Maybe it was the bath, maybe the lingering effect of pain medication. Maybe it was denial. She was lucky to be alive and knew it. Elisabeth had commandeered every bit of sense Liz had in her head and it could not–would not–happen again.
Problems were multiplying like cockroaches. Buying this house was a dream come true, her first and only indulgence in herself after Gerry died. Edward’s return the first night she stayed here had spawned many complications, but until now she’d handled them–including distracting everyone from Eddie’s true paternity.
She’d guarded Sandra’s book–a treasure for her despite the troubling documentary–for more than a year. They were already unsettled, more memories emerging every day, more of their ghosts taking control. Soon Mike and Mae and Kevin would realize they were subject to ghostly visions and visits. Sandra was bound to find out–in time to write the sequel that would expose it all.
The water cooled rapidly in the drafty bathroom. She tried to get out, but flopped backwards, sloshing water all over the floor.
“Dinner’s hot.” Mike stood in the doorway.
Liz studied his wind burned face, chapped, red hands. His lips were set in a straight line, his face expressionless, angry beyond words. Mike didn’t wear Jared well.
“I’m ready to get out.”
He tossed a towel over the puddle and extended his hands. In happier times, he’d helped her out and dried her off as a prelude to a romantic evening. Tonight, Mike averted his eyes, hauled her up like one of his lobster pots, and left her dripping on the cold tile floor while he retrieved the crutches.
Sparing him, Liz dried off quickly and secured a large bath sheet around her so she could navigate to the bedroom and find a nice, sensible nightgown.
Mike had laid her medication on the bedside table with a bottle of water. No fire tonight–he likely wouldn’t linger. Having slept in the guest room for the last couple of nights, this wouldn’t be the one he decided to stay with her.
He held up a tray. “Do you want to sit in bed or on the sofa?”
Liz pulled the nightgown over her and let the towel drop. “On the settee, I think.” She tried to bend down and pick it up.
“Please don’t! I can’t take any more of that noise if the crutches fall.” Mike set the tray down and swooped over to grab it.
“I feel so helpless.” The night was full of metaphors.
“Let’s eat before it gets cold–again.” He sank onto the sofa.
She hobbled over and tried to get comfortable outside the perimeter of his unhappy aura.
“Do you have to sleep in the brace, too?” He arranged the tray over her lap.
“It hurts too much otherwise. Mike, we really have to stop talking around this.”
“If I knew what to say, or where to begin . . .” He stood and paced.
“Don’t you have these compulsions, too? Who called me ‘my lady?’ You, or Jared?”
He sat down and looked her in the eye for the first time. “Jared reacts from time to time. But I’ve been able to control it. Unlike you.”
“I think they’re reliving the absolute worst moments of their lives. Elisabeth used to go up on the widow’s walk all the time to look for Edward. Even the night of the storm that brought his ship down.”
“What I think is that unless we get out of here this is never going to end. I’m exhausted. I need a shower. I have to get up at 5 a.m.” He sat down, picked up his plate, and gnawed on a chicken leg.
He promised I could stay here forever, Elisabeth insisted.
Liz cut her meat and forced herself to eat. “Even if we put the inn on the market tomorrow, the next three months are going to be a problem.”
“We can move out tomorrow.” Mike shifted, and a jeweled key fob slipped out of his pocket.
Her heart fluttered. “What’s that?” She’d seen them in Sandra’s shop.
He stuffed it back. “A mate to the pendant I gave you. It’s supposed to be good for me.”
“Oh.” Now wasn’t the time to throw gasoline on the fire and dredge up Sandra Kensington.
“I’m going to clear the dishes, then I’ll get you settled.” Mike walked out.
Fear prickled Liz’s gut. Did these stones have anything to do with the spate of bad events? Had that woman put some sort of curse on them? Was she trying to get rid of Liz and get her clutches on Mike?
The pendant heated up against her throat. Liz tore it off, sundering the chain, and hopefully the spell. She stuffed it beneath the sofa cushion until she could bury it, flush it, burn it. Best to find out how to deal with crystals before she made an even worse blunder.
Stoked by anxiety and, anger, she got to her feet, stacked the plates on the tray, and crutched to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Mike settled next to her in bed. He rummaged in the nightstand for his glasses and paged through his book–some fantasy Liz had never heard of.
She had nothing to read and wasn’t tired. The knee and ankle throbbed, despite the cold pack and pillows Mike had propped around her leg.
He glanced up as she reached for the pill bottle and water, downed the medication, and slid onto her back. “You need anything?”
“No, thanks.” She’d have loved a book to read, the notes for the damn book she was trying to get written, a newspaper. Anything. But Mike looked too settled, and she’d already disturbed him enough.
“Wake me if you need anything, okay?” He patted her arm like a puppy.
