“I had no idea Aiden was a member of the neighborhood watch,” Bernard adds, scratching his head. “Did you?”
Sheldon and I both shake our heads.
I have to say, Persephone’s power of suggestion is pretty impressive.
I hide a fake yawn. “I’m kind of tired. I’m going to try and get some sleep.”
We retreat to our bedrooms. As soon as I hear their bedroom door close, I shut my own and rush over to the window. Sure enough, Marcus is there. I push open the side of the screen that isn’t mangled so he can climb inside.
“I can’t believe he got around the alarm system. Delayed it somehow.” Marcus grumbles as he takes hold of my hand. “Are you okay?”
“What about you, Persephone and Aiden showing up like that? And what kind of mojo did Persephone work on them anyway? It’s like they’re in a trance.”
Marcus waves me off. “They’ll be fine tomorrow. Just keep them out of your bedroom. I’ll take care of getting a new screen for your window.”
“It was scary, Marcus.” I shudder. “The guy was huge. He probably would’ve crushed me or something. Good thing the alarm scared him off.”
“We need to figure out what he’s after.”
We sit on my bed, the box of Momma’s letters between us. She kept them in her top dresser drawer for years, so I knew they were important to her. After she died, I couldn’t bear to leave them behind, but I couldn’t bring myself to read them, either.
“A lot of these have never been opened. Oh…” He turns one of the letters over for me to read. It’s addressed to Jude Morgan.
“Here’s another one.” He hands me a second envelope, again addressed to Jude. “And another…”
There are twenty-three letters addressed to Jude. Based on the postmarks, they were sent over a twelve month period sixteen years ago. Each letter bears a bold red postal stamp across its face. Return To Sender.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I know you don’t want to read them, but we need to. If the gray-haired man wants them so bad he broke into the house twice to get them, they must be important,” Marcus says.
He’s right and I know it. The problem is I’m not sure if I can handle reading about Momma’s love affair with Jude. Clearly things didn’t end well. I jump off the bed and pace the center of my room. I gulp several times, trying to get some air. Why can’t I breathe?
“Lucy?”
I ignore him. It’s bad enough for me to read the letters, but Marcus? What if they’re not about their romance? What if they’re Momma’s pleas for help?
I rub my arms briskly, struck with a sudden chill.
What if the gray-haired man was the one who threw me from the roof? What if he plans another attempt on my life? If so, who cares what’s in the stupid letters?
Marcus grabs my sweatshirt from the back of my desk chair and wraps it around me.
I meet his gaze. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
“Grab the box and we’ll go up to Persephone’s.”
I take a step backward. “Why?”
“She and Henry are trying to figure out why this demon keeps coming after you,” he says gently. “She should know what’s in these letters. And she might catch something we’d miss.”
I pull away from him and sit down on my bed. What right does he have to dictate everything? The letters are none of Persephone’s business. And what if I break down while reading them? I glare at the opposite wall, my arms crossed over my chest.
He sits down next to me, his arm curling around my shoulders. “Please.”
Five minutes later, we’re sitting in Persephone’s living room. We each take a handful of letters from the box. I feel like a traitor letting other people read them. Momma would be furious that I’m not protecting her secrets. I’m sorry, Momma.
I force myself to tear open the first letter in my stack. A tingle walks down my spine as I read the first sentence. I scan the letter quickly, looking for something horrible, something that would scare me into not reading any more. One line catches my attention. I realize that bringing up the whole “meeting the family” subject was a bad idea. I won’t mention it again. I read the letter a second time, this time slowly. Nothing horrible.
I tear open another letter. With baited breath, my eyes scan the page quickly. One sentence jumps out at me. I can’t believe you’re so excited about my pregnancy.
Jude was excited about me? My insides swell a little. Then I recall the wound on Marcus’ arm. The gash is nearly gone, thanks to Marcus’ amazing healing abilities, but I saw it. The visual is forever burned in my mind.
