by Nikki Hyson
Easy footsteps carried her to the cushioned alcove beneath the window. The pillows, quilted shades of eggplant, emerald and burgundy, whispered an invitation. Lily sat, back snug against the corner, pulling the book into her lap.
She fingered the sliver clasp. “Dah trying to protect you too?” It surrendered easily, almost eager to reveal all it knew, loved and lost. “Who’d have thought you needed it.”
A click clack of nails on worn treads, raised a smile before her eyes lifted to the grizzled muzzle nudging its way towards her. “They wear you out, Old Man?” The beagle huffed indignation at the insult, heaving himself up onto the window seat with a grunt. Snuffling her fingers briefly for tidbits, he settled into a nested blanket by her feet.
Tipping the tome onto its spine, she allowed it a moment to rest before releasing it to fall open where it will. “And what part did your last owner love most?” she asked, as she did of every beloved story. The leaves fluttered apart, tipping the weight of words quite a bit less than halfway through.
Her fingertip touched the first line, soft smile forming. “For there are two distinct sorts of ideas: Those that proceed from the head and those that emanate from the heart.” A soft chuckle hummed up her throat. “Yes, Father Faria had much to teach you, didn’t he, Edmond?” she mused to the character she loved most.
And didn’t lift her eyes for over an hour.
James took a long pull on his pipe, held it deep, then exhaled, contemplating the wisdom of retreat versus the satisfaction of a well-honed blow. Smoke drifted lazily across the chessboard, unable to mask the swift move. His rook replaced Cris’ queen. “Check.”
Frowning, Cris glanced from the board to James. “Why did you do that?”
“I should have thought it was obvious.”
“But you just lost.”
James’ eyebrow quirked. “Did I?”
Cris palmed the rook, filling the empty space with his knight. “Yes. Check mate in three moves.” He hesitated, reading his opponent instead of the board. “But you already knew that.”
“Nine moves ago when I didn’t take your knight and should have.” He tipped his king over with a fingertip. “Still, got your queen before you bested me. I know how you love that.”
“You stopped playing to win. You were just trying to take her. No wonder I couldn’t make sense of your strategy.”
James took another long draught of tobacco, smile smoldering through his exhale. “Perhaps I should play for her more often. Again?”
“Sure. Set it up. Wine or rum?” Cris asked, rising to his feet.
“Wine, I suppose.” James rolled the white queen between his palms for a moment before resetting her on the board. Lily. Her name rose unbidden in his thoughts, and with it his father’s advice regarding chess. Always protect your queen. “This is a civilized sort of game, isn’t it?”
“Kings have played it,” Cris said simply, choosing to ignore the dry sarcasm.
Leaving the small dining room where they played, two steps took him into James’ kitchen. Two glasses rested on a clean tea towel; claimed with a flick of the wrist before he opened the icebox. Only one bottle lay at the ready. Cris pulled it free, rubbing his thumb across the label. “Adequate,” he grunted. “Barely.” Reaching for the bottle opener, he speared James with an exaggerated grimace. “I need to do something about your palate.”
“You could have brought something from your flat. You know I don’t care for the stuff.”
“Well, you are a pirate,” Cris admitted, twisting the screw. The cork surrendered with a pop.
James looked across the table and into the kitchen, his eyes locking on his friend. “Meaning?” he started, going no further. It was precisely because his eyes were riveted to Cris’ every twitch, every inflection of movement, that he saw the Count’s fingers curl around the counter’s edge. He saw the color drain from Cris’ face, a bead of sweat dampening his brow. “Cris?”
The bottle fell from suddenly slack fingers, landing with a loud crack and a glugging splash. James, out of his chair in a moment, stepped over the mess without a thought for either rug or wine. “Bloody Hell, Cris. What is it?”
Fingers gripping the Formica edge, Cris bit out an answer between clenched teeth. “Save the wine.”
“To hell with the wine. What’s wrong?”
“There. It’s passing.” Straightening slowly, Cris drew a shaky breath. “Go, get the bottle. I’ll want what’s left.”