So he’d sleep here tonight out of obligation. There was no trace of intimacy between them, not a whisper of loving concern, desire. Just a wall getting higher by the day, each experience slapping another layer on top of a shaky foundation of distrust, secrets, and compulsions likely to tumble down and bury their marriage under the rubble.
Liz opened her mouth to voice her concerns, but thought better of it. Tomorrow, they’d be rested and in problem-solving mode rather than a reactionary one.
Mike flipped off the light, shed the glasses and book, and lay on his back, eyes closed, hands folded over his chest. A respectable distance remained between them, even though the pillow tower supporting her braced leg paralleled her edge of the bed.
His breathing quickly softened into a slumbering rhythm, interrupted by an occasional snort and hack. Hers remained shallow, anxious. The medication eased the pain, but Liz longed for the comfort of Mike’s arms around her. She’d settle for him holding her hand like he meant it. It had only been a few days since the last time they’d made love, but it seemed like years.
Muddled, restless, each movement required deliberate planning and action: move the pillows, shift to one hip, brace the leg, and rearrange the pillows again.
The night deepened until the only light in the room was the red numbers on the alarm clock. Two a.m. Liz had to pee, the medication was wearing off and her entire right side ached.
She struggled to sit, and waited until the pain eased before she attempted to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Dizzy, disoriented, she waited until her equilibrium returned. If those crutches fell, the noise would awaken his wrath anew.
A radiator clanked and hissed–always a reassuring sound on a cold winter night. Steam swirled in front of the bay window but instead of warmth, a frigid mist dampened the room. Liz shivered in her thin cotton nightgown. Her robe hung on a hook in the bathroom, which might as well have been a mile away.
Elisabeth woke from slumber and stretched inside, pressing Liz’s stomach into her intestines. Jared, wearing a rumpled shirt barely tucked into baggy trousers and battered work boots, coalesced out of the haze. The image stared at the bay, then back at the bed, his expression devoid of any life, eyes unblinking, vacant, blind to Liz, awake, her eyes riveted to him, and Mike, sleeping, in some other place and time. Jared shook his head, threw up his arms
, then buried his face in his hands. Unheard sobs racked his body.
Liz picked up the crutches and struggled onto her good leg. Once balanced, she inched toward the image, afraid but unafraid at the same time. “It was an accident, Jared,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond, and when Liz got close enough to reach out and touch, he dissolved, disappeared. She moved toward the radiator to warm her stiffened muscles. Heat spread over her and throughout the room once again. Jared, like Elisabeth, remained frozen in that horrible moment of time.
Mike snorted and coughed, but didn’t wake. There was plenty left of this night, no need to rush. Liz made her way into the hall, sat on the landing and slid down each step, holding tightly to the crutches. At the bottom she hauled herself up on the banister and made a pit stop in the powder room before heading to the kitchen.
A dim night light shone over the sink. Liz took the homeopathic kit down from the windowsill and twirled the tubes between her fingers until she could see the indications. Arnica montana for injuries with bruising. Five of those under her tongue, while she looked at the rest, desperate for physical and psychological relief. Chamomilla and Pulsatilla for restlessness, irritability. Ten more pellets.
Clutching three tubes in her hand, Liz maneuvered back upstairs and to bed, lowered herself to the mattress, then slipped the crutches underneath. She arranged things on the nightstand, adjusted pillows, and eased down.
Mike turned off his back to face her, still sleeping. As soon as he sensed her close, his arm instinctively draped over her. The length of his body pressed against hers was the only solace she needed at that moment, even if he was unaware that she was there. She slipped her good foot in between his ankles. So deep in slumber, he didn’t react to cold skin against warm.
Being reconnected to her living, breathing husband banished the eerie afterglow of Jared’s ghostly vision. The contact meant nothing to Jared, and likely nothing to Mike. But being among the living was far more comfortable than among the dead. That would be where she’d stay–and be grateful for the second chance.
Chapter 13
Every time Liz dozed off, a radiator’s hiss compelled her to check if Jared had returned. Whenever Mike stirred, the gap between them widened and cold air slipped in, insolating them further and further from each other.
Mike’s sudden, rapid departure depressurized the cocoon. The chill flooded the quiet, intimate space. He quickly tucked the covers around her, no doubt thinking she’d slept as well as he.
As soon as he disappeared into the bathroom, and the pinging of water against the plastic curtain began, she hauled herself to a sitting position and inched toward the edge of the bed.
A cloud of medication hangover and exhaustion clouded her head. The dull pounding in her immobilized ankle was background music, but the pain in her knee rose to a crescendo. She struggled to her feet, got the crutches under her, and made her way to the closet.
Liz ignored Eddie’s empty crib. The painful tension in her overfull breasts dueled with an ache in every muscle. Her body was locked in a vise of misery, and she welcomed every twinge if it served to silence Elisabeth.
