Firefly Cove

by Davis Bunn

  The older woman demanded, “How does this one come to be here?”

  “I have no idea. I never told him where I lived. I’m not the owner of register, I went through a lawyer just like you said.”

  “Your mother,” Sonya Meisel said. “It has to be.”

  “No, no, no.”

  “Go deal with this one. I will remain with our guest.” She turned to Lucius. “Be so good as to walk with me.”

  The driver raced the engine once, twice, then cut the motor. He emerged and smiled and called, “There you are! Good afternoon, Sonya! Lovely as ever!”

  Lucius thought the newcomer was movie-star handsome. A man with utter confidence in his looks and his wealth and the magnetic power of his flashing smile. Lucius allowed himself to be turned away and asked, “That is Jeffrey?”

  “My granddaughter told you his name, did she?”

  “Only because he called while she drove me home yesterday,” Lucius replied. “Three times. No, four.”

  “Some people think Jeffrey has everything to make the two of them a perfect match. At least on the surface.” She walked in slow cadence, and spoke softly enough for them both to hear the clamor of rising voices behind them. “Asha’s mother is among them. But I must respect my granddaughter’s privacy and speak no more, you understand?”

  “Of course.”

  “She will be extremely distressed that you, her patient, witnessed this exchange.”

  “Former patient,” Lucius corrected. “I am an expert at remaining blind to things I should not see.”

  Sonya rearranged the edges of her eyes and mouth, whether in humor or approval, Lucius could not tell. Behind them the car’s engine roared back to life. Sonya said, “Perhaps we are safe to return.”

  * * *

  Asha declared, “This is terrible. Terrible.”

  Jeffrey offered a disappointed sincerity. “You certainly know how to make a guy feel welcome.”

  “But you’re not welcome, Jeffrey. As you would have known, if you had called to ask if you could come.”

  As always she was pulled in two conflicting directions. Which characterized her attitude to their relationship. Jeffrey was truly remarkable, and in so many different ways. Intelligent, handsome, a great listener, and so much fun. Asha said, “I suppose my mother put you up to this.”

  “She didn’t put me up to anything, Asha. She said—”

  “She had no right to say anything at all.” Asha turned her back to the street and her grandmother and her patient. Her patient. “Did it ever occur to you that if I wanted to have contact, I would have told you myself where I lived?”

  “Your mother said I should come and try to make things right. She said . . .” Jeffrey stepped off the sidewalk and onto the lawn, drawing himself into her field of vision. “Never mind. You’re upset.”

  “Of course I’m upset. You’re here.”

  “You might try to be a little grateful, Asha.” He had a most expressive face. And he knew it. Jeffrey could do wounded and sincere better than any man she had ever known. Perfect hair, perfect tan, great car, beautiful clothes sense, a wonderful lover. As so many women knew. “I’m in the middle of a hugely important—”

  “Stop, just stop. I don’t want—”

  “I left a five-million-dollar deal on the table. So I could drive up and apologize. And you won’t let me finish one sentence?”

  The pull on her heart was so strong. Even now, after eighteen months since their last meeting, and all the reasons Asha had for breaking things off. “That’s exactly what is happening.”

  “I told your mother you’d be like this.”

  “And for once you were right.” She wrapped her arms around her middle, gripping herself tightly enough to keep from reaching out and embracing him. She spoke the words as much to herself as to Jeffrey, “This isn’t about you. It never will be again.”

  “You’ve said all that before.” Jeffrey was an attorney, making his mark within the viciously competitive LA film world. He had learned early and well that “no” was simply another door he had to barge through. “You were wrong then. You’re wrong now.”

  Asha felt the niggling thread of doubt weave its way into the tapestry of yet another shattered dusk. Jeffrey was ideal in so many ways. He had introduced her into the rarified world of parties high in the Bel Air hills, where they had danced and laughed and stared down at the flickering earthbound stars of Los Angeles. She had enjoyed the heady atmosphere more than she had thought possible. But Jeffrey had broken her heart and shattered her trust three times. Twice she had accepted his apologies and his promises. Twice she had forced herself to believe that he sincerely wanted to change. That he was going to change. That . . .

