I look at her and shake my head no. I add, as calmly and quietly as I can, “I had to leave my boyfriend to move back to the States because of my dad’s job.” I look back out the window, but the terminal is gone. The plane has already moved into position for takeoff.
“You wouldn’t happen to be talking about that tall drink of water you were glued to before we boarded?”
I nod. She hands me a tissue. I blow my nose into it and wipe my eyes with the back of my hands.
“Well, if there’s one thing I know, it’s men; and darlin’, you’ve got nothin’ at all to worry about,” she says. She smiles at me as though she’s about to reveal the secret to eternal life. I furrow my brow. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Aww, honey, that boy isn’t goin’ anywhere. He’s completely in love with you. I saw it in his eyes—in the way he looked at you. He’ll be waitin’ for you right where you left him. Mark my words.”
I give her the best smile I can muster. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it, darlin’.” She hands me another tissue. “I can see why you’re so upset. My, my, that boy is a fine, fine male specimen. A gal could get herself into a lot of trouble over a boy like that.”
Yeah, tell me about it.
“My name’s Annabelle, by the way,” she says, extending her hand out to me. I give it a pathetically weak shake.
“I’m Evangeline,” I say as pleasantly as I can.
“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. It suits you well, darlin’.”
“Thanks, my mom named me. It was her favorite name. She picked it out for her future daughter when she was just a young girl.” I smile, thinking of my mother, but then I remember the horrible dream, and I feel a familiar darkness wash over me.
“Where is she now, darlin’?” Annabelle asks, obviously picking up on the change in my mood.
“She died in a car wreck when I was a little girl. I don’t remember it really, but I miss her every day.” Why am I so willing to open up to Annabelle? Maybe it’s her soothing Southern accent.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, babe.” Her voice is so full of genuine concern that it threatens to break me, but I hold on. “You stay strong, ya hear? I promise life isn’t all disappointment and heartbreak. It will get better for you.”
“Thanks.” I have no idea what else to say. Guess I’m pretty transparent, if a total stranger can pick up on my life so quickly.
I have a sudden, unyielding urge to talk to Javier, so I take out my cell phone to text him. But one of the flight attendants stops in the aisle next to us. She says in a stern, bureaucratic voice, “Miss, you are not allowed to use your cell phone during the flight. Please put it away, or else we will have to confiscate it.”
“Sweetheart, put the phone away,” Annabelle advises. “You don’t want them putting their grubby hands all over it—wouldn’t be sanitary. You know these planes are full of germs.” Annabelle is speaking to me, but she’s looking at the attendant with a wrinkled-up nose and disapproving eyes. I place the phone back into my purse before the attendant can swipe it.
***
The plane touches down at Heathrow three hours later. We disembark and wind our way through massive crowds of international travelers to find the gate for our connecting flight to Washington, DC. There’s one hour yet before we are to board, and I take the opportunity to text Javier while lounging in the adjacent restaurant.
*I miss you already. We just arrived at Heathrow.
*I started missing you as soon as you told me you were leaving, Corazón.
*I’m looking at your pics from our trip to Ibiza on my cell. When will you come to visit me?
*As soon as I can, I promise. I love you. Now get something to eat before your second flight. Don’t get stuck eating airplane food.
*Agreed. Love you
*Love you. Have a good flight to DC. Call me when you arrive at your new house.
*I’ll call you as soon as we land. They won’t let me use the phone on the flight. Phone Nazis. Boo.
*Bueno. Besos y abrazos, amor.
*Besos, guapo.
I have to admit, texting Javier makes me feel much better. I’m finally starting to believe that this separation is just a temporary roadblock to us being together. An intolerable weight has been lifted off my chest, and I sigh in relief. I take Javier’s advice and order a blue-cheese burger and fries from the decidedly American restaurant. I’m thankful for the comfort food to enjoy instead of the nasty stuff that passes as food here in Great Britain. Although I don’t really mind the fish and chips, blood pudding is definitely on the no-eat list.
I find Annabelle on the connecting flight to DC and sit with her. She tells me that her husband is a pharmaceutical company lobbyist, and they’ve just recently moved to DC. She was on vacation without her husband—apparently something she did often, as he is not one who enjoys the idiosyncrasies of European culture. Annabelle, on the other hand, dreams of someday living in Europe—without the husband. I have the distinct feeling that Annabelle does not actually spend her vacations alone, but I’m not one to pry into the private matters of complete strangers. We exchange cell numbers and promise to stay in touch and to meet up in DC.
