by Suzi Davis
“No, you weren’t happy with me, not really,” he answered flatly. “You’re better off now; you’re happier.” I frowned, overwhelmed by disappointment as he spoke. I had been wrong; there were no answers here, there were no answers for me anywhere.
“Oh, I see… But… why can’t I remember dating you?” I asked quietly, afraid once more that he would laugh or be offended. Thankfully he took me seriously.
“Because there’s not a lot to remember,” he answered simply and without hesitation. “I’m sure you can remember parts – walks we took, working together at school, dinner with the Jensons.” As he spoke, flickers of memories came back to me, mundane, empty, meaningless memories but they were comforting nonetheless.
“Oh, that’s right, I remember,” I murmured, wrapped up in my thoughts once more. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Sebastian. I’ve been acting strangely lately… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he quietly replied, his voice soft, his eyes tender. “Take care of yourself. Enjoy graduation; I’m sorry I’ll be missing it.”
“Yes, that’s too bad,” I agreed. I didn’t make a move to leave though, it felt like there was something more that needed to be said, like there was still some unfinished business between us. We stared at each other in silence – motionless, cautious, contemplating.
The bell rang and shattered the moment. With its clanging toll, I was thrown back into reality, back into the clouded haze in which I now lived. The need to be in the Art room, the certainty that I would find my answers, that I would rediscover my happiness there had faded and was now completely gone. I could barely remember why I was there, what I’d ever hoped to accomplish. I was overwhelmed by my disorientating confusion.
“You should go,” Sebastian suggested, quietly but firmly. I nodded my agreement. He was right, there was no reason for me to be there. I probably shouldn’t be seen speaking to someone like him, especially considering how we used to date. I wouldn’t want people to talk, and I especially wouldn’t want it to get back to Clarke – I knew how jealous he could be.
“I should,” I agreed. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” he answered softly.
It wasn’t until much later that day that I realized that would probably be the last time I would ever see Sebastian Caldwood. The thought bothered me when it finally occurred, like a sudden strike of lightning, blazing through my clouded thoughts. It was a strange sensation though – a delayed but strong reaction to the news. I was abruptly quite upset to realize my ex was leaving town, though I couldn’t understand or explain why it suddenly mattered. What reason was there for me to possibly care? Before that day we hadn’t spoken in months. We’d only dated briefly anyway and the few weeks we’d spent together had been so blasé they were barely even memorable. Still, I found myself nearly in tears as I slipped off into sleep that night.
Considering my mood when I finally fell asleep, it was no surprise that I dreamt of him again. My heartache, loneliness and confusion seeped into my dreams, coloring and clarifying the images to a vivid, realistic sharpness like I’d never experienced before. Details emerged from the dark shadows that I’d never before seen; a deep, emerald forest, a tall bonfire burning high, a clear and starry night, whispered words on a warm summer breeze, the sweet scent of lavender in the air. The scene played out as it always did though, his dark, shadowy shape reaching towards me, every ounce of him radiating his anguished desperation. And as I did, night after night after night, I firmly pressed my necklace into his outstretched hand, the amber pendant burning like fire between our palms. I watched numbly as my hand slowly slipped away, weakly falling from his grasp as I spiraled ever-deeper into the darkness, my mind already pulling away from the dream and straining towards consciousness. And that was when I heard it, that one whispered word in a sweet, feminine musical voice that though unfamiliar, I somehow recognized as my own.
“Seamus,” the voice – my voice – murmured. That one word was inundated with immeasurable love and yearning, and pain. Seamus. That was his name.
I sat bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding, my breath coming fast and hard, my body covered in a damp sweat. The weak morning light streamed in through my bedroom window. I glanced at my alarm clock – it was 6:00 am already, yet I felt like I’d barely had an hour of sleep. I rubbed my bleary eyes, trying desperately to clear my head and shake the vivid images from it. I tried to ignore the lingering, uncomfortable warmth in my palm, and the scent of fresh lavender in my nose. A name whispered like my last breath clung to my lips, was burned into my soul; Seamus. What did it all mean? What was wrong with me?
I glanced around the room in confusion, completely disoriented. It took me a second to remember where I was, to recall what I was doing there. It was Saturday – I’d chosen to spend the weekend at my mother’s house and I’d woken up in my old bedroom, a place that should have felt familiar to me but had never quite acquired that comforting sensation of being ‘at home’. My mother had been so lonely since my father had left her, I felt obligated to spend the weekends with her. I knew it wasn’t right for her to be left all alone in this large, empty house that just wouldn’t sell, with no one but creepy Walter for company. It was my daughterly duty to be here for her.
Though I’d awoken exhausted, I knew there was no hope in trying to achieve any more rest. I quickly rose from my bed, eager to separate myself further from the scene of my nighttime disturbia and strange, distorted dreams. I quickly showered and dressed, feeling better once I was clean and in fresh clothes, the sounds and sensations of my dreams slowly beginning to fade. One word clung to me though as it seemed to form a crucial piece of my being and my soul. It had been etched into my heart and mind more deeply than anything else; Seamus. I tried to push the name aside, to forget and ignore the frighteningly strong emotions it evoked within me. Just a dream, just a dream, I chanted over and over to myself as I made my way downstairs and into the dining room, struggling to keep my mind sharp and my thoughts present.