James obliged, sloshing what remained into one of the two glasses. “There. Drink.” He waited until Cris drained half the glass. “Now, tell me.”
Cris shook his head. “Ever had your pages ruffled?”
“No.”
Cris swallowed again. “Haven’t felt that in a long, long time. Not pleasant. Rather like a flip book. All your paper memories flash through your mind in a blink.” He paused long enough to tilt the glass, reading the last tears of wine. “Unsettling is an understatement.”
“I thought you were in good standing.”
Cris’ long fingers closed around the glass’ stem a bit tighter. “So did I.”
16
“So, you met someone.”
Lily looked across the living room at her father. He’d shown no signs of wakefulness since her mother had left for art class a half hour earlier. Supper and dishes done, three dogs sprawled across the floor in exhausted slumber. Amos alone dared to claim the couch beside Lily. He snored softly, pressed into her thigh.
River, particularly taken with her father, napped between Peter’s thigh and the arm of his chair. Head back and arms folded across his chest, Lily had thought her Dah’d been dozing as well.
Lily marked her place, sliding a finger between two pages of the unexpected treasure. She studied her father’s closed eyes for a long moment. “Yes.”
Peter lifted his head, pushing into his chair’s seat so it reclined less. “Tell me about him.” Still dreaming, River put out a paw, warning against the wiggling.
“I bumped into him two days ago. Actually, I bumped into him twice.”
Memories twinkled in Peter’s eyes. “Still don’t watch where you walk?”
“Clearly. We barely spoke.” Hesitating, she considered the encounter, and then continued. “But the second time he seemed bothered by it. Almost as if, since I’d run into him once, a second time wasn’t allowed.”
Her father’s gaze shifted, considering the mantle, the fireplace and the flames crackling there. “Bothered? What did he say?”
“Nothing really. I thought he might have, except his friend walked into the restaurant and called him away.”
Peter thought for a moment, pulling gently on River’s ear. “And these two encounters trouble you?”
“Well, not at first, but then he came to the write-in yesterday.” Lily stopped, rephrasing in an effort to be completely accurate. “No. He was at the library. He seemed surprised to see me. I invited him to the write-in.”
“Did he write?”
“No. Just watched. I think the idea of writing frightened him.” Hearing her thoughts aloud, a flush of color warmed Lily’s cheeks. “Seems foolish now.”
“Your instincts have always been good.” Peter smiled, eyes filling with her. “Trust them. What happened next?”
“He walked me to the bus stop, and waited until I boarded. His friend joined us again, but didn’t say more than hello.”
On the recliner’s arm, Peter’s hand twitched slightly. “What’s his name?”
Lily opened her mouth. “Huh.” She felt James’ breath against her ear as he leaned close; knew the momentary flutter of panic when he’d whispered his caution. Don’t walk the dog. “I thought he introduced us at the bus stop. I can’t remember.” Why did he have to say that? Her fingers found the beagle’s shoulder, scratching softly. Amos grunted approval.
She frowned, trying to recall the conversation. “Short, simple. Unmemorable apparently.”
“Lily—”
Memories of the
first encounter interfered. “—Not like the blue door on Adeline Road. Mum would love that door. Peculiar shade of cobalt. She’d call it Tardis—”
“—Lily, what’s his name?” Color had drained from her father’s face. He continued to rock slowly, methodically.
Her muscles contracted. “Dah, are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” His hand twitched against River’s fur. “What’s his name?”
“I told you, I don’t remember.” Standing slowly, she tried to shift the conversation. “Dah, what’s wrong? Do you need some medicine?”
“Not the other.” His hand flicked out, cutting impatiently across her hesitation, waving her back to the couch. “Not his friend. What’s his name?”
“James. James Crawford. Why?”
He didn’t answer her question, asking another of his own instead, “What does he look like? Handsome, able-bodied young fellow? Looks of a Greek god? No wonder he caught your eye. Tripped indeed.”