I open another letter, less worried about what I might find. I glance over at Marcus and Persephone, each of them reading a letter, their eyes scanning the page intently. I return my attention to the sheet of paper on my lap. My insides turn to lead and my throat burns. I can’t tear my eyes away from the words.
Jude,
It’s been months since I’ve heard from you. Where did you go? I don’t understand why the Post Office is returning my letters. I’ve gone to your office and you’re never there. I tried to wait for you, but your receptionist threatened to have security escort me out.
You told me you loved me, that you wanted to be with me. Was that a lie?
Lucy is a week old. I can’t stand to look at her, because she already looks like you. You wanted a baby. What am I supposed to do with her now that you’re gone?
Please, please, please…call me.
- Donna
I stare numbly at the letter. I can’t stand to look at her.
“Hold the phone,” Persephone announces, her index finger raised. “I’ve got something here.”
I don’t care what she’s got. I no longer care about the letters. I want to go downstairs to my room and go to bed.
Persephone shakes a letter under my nose. “Read this.” I take it from her, unnerved by her intensity. Marcus leans in beside me on the couch and reads over my shoulder.
Jude,
You sick bastard! Was it all a lie? Your supposed love for me? Your fear of being alone, unloved and having no one to love?
My mother and I had a long talk about you. Yes, I told her about you. Finally! It all makes sense to me now. Your secrecy, which I found so mysterious and sexy in the beginning.
I now know everything. EVERYTHING! And by the time you get this letter, I’ll be long gone. Me and your PRECIOUS daughter. Guess what? You will never lay eyes on her. She will never know you and never love you. I will never speak your name to her. Better yet, maybe I’ll tell her how hideously evil and sick you are. Then she’ll have nothing but hate in her heart for you.
How does it feel, Jude, all your planning wasted? Oh, and don’t bother trying to find us. We’ll have disappeared into the wind by the time you get this letter.
I hope you rot in hell. Oh, silly me, you thrive there.
- Donna
I read the letter twice, rocked by the intensity of Momma’s hatred.
“She calls him evil and sick. If she found out he’s a demon, that accounts for the evil, but not the sick part.” He must’ve done something horrible besides leaving her.
I can’t read any more. I hand the letters to Marcus, who takes them without saying a word. I pull the turtle green afghan from the back of Persephone’s couch and snuggle into it, pulling my knees up to my chest. Momma didn’t want me. She never loved me.
There are other letters and cards in the box, mostly from Gram. My throat catches when I see Momma also kept the letters I sent during my summers here.
“I’ve got something,” Marcus announces. “I know why your mom spilled the beans to your grandmother about Jude.”
He hands it to me. I take it reluctantly.
Dear Ms. Walker,
I thank you for taking the time to meet with me last week. I apologize for contacting you out of the blue. However, I felt it important you understand the kind of man you are dealing with in Jude Morgan. He is one who devises elaborate
schemes and manipulates people to achieve his evil deeds. I am sorry you were yet another pawn in his latest enterprise.
I do hope you have spoken with your mother about him. As I stated during our meeting, she will elaborate on the ways of Jude Morgan and all he is capable of. I do not mean to paint a picture of myself that is untrue. I am not above reproach, as your mother will confirm. What I will say is that while Mr. Morgan’s intentions are rooted in selfishness and darkness, I can attest that mine were and still are of an altruistic nature.
Respectfully yours,
Seamus McAllister
I set the letter on my lap. “Who is Seamus McAllister?”
“Tell me again everything you remember about the intruder,” Persephone says, rising from her chair.
So I tell her again. “Oh!” I squeeze my eyes shut. Something is pulling at me and I can’t remember. He ran to the window and threw his arms forward before lunging out the window. “His arm. He had a weird birthmark—like a red ink splotch the size of a tennis ball—on his right forearm.”
Persephone’s eyes close and she shakes her head. “How can this be?”
Marcus and I glance at each other curiously. “What?” I ask.