We’ve only been in the air for about an hour when the flight attendant hands me a pillow and blanket because she sees that my head is bobbing to the side as I drift in and out of sleep. I gladly accept them and hunker down for the eight-hour flight over the Atlantic—a ride that, in and of itself, has my nerves on edge. I’m not a fan of flying, especially over massive bodies of water, so it’s best if I just sleep for the entire trip. As my head hits the pillow, I drift off.
CHAPTER 6
I find myself in a dark hallway. At the end stands Javier, flashing that devastatingly mischievous grin and waving me toward him. I start to jog to him, but the closer I come, the longer the hallway becomes and the farther away he is. Soon I’m in a full-out run, screaming for Javier to wait. He continues to wave me toward him; however, the playful look on his face transforms into an eerie, hollow expression, his smile ominous. I scream out his name. Suddenly, as if a trap door has opened in the hallway, I’m hurtling downward through blackness so complete that I can’t even see my hand in front of my face.
For a few moments, I’m floating; then I hit the ground with a breath-stealing thud. My eyes are squeezed shut, and when I open them, I am standing at my mother’s grave. The earth filling the grave is fresh, indicating that she has recently been buried. My Dad and Grandma Winnie are at the graveside.
“I hope I did the right thing,” Dad whispers to Grandma Winnie.
“You did, Nash.”
“God help me if they ever find out the truth,” he says, a frown darkening his face. “I don’t know how I’d ever explain it to them.”
“Let’s pray you never have to.”
The next sensation I have is that of flying, but everything around me is black. My stomach jumps up in my throat as if I’ve just crested the tallest peak of a roller coaster and am descending at mach speed. I’m suddenly aware that my eyes are closed, because a bright, white light now infiltrates and illuminates my eyelids, sending white stars and flashes of color across my visual field.
I open my eyes and I’m sitting on my parents’ bed in our cottage in Italy. The intrusive light is the Italian morning sun streaming through the east-facing window. My mother is seated at the vanity directly in front of me, brushing her long, silky black hair and humming a tune that I find vaguely familiar and strangely haunting. A chill envelopes me; it’s “Time in a Bottle,” the song she hummed to me every night as she tucked me into bed. I haven’t heard it since the last time I saw her on the night she died. She had gone out that night after putting the twins to bed and tucking me in with a kiss to my forehead. It’s the last memory I have of her.
I move timidly to the vanity and kneel next to her. “Momma?” She continues humming and brushing her hair. Her blank face and hollow eyes are reflected in the mirror. The sight of her is
bone-chilling. “Momma?”
Keeping her eyes trained on her own reflection, her face remaining expressionless, she lowers the brush down to the vanity and picks up a pair of scissors. With one smooth movement, she pulls a large section of her hair up and snips it off about one-inch from her scalp. With an unnerving cackle, she opens the hand holding the severed hair and watches as the wisps fall to the floor. She grabs another fist-full of hair and moves the scissors in place.
“Momma! What are you doing?” I cry.
She snaps her head toward me, and I see that her eyes have turned feral and furious. Her expression alternates between fear and anger. She lifts her right arm up in the air over her head. I look up just in time to see the pointed end of the scissors swiping toward me.
***
I awake on the airplane with a scream. But with one glance around me, I instantly remember where I am and sigh in relief. By the dim twilight outside the window, I know that I’ve slept for the majority of the flight.
Grandma Winnie turns around and eyes me with a raised brow. “Are you okay, Evie?
“Yes, sorry,” I murmur, wiping the drool off my chin with the sleeve of my shirt. She gives me a curt smile and then turns back to her book.
“Bad dream?” Annabelle asks, her voice concerned.
“Yeah, I’ve been having a lot of those lately, it seems.” I try to stretch my stiff body as much as the tiny seating space will allow. Having long legs can be such a curse at times.
“Well, good news. We only have about an hour and a half until this thing lands at Dulles. We’ve almost made it, darlin’.” Annabelle swipes her forehead with the back of her hand in an exaggerated display of relief.
“I’ll be kissing the ground when we land,” I say. “Please don’t think badly of me, but I absolutely hate to fly. I’ve done a lot of it in my life, and it never gets any easier.”
“I ditto that, darlin’. And at touchdown I say a little thank you to the gods. You know, small miracles aren’t always so small.”
“Amen to that.”
An hour and a half later we’re landing—for the most part smoothly—in Washington, DC. I say goodbye to Annabelle after we disembark the plane and again promise to keep in touch with her.
We arrive around midnight at my Uncle Calvin’s row house in Georgetown. We’re spending the night there because we won’t be able to pick up the house keys from our realtor until tomorrow morning.
