"How many have you made so far?" he asked, gazing at all my sample vials.
"A lot." I laughed. "The possibilities are endless, really. It can boggle the brain to try to put a number on it."
"Boggle the brain, huh?" He laughed too. His smile was warm and inviting, and I didn't miss the opportunity to smile back.
"So what do you do when you create a scent you like?" He touched one of the tiny samples. "Do you just fill up a bunch of these small ones?"
Setting the briefcase down on my office chair, I opened a small drawer on the top of the desk. "That's where these come in handy." I picked up a larger cobalt blue bottle and held it out to him. The deep blue glass caught the light in the room, revealing its true gem tone. "They hold more than my sample vials, and I have a bunch of them stashed in my closet."
"Are they color coded?" He looked over at my sample case and then back at me. "I noticed that you have several different colored tubes."
"Very good." I was impressed. "Essential oils are kept in amber glass vials because it helps keep the light out. Sample scents that I'm working on are kept in the smaller clear glass vials. And finished scents are put into the cobalt bottles."
"Are these the perfumes you're going to sell in Abbey's Hollow?"
I nodded eagerly, and then I blushed. "Sony if I rambled on too much. I didn't mean to give you a formal class on perfume making or anything."
He laughed again. "I'm sure that was the condensed version. It sounds like you put a lot of time and effort into your work, Abbey. You're obviously very dedicated. One of these days I'll have to be your first customer and ask you to come up with a scent for me. Do you think you can do it?"
I stared into his green, green eyes and immediately thought of snickerdoodle cookies and rainy nights in a graveyard.
"What are some of your favorite things?" I heard myself asking him. I wondered how difficult it would be to create a scent for him.
"Hmmm, let me think about that." He wandered away from me, stopping briefly at several different spots around my room. "Well, I love snickerdoodle cookies, but you already knew that. I also like pumpkin pie."
He wandered some more, and then came back to me. I held absolutely still.
"And vanilla, Abbey." His voice was low, barely above a whisper. "I like the smell of vanilla. You smell like vanilla… and gingerbread cookies. And something else I can't quite figure out."
He was very, very close now. And so were his lips. His beautifully shaped lips. I watched them while he spoke, as he enunciated each word, and said my name.
"Grapefruit," I whispered, raising my gaze. I started at that stripe of black hair and followed it down to meet his eyes. They were changing… darkening. "It's Kristen's scent. I made it for her. That's why I went to the cemetery tonight, to give it to her."
I could tell he wanted to touch me but something was holding him back. Maybe it was the same something that made me hesitate every time I thought about reaching out to touch him. Fear of rejection? Or fear that once our skin met it would fuse together and we wouldn't be able to pull it apart again?
He took an abrupt step back. The moment was interrupted, and I felt confused. I couldn't quite grasp what was going on here. He wandered away again, and stopped in front of the fireplace mantel, staring at something. I followed after him to see what he was looking at.
It was a picture of me and Kristen, taken that night we had put the red highlights in our hair. A slow smile crept across his face as he reached out to touch the picture frame. I watched him in utter fascination. There was something about him that captured my attention; I was like a moth drawn helplessly to a beautiful flame.
Caspian gently traced the swirl pattern decorating one of the frame's silver edges, and then he glanced over at the wall next to the fireplace. "So, I take it your favorite color is red?"
I grinned.
"What gave it away? The red highlights in the picture, the red stripes painted on the walls, or…" I glanced behind me. "The red comforter on the bed?"
"It was a completely random, totally wild guess on my part." He turned slightly and gave me a half smile. "I like your room, Abbey. It suits you. The colors in here are just… amazing. I've never seen anything like it."
He couldn't have said anything more perfect at that moment. My heart thumped erratically, and I prayed with everything inside of me that I wouldn't tear up at his words.
Then his expression changed. "You like astronomy?"
I was still enjoying the warm fuzzies his compliment had just given me, and was kind of lost on how we'd gone from red striped walls to astronomy. Taking a step closer, I saw my telescope propped up against the wall next to him.
