hoped for a hike around the pond, but my strength flagged even as we headed back to the little cabin that was a replica of the one where Thoreau and Bonnie lived. A docent was there to unlock it and welcome the tourists—an unlikely occurrence in the cold. Joe steered me to his car.

“Could we get a coffee?” I asked.

“Sure.” His reaction was unreadable.

He drove to the Honey Bea and we hurried out of the cold and into the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. Joe ordered two coffees and two sticky buns. “Very presumptuous,” I said, but I took away the sting with a smile.

“You look like you lost twenty pounds while you were sick. And I’m starving. If you don’t want yours, I’ll eat both.”

“You’ll have to fight me.”

We settled at a table and fell on the hot, sweet rolls as soon as they were served.

Our conversation centered on Thoreau and his writing. I let Joe talk, offering a few insights. We finished the food and coffee, and he rose to take me home.

At the cabin, he stopped me before I got out of his truck. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

His invitation caught me unprepared. I had no ready excuse, and didn’t want to turn him down. Conflicting emotions assailed me. It was a mistake to accept the date, but I was lonely. I’d been by myself for a long time. And I liked Joe. Maybe too much. “Okay.”

“I’ll pick you up at six and we’ll drive into Boston. Have a few drinks at Bayside Bill’s, then dinner at Filbert’s. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.” My dating experience with men was limited, but I liked that he knew how to arrange an evening. He made the choices and asked if I wanted to go along. None of the waffling of modern men. “Casual?” I wasn’t familiar with either establishment, but Joe didn’t strike me as a tie-and-tails kind of man.

“You named it.” He opened his door but before he could exit the truck, I popped out. “See you at six.”

9

In Bayside Bill’s, the Bay State accents were as ubiquitous as the beers sliding down the bar. It was a rambunctious place filled with loud laughter and cheers for a televised football game. Celtic music floated in the background—tin whistle, drum, and fiddle. Among the raucous crowd, Joe was known and well-liked. Men came to our table to slap him on the back and check me out. New blood. It wasn’t a bad feeling.

A pretty redhead at the bar felt otherwise. If looks could kill, I would be skewered to the wall with a spear in my heart. Joe had a sweetheart, whether he liked it or not.

“Who is she?” I asked, staring at her. She refused to back down, even when I’d caught her glaring.

“Her name is Karla Steele.” A flush touched his cheeks. I couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or anger.

Karla Steele had pretty eyes, nice hair, a good figure. “What went wrong?”

Joe touched my hand, the first intimacy of the evening. “I wouldn’t have come here if I’d known she was here. Please just ignore her. She’s not … stable.”

“In that she might come over here and pull my hair for dating her beau?” I meant to be flip, but my attempt at humor failed.

“She’s liable to do more than pull your hair, Aine. She’s an unhappy person and she has to blame someone. Right now, I’m her target.”

“What’s the quote? ‘Hell had no fury… .’ Did you spurn her?”

“When I realized she was mentally unbalanced, I stopped dating her. She didn’t take it well.”

“She still wants you.” Her desire was palpable. It rose off her in waves. I looked away, disconcerted. She wasn’t someone to mess with. Unstable people were extremely dangerous. They’d as likely chop off a hand or sever an Achilles tendon as spit in someone’s soup. It all depended on what mood they were in.

“She seeks reasons to be angry. Then the anger justifies her bad behavior. I’m topping her list right now. I didn’t do anything wrong or dishonorable,” he added defensively.

She clearly didn’t see it that way. I was unreasonably sensitive to her rage and frustration, and that troubled me. “Maybe we should go.”

And so we did. Filbert’s was quieter, but by no means stuffy. White linen covered our table, where we ate the traditional fare of haddock and trimmings. Joe ordered a good bottle of crisp white wine, and we savored the meal and made small talk.

When we were almost finished, I asked, “How did you and Karla meet?”

“At a basketball game. I haven’t seen her around for months. I thought she’d left town.” Joe frowned. “I haven’t been to Boston in a while. I’ve had a lot to do at Walden.”

“Dorothea said you’d returned to the area after an absence. Did you leave because of Karla?”

