The Widow's Walk

by Carole Ann Moleti

  The tartness lingered on his tongue. As he drew next to her, the lavender scent she always wore made him sneeze. He’d been waiting for a private moment to kiss her, lead her upstairs. But she was distraught tonight. It wouldn’t be fair or proper to take advantage of her. He walked away.

  Don’t leave her alone. Go back! The dress she wore was the one I found her wearing the next morning–dead on the beach. I burned it after the burial, right on top of her grave.

  Mike’s eyes opened, and he took breaths to get his heartbeat to slow down. The ghost had followed him! Liz lay on her back, arms folded. For a breathless moment, Mike waited to see her chest rise. Even after it did, his own breaths were short, labored, his chest hurt, his stomach clenched.

  The citrus scent made his dry mouth water. Mike craved lemonade, a second chance to put things right. A whiff of lavender spread over the room–the same stale scent the on that infernal green dress. Make her forget Edward. Act this time. Do not let your wife die.

  Fury boiled for allowing her such freedoms and free rein, and at her for taking it, abusing it. He dragged Liz toward him. Her face registered surprise, eyes wide, darting, confused. He didn’t wait, didn’t explain.

  “I won’t leave you alone. I won’t let you hurt yourself, me, everyone else again.” Anger, not tenderness, propelled him. The need to dominate, not love, fueled his lust.

  “Mike . . .”

  He covered her mouth, snuffed out her words, tangled her tongue with his. She didn’t resist. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, kissed him back. The submission infuriated him–he was in charge!

  Mike climbed on top, pulled her nightgown up and ran his hands over Liz’s body, frantic, overexcited. She whimpered as he pinched her breasts and nipples, bit her neck. That aroused him further. He pushed her legs apart with his.

  Her readiness, receptiveness drove him. He thrust like a crazed dog, the sensation of enveloping her, swallowing her, controlling her wrapped itself around the physical pleasures of being hard, being inside her.

  Make her forget, yes, make her forget everyone, everything. She was where he wanted her, under him, and she couldn’t get away. He didn’t care if she was in pain, he didn’t care about anything except the pleasure of control, revenge, punishment.

  Liz called out. Her muscles tightened, drew him further into her. Already engorged to the point of bursting, he shrieked and released years of despair, fury, anguish. He wasn’t ready to stop, wasn’t ready for it to end and kept going even after he was emptied of semen, and all emotion.

  The ghost still struggled to feel something, feel anything. Jared needed Elisabeth to feel it, too. He pounded, fucked, devoid of the emotion, meaning, he’d been deprived of for so long, but it was all he had, all he could hope for.

  Liz squirmed but couldn’t get out from under. She wrapped her legs around Mike, grabbed his bum and sucked him in deeper, if that was possible. “Oh, God, please just like that! Don’t stop.”

  She was enjoying this! He was behaving like a bull in a stud farm, and she was taking it, savoring it.

  Liz grabbed his head and gazed into his eyes. “Look at me, Mike.” She connected with him, not the guy who’d let his dick take over for his brain. Her eyes rolled as she climaxed, her breaths came short, sharp.

  Mike’s full weight sunk onto her limp form. He was hard, still hard, and she was soft, wet, welcoming.

  Her lips brushed his, her fingertips traced his back and chest, all the while staring–the gaze that draws you in so deep you know what she’s thinking, feeling. He hadn’t looked at his wife, really seen her like this, for a long time.

  Both vestigial spirits, the one trapped inside her, and the frustrated, vengeful specter that had been deprived of this through no fault of his own, had fallen into their own post coital stupor.

  He was like a car engine being rebuilt from the inside out. Cleansed, dirty rocker arms and battery terminals scraped clean, fresh oil, a tank of high test gas, just waiting for new bumpers, side panels, and an expert paint job.

  Mike was ready to give up–at his age it had been a stretch to even consider a second round. The moment he relaxed, gave in, he dropped off the cliff a second time.

  Liz welcomed him despite the frantic, almost violent domination. She sank into darkness, even with her eyes wide open. Elisabeth accepted Jared’s fury as a requisite punishment for what she’d done, finally able to make amends for what she’d deprived him of all those years ago.

  He thrust, she accepted. He bit, she nipped. He smothered her with his body, his mouth, his weight. Un-afraid because death robs it all, Elisabeth was as close to coming back to life as she would ever be, could ever be. Guttural, feral, insistent they were so linked, body, mind, soul, it was impossible to distinguish who was who, what belonged to whom, or in what time they were in.

  Liz screamed. Mike held her close. Whether imagined or real, lightning flashed, the room spun, a void opened. Elisabeth dissipated like sparks of electricity, stunned out of her endless loop of misery, propelled somewhere else. Scattered flashes remained, vestigial memories glimmering from a dark place, like stars.

  She knew, somehow, that Jared had succeeded in breaking out, taking Elisabeth with him to a better place. Now could they be alone, together?