  “Asha, we’re meant to be together.”

  Even now, after so many fractured hours, she wanted to be with him. Breaking up remained the hardest thing she had ever done. There was a component of her life that only felt complete with him. If only he had not hurt her so badly. If only . . .

  Asha forced herself to say, “I thought that was true. I was wrong.”

  “Your mother disagrees.”

  Asha felt her internal conflict drain away, leaving her utterly depleted. A great void opened where her heart should have resided. She tightened her hold on her middle.

  “Asha, say something. You know we deserve one more—”

  “What happened with Tiffany?”

  He shrank back a fraction, then caught himself. “That was finished months ago. You need to let it go. One mistake—”

  “But it wasn’t just one mistake, was it.” Her voice sounded dull to her own ears. Empty. Defeated. A narrow, bitter thought rose unbidden. This was her fate. She would never be free of this man or this argument or this futile hour. “Don’t lie, Jeffrey. We both know what makes her unique. She was the only one who told me to my face.”

  “I love you, Asha.”

  “But you haven’t loved just me. As we both know all too well.”

  “I can . . .”

  “Change? Stay true to your lover? Good. I’m glad. Now go find somebody and make it your reality from your very first day together.”

  The realization that she meant what she said tightened his features. Asha glimpsed beneath the polished exterior, and saw the other side of this wonderful man. Because he was just that, in so many ways. And she had spent two and a half years trying to convince herself that she could live with this other Jeffrey. The man for whom success meant always getting his own way.

  She remained where she was, her arms fastened around her middle, as he slammed the door and the engine roared to life.

  CHAPTER 17

  Lucius and Sonya returned to find Asha standing at the sidewalk, staring at the empty space where Jeffrey’s car had been parked.

  The Ferrari bellowed down the small street, burned rubber, turned the corner, and vanished.

  Asha stared bleakly at the empty road. Sonya’s poise remained intact, even when witnessing her granddaughter’s distress. Lucius took his lead from the older woman and kept quiet.

  Finally Asha sighed and blinked and wiped her face. Her voice was a low and broken murmur. “We should be going.”

  * * *

  Dino Barbieri’s home was notable only because it faced directly onto Morro Bay. The west-facing wall was entirely glass. The cottage was one room wide, scarcely broader than a mobile home. It had been built in the late fifties, and everything possible had been done to make it more suitable to the modern age. But scarcely ten feet separated the residence from its neighbors to either side. The living room was floored in ship’s teak and the ceiling had been opened and fitted with mock rafters. A new kitchen anchored the parlor’s back wall and was fitted out as precisely as a ship’s galley.

  The public rooms were cluttered as only a bachelor could make them. Asha saw evidence of hurried cleaning everywhere. Shelves along the sidewall were jammed with books and journals and papers and computers, no doubt cleared away for his guests’ arrival. T
he furniture was expensive and worn. Nothing Asha saw suggested that she was in the home of a distinguished professor and clinician.

  Asha felt as though the argument with Jeffrey cast a pall over the meal. She had spent the entire day hoping that this might mark a genuine shift. Transforming her relationship with Dino from supervisor and student into . . .

  She might as well admit it. Lovers.

  Instead, she could not shake the fact that the ghost of her past mistakes had joined them at the meal. Making it impossible for her to step into a new relationship.

  That is, if the potential for one actually existed.

  Dino was a most gracious host. If he noticed Asha’s distance, he gave no sign. In fact, the evening was dominated by pleasant chatter between Dino and Asha’s grandmother. They talked with the gay ease of lifelong friends. Asha smiled when she thought it was appropriate, but she heard almost nothing of what was said.