“Oh, Grace – you look absolutely frightful! Go back upstairs and put some cover-up on dear. Those bags under your eyes are hideously unattractive,” my mother chastised disapprovingly as I entered the room. I smothered an inner sigh.
“I’m already wearing makeup, mother,” I told her, deliberately keeping my tone light and passive. “It’s just the lighting in here.” My mother frowned back at me, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized my face, attempting to validate my words.
“Clarke will be here in under an hour. I think you’d better receive him outside; hopefully the natural lighting will improve your pallor,” my mother instructed firmly. “You’ve been looking quite washed-out lately, Grace. It’s long past time that you started tanning again. I’ll book you in at La Sola for this weekend.” I nodded, silent and complacent. Her expression was still sour as she examined my appearance while I sat down. Apparently my hair and clothing were acceptable to her though as she made no further comment. I was vaguely surprised that Clarke was on his way over so early but I didn’t object. I knew I should be pleased that my handsome boyfriend was choosing to dote on me today.
“Good morning, Grace,” Walter greeted me, his tone cold and unwelcoming, at odds with his polite words. I reluctantly turned his way – up until that point I’d been trying to ignore him.
He sat at the end of the dining room table where my father had once sat. Since my father had moved out, Walter had developed a close relationship with my mother and had become somewhat of her companion and confidante. Though I was fairly certain there was nothing romantic going on between them, it was obvious that they were close and that my mother depended upon Walter heavily. I tried my best to be polite, not wanting to offend or upset my mother, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to accept Walter’s new position in our household. He still gave me the creeps and the way he watched me sometimes, so suspiciously and almost hatefully… it almost scared me. I was sure I must be imagining it.
“Walter,” I greeted
him levelly with a slight nod of my head. He smirked back at me as if he knew how difficult it was for me to manage even that small pleasantry.
With impeccable timing as always, Eliza entered to serve our breakfast. Though Walter maintained most of his previous duties managing our household and staff, the task of serving our meals had now fallen upon Eliza who luckily didn’t seem to mind. She bustled about the dining room, serving our meal with friendly smiles and quick bobs of her head. I wondered if it hurt her pride to now have to serve Walter; if it did, she didn’t let it show. She served our plates, filled our cups with steaming, hot coffee and our glasses with freshly squeezed orange juice, and then bustled back into the kitchen, all speed and dependable efficiency.
“Quite a capable woman,” my mother commented as the door closed behind Eliza. “Perhaps we should consider raising her wage.”
“Unfortunately, Diane, your estranged husband has tied up most of your assets in bonds for Grace, leaving our finances uncomfortably depleted,” Walter dryly replied. He glared at me accusingly as he spoke as if this were all my fault. I had to bite my tongue when he said “our finances”.
“Well, Grace will turn nineteen in a few more months and then, of course, she’ll sign those funds back over into my name as they rightfully belong. Right, Grace?” My mother fixed me with a cold, hard stare. I regretted her finding out about the funds my father had set up in my name; Walter had somehow discovered them though – he could be quite resourceful when he wanted to be.
“Of course, Mother,” I agreed placatingly. I wasn’t certain yet if I was lying or not. I glanced down at my plate distractedly, pushing my food around with my fork. I was surprised to find I’d been given two whole, fried eggs instead of my usual one that I was allotted on weekends. “I think I may have been served the wrong plate, I have two eggs,” I said quietly, looking to my mother questioningly. She quickly glanced about the table at each of our plates and then hollered for Eliza.
“Eliza! Come here at once,” she snapped, glaring fiercely at the door that led into the kitchen. Surprisingly, Walter had a bemused smile on his face as he looked down the table. Moments later Eliza hurried into the room, a glean of nervous sweat had already sprouted on her round cheeks.
“What’s the matter, Ms?” she asked, her expression one of concern and apprehension.
“What is the meaning of this? Why have you served double portions of eggs to all of us?” my Mother demanded, gesturing angrily to our plates as she spoke. It was then that I noticed the four yellow yolks on my Mother’s plate. I assumed Walter had been served the same but choose not to look his way again to confirm my suspicions.
“Oh – that.” Eliza sounded relieved but her expression was uncertain still. “All the eggs in the carton had double-yolks,” she explained, her forehead crinkling into a puzzled frown. “Strange though, I could have sworn the ones I used in the muffin batter this morning had single yolks but they came from the same carton. We must have got doubles accidentally.”
“Why would you buy double-yolked eggs?” my mother asked scathingly. “You know how weight-conscious our family is – did you want to sabotage our healthy lifestyle?”
“No, of course not. I didn’t buy the eggs. Walter bought them the other day – farm fresh and free range, just as you like.” My mother turned to Walter upon hearing this and I reluctantly followed her gaze, curious to see his reaction. It was not what I expected; he seemed lost in thought, his thick, dark brows pulled down into a frown.
“Walter, where did you get these eggs?” my mother demanded, her tone less harsh now.
