Dentelle #3 Guardian series

by Bowhay, Heather

  Interesting. This was the first time she’d ever openly been an advocate for Jason and I being a couple. Jessica must be right. Madison was interested in Ash. I wondered if maybe the reason she was hesitant to explore a relationship with him was because of me. He and I were tight. I tried to imagine myself in her shoes, which wasn’t easy, because they were usually four inch heels, but when I got to the heart of the matter, I could see where she might view me as a threat. First, I stole Jason’s heart, and now I was linked with Ash, and everyone knew he’d pursued a relationship with me early on.

  Deep in thought, I swirled my straw around in circles and nonchalantly observed Madison. Maybe she didn’t feel comfortable admitting her feelings for Ash until more issues were resolved. Then there was the fact I was a Dentelle, automatically in the spotlight wherever we went, not because I wanted or enjoyed the attention but because that’s just how it was. Madison, on the other hand, enjoyed the limelight, and she didn’t get much time in it when I was around – which was always. My throat swelled up. Yeah, I’d pretty much hate me if I was her. My stomach felt sick. I didn’t want her to view me that way. Silently, I vowed to be more thoughtful and find ways to support a relationship between her and Ash.

  “What are you thinking about Max’s idea, Alex?” Jason asked, shifting in his chair so he had me in full view.

  “Well,” I said, jamming the straw back into the cup and pushing my lunch off to the side, “I definitely need time to think this through, but it sounds like it might be our best option. Completely walking away from the Guardians is the least desirable choice. As far as this Bangor move goes, I’ve been worried about it, too.” I glanced at Max. “If Jason and Madison move to Bangor, and then I play my trump card, moving Ash and myself there, what’s to stop the Senior Council from voting to move Jason and Madison again – to another Circle?”

  “Good point,” Max said. “There’s nothing to stop them.”

  “And I wouldn’t put it past them, either.” I clutched Jason’s leg. “We’d be separated and living in places we didn’t want to be with no way to change things.” I sighed and sent a blast of Essence to my shoulders, which suddenly felt as if they were carrying the weight of the world. “At least with this Canadian scenario, I could bring all my cards to the table. They can either approve the transfer along with my other requests, or not. I’d say it’s worth a shot, especially if another solution doesn’t present itself in the next few weeks.”

  For the next half hour, we talked back and forth, throwing out more possibilities. The most interesting one was that if the Canadian Council was to accept my proposal, was there any chance the U.S. Senior Council might throw out a counter offer? Maybe even give in to my demands – all because they didn’t want their Network to lose a Dentelle? Max reminded me that I was in a unique position and could be influential and persuasive in ways I’d never thought possible.

  That was something worth pondering.

  Not long afterwards, we wrapped up our discussion. Jason and I said our good-byes, then jumped into his truck, and drove downtown. Somehow, we timed it just right and flew through all the green lights on Holly Street, passing Bob’s Burger & Brew, the Greenhouse, and then Lulu’s. We were silent, allowing the latest Macklemore hit song to fill the cab. I clutched the leather seats, my nerves on edge and my heart heavy as I wrestled with my emotions.

  I was no longer thinking about the Canadian Network or my personal predicaments.

  No, I was remembering sweet, old Ellen Zimmerman, whom I’d never had a chance to thank for the packets of orchid pollen or ask how she’d known about Guardians. I’d never had a chance to say good-bye. Tears threatened, and I sniffled, forcing them back.

  “You okay, babe?”

  I nodded. “Just thinking about Ellen.” He nodded, touched my shoulder, and then swiftly pulled it back onto the steering wheel.

  I’d been too late. Life in the weeks following our battle with the Ray-pacs in the mountains had been complete chaos. I’d linked and survived, which was astounding enough. But then I’d had to deal with the changes to my body as well as adapt to the new and unbelievable abilities I’d suddenly inherited. With all that turmoil, it was a few weeks before I felt mentally capable of resuming my volunteer duties. A few days before I was to reunite with Ellen, she passed away.