"I haven't used it since I was younger," I admitted. "My dad bought it for me, and we used to look at the constellations together. That was how my parents met in high school, actually. Astronomy class. Dad loved it, and Mom took it for extra credit."
He bent down and looked through the eyepiece, fiddling with the knobs and running his hands over it like a little boy admiring a new toy. "And you don't use it anymore? Why not?" The look of pure astonishment on his face was adorable, and I tried very hard not to laugh.
"I just sort of forgot about it, really. Got busy, had other things to do. Plus, it kind of used to be a special thing for Dad and me. He would tell me all about the groups of stars and constellations, and every Saturday night we'd go to the top of the hill behind our house to look at the sky. Once he joined the town council, he never had any free time anymore. I guess that's when I stopped using it." Comprehension dawned, and I turned away, feeling that familiar sting. Great, now I was going to cry.
Caspian immediately caught on. He stood up and walked away from the telescope. "Meet me at the library tomorrow," he urged suddenly.
"What? Why?" I was still trying to blink away tears that I would not shed, and follow his train of thought at the same time.
"Do you know what the name Astrid means?" He switched gears again, and I was helpless to follow.
"No."
"It means 'star.' That's what I think of you as, Abbey. One day I looked up, and there you were. A fiery spot of light surrounded by darkness. You make me feel like anything is possible. And seeing that telescope over there only confirms it."
"That's beautiful, Caspian," I whispered. "But what does it have to do with the library?"
He gave a husky laugh, and the sound ricocheted through me. "I want you to meet me at the library tomorrow because I have to go now. But tomorrow I can… Just name a time and I'll find you."
Crap. I'd already promised Mom that I would help her reorganize the attic tomorrow morning. I hadn 't promised her my afternoon, though.
"Tomorrow. At the library. Two thirty/* I said in a whisper. I didn't want to speak too loudly. He nodded in agreement.
Something stretched and ebbed and flowed between us. In the back of my mind I wondered if it was electricity. If we kissed, would there be sparks?
Self-consciously I took a step closer. I wasn't sure what was about to happen, but I definitely wanted something to happen. There was this tug inside of me, and I was close. So close. Heart-breakingly, earth-shatteringly close.
I tried to control my breathing, but it came out faster and faster.
Downstairs the clock started to toll and I held my breath as it chimed once for every hour. Ten, eleven, twelve strokes. It was midnight.
His eyes started darkening, I could see the emotions in them. Reaching out one finger, he gently traced my cheek the same way he had traced that picture frame. Slowly, almost unsure of himself. And even though we were both fully dressed, with our shoes off, everything became more intimate. I felt small and dainty next to him.
"I really need to go, Abbey," he whispered to me. "Your parents will be home soon, and I…"
"Don't go. Stay." I sighed. I wanted to close my eyes and soak in the feeling of his touch. But I couldn't look away. Not even for a second.
My lips were suddenly very dry, and
I licked them. He watched me. Intently.
Then he traced my lower lip… hesitantly again. My eyes lowered shut.
Now. It was going to happen now.
"I don't know if…" He groaned and suddenly pulled away. My eyes flew open, and I saw him running his hands through his hair almost desperately. That wild look was back in his eyes, coupled with something determined, and dangerous.
He paced around the room several times in an agitated manner. Then he seemed to make up his mind, and came back to me.
Urgently grasping my face between his palms, he stared into my eyes. Searching for something in them.
"Caspian? What's wrong?" I opened my eyes wide, to show him whatever he wanted to see. Not even sure what that really was. He looked for a moment longer, and then spoke.
"Promise me you won't go to the river alone at night again. I don't want the same thing to happen to you, Abbey. Oh God, I thought you were dead in that water."
I knew what he was talking about. The desperateness in his voice spoke louder than any words ever could.
