The Color of Heaven - 09 - The Color of Time

by Julianne MacLean

  “There’s probably a fortune in antiques up there.”

  We left the library and went upstairs, where Ethan showed me his parents’ master suite. It was a spacious room with a four-poster, king-sized bed and canopy, elegant draperies on the paned windows, a wood-burning fireplace and two matching mahogany wardrobes. All the floors were polished to a fine sheen beneath tasteful Persian carpets.

  “My room’s not quite so impressive,” Ethan said, taking my hand to lead me down the wide corridor. We passed three guest chambers, all with unique color schemes, and finally came to his room at the end.

  “It’s a whole lot nicer than mine,” I replied as I walked in and looked over the large sleigh bed with a navy and white striped comforter, and the television built into the wall. “Is that your own bathroom?” I asked with fascination as I crossed to the open door next to the closet.

  Indeed, it was a private ensuite with an enormous bathtub that could fit two people.

  “It has jets,” I noticed as I bent over it.

  “Yeah, but I never use it,” he replied. “I’m a shower person.”

  “I’ve never taken a bath with jets before.”

  “Do you want to use it now?” he asked.

  I turned to him hesitantly. “Are you crazy?”

  “Why? There’s no one here. The housekeeper’s gone to her nephew’s wedding in Freeport overnight, and my parents won’t be back until tomorrow. The groundskeeper left at five and he won’t be back until Monday morning. You don’t have to be home until midnight.”

  “So we’re completely alone?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.

  “Yep.”

  I glanced down at the luxurious jet tub and didn’t see how I could refuse such an opportunity—to live for a moment like the rich and famous.

  “Do you have any bath suds?” I asked, imagining myself sinking into it like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

  “Anything you want,” Ethan replied.

  “Do you plan on joining me?” I carefully asked.

  With a friendly, open expression, he approached. “Only if you want me to.”

  My heart pounded wildly as I considered it.

  Just then, the sound of car tires crunching over the gravel in the driveway caused us both to turn. A car door opened and closed. I felt a rush of anxiety as Ethan hurried out of the bathroom to look out the window in his room.

  “Who is it?” I asked, following him and hoping it would be Chris and his girlfriend, or some other friend of Ethan’s.

  “Crap. It’s my parents,” he replied, letting the curtain fall closed. He turned to face me. We stared at each other with wide, panicked eyes.

  “What are they doing back?” I asked. “I thought they were going overnight.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Should I hide? You could sneak me out later.”

  He frowned at me and shook his head. “No, we’re not doing that.” He took me by the hand and led me out of his bedroom and down the wide corridor toward the staircase. “I’m going to introduce you, and if they don’t like it, they can lump it.”

  We hurried to the stairs just as the front door opened. We were halfway down when his father entered, stopped under the chandelier, and stared up at us with shock and displeasure.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I had seen Ethan’s father only once before, from afar, the previous summer, at a restaurant in downtown Portland. Chris and his girlfriend Jean had pointed him out to me, and even then, I’d found Mr. Foster intimidating.

  Dressed in a casual gray dinner jacket with a navy golf shirt and jeans, sporting a full head of thick dark hair with a touch of gray at the temples, Mr. Foster set his suitcase down and waited for us to reach the ground floor.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked in a deep, accusing voice.

  Ethan squeezed my hand. “Mom, Dad… This is Sylvie Nichols.”

  They stared at me in silence. I felt as if my insides were about to burst into flames.

  Working hard to be charming, I held out my hand. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Foster. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  For a few awkward seconds, neither of them responded, until at last Mrs. Foster—a sophisticated looking blond woman in white linen pants, a rose-colored blouse and silk scarf—reached out to shake my hand. “Hello, dear.”

  Mr. Foster turned to Ethan and spoke harshly. “We need to talk. Right now.” He pointed to the front parlor, then turned to me. “You can wait outside.”

  While he shoved Ethan across the hall, causing him to stumble forward onto the rug in the parlor, I quickly moved past Mrs. Foster and hurried out the door.

  Standing on the enormous front veranda, I strained to listen to their conversation inside. It started with quiet, angry voices, and I heard Mr. Foster say, “Is she the local girl?”

  I was unable to make out Ethan’s reply.

  “You told me it was over,” Mr. Foster shouted. “And how dare you bring her here when we’re away! You know the rules. What were you thinking?”

  Ethan had told them it was over? When? I didn’t even think they’d known about me.

  My stomach turned over and I felt nauseous. Had Ethan been lying to me all this time about our future together? Was he toying with me? Using me? Or was he just trying to protect us from his overbearing father’s interference?

  I couldn’t hear much else after that, until their voices escalated.

  “You can’t stop me from seeing her!” Ethan shouted, and I wondered if he would be standing up to his father if I weren’t outside the door, listening.

  “I most certainly can,” Mr. Foster said. “I can send you abroad with your mother. I can take away your car. I can take away everything.”

  “I don’t care,” Ethan replied. “Take it all. And you can’t force me to go anywhere. Even if I did, I’d come back for her because I love her and I’m going to marry her.”