  The nurses said she died peacefully in her sleep. That was a good thing, but the more I thought about those words, the more it bothered me. That’s what we all want to hear when someone we love dies. But how did the nurses know that? No one was in the room with Ellen. She could have awakened in a panic, all alone, clutching her heart. The thought was gut-wrenching. What if I’d visited earlier, provided her with Essence, as I had twice a week for so many months? Would that have prevented the irregular heartbeat, or “cardiac arrhythmia” as the doctors called it, that they attributed to her death? Unfortunately, I would never know, and the guilt still lingered. But so did the shock. She was the spunkiest, most positive person, and even though she was elderly, she never seemed on the edge of death, and I certainly hadn’t expected her to die anytime soon. She’d left a void in my heart.

  When her lawyer, Mr. Crompton, had called a week ago and informed me that Ellen’s estate had been settled and that she’d named me in her will, I’d had to grab the couch for support. The realization that she had a will, or would even include me in it, had never crossed my mind. It hit me hard. After hanging up the phone, a storm of emotions had surfaced – surprise that she’d mentioned me at all; sorrow that she was gone; hope that she had left me a personal note; and relief that I might find closure.

  “Alex. Hey, babe. We’re here. You ready?”

  I stared at the red brick building, wondering if Ellen had ever graced the hallways of this building or if Mr. Compton had only met her out at the Mt. Baker Care Center. I grabbed my purse with one hand and the door handle with the other. “Yes. I’m ready.” I’d already decided this was an appointment I needed to attend by myself, and Jason had wholeheartedly agreed. But he’d insisted on driving me, saying he’d just go for a walk and I could text him when I was ready to go. I loved how in tune he was with my feelings. Knowing I was in a tough place emotionally, he found ways to be supportive but not smothering.

  Once inside, I felt surprisingly calm. There was nothing pretentious about Crompton & Keats. Fresh-cut flowers in the reception area along with snacks, cookies, and coffee instantly put me at ease. Before long, I was stepping into Mr. Crompton’s open and airy office. He rose from his desk and strode across the room with a friendly smile. Somewhere in his sixties, with graying hair, he was a broad shouldered, athletic man. Shaking my hand, he welcomed me and informed me I was “every bit as lovely” as Ellen had bragged I was.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Adams.” He motioned to the large leather chairs. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Oh, no thank you. And please, call me Lexi.”

  He smiled and walked over to his desk. The office was clean, tidy, and bright. Two extra-large windows offered views of an outdoor Japanese-themed patio. Numerous plants dotted the room, and tasteful paintings adorned the walls. There was none of that sterile mahogany stuffiness here.

  “I must tell you,” he said, shuffling through some papers on his desk, “Ellen was not only a client, but she was also a dear friend of mine. Losing her was difficult; a friendship like that is never forgotten and certainly not replaceable. Her contagious zest for life was unparalleled.” His voice hitched. He stopped and pressed his lips together.

  I smiled inwardly at the thought of Ellen Zimmerman flirting with him, which she undoubtedly would have done. He was attractive and distinguished-looking, and she’d probably made him blush a few times. “She was an amazing woman and a dear friend of mine, too,” I said quietly.

  He nodded and cleared his throat. Locating the folder he was looking for, he sat down and talked a little bit about himself, explaining how Ellen had named him as executor of her estate thirty years before. He reminded
me that she had no children, just a few nieces and nephews, but no one who’d cared enough to visit while she was alive. Then he frowned and talked of distant relatives showing up after her death, hoping to claim some of her fortune. He assured me they’d had no such luck, because she’d protected her assets well. Clutching my purse, I listened attentively and nodded at all the right times but felt a bit uncomfortable. I didn’t know anything about her having a fortune, and since I wasn’t family it seemed odd he’d be imparting so much information to me.

  “Lexi, I don’t know if you were aware, but Ellen used to own several flower shops in Europe.”

  “Yes, I did know that,” I said, relieved to be on neutral ground.