"There's so much I want, yet can't have… The timing's not right." He closed his eyes and stroked my cheek once. "Just please, please meet me tomorrow, Abbey. Don't forget. Promise?"
"I won't forget," I promised. "And I won't fall in."
When he opened his eyes again, he looked relieved but still edgy. Casting a glance over at the clock on my nightstand, he said again, "I really do have to go."
I was lost. I didn't know what was happening now. I knew what had almost happened, and I was pretty sure I wanted to go back to that place.
"You don't have to go, Caspian. Not… yet." My gaze darted to the bed and then quickly back to him. I didn't know what part to play in any of this, what my role was.
"Yes, I do, Abbey," he sighed. "Believe me, it's not that I don't … I just need to go." He trailed a fingertip across my bottom lip for the shortest of moments. "What I meant about the star and the name Astrid… It's for you. You're my star," he said quietly. "Please don't forget about tomorrow." Then he cast a quick glance down. "And don't forget to take care of your hands. Sweet dreams, Astrid."
I heard him walk down the stairs, and then a door opened and closed, but I couldn't move. I was too stunned. My feet were rooted to the ground, while the words "my star" and "Astrid" played through my head. Then a huge smile spread across my face, and I laughed out loud as I tried to spin in a wobbly circle. My awkward movements reflected in the mirror hanging on my closet door, and I stopped short, and looked closer.
My eyes were shining and I had rosy cheeks, but the rest of me was wet and bedraggled. My hair lay in a limp, soggy mess around my shoulders, and my dress was stained by the mud and grass. I held my palms out in front of me. Each one bore several jagged scratches, and the edges were darkened with dried blood.
The implications of where I'd been, and what I'd done, suddenly sank into me.
I was insane; I had to be. I could have drowned in the river. Hit my head on that tombstone. Been attacked by someone hiding in the cemetery.
Astrid
And then I realized who had been there with me, who had talked me off of that proverbial ledge and out of the water. Walked me home and made sure I was safe. Listened to me babble on like a crazy person. Waited by my side while I cried.
I needed to share this with someone, and I had the perfect person in mind.
Grabbing a notebook and pen off my desk, I curled up in the window seat. My prom dress had already started to dry, so it didn't bother me at all now, and I started writing a letter to Kristen. From the beginning, I told her everything.
I wrote about how hard it had been for me to go to her funeral, to believe that she was really gone. I explained how lost I'd felt during the last couple of months without her. The feeling I'd gotten when I touched her casket. I described the sensation of that crinkly yellow police tape in my hand. Then I told her about the cheerleaders, and what they had done. About prom night, and the girls in the pink and yellow dresses. How I'd danced wildly through the cemetery, and made her a perfume.
But what I wrote about the most was someone with vivid green eyes, and white-blond hair with a streak of black. I explained how we met, and how he'd kept me company at her house. The tour I'd given him of the graveyard, and our talks about classic literature. I told her that he'd been there for me tonight, when I finally hit the bottom, and how he made the lost feelings disappear.
The only thing I left out was the special name he had given me. I needed that to be my own private memory for now, and it was the first time I had ever consciously kept something from Kristen.
By the time I finished writing, I had filled up an entire notebook and my pen was running out of ink. Mom and Dad still weren't home yet, and the clock told me that it was one a.m.
I got up from the window seat and grabbed the blue glass bottle with Kristen's name on it from my desk. Then I sprinkled a couple of drops over the notebook pages. My lower desk drawer yielded me a half-used book of matches and a new red candle, so I grabbed those, too.
After lighting the candle, I carried it back over to the window seat. I set it down carefully on the ledge and pried open the old window. The night air was clear and cool. I took a deep breath and felt calm. Very, very calm.
I slowly tore out the pages from the notebook, and held the candle out the window as I fed it scraps of paper, one by one. I watched each wisp of smoke spiral up into the sky, and the ashes scatter to the wind. The scent of the perfume mingled with the smell of the candle and created a hazy veil around me.