Warning bells clanging against every corner of her heart and mind, the instincts her father so admired fair shouted to tread with caution. “No,” she said slowly. “Actually quite the opposite. He’s at least fifty; dark hair and blue eyes.” She hesitated before the last, “Walks with a limp. Carries a cane.”
Peter leaned forward, waiting for some last tidbit.
“And he has a prosthetic.” Lily knew this was it. “He’s missing his left hand.”
In her sleep, River whined. Peter rocked back, as if a marginal measure of distance could separate him from the truth. “Did he say anything out of the ordinary? Did he give you a message to give to me?”
“Dah? Do you know him?”
“Did he say anything strange?”
“No.” Lily sighed, frustration building with his lack of response. “Nothing about you. The only thing he said…”
She stopped. Should I tell him? Lily drew a breath. “He warned me not to take Amos out last night. He told me to stay home.”
“Have you spoken to him since?”
She nodded. “He brought me River, a couple hours later.”
Visibly startled, his hand dropped to the curly fur as if the puppy needed sudden protection. “He brought her to you?”
“Yes. He seemed quite ill. His pulse was racing and he had a fever. I told him to get to a hospital.”
“His pulse?” At this, Peter cleared his throat roughly. “You touched him.”
It wasn’t a question. Lily knew her father and the bend of his mind. Once he became fixated on a topic it became nigh impossible to break his focus. He could sit and stare into space for hours, dwelling on people and places he wouldn’t share. Traveling for days down this path, his thoughts would twist into ever tighter circles. Drawing him away from them. Move fast or he’s lost. Two steps crossed half the room, but River beat her to the needed action.
The puppy, still young enough to remember a mother’s teat, woke sleepily. Lifting her head, she looked down at Peter’s hand lying limp against his thigh. Noticing the peculiar bend of finger exposing a knuckle, she latched on. Needle sharp puppy teeth sank into soft flesh, raising a yowl. Heads lifted across the floor from the rest of the pack.
Peter jerked his hand free, causing a startled yelp but no harm to either one.
Still dazed, he looked down at the pup, as if wondering how she’d gotten there. He shifted focus, looking up at his daughter. “Lily?” His disconnect lasted several moments, clearing slowly as the dream world lifted. “Oh yes, I remember.” He held out his hand to her. Claiming it instantly, Lily settled onto the floor at his feet. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said.
“Dah, what is it?” She squeezed his hand. “Do you know James?”
“It’s alright, Sweetie. Nothing to worry over.”
“Please. Should I be worried? Tell me. ”
He considered her question, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “One more question and then I’ll answer yours.” His lips twitched a tease. “Sort of.”
Lily leaned back, hand still caught in his, but barely. “Sort of?”
Peter didn’t bend.
She surrendered. “What is it?”
“The cobalt blue door on Adeline. When did you first notice it?”
“This is important?”
“This is.”
Lily thought for scarce a moment. “The day after I moved into the flat.”
“And you right and truly noticed it? You’ve looked at it often since then?”
“More than one question, Dah,” she chided, but still answered. “Every time I pass. I think up a new story for it almost daily. I’ve wondered who might live there.” Her shoulders lifted, less of a shrug, more of a dismissal. “Now. Why?”
“And no one’s ever left the building before now? No one’s spoken to you?”
“No. That good or bad?”
“Well enough. I don’t think you need to worry.”
“Would Mother say the same thing if she knew?”
He smiled tenderly. “Let’s keep it between us for now. You know she likes to worry over the littlest things. Why don’t you invite your James to supper next Saturday?”
Lily hesitated, trying to decipher what her father’s little grin meant. There weren’t any clues. There never were. “What are you planning?”
“Don’t tell him anything about our talk. Anything.”
Hairs rising on her neck in genuine earnest. “Dah.”
“Lily,” he countered, chuckling over her concern. “Will you do this for me?”
“What exactly am I doing?”
“We’re going to find out the truth about your friend.”
“The truth you already know, but won’t tell me?” She bit her lip in swift contrition. She hadn’t meant it to come out quite so harsh.