“He was a…friend…of your grandmother’s,” she says, opening her eyes.
“Like a boyfriend?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “Seriously, Persephone, I’m not five years old.”
Marcus covers his mouth, but his chuckle breaks through. I reach over and smack his leg.
“Very well,” Persephone rearranges the letters on her lap. “They were close.” Her face is pinched. “They were together a couple of years, but then your gram ended things. Pretty abruptly, but I don’t know why. I can tell you this. Seamus didn’t take it well. Things turned ugly.”
I bolt upright, the afghan falling from my shoulders. “So what does this mean? The man who broke into my room is Seamus McAllister? What does he want?”
* * * *
Marcus and I take the box of letters back to my room. I place it on the shelf in my closet, except for the letter from Seamus, and Momma’s final letter to Jude, which I tuck under my mattress, next to my knife.
“You should’ve left them with Persephone. She wants to show them to Henry,” Marcus whispers as he closes the closet door.
“They can read them in the next couple of days.” I hope to talk Persephone out of reading through them with Henry. I don’t want them to find out my own mother never wanted me.
Marcus looks at me quizzically.
“So Seamus is our gray-haired mystery man,” I say.
“How did he even know you were in Chicago?” Marcus asks. He slides open the window. “And why does he want the letters so bad?”
I nibble my bottom lip as I ponder his question. Is it possible that Seamus tracked us down in Lexington and someone told him Momma’s dead and I moved here? Why would he care about the letter after all these years?
“If Seamus believes I have Momma’s letters, maybe he’s afraid I’ll let Jude read them.” I shudder as I recall Jude’s grip on Marcus’ arm. The bloody wound. I’m guessing that was nothing for Jude. “If Jude finds out Seamus ratted him out...”
Marcus finishes my sentence. “Jude will kill him.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The doorbell rings at precisely seven-thirty. Marcus is taking me to the movies. I hear Bernard’s voice as he answers the door. After a touch of lip-gloss and a quick swipe of eye shadow on each lid, I go to the living room to save Marcus from my suddenly overprotective uncles. Who knew they’d be this worked up over my first date?
Marcus smiles when he sees me in my blue jeans and pink wrap blouse. I’m wearing the perfume that Katie and her mom gave me for my birthday. It smells amazing. I hope he likes it.
Marcus looks good—very good—in his blue jeans and gray and blue shirt. Who am I kidding? Marcus is one of those super lucky people who can wear torn sweats and an ugly t-shirt and still look amazing.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
I’m flush with excitement, eager to be alone with him. “Yes.”
Bernard coughs and Sheldon reaches out and pulls me into a hug. I suppress a smile as I hug him back.
“You two have fun, but not too much fun,” Sheldon says, his tone gruff. “Marcus, you’ll have Lucy back home by eleven?”
“Yes, sir.”
I hug Bernard and we make our escape. Marcus holds the passenger door of his black Toyota Camry for me. I slide inside. My first date. The words run through my head and my pulse speeds up in response.
We listen to music on our way to the movie theater. Marcus’ taste is different than what I’m used to. Now I understand why he has vinyl records in his apartment. He likes some older stuff, which is surprisingly good, and the cds in his glove compartment and center console are bands that aren’t played to death on the radio.
“So…you play guitar?” I ask, eager to learn everything I can about him. “How long?”
“Since I was about nine,” he says. “My dad bought me a series of lessons. I loved it immediately. Playing…well, it came naturally to me. After the lessons ran out, I continued to teach myself. There’s a lot of great information online.”
“Will you play for me sometime?” I imagine the two of us hanging out on the roof on a hot summer day. We’d sit on a blanket with a picnic lunch spread out between us. Marcus would play his guitar. “Wait…your dad? You’ve never mentioned him before. Where is he?”
Marcus’ posture goes rigid. “He’s gone.”
My breath hitches. “Marcus, I’m so sorry. My condol—”
“He’s just gone,” Marcus says. “Can we talk about something else?”