Where had Mae put the dress, and what condition was it was in? No local dry cleaner could handle an antique, and no seamstress she’d met outside the museum would know how to repair and restore it. Should she just burn the damn thing, or bury it with the crystal? The thought conjured a wave of terror, of foreboding. That dress held special significance to Elisabeth, and great power. If it was destroyed, who knew what might be unleashed?
Liz chose loose fitting, terribly unattractive sweats, then contemplated whether to take off the knee brace and reapply it over them, or just leave it under. Mike startled her just as she’d pulled on a bra and panties.
“Need some help?” He rubbed his damp curls with a towel, then readjusted the one cinched around his waist.
She shivered looking at him. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Nah. Take off the brace, and I’ll help you get the leg into those pants.”
Embarrassed by her helplessness, her nudity, she pulled the sweatshirt on, then unhooked the straps on the brace. Whatever wedge the restless ghosts–or Sandra’s spells–had driven through the heart of their intimacy had affected her, too.
Mike’s well-practiced hands guided the elastic band over the cast, then eased it over her sore knee. How the towel didn’t pop off, Liz couldn’t imagine. She quickly thrust her good leg into the pants and struggled to pull them up.
“Stand and lean against me.” Mike rose, his makeshift loincloth still holding fast as he pulled her against him.
It might have been very sexy, she half-naked, pressed against his bare chest–if she wasn’t clenching her teeth. Or if his embrace held any trace of passion, or even affection, as opposed to the detached Good Samaritan spirit of friendly assistance.
She pulled the waistband up until she was covered but didn’t want to let go. Maybe the physical contact would rekindle even just a little romance.
He eased her down. “I better get dressed. Don’t want to keep Kevin waiting.” No kiss, no hesitation. Done.
When one part of the couple could no longer buy into something mutually pleasurable, even cuddling, it didn’t bode well. Liz re-threaded the Velcro straps and tightened them over the fabric. She crutched like a pro to the bathroom, and her heart sagged as she caught a glimpse in the mirror.
Balanced on one leg like a sleeping heron, the bunch under the brace made her leg appear deformed. Angry red scratches dotted her face. A bruise had made its appearance on her right temple.
The scabs pulled as she brushed her teeth, snagged as she smoothed on makeup, and looked just as bad after she combed her hair. No wonder Mike didn’t want to be near her.
Already familiar with the ritual of sitting on the landing, holding the crutches so they didn’t slide down before her, she thumped her bum down each of the thirteen steps. Voices buzzed in the kitchen as Liz hauled herself up and maneuvered through the swinging door.
Kevin and Mike looked up from their tea and toast.
“Mary, Mother of God.” Kevin bounded to her side, then paused as he tried to figure out how to hug Liz without knocking her off balance. “How can I help?”
“I have to do this myself, Kevin.” Was everything she said one big metaphor for her crazy life? She stabbed the floor with the rubber tips and sat.
“We’ve go to get going or we’ll miss the tide.” Mike glanced at the door and poured her a cup of tea. “Toast’s already buttered.” He plunked a plate down like a busy waiter.
“Mae will be here in a minute. She was feedin’ and dressin’ Eddie when I left.” Tears filled Kevin’s eyes, and the heartfelt distress etched on his face conjured wetness in Liz’s eyes as well.
“I need to explain what happened.” Liz glanced at Mike, who disappeared into the mudroom.
They’d been talking about her. She knew it as sure as she knew the sun would come up.
“Just promise me ya won’t do anythin’ like that again.” He grabbed her hands across the table with more emotion and power than Mike had exhibited since the accident.
“I won’t, Kevin.” She squeezed his fingers between hers.
Deep inside, so deep Liz could barely parse it out as different from her own, Elisabeth’s voice echoed, I won’t Paul.
“God, love ya, Lizzy. There isn’t anythin’ worth more than a life. All the money stuff will get figured out.”
Mike came back into the kitchen, his jacket and cap already on. He pulled on his gloves. “Truck is warmed up, Kevin.”
“Right.” Kevin leaped to his feet and grabbed his coat off the back of the chair. “I wonder where Mae is.”
Mike exhaled. Kevin fidgeted. The cuckoo clock ticked.
They didn’t trust her alone. And she could prov
e it. “I’ll just sit and finish my tea. She’ll be here any minute.”
“We have a few more minutes . . .” Mike’s voice trailed off as Mae’s footfalls echoed on the back porch.
Kevin ran to the door, an angry lilt in his voice. “Will ya look at the time?”
“Go on now. Late one day and yer givin’ me grief. I had to tend to Eddie, and bundle him up.”
Sobered, dismissed, Kevin pecked her on the cheek.
“Thanks, Mae. Feel better, Liz. Don’t forget to call the physical therapist.” Mike made a silly face at the baby, and he and Kevin hurried out.
The Widow's Walk Page 9