  I gasped with shock, which was followed by a sudden flood of happiness, for I never imagined Ethan would say such a thing to his father.

  He really wanted to marry me? For real?

  I could have wept with joy.

  “Ethan, darling…” his mother said, speaking up for the first time. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I know exactly what I’m saying.”

  There was a pause.

  “Where the hell are you going?” his father shouted. “Come back here!”

  There was another pause.

  “Take your hands off me,” Ethan growled, and my heart began to race at the muffled sounds of a struggle. I put my hand on the doorknob, wondering if I should go inside to try and stop it. Glass smashed on the floor, then I heard a thump, followed by silence.

  Mrs. Foster cried out, in agony. “Ethan!”

  The panic in her voice filled me with fear. I pulled the door open and rushed inside where I stopped, transfixed, in the parlor entry.

  There was Mrs. Foster on her knees, cradling Ethan in her arms in front of the fireplace. Mr. Foster stood over them.

  “Call an ambulance!” she shouted up at him.

  My eyes focused on a pool of blood forming under Ethan’s head on the white marble hearth. Crushing dread and terror exploded in my heart, and I strode forward with wide eyes. Please, God, no…

  Suddenly aware of my approach, Mr. Foster turned to me with a diabolical glare that sent shivers of horror into my blood.

  “Get out!” he roared at me. With hands in fists, he strode toward me.

  The rage in his voice shook me so hard, my entire body jolted into action. Never so frightened in my life, I turned and bolted out the front door, hurried down the steps and ran toward the long tree-lined drive.

  Help. Ethan needs help!

  It was dark by that time, and my feet pounded over the gravel while the image of Ethan’s unconscious body on the floor—and Mr. Foster’s chilling wrath—played over and over in my mind.

  I kept seeing the blood and hearing Mr. Foster’s voice in my head�
��”Get out!”

  I must have blacked out from shock and distress, because I have no memory of running the two full miles down Shore Road. When I finally reached the town, I stopped, looked around in a panic, bent forward and vomited into a drainage ditch.

  Fighting to catch my breath, I wiped my arm across my mouth and focused on the gas station, a hundred or so yards down the road.

  Limping on tired feet, trembling uncontrollably, I finally reached the station and asked to use the telephone. The cashier regarded me with concern.

  “Sure,” she said as she set it on the counter.

  My hand shook as I dialed the number, which should have been my grandparents’, I suppose, but I didn’t want my parents to find out I’d gotten into trouble again, so soon after my arrival—so I called a friend.

  “Hi Chris? Thank God you’re home. It’s Sylvie. Something really bad just happened.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “No. Can you come and get me? I don’t know what to do.”

  “Of course,” he replied. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the Mobil station on Ocean House Road. How soon can you get here?”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he replied. “Just stay put.”

  “Okay.” I hung up the phone, thanked the cashier, and went outside. When I reached the edge of the parking lot, my knees buckled beneath me and my body crumpled to the ground, where I sat on the curb, buried my face in my hands and wept.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I was standing on the asphalt under the golden glow of the streetlamp, pacing in circles, when Chris pulled up in his parents’ Honda Civic. I immediately got in and shut the door.

  “What happened?” he asked as I buckled my seatbelt. “You sounded out of breath when you called.”

  “I just ran all the way here from Ethan’s house,” I explained. “I’m still freaked out. I don’t know what to do.”

  Chris shifted into gear and pulled into a parking spot at the edge of the lot. “Tell me what happened.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out, then I covered my face with my hands. “It was awful. Ethan’s parents were supposed to be in New York overnight, so he took me to his house to show me around. We had just gotten there when they came home unexpectedly.”

  “Oh, geez…” Chris replied with understanding, as if he knew what I was about to describe.

  I paused to collect myself, then lowered my hands to my lap. “They were really mad. We were upstairs, not doing anything—but I’m sure that’s not what they thought. We came down the stairs and his dad totally lost it.”

  “Of course he did. He’s a total jerk. My parents can’t stand him.”

  “Really?” I said with surprise. “You guys have been neighbors forever. I thought you were all friends.”

  “We are, sort of, but only because I was the only playmate for Ethan when he was little. Otherwise, his parents would never have acknowledged us.”

  With a sigh of defeat, I explained what happened after Mr. Foster ordered me to wait outside. I told Chris everything I’d heard from outside on the veranda—from the initial argument to the sound of glass smashing and the scuffle, and then Mrs. Foster screaming.

  “When I went back inside,” I said, “Ethan was unconscious on the floor and there was blood on the fireplace. His mother told his dad to call an ambulance, and that’s when he yelled at me to leave. I was so scared, I just ran. Oh, God, Chris… I can’t believe I just left him there.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Chris said, shifting into reverse and backing up. “Mr. Foster is a scary guy.” Chris pulled onto the road and headed back toward Ethan’s house. “But we should make sure Ethan’s okay.”

  Relieved to have the support of a friend who understood the situation, I tipped my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.

  Please, God, let him be all right…

  * * *

  By the time we arrived at Ethan’s house, there were two cop cars and an ambulance in the driveway, and lots of flashing lights.

  “This looks bad,” I said as we pulled up.