A kitchen light clicked on, casting an amber glow. “Peter, Lily, I’m home,” Sarah’s voice filtered down the hall. “Jenny sent her cheesecake. Want a piece?”
Neither answered. Too many words had already spilled into the silence between them. They continued to stare at one another. The mantle clock clunked to the top of the hour, windings whirring tight. Slowly it began a chimed count to nine.
Peter’s smile warmed with the last beat. “Always hated that clock.” Gently pulling his hand from her grasp, he scooped River up to his chest. “Always loved it too. Strange.” With a forward rock, he rose to his feet. “Coming?”
Sarah looked down the hall. “Did you two hear me? Jenny’s cheesecake.”
Peter’s brow quirked in tandem with his smile. “Need we say more,” he winked.
“Dah!” A moment’s regret couldn’t quite wash away the past quarter hour’s frustration. Lily needed an answer to something, anything to stem her growing tide of questions. “Who is he?”
“An old friend.”
“Then why can’t I tell him?”
His focus shifted, as it so often did, to the book she’d unconsciously carried to his side. Resting in her lap, one finger remained trapped between the leaves. Eyes narrowing, he read the title. “Don’t take that one home with you, Lil.” Hand lifting to ruffle River’s ear, he winked. “I just got him safe.”
17
Lily parked Sophie’s car in front of her friend’s house and hooked the leather leash on Amos. After a weekend of constant action, he hopped quietly into the front seat and out. She could have left him when she stopped home to drop off her backpack, and the assortment of casseroles her mother insisted upon sending, but the evening was early. Snow just beginning to fall. A nice, thought-clearing kind of stroll, she thought.
Slipping the borrowed keys inside Sophie’s mailbox with a loaf of fragrant apple bread, they began what would end as a four mile walk.
A gust of wind swirling the snow, Lily shivered into her scarf. Amos lifted his tail high, relaxed in his complete lack of excessive energy, and confident in whatever lay before them.
“Come on, Handsome,” she said. “We may have to stop for coffee, but let’s get a mo
ve on.”
“Mind if I walk with you?”
She recognized the voice, but a look confirmed it. “How did you know?” she asked, ignoring the takeaway coffee cup he offered. How does Dah know you? wrestled with the equally important Are you feeling better? The later won, but barely. Lily knew her gaze traveled over his face in a more than obvious way. His cheeks were rosy, but not from fever. No sweat stood on his brow, and James’ blue eyes seemed clear of pain. While not perfectly well, Lily thought he looked better.
“I asked Sophie.” James waved the cup back towards the house they stood in front of. “She told me you usually return about now.”
“Actually, I’m an hour late. Have you been waiting all this while? Out here? In the cold?”
His lips twitched, as they so often did with her. “Not quite so ridiculous. I waited over there.” James pointed across the street to a cafe. “Warm and excellent service.” He offered the still steaming paper cup. “Coffee?”
Amos, having finished sniffing every inch of James from shoes to knees, lifted his nose a little higher. Accepting the cup, Lily offered a stiff, “Hey.” The beagle, breaking off with a wag of his tail, sat with wiggling obedience. James deigned to give the dog’s ear a scratch.
Lily took a sip, eyeing James over the rim when he straightened. He stared back calmly. She lowered the cup, clearing her throat. “James, is there anything I should know?” A dozen multi-tiered questions looped into the one, but she’d leave the explaining up to him.
James didn’t. He lifted a shoulder, shifting slightly to block the wind. “Could we get walking?”
“Why are you being my guardian?” Slipping her hand through the nook of his arm, Lily ignored the momentary freezing of his muscles at her touch. “Why didn’t you want me to walk Amos the other night?” Pulling gently, she got them going in the right direction. “Is there some danger you’re not telling me about? What about your friend?”
He chose the last to answer first. “Cris? What about him?”
Not her preferred avenue of attack, but she had questions ready for it just the same. “Where is he? Will he show up, glare at me, and demand you come with him?”