  He straightened a manila folder against the desk and continued, “Years ago, when she sold out, she invested her money wisely and lived a comfortable, but by no means, extravagant life. After her passing, she still had a sizeable amount of money in her trust fund. Unfortunately, several long lost relatives, trying to claim a share of her wealth, slowed the process of finalizing her estate, which is why I wasn’t able to contact you sooner. But things are settled now, and,” he added with a wink, “the gold-digging, distant relatives are out of luck, on their way home, and undoubtedly more disgruntled than when they arrived.” He rose with his folder and walked around the desk. Sitting in the chair next to me, he grasped my hand. “Lexi, Ellen asked me to give you two things. First, a letter that she wrote to you that is still sealed, and second, a check for a considerable amount of money. Money she wanted you to use for your education and for whatever else you deemed worthy.”

  My heartbeat escalated, and I must have jumped, because he squeezed my hand tighter. “I…I don’t know what to say?” I said, reaching new levels of bewilderment. “I had no idea she had money set aside.” I felt funny discussing her financial affairs. And worried about what he meant by “a considerable amount.” Like, was he talking a couple thousand dollars? A couple hundred thousand? I didn’t want Ellen’s money; I just wanted her back. Her stories, our games of pinochle, and our crazy conversations. My lips quivered, “Oh, I don’t need any money, Mr. Crompton. But I would like to read the letter.”

  Mr. Crompton smiled, patted my hand one last time, and then shuffled through the folder. At last, he pulled out two envelopes. “I understand the idea of inheriting a lot of money might be uncomfortable or even embarrassing, which, let me tell you, is refreshing. In fact, Ellen said you’d probably try to, as she phrased it, ‘poo-poo’ the money, but she really wanted you to have it. Before we proceed with the financial aspect, though, she asked that you read her letter. Please take into consideration the letter is sealed, and I have no idea what it says. It was meant for your eyes only. Also, intriguing, as always with Ellen, she left two letters.”

  My eyes widened. “Huh?”

  “This is going to sound strange, but I am supposed to ask you,” he glanced at his notes, “if you and she ever discussed the matter of Guardians.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, unable to speak. What? No, we hadn’t, but she’d given the orchid pollen to Ash. Unsure how to respond, I shook my head slowly in the negative.

  “So, you never discussed Guardians?”

  “I don’t think so,” I whispered. This was really awkward. Even though I could tell he had no idea what he was referring to when he said “Guardians,” I felt like I was breaking every code in the book by trying to answer his question.

  “Okay, then I’m supposed to give you this letter if you say no.” He handed me a thick, ivory envelope with a flower decal on the outside. He marched across the room. “And this one,” he said, waving it in the air, “you are supposed to watch me destroy.”

  My mouth fell open, and before I could utter a word or change my mind, the paper shredder, sounding like a blender with its motor on the fritz, came to life. Dumbfounded, I covered my mouth as the letter disintegrated into a pile of shreds. I sure hoped I’d given the correct answer, because now I’d never know what message it had held.

  “Lexi, I’m going to step out of the room for a bit and give you some privacy. Ellen asked that you read that letter before I give you the check, and I’d like you to be as comfortable as possible, which means you won’t want me hovering around you. When you’re ready for me to come back in, just poke your head outside the door.” Pointing at the small sofa, he said fondly, “I brought that in at Ellen’s suggestion, because she didn’t like the chairs. Feel free to make yourself at home. That’s what Ellen would have done.” And with that, he left his office. A quiet solitude settled around me, and the only sounds were that of the classical music playing in the waiting room.

  CHAPTER 11 – THE LETTER

  My hand was shaking as I moved over to the sofa, but I smiled. Ellen wouldn’t have asked for the couch, she would have demanded it. Probably said something about life being too short to sit on hard, uncomfortable surfaces. I opened the envelope and pulled out several hand-written pages. The scent of a thousand roses overwhelmed me. I sneezed and brushed my nose. She must have sprayed her perfume all over the pages, probably hoping I’d get a kick out of it. Sliding off my shoes, I pulled my legs up to my chest, and started the letter.