He hesitated, looking down at his plate. “I came back to the Concord area because my mother was very ill. I’m an only child, and she needed care. There was an opening for a ranger at Walden, so I took it. Last spring, Mother died. Karla came along when I was adjusting to my mother’s death. We dated for several months before I ended it.”

“I’m sorry about your mother, Joe. You must have been close.”

“She never let me down. She believed in me. That’s an invaluable thing, Aine.”

“Yes.” Granny Siobhan had always believed in me. “Was she sick for a long time?”

“Cancer. She died by degrees.”

My hand found his, a touch of sympathy. “That’s a hard thing. I’m sure you were a comfort and help. She was lucky to have you.”

He withdrew his hand and looked out the window at the lights of the city. “On good days, I can pretend that was true.”

“What do you mean?”

He stood. “Excuse me a moment. I’ll be back.” He dodged through the tables toward the men’s room. There was some darkness in his past, and pain. Maybe one day he’d tell me.

When he returned, he’d found his composure and a rueful smile. “So you came to Walden to finish your dissertation. And with your Ph.D., you’ll apply to teach? Around here?”

“Getting the doctorate is the first step. I’ll worry about a job when I have the degree. I’m footloose and fancy-free. I can move anywhere there’s a good job.”

“What about your family?”

“Mostly dead. At least the ones I cared about. No one back in Kentucky is thinking I’ll come home.”

“We’re on the loose, the two of us.” He offered his wine glass for a toast.

After the clink, I asked “Why’d you break up with Karla?” It was a nosy question, but a fair one. Karla was furious. Maybe she had cause.

“I really liked her. We had fun together.” He spun the golden wine in his glass. “One night I got a text from an old friend. A female. Karla must have been checking my cell phone. She just lost it. Went completely crazy, saying I was cheating on her. It was like she turned into someone I didn’t know. Someone frighteningly irrational and out of control. That’s when I realized she was abusing drugs. I confronted her and she said she’d stop. Later, she attacked me while I was asleep. Slugged me. Hard. That’s why you should steer clear of her.”

I’d seen that kind of crazy behavior from people hopped up on meth or spice or any number of drug combinations. Once the addiction was set, they’d try any substance to relieve the need. “Do you really believe she’d come after me?”

He reached for my hand and held it. His thumb moved across my knuckles, soothing, exciting my skin. “No. I don’t. But Karla isn’t a bear you want to bait. Stay away from her, and if you see her, go the other direction. Why risk a confrontation?”

“Thanks.” The lightest anger simmered at the fact Joe had dragged Karla into even the fringes of my world. “I need a Karla in my life. Things are just too calm.” My sarcasm was clear.

His grip on my hand tightened. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I haven’t seen her in months. I broke it off with her that night. I haven’t responded to her phone calls, e-mails, or texts. I’ve done everything I know to make it clear I have no interest in seeing her.”

Great, Karla was an obsessive, psycho witch. Then I realized I was being unfair. Hell, my entire family was as irrational and crazy as Karla. That was the pot calling the kettle black. “Don’t worry about it. I can handle myself.”

“Let’s hope Karla stays in my past where she belongs.” He turned my hand over, studying the palm. “I was sweet on her. I admit it. Makes you wonder if you ever really know another person. I mean behind the mask, beneath the public skin that everyone wears. Every single one of us is capable of things we never suspect until the moment is upon us.”

10

I heard nothing from Joe for a week. Thoughts of him interrupted my work. The weather held, crisp and beautiful. Instead of my morning walk around Walden Pond to connect with my muse—I didn’t want to appear to chase after Joe—I stayed in the cabin or wandered the inn’s grounds.

The date had concluded satisfactorily. He brought me home and walked me to the door. He’d kissed my cheek, his lips lingering before they brushed over my lips. And he’d left.

Had I done something wrong? Had I said something to push Joe away? The foolish questions of my insecure inner child niggled in my brain.

Dorothea didn’t help. She asked me every morning at breakfast if Joe and I had plans for the evening.

“He’s smitten with you, that much is clear to see,” she said on the sixth morning as she poured coffee into my cup. “I just wonder why he’s not knocking on your door. That boy has always been a little on the strange side.”

“I have more important things to worry about than my dating life.” I sounded as priggish and stupid as a dime-novel heroine.