“I bought them at a roadside stand. The young man said they were from his family’s farm. He didn’t mention they were double-yolked. How strange,” he murmured distractedly.
“Yes, strange,” my mother agreed, dismissing the matter. She waved Eliza out with a flip of her hand. “Do try to be more careful, Walter,” she lightly chastised.
“Oh, I shall.” His black eyes gleamed mysteriously as he spoke.
“I’m sure you’ll make the right choice and leave that second yolk alone, dear,” my mother told me, fixing me with a sharp, scrutinizing, look.
“Yes, Mother,” I answered automatically. My thoughts were beginning to fog over again as the images from last night’s dream floated back to me. My hand idly wandered up to my amber pendant as I daydreamed.
“Grace?” Walter’s demanding, oily voice pushed through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. My hand slipped from my necklace as I reluctantly looked down the table to find his narrowed, beady eyes speculatively studying me; a shiver ran down my spine. “Let me see that necklace you’re wearing,” he requested, an unexpected confidence to the way he spoke. He fixed me with a hard, level stare, every inch of him radiating his expectation. I found myself unable to immediately respond. My head was beginning to spin, my thoughts suddenly clouded and unclear again as I played with a loose thread on the tablecloth.
“Why?” I managed to ask, struggling to think coherently through my confusion.
“I don’t want to explain myself to you,” he rudely retorted. He held out his hand impatiently, glaring down his crooked nose at me. “I want your necklace – now.” My mother paid no notice to this unusual exchange. She continued to nibble at her breakfast, her attention obviously far away.
My hand started to creep up to my neck again, almost of its own accord. My fingers wrapped around the teardrop, amber pendant and its warmth unexpectedly flared in my palm. Memories from my dreams came flashing back to me, sharp and demanding; Seamus’s dark, beautiful eyes filled with an unspeakable pain, my hand pressing against his, reaching out to him one last time, a book full of strangely familiar drawings and designs with the black, twisted pattern dominating over it all, coiling around my mind and weaving itself through my soul…
“No!” I gasped. At the sound of my own voice I snapped back to the present, finding myself staring into Walter’s dark, incredulous eyes. “No,” I repeated, my voice gaining strength. “The necklace is mine – I won’t let you touch it.” There was a quiet power behind my words that reflected the sudden strength that was slowly building within me. My necklace burned against my skin.
The room seemed to suddenly darken as the bright morning sun disappeared behind a cloud. My mother sipped at her coffee, oblivious still to the tense atmosphere. Walter glanced to her as I did and her eyes met his, a small smile upon her thin lips. She turned to look at me with a hard, unwavering stare. Her smile disappeared.
“Grace, don’t be ridiculous. Give Walter the necklace,” she instructed impatiently.
I hesitated. I knew I should obey my mother, I knew I shouldn’t upset her, that I must be pleasant to Walter and keep the peace. But something deep within me had sparked to life, a forgotten strength, a distant voice that told me ‘no’. I mustn’t let them have the necklace – it belonged to me.
I struggled silently with my inner turmoil; my hands were starting to shake. The room seemed to become even darker and colder as my mother and Walter both fixed me with their icy, hard glares.
“Master Simons is here to see Miss Grace,” Eliza announced, bursting in upon the strange scene. The room seemed to brighten at she entered, the sun reappearing and the heavy tension that had hung in the air instantly evaporating, only a faint shadow of it remained. I gave my head a little shake as I released my amber pendant. The heat from my necklace had abruptly vanished along with my sudden sense of purpose. I started to wonder if I had imagined the whole thing? Was I becoming so spacey that my daydreams were starting to distort my perception of reality? I certainly hoped not.
“Have him wait on the verandah,” my mother quickly instructed. “You are excused, Grace. You mustn’t keep Clarke waiting.” I nodded my agreement, hoping my relief to be dismissed wasn’t too obvious. I pointedly didn’t look at Walter as I left but I could feel his hard black eyes on me as I hurried from the room.
The verandah was just outside our casual sitting room where my p
arents had often entertained guests. The French doors stood open, allowing the fresh morning breeze to drift into the room, stirring the curtains. I froze mid-step as a familiar, light, lavender scent drifted past on a current of warm air. Just a dream, I told myself again, just a dream. I firmly pushed the memory of the dream aside, trying my very best to appear focused and present for Clarke. He stood waiting for me in a patch of golden sunlight, the warm rays picking out lighter tones in his dark hair. He’s so handsome – I’m very lucky, I told myself. But in the back of my mind, a small voice asked why I had to keep reminding myself of this? I pushed the voice away, silencing it before it became any louder.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Clarke greeted me with a pleased smile. He held his arms out as I skipped over to him. I lightly embraced him, graciously allowing him to kiss my lips.
“Good morning,” I answered, hoping my smile didn’t appear as false as it felt. Why was everything so difficult lately?
“The garden looks quite nice,” Clarke complimented, his eyes drifting away from admiring me to the beautiful flower beds and landscaped lawn. “It was a good idea of Walter’s to replace one of the cleaning staff with a gardener. He’s been doing a good job.”