I slump back in my seat. Did his dad take off? Where was his mom? I try not to dwell on his parents. The subject clearly upsets him.
“I wish we were going to the same school,” I say finally. A new group of kids. They couldn’t be any worse than the kids at my prior school, right? Thoughts of Caroline and Ella surface and I’m not reassured.
He casts a sideways glance at me. “You’ll do just fine. You’re the new girl—and very pretty. You’ll get a lot of attention.”
I’m surprised by the bitterness in his voice.
As we pull into the movie theater parking lot, there are a bunch of kids standing around. Obviously the social scene in the parking lot is a big part of a night at the show.
Marcus comes around and opens the door for me. He doesn’t back up much, so as I push myself out of the car, we stand close enough I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. My eyes focus on his mouth and I experience a strange pulling sensation in my belly. I forget to breathe. The noise in the parking lot falls away. I wonder what it would be like to feel his lips pressed against mine. I flick my tongue across my dry lips nervously. Marcus stares unblinking. He swallows hard and takes two steps back.
“Um…we should get inside.” He takes my hand and leads me through the parking lot.
We move in sync toward the theater. He holds my hand with confidence, like he’s been holding it forever. I suddenly wish we were back at his apartment, sitting on the couch. Maybe he would play a song for me on his guitar.
“Heeeeyyyy, Tennessee.”
There’s only one person in the whole world who calls me that.
The crowd around him parts and suddenly we’re the object of everyone’s inspection. Dylan unfolds himself off a black sports car and saunters over.
“Hi Dylan.”
“Hey.” He nods at Marcus. “Who’s your friend?”
I make introductions, then explain to Marcus. “Dylan’s younger brother and sister are the kids I take care of during the week.”
The two of them shake hands and size each other up. I glance past Dylan and notice his friends watching us—the popular crowd—and cringe. A blonde girl, who appears to be wearing several hundred dollars worth of clothes glares at me. Dylan’s girlfriend? I think Caroline said her name was Rachel.
“What are you seeing?”
Dylan nods toward the theater. I can’t help but notice the outline of his muscled chest and shoulders through his tight gray shirt.
I take a step closer to Marcus, slipping my hand back into his. “The new zombie movie.” I look past Dylan at Rachel. Her short skirt and skintight top draw appreciative glances from Dylan’s friends. Three-inch heels to the movies? I glance down at my outfit and suddenly feel plain. Marcus told me I looked pretty tonight. Was he just saying that to be nice? With his looks, he would be much better off with someone like Rachel. I pull my hand from Marcus’ and stuff it in my pocket. I return my focus to Dylan, trying to keep my glum mood from showing. “What about you?”
“Good question.” Dylan shakes his head and casts an annoyed glance over his shoulder. “The group I’m with can’t make up their minds.” That’s when I catch Rachel’s appreciative glances directed straight at Marcus. I bristle.
“We should get inside.” Marcus grabs my hand and gives a subtle tug, his eyes flicking to Dylan. “Good to meet you, Dylan.”
“Yeah, you, too.” Dylan flashes his killer smile. “Oh, Lucy, thanks again for the bike ride the other day. I’m hoping we can do it again soon.”
Marcus’ grip tightens as he pulls me toward the theater. I yank my arm free, confused by his anger, and follow him inside.
Once we get our tickets, sodas and popcorn and make our way to our seats, I chance a look at him. He stares stonily at the ads on the movie screen.
“Instead of being mad, you could ask me about the bike ride,” I point out, setting my coke in the cup holder.
“Hey, it’s none of my business,” Marcus says coolly, his shoulders rising and falling indifferently. “You act like you’re into me and then I find out you’re into some clown from St. Aquinas, too. Whatever works for you, Lucy.”
“It is his family I work for,” I point out, feeling defensive. “He and I took Ethan and Brandi for a bike ride. I don’t know the city, the bike trails….any of it. I did it to make the kids happy.”
The Girl and The Raven Page 12