  Tears poured out of his eyes and every pore, bathing him and Liz, washing away the anguish, the anger, the regrets, the misgivings. Jared’s presence had vanished along with the fog, the distraction.

  Mike shifted to the side, so she could breathe. He brushed the tangle of hair off her face. “I . . . I’m sorry, Liz. I don’t know what happened to me.”

  She languished underneath him. “Jared needed to release that.”

  He tingled all over as every inch of his skin reconnected with hers. Her toes traced his legs from his thigh to his feet; her fingers raked his dampened hair. The scent of lavender dissipated, replaced by the smell of lemonade and his own sweat.

  After so much time, they were too close. “I’m not fit to be near you.” He pulled out, pulled away.

  “Please, don’t go.” She tightened her arms around his back. Her eyelashes brushed his chest, a gentle tickle, a tease.

  He dragged himself up and out of bed. “They left us.”

  “I hope so.” She smiled, a helpless, sad, half-hearted attempt and joined him.

  His lips brushed hers. “It’s going to work out. You’ll see.”

  She let him lead the way into the bathroom. Steam from the shower coated the mirrors, the tile floor was slick. They stepped into the tub together, and Mike drew the curtain behind them. Hot water cascaded over them, washing away not only the remnants of their amorous encounters, but the unseen grime and residue of the years.

  He worked shampoo into a lather, massaging her scalp.

  “Oh, that’s so relaxing.” After rinsing, she reciprocated.

  The old hot water heater gave out before they did. Mike turned off the tap. “We need a bigger tank.”

  “Yeah, you know how I love a hot bath.” She wrapped a towel around her body, then fashioned a turban around her head.

  “I have a couple of eggs and some bread. How about French toast?” He dried off, savoring the humid warmth in the tiny bathroom. “Okay.” A draft blew in when she pulled the door open. “Here.” She unearthed his robe from under the foot of the bed and burrowed in her dresser looking for one of hers.

  Suddenly shy, she retrieved the linens on the floor and crumpled to the side of the mattress. “I’ll make the bed.” She pulled on a pitiful summer chemise.

  “I never did make you that breakfast in bed I promised that first night we spent together. Remember?” The happy memory knocked a few bricks from the wall he’d built.

  “What about the day Eddie was born?”

  “Yeah, but we weren’t alone.” Hardly, well wi
th him, Mae, the midwife, the nurse, the baby, and the ghosts. “Wait for me up here.” He kissed her on the cheek.

  There wasn’t much in the house, but he wasn’t going to ruin this by running out to the store. Thank goodness for that smidge of maple syrup in the back of the refrigerator. No orange juice, but the powdered sugar was still soft, the cinnamon smelled okay.

  Mike looked around the tiny, cramped kitchen. They’d have to bring the entire house back to life. He hadn’t bought furniture or rugs, not even towels. Re-decorating, making Eddie a real room–that would keep her busy.

  She’d do it, of course, and it would be beautiful. But every time she looked out the window and saw the Barrett Inn through the pines, her heart would break. In a few years, she’d hate him. What would life be like without Mae, bustling, shopping, cooking, and Kevin, doing whatever the hell needed to be done without being asked? He loved this house, but all the happiness was a memory in his mind alone. For everyone else, it would be a symbol of loss, of giving up, of selling out.

  Mike flipped the bread onto the plates and sprinkled the sugar and cinnamon over it. He coaxed the microwave to work long enough to warm the syrup and poured tea, one cup got two spoons of sugar just like she liked it, his straight up, black and bitter, like whatever mean spirit inside him was giving the orders.

  He loaded the tray and gathered the hem of the bathrobe into one hand so he didn’t trip and lose the whole lot. By the time he got to the top of the stairs, he only knew one thing for sure: they couldn’t sell the Barrett Inn. Everything else would have to wait until after dinner.

  Chapter 40

  Liz stared out the window at the inn silhouetted through the trees. “As much as I’d like to forget about everything and stay here, I think it’s time to call Marianne Hartley and start closing up the inn, returning the deposits for this summer, packing.”

  Mike encircled her in his arms. “We can have dinner with Mae and Kevin and figure out what comes next.”

  Should he tell her to forget all his demands, that as soon as he got his way he didn’t want it anymore? No. Whether the ghosts were hiding somewhere else, or were gone, remained to be seen. The peace was saccharine, contrived. Once the emotion waned, there would just be a lot of hard work to do, and staying holed up here wasn’t getting it done.

  He got their coats, and they held hands on the walk back. Mud season had arrived with the Ides of March. The ground was spongy, soggy. Warm sunshine offered a spark of spring, but the air was brisk. Gusts blew off the bay.

  The odor of damp wood from the kitchen stove drifted out of the chimney on wisps of smoke. Mae and Kevin weren’t alone with Eddie.

  Sandra munched a cookie and sipped tea. “Well, hello. Welcome home.”

  Mike expected to see fury painted on Liz’s face.