I thought about a specific memory with Kristen as I burned each page, and hesitated when I finally reached the last one. "I won't say good-bye, because I hope some part of you will always be with me. So I'll say… to a new beginning. It's an end to our old way of making memories, but I'll find a way to make new ones, I promise. I'll never forget you, Kristen. Never," I vowed as the last notebook page disappeared into ash in front of me.
Blowing out the candle, I sat it on the floor and got up to turn off the lights. I was feeling sleepy, but I didn't want to go to bed just yet. So I stepped out of the messy prom dress and left it in a heap on the floor. Then I threw on some shorts and an old T-shirt and returned to my window. I decided to leave the dress where it was until morning and then stash it in the closet before Mom had a chance to see it.
It was going to cost a fortune to get it dry-cleaned and repaired.
The next thing I knew, my alarm was chirping that it was eight a.m., and my face was wearing the imprint of the window sill. Cracking one eyelid open, I saw that my window was now closed and the dress that had been on the floor was gone.
Chapter Eleven
The Library
From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end…
"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow"
My head started pounding the minute I stood up, and I had a terrible cramp in my neck. Sleeping on the windowsill had probably not been the brightest idea I'd ever had. Moving very slowly, I double-checked the floor again, and then my closet, to make sure I hadn't dropped the dress in there.
No luck. The dress was definitely gone.
I was having a hard time caring about that, though. Breakfast and some headache medicine were first on my list… and then I would worry about the dress.
Creeping downstairs took all of my effort, and I had to concentrate very hard to not miss any of the steps on the way down. Mom was making coffee when I reached the kitchen, and she turned when I stumbled in.
"Morning, honey. Want some coffee?" She held up an empty mug.
"Egghhh," I grunted, hoping she would take that as a no. I pulled out a cereal bowl and then cringed as the cabinet door slammed shut and the sound echoed through my head.
"Headache," I grunted again while I moved at a snail's pace to pour the cereal and some milk.
Barely making it to the table, I sat the bowl down and rested my head in my hands.
Then I groaned loudly.
"Rough night?" asked Mom, coming to sit beside me.
"Don't ask," was my muffled reply.
She didn't get the chance to, because just then an even louder groan came from the living room. She patted my back and rubbed the top of my head. "Poor baby. Your father is feeling your pain. Apparently he can't handle mixed drinks like he used to. I ended up being the designated driver last night."
A horrible, pitiful on-the-edge-of-death's-door moan erupted from the living room again.
"I better go check on him," she said, putting her coffee mug down and getting up from the table. "I don't want him to ruin the couch."
She hesitated for a moment, and I almost heard the gears start clicking in her head. She was a loud thinker. "You don't… have a headache for the same reason your father does… do you, Abbey?"
"No, Mom." I lifted my head a fraction of an inch. "It's called falling asleep in a window seat with my neck propped up at a weird angle. That's why I have a headache."
I swear she actually sighed with relief.
"That's good. Let me go check on your father and then I'll bring you back some aspirin, okay?"
She really was a good mom.
I tried to say thank you, but it came out as another groan. I debated whether or not I could just stay where I was for the rest of the day, but I knew I needed to eat my cereal. It wouldn't take long for it to get all soggy.
Reaching for my spoon, I lifted my head up and saw the angry red scratches on my hand. They were still bloody. I never cleaned them last night. Focusing on the tabletop beside the bowl, I shoveled cereal into my mouth as fast as I could. I definitely wanted to skip the round of ten questions that I knew would come from Mom if she saw the scratches.
Gulping down the last of the cereal, I got up to drop the bowl into the sink. Then I ran some cool water over my palms and wiped them gently with a washcloth. Once the dried blood was washed away, they didn't look so bad.
My head started pounding out a symphony again, and I staggered back from the sink. I held one hand to my throbbing temple and waited for the pain to ease up. I must have really been distracted by my hands if I'd forgotten about my headache.
The Hollow Page 13