  They dined on Dino’s rear deck, by far the nicest part of his home. Dusk painted a golden hue over the shoreline and the sea. A few brave gulls passed close by, hoping for scraps. Otherwise the evening was theirs. Luke spoke only when a comment was directed his way. Otherwise he sat and ate and followed the conversation with the intent focus of a professional listener. When Dino cleared away the plates, Asha watched as Luke straightened in his chair, his expression solemn. Dino returned to his seat, and looked at her. The entire table waited.

  Asha said quietly, “It’s time.”

  * * *

  “I was born Lucius Quarterfield in 1941, and my mother died while birthing me. My father was a stonemason who injured his foot as an apprentice, so he could not go off to war. I don’t know if it was losing his wife or remaining out of America’s great battle that caused him to carry such a load of bitterness. But he was. Bitter and angry and, by all accounts, a brawler and a nasty drunk. He died when I was six. I do not recall my sisters ever speaking his name after his death.”

  The evening possessed a rare inland bite. An arid wind blew off the land, carrying desert flavors of creosote and sorrel. Asha found herself breathing deeply, as though needing to anchor herself.

  “I don’t remember much of my childhood before the illness struck me at six,” Luke went on. “I recall being fairly happy. My sisters served as surrogate mothers and did their best to shelter me when my father endured his dark hours. I do remember that much. Then the pleurisy struck, and my world was permanently altered for the worse.”

  They were seated on the deck, shielded from Dino’s neighbors by exterior slat walls. Asha’s grandmother and Dino were both angled so as to watch the sunset, as if they found a need to offer Luke this gift of privacy. Sonya shifted in her chair and said, “Please forgive me, I do not know this illness.”

  “Pleurisy,” Dino said. “You don’t see it so much nowadays, but it was once a killer. Especially among children and the very old. It refers to an inflammation of the pleurae, the membranes of the tissue surrounding the lungs. The pain can be very intense.”

  “ ‘Intense,’ ” Luke agreed. “That is the word.”

  “Basically, the word ‘pleurisy’ refers to the symptoms,” Dino went on. “But the potential causes are numerous. Aortic dissections, autoimmune disorders, erythematosus, hepatitis, lymphoma. But the two issues of greatest concern among the young are viral infections or bacteria for which there is no known cure. Thoracentesis, extraction of fluid from the pleural cavity, is the standard treatment for the symptoms.”

  When the deck went silent, Asha said quietly, “Go on.”

  “My father and I entered the hospital within days of each other,” Luke said. “I was interned for three and a half months. When I emerged, I had lost my father and a lung. I lived my entire life in the shadow of that ailment. Bones, lung, heart, all forged in that awful period. As well as my dislike for hospitals and doctors.”

  For the first time that evening Asha focused completely upon the evening. Luke’s story was absurd, of course. His claims represented a number of very serious mental and emotional issues. She could see that Dino was completely unimpressed. Her grandmother, however, appeared utterly engrossed. Asha could understand why. Sonya had always been comfortable with elements so timeless in their power that man could not fathom the questions, much less determine the answers.

  Luke interrupted himself then and asked, “Do you want me to go on?”

  “Of course I do,” Asha said.

  “I only asked because you seem very distracted.”

  “You tell me you were born almost fifty years ago. You sketch out a tragic yet perfectly reasonable existence for yourself.” She responded as though it was just the two of them. “How am I supposed to seem?”

  This time Luke’s smile came more easily. “Exactly as you do now, I guess.”

  “Go on. Finish your story.”

  So he did. The final visit to his doctor, the drive to Miramar, the walk, and his tragic departure from Jessica Waverly.

  When he was done, Luke turned his face toward the darkening sea. The pain of retelling was etched in his features. He looked almost craven, a grim mask of lonely sorrow. Luke Benoit had aged a thousand years in the telling.

  It was her grandmother who broke the silence. “So you died in the arms of this woman.”

  “Jessica. Yes.”