  Dear Lexi-girl,

  How are you, my dear? Please tell me you’re not grieving over an old lady like me. You know my philosophy on life: You can’t go back to the way things were; you can only live in the present. If you want to reminisce once in a while about our good times together, like when I beat you at pinochle, that’s fine by me, but the only things I want you dwelling on are the possibilities of your future.

  Well, I suppose it’s okay to shed a few tears. Go ahead…I’ll wait…

  I set the letter aside, laughed a little bit, and dabbed at my wet cheeks. Only Ellen Zimmerman could find a way to be bossy from the afterlife.

  Okay, you over it yet? Good.

  Now, we can move on to more important matters – like the men in your life. Personally, I think Ash is a handsome devil of a young man. Quite the skilled guitarist and an ostentatious flirt (but then again, so was I). You, however, were already madly in love before Ash came along. I remember the first time you told me about Jason. You were dreamy-eyed and blushing head to toes. If he hasn’t already, I know he’ll come around. Once he does, he’ll never let you go. I’m proud of you, because I know he must be someone tremendously special to have won your heart.

  Right about now, you’re probably wishing I’d get on with it and explain a few things. I bet if I was sitting there next to you on Jim’s sofa, you’d grab my hand and say, “How did you know about the orchid pollen?” Since you are reading “this” letter it means you shredded the other one, right? (Just covering my tracks here). And it means I never got a chance to tell you my story. I’m truly sorry. The right time just hadn’t presented itself yet, but please know I always intended to tell you about the love of my life. His name was Jonathan, and he was a Guardian. (Which if I’m right, so is your Jason).

  I gasped and pressed the letter against my chest. Gazing out the window, I stared at the red maple trees without really focusing on them, and they blurred into the background. “Oh, Ellen!” I whispered aloud. “You were in love with a Guardian, too?” I shook my head and hurriedly devoured the elegant writing before me.

  Close your mouth now. Shock is not very becoming on a beautiful face such as yours. Smile, relax, and enjoy the story of my life, my dear.

  On a brilliant afternoon, nearly 75 years ago, in the city of love (Paris, of course), I was 16 years old and working in my parents’ flower shop, La Boutique De Fleurs. I was tending the store alone because my parents were out on deliveries. While I was designing an arrangement with irises, my favorite, a big, but athletically-built young man strode into the shop. He moved with precision around the displays. His very presence emitted confidence and commanded respect. Imagine me as a small, timid young thing, trembling at the size of him and wondering if I was safe being alone with him. (Okay, maybe I wasn’t timid, but I was q
uieter back in those days and perhaps just a bit shy).

  Anyways, as he placed his order, I kept my head low, afraid to make eye contact. But when he requested several hundred dollars’ worth of orchids, I gasped and raised my eyes to meet his. It was a moment I’ll never forget. They were soft as velvet, smiling brown eyes, and they seemed to touch my soul. My heart rate spiked and I blushed furiously. He tilted his head and smiled, then placed his large hand over mine and asked if I was okay. My whole body shuddered at his touch. Electrical currents seemed to snap in the air around us, and I wondered if I’d ever be okay again. My fear instantly vanished and was replaced by a fever of curiosity.

  I knew in that instant he was someone important. Someone I wanted to know. Someone who would change my life. He wasn’t the most handsome fellow I’d ever seen, but his face was kind and honest, and he radiated a positive energy that was contagious. Naughty, I know, but I couldn’t stop looking at his huge, supple lips – wondering what it would feel like if they were pressed against mine. I remember being shocked by my bold and unexpected thoughts, and I snatched my hand away in a fit of embarrassment. Oh, how he laughed. He bowed and thanked me profusely, saying he was honored that such a beautiful woman would blush at the touch of such a giant and bristly man.

  Managing a few unintelligible words, I finally took his order. I let him know it would be a few days before I could have that many orchids ready to go. I remember him leaning over the counter, inches from my face and saying, “Good. I need a reason to come back and see you again, my delicate flower.” (He spoke in French, of course. I’m translating for you).