  Instead, her eyes widened; her mouth fell open in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about Bethea Vauxhaul’s ghost the day I came into the shop?”

  Sandra stood. “You of all people should understand that forcing people to recognize a past life before they’re ready is traumatic. Neither you or Mike were ready to face this.”

  Liz sank into a chair. “It’s like a blindfold was just pulled off my eyes.”

  Mike welcomed clearing up the issues surrounding his day with Sandra in the master bedroom. “I only realized it the day before you left. We had a lot more serious things to deal with.”

  “Kevin and I realized it when Sandra came over to help us find you.” Skepticism oozed from Mae’s voice. Clearly, what ever lingered of Katherine’s hurt hadn’t forgiven Bethea, though Mae had taken one step closer to resolution by allowing her to sit in the kitchen for a kaffeklatsch.

  “I didn’t realize anything, but then again, none of this makes sense to me.” Kevin swigged his tea.

  “How did you know where I went, Sandra?” Liz asked.

  “Elisabeth was always obsessed with finding Edward, talking to him one last time. My scrying mirror showed me the rest.” Sandra knelt in front of Liz’s chair and took her hands. “Someday soon, I hope you’ll be able to tell Bethea why Elisabeth didn’t reach out for help. That’s the last remaining obstacle to my recovery. But for now, I’m just happy to know you’re home, and you’re safe. I don’t think I could take losing you a second time.”

  Mae rolled her eyes. “It was a group effort that ended well.”

  “Not exactly.” Liz lowered her eyes. “It’s come down to selling the house. I can’t afford to run the Barrett in anymore.”

  “That’s so sad. So synchronous. The same thing that happened to Elisabeth. But she found the solution by marrying Jared.” Sandra looked like she was in pain.

  “Yes, it is.” A trace of Elisabeth’s indignation escaped. “But this is not 1876. And all the money I thought I had is gone, stolen.”

  “Isn’t there any other way?” Sandra asked.

  Mike’s hope that the ghosts were gone faded. Jared was agitating like an overloaded washing machine. “Not unless you can conjure a million bucks.” Even if he gave in, the financial reality had to be faced.

  “Hmm, let me think about that. Thanks for the tea and cookies.” Sandra tossed a cape around her shoulders and sashayed out.

  Mike would have laughed if things weren’t so serious. “She’s quite a character, isn’t she?”

  Mae wagged her head. “Ridiculous if you ask me. I didn’t want to say anything until you had a chance to get settled. Marianne Hartley called. Liz, you need to be in court on Friday morning.”

  That’s Eddie’s birthday. “Welcome home, indeed.” Liz walked out.

  Jared didn’t need to goad him this time. Mike went after her. Another brick tumbled from the wall of reality and landed with a thud.

  Liz put on her work clothes, put her hair up, put on makeup. She needed to look put together, even though she was falling apart.

  “Can you help me with the tie?” The last time Mike had worn the suit was their wedding day. He’d needed her help then, too.

  “Sure.” She knotted it and threaded the end into his shirt. “You need a tie tack. I have some of Gerry’s somewhere.”

  “No one is going to be looking at me.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Jeez, Liz I’m so sorry about the timing. I remember this time last year . . .”

  “It was just beginning. We were all cuddled together in the Inn. Looking forward to our future.” She stared at Eddie’s porta crib in the corner. Stay focused on the future. Soon he’ll have his own room.

  “Are you ready?” Mike took her hand.

  “Yeah.”

  They went out to her car, now parked in a driveway she was trying to imagine as hers.

  “I’ll drive.” Mike opened the passenger door.

  “Okay.” She slammed it, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Organizing things all day at the inn, returning to Mike’s house–no, their house–every night, distracted Liz from the tidal wave of revelations and realizations. It had been easy to forget the trouble with Bill Jeffers, but obviously he wasn’t going away without a fight. Today was only the beginning of another round.

  The hard decisions: what to do with the horses; where Mae and Kevin would live; what they would do for a living; would have to be faced when the time came. Soon. Soon it would be over. They’d be home for the little cake Mae was baking right now. A year from now her life would be different, all this would be behind her.

  “Honey.” Mike touched her arm. “Where is the best place to park?

  Had she fallen asleep? They’d gotten to Boston too fast.

  “Faneuil Hall. It’s a short walk from there.”

  The lot was surprisingly full, so they parked on the roof. It had snowed last year on the day Eddie was born, but today early spring sunlight glittered like diamonds off the high-rise windows. A warm breeze blew thr
ough the concrete canyons.

  Marianne was waiting just past the security checkpoint. “Good to see you both.” She shook their hands. “I hope you had a good vacation. Let’s go over the plan.”

  They walked into the empty courtroom. “You’ll sit at this table with me, Liz. After being sworn, the judge will ask you to approach the bench, pose a few questions, which you will answer, truthfully, but don’t give a lot of details. The judge has already read your transcript, but has reserved the decision on whether to admit it as evidence. Jeffers alleges it was obtained without his consent.