  “You recall the experience clearly, I take it.”

  “The feel of her embrace. The cry of gulls. The crashing waves. The frigid water. I remember it all vividly.”

  “The darkness.”

  “The end,” Luke agreed. “It is with me still.”

  Dino asked Sonya, “Are you accepting that this literally happened?”

  “Your patient has described an experience with utter clarity, one that defies all logic. I neither believe nor disbelieve. I am simply listening.”

  “Ex-patient,” Luke corrected softly.

  CHAPTER 18

  There followed a dense silence. Dino offered coffee, but no one seemed inclined to linger. Asha felt a sudden urge to excuse herself and walk the moonlit sands, listen to the ocean, try and fathom some logic to an evening of impossible events. But she merely waited with the others until Sonya finally said, “It has been a lovely evening.”

  “I am glad you could come.” Dino’s warmth was absent now. In its place was a professional formality that chilled the home’s atmosphere.

  Asha asked Luke to see her grandmother to the car. Dino waited until Luke and Sonya had entered the night shadows to ask, “So what was your response to Luke Benoit’s revelations?”

  She said what she knew he expected. “New delusion, same problem.”

  “That’s good to hear, Asha.” Dino leaned against the doorjamb. “I was concerned that your patient might be drawing you into his version of reality.”

  “He spun a very compelling tale,” she said.

  Dino shrugged. “No matter how much he might try to believe it and persuade others, it’s still just a reflection of your patient’s internal state.”

  “Is Luke still my patient?”

  “He needs to be. Desperately.” Dino stared at the shadows lining his drive. “You understand what role the factor of or-ganicity plays here?”

  “Sure.”

  Dino explained himself anyway. “Luke Benoit exhibits a new delusional state. We need to assume that it is derived from a shift in his brain’s biological functions.”

  Asha felt a faint disquiet, but she stifled it and responded. “From the drug overdose related to his third suicide attempt.”

  “And near-death experience. Correct. His current level of environmental stress has basically pushed Luke over the edge.”

  “Luke’s natural reservoir of coping abilities were never very high,” Asha said. “You’re suggesting his tenuous hold on reality has basically evaporated.”

  “I am indeed. Which means . . .”

  “It raises the likelihood of a fourth suicide attempt. One that has every chance of being successful.”

  Dino nodd
ed approval. “We need to up his dosage of meds.” “My guess is, he’ll resist that.”

  “Then he’ll die.” Dino crossed his arms, sealing out the trauma of losing a patient. “You need to prepare yourself for that possible outcome, Asha. You can’t see yourself as responsible for what could well be just around the corner. Sooner or later, he’s going to come face-to-face with undeniable evidence that his supposed recollection of this past existence is just another delusion. When that happens . . .”

  Asha let the sentence remain unfinished. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  His smile rearranged his features. “I’m not sure I’m able to absorb another shock tonight.”

  “I’ve identified Jessica Waverly, the woman Luke claims to be searching for.”

  “You did? And?”

  “Waverly is her maiden name. Nowadays she’s known as Jessica Wright.”

  The news pushed him down the steps and into the street. “Not the Jessica Wright.”

  “None other.”

  Dino turned and stared down the empty lane. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

  “Last I checked.”

  “I suppose you were going to do something with your grandmother.”

  “I can put her off. She’ll understand.”

  “I hate leaving this until Monday. Luke might seek to make some further step, which could be disastrous.”

  “It took me all of thirty seconds to make the discovery online,” Asha agreed.

  “Could we meet with Luke together at ten o’clock? At my private office.”

  “Ten o’clock is fine.” Asha did her best to ignore her final wish that the evening had turned out differently. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Lucius allowed Asha’s grandmother to set the pace down the unlit lane. He asked, “May I offer you my arm?”

  “How gallant.” Sonya moved in close enough for a hint of lilacs to enter the salt-laden air. “You are a most interesting gentleman. Shall I call you Luke or Lucius?”