“Yeah, I see that.” Dorothea winked at me. “You’re wandering around like a moonstruck teenager. I don’t miss much. And I see how Patrick sniffs after you. He’s a good kid, but he likes to fancy himself a real Don Juan. Don’t hurt him. He’s got it bad for you.”

“He’s a kid.”

“And a fanciful one at that. He thinks playing the great lover would make him a man. He’ll get his heart broken if he isn’t careful. Just be aware he’s built up a fantasy around you. He’s pretty naïve. He’ll swagger and talk big about his conquests, but the reality is he’s inexperienced. And he is sweet on you. First love is always painful.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for letting me know the score.”

“Now Joe, he’s perfect for you. Women today go on and on about career,” she said. “But when push comes to shove, we all want a man we can rely on. The yin to our yang, the fish to our chips, if you get my drift. We desire the
other
, the essential completion of ourselves into a whole. I look at Joe, and I see the things you lack.” She winked again and went on her way.

After I finished my breakfast, I struck out for town on foot. I needed copy paper, a new ink cartridge for my printer, and a few simple office supplies. My solitary wanderings had begun to yield results. The thesis was taking shape. Once it was outlined, I would turn to finding sources to prove Bonnie’s existence.

The day was brisk and sunny with white clouds scuppering across a deep blue sky. I yearned for Walden Pond, but I had chores to do, and I didn’t want Joe to think I was stalking him. Perhaps I’d end up in a story he told his next date about an avid academician who simply couldn’t bear to let him go.

His comments about Karla were not unkind, but his demeanor had been clear—he didn’t want her and she refused to accept it. Pathetic was a worse label than prude. Karla was pathetic.

All the same, once I invoked Karla’s name, I couldn’t shake the idea he’d spent time with her recently. He said she was unstable, which was often code for sexually exciting. Unstable people lacked the inhibitions and restraints of normal people.

The cuticle of my ring finger beaded with bright red blood. Fretting, I’d picked it to the quick. I had to switch my mind off Joe and Karla. Determined to regain control of my mental energy, I entered an office supply store. Ten minutes later, an ink cartridge, highlighting pens in several colors, gel-tip black pens, clips, and Post-it notes were snuggled in a recyclable shopping bag. Not a huge haul, but enough of a financial setback to make me hesitate over an expensive coffee and sticky bun at the Honey Bea. The sacrifices I made for my education!

While I was in town, I ambled over to Cassidy’s Vintage Resale. I loved vintage clothing, and New England had the best shops I’d ever seen. Most mountain people in Kentucky were poor. Dresses were utilitarian by design and worn out by the number of hand-me-downs. A Sunday dress might last three generations in the same family.

Photos of my female relatives showed women with clear gray eyes, glossy dark hair, high cheekbones, long-fingered hands, and severe dresses, none with the slightest frill. “Pretty for the sake of pretty” seemed to be considered sinful. The Cahill clan nurtured some farfetched ideas about sin and redemption. In between the two, the Cahill Curse waited to spring upon the unsuspecting.

The dress shop smelled of lavender soap and vanilla. I migrated to a sale rack, where a beautiful sage-green silk dress caught my eye. The ruched bodice was tucked with tiny pearls, and the hem floated free and swingy above the ankle. Holding it against my chest, I consulted a mirror.

“It’s the perfect color for your eyes,” the saleswoman said with a well-aimed strike at my weakness. The dress brought out the dark green streaks in my irises, my one vanity.

“Thanks.” I checked the tag and put it back on the rack. Right size, wrong price.

“If you lived in Salem two hundred years ago, you’d find yourself hanging at the end of a rope.” The clerk laughed nervously. “It’s your eyes. During the witch trials, people were hanged for a lot less than unusual eye color.” She went behind the counter and brought out a book on Salem’s infamous witch trials and hangings. “Sorry, it’s been slow today and I’ve been reading too much.”

She was my age or maybe younger, a pert woman with dimples and smooth, pink skin. Her make-up was elegant and understated. The ring on her finger told me she had both a career and a private life. “Innocent men and women were murdered, all in the name of stopping Satan.” She opened the book and read: “To spot a witch you must look for the mark of Satan upon her body. A mole or mark, a crooked finger, the unusual coloration of the eyes.” She put the book down. “Beautiful could get you in a lot of trouble, I guess.”