  A police officer approached. Chris rolled down his window.

  “Can I help you?” the cop asked.

  “I live next door,” Chris explained. “We’re friends of the family, and she’s Ethan’s girlfriend. She saw what happened earlier. Is Ethan okay?”

  The cop bent forward to study my face. “You were here earlier?”

  I nodded my head. “Yes, but Mr. Foster told me to leave. He was angry.”

  The officer stared at me for a few tense seconds. “What’s your name?”

  “Sylvie Nichols.”

  “Could you step out of the vehicle please? I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  All at once, my heart exploded with panic. I felt as if I were about to be arrested for committing a crime.

  I got out of the car and met the officer who had circled around the front. “Can you tell me what you were doing here and the approximate time you arrived and left?”

  Swallowing nervously, I knew it would be best to cooperate and leave nothing out. “Ethan and I arrived just as the sun was setting… So about 8:30, I guess. I had never been inside his house before, so he wanted to give me a tour. His parents weren’t home.”

  The cop wrote everything down. “And what happened after that?”

  By now, Chris had gotten out of the car and was standing beside me. We both leaned back against the side of the car.

  “We checked out the main floor,” I said, “then he took me upstairs to see the bedrooms, but we didn’t do anything. I swear. We were just standing there talking in his bathroom when we heard the car pull into the driveway, and we kind of panicked.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because his parents didn’t know about me. At least I didn’t think they did, but they must have known something. That’s why they were so mad. They didn’t want him dating a local.”

  “Go on.”

  “So…” I continued, “we were caught and we knew it. We went downstairs and Ethan introduced me to them. Mrs. Foster shook my hand, but Mr. Foster told Ethan to go into the front parlor to talk. He told me to wait outside.”

  “Then what happened?”

  I shrugged. “I went out onto the veranda, so I couldn’t see what was happening, but I listened through the door. I knew Ethan was in trouble. His dad was really mad. He threatened to send him away to Europe or somewhere if he didn’t break it off with me.”

  “What did Ethan say?”

  I buried my hands in the pockets of my jean shorts. “He said he could do what he wanted, and that he was going to marry me. I think that’s when Ethan tried to walk out, but his dad wouldn’t let him.”

  “You think… So you didn’t actually witness this. You just heard everything through the door?”

  “That’s right, until I walked in.”

  His eyes lifted. “When was that?”

  “After I heard something smash—a lamp or a vase… I’m not sure. Then it sounded like they were fighting, maybe pushing each other around. I heard Mrs. Foster scream. That’s when I ran inside.”

  “And what did you see?”

  “I saw Mr. Foster standing over Ethan, who was unconscious on the floor. There was blood on the fireplace.” I glanced back at the house. “Please tell me… Is he okay? Can I see him?”

  “What happened after that?” the officer asked.

  I glanced uneasily at Chris. “Mr. Foster told me to leave. He said ‘get out.’ I probably shouldn’t have left Ethan, but I was scared. So I just ran, all the way into town. That’s when I called Chris. He picked me up at the gas station.”

  The police officer nodded as he continued to write everything down.

  Just then, two paramedics walked out the front door with a wheeled stretcher carrying a body in a black bag. All the blood drained to my feet and I felt dizzy all of a sudden. I pushed away from the side of the car and pressed my hands to my mouth. “Oh
my God! Is that Ethan?”

  The police officer turned. “No. I’m afraid that’s Mr. Foster.”

  “Mr. Foster!” My stomach exploded with boiling heat. “What happened? And what about Ethan? Is he okay?”

  The policeman lowered his notepad to his side and regarded me with a look of compassion. “I’m very sorry, Sylvie. There was nothing anyone could do. Ethan was already dead when the ambulance arrived. He suffered a severe blow to the head.”

  My own head was spinning by now and none of this felt real. It couldn’t be true.

  Staggering slightly, I backed into the side of the car. “No…”

  Chris wrapped a hand around my elbow, to steady me.

  “That can’t be right,” I said to the cop. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded.

  I gazed desperately at Chris, as if he could make all of this go away, yet I knew there was no escaping it.

  “What happened to Mr. Foster?” Chris asked.

  “His wife called 9-1-1, and it appears that he went upstairs and shot himself before we arrived.”

  I couldn’t keep my tears at bay any longer. I began to sob uncontrollably, and Chris pulled me close, into his arms. I sank to my knees, and he dropped with me to the ground, still holding me tight.

  Chapter Twenty

  August 5, 2015

  I sat down on a large rock along the shoreline, looked out over the whitecaps on the water and tried to collect myself. I had been working so hard to move on. It had been years since I’d let myself relive all the horrific details of that night almost fifteen years ago.

  The truth was…something in me had died that night with Ethan, for I’d never truly recovered from the loss of him. I’d never fallen in love again. Eventually, as the years passed, I’d merely fallen into a series of brief, unhealthy relationships with men who were unattainable. They were either married or players, and I usually met them in the bar where I worked. My sister, Jenn, believed I chose to avoid men who were decent and kind because I was afraid of genuinely becoming attached to someone—and eventually suffering another devastating loss.