“Evie!” Aunt Matilda greets me at the door. She’s wearing a strange, tight-lipped smile, her voice steeped in the affectation of a wealthy, East Coast socialite—despite the fact that she isn’t one. She shows us into the parlor. “Good news! Your new neighbor is one of your uncle’s business associates, and his daughter just so happens to be in your class at Holy Cross. We’ve arranged for her to meet you tomorrow afternoon and show you around. She’ll make some introductions to your fellow classmates.”
“Grrreeeat,” I say under my breath and then feel the sharp jab of Grandma Winnie’s bony elbow in my side. I turn to her and she’s giving me her patented disapproving glare, which means I’d better check myself. “Thanks, Aunt Matilda,” I say more audibly—and sweetly. Matilda’s self-satisfied smile confirms that she didn’t hear my smart-ass comment.
The next day we drive to our new house in McLean, where the realtor awaits with the keys. The twins are excited to be moving into a normal-sized house instead of the dollhouse-sized dwellings we’ve lived in while overseas. To us, this house is a mansion—a stately, red-brick, colonial-style, two-story home with a full basement, attic, and a three-car garage. Calvin and Matilda have gone furniture shopping for us, so the house is ready. The only work we have to do is to unpack our personal belongings, which arrived by FedEx this morning. We finish by noon and decide to go to a local pizza parlor for lunch.
A shiny, black BMW convertible is parked in our driveway when we return. Leaning against the trunk is a tall, dark, pretty girl wearing a khaki skirt, a white button-down, and a navy blazer. She’s texting away on her cell phone. As we pull up next to her, she looks up and waves excitedly, flashing a bright smile.
“Oh look, Evie. She must be your new classmate.” Dad sounds little too eager. I hope he realizes it’s going to take more than just his contrived enthusiasm to cheer me up. We all pile out of Matilda’s minivan. Why on earth she owns one is beyond me. It’s not like she has any kids to tow around in this gas-guzzling beast.
“You must be Evie Sweeney. I’m Camilla San Sebastian. I live across the street and go to Holy Cross. Your uncle said you’d be starting on Monday.” With a dazzling-white smile, she extends her hand to me.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, awkwardly shaking her hand. I’m not used to teenagers being so formal in their introductions. I begin to introduce her to my family. I motion to each person as I introduce them. “This is my dad, Nash; my grandma, Winnie; and my brother and sister, Ethan and Emma. And you know Calvin and Matilda.”
“Yes, of course. Nice to meet all of you.” She acknowledges each person with a nod of her head, then reaches down into the backseat of her car and retrieves a covered pie plate. “Mrs. Sweeney, my mother asked that I deliver this pie to you as a welcome gift.”
“Thank you, Camilla. Please give your mother my warmest regards, dear.” Grandma Winnie looks quite pleased with Camilla’s polished manners. Grandma raises an eyebrow at me with a look: See? This is how a young lady should comport herself.
“You are most welcome, Mrs. Sweeney.” Camilla smiles sincerely and hands the plate over to Grandma. Camilla again turns her attention to me. “Evie, your uncle tells me you are in need of a DC refresher tour. I’d be happy to take you around this afternoon, if you’d like.”
“Umm, well . . .” I’d really rather spend the afternoon talking with Javier on the phone, but I look to my dad, who’s excitedly nodding. He’s so pathetically enthusiastic, that I can’t bear to shoot him down. “Okay, sure. Why not?”
“Oh, you know what else?” Camilla furrows her brow and moves her hand to her chin, looking overly pensive. “There’s a little get-together at a friend’s house this evening. It would be wonderful for you to come with me and meet some of our classmates before Monday. That way you’ll already know some people in your classes.”
“Oh, I think that’s a marvelous idea—don’t you, Nash?” Matilda nearly squeals with excitement. I’m sure she views my hob-knobbing with the Holy Cross kids as her ticket in with the DC power elite.
“Absolutely,” my dad agrees.
“Oh, and I’m having a few girls from school over to spend the night afterward. I love having slumber parties on Friday nights. Do you want to stay over, too, Evie?” Camilla asks a little too innocently. My family members are too blinded by her unusual charm to see what is plain as day to me; Camilla’s putting on an Oscar-worthy performance. She definitely has something up her sleeve, and I want to know what.
“Well, okay. Do ya mind if I change real quick and grab a few things?” I can see out of my peripherals that Aunt Matilda’s grimacing at my poor grammar, which makes me smile.
“Sure, I’ll wait here.”
I run into the house and up to my new room at the top of the stairs. I grab my toothbrush, comb, and some PJs and shove them into a small tote bag. I pull on a pair of dark jeans, black ballet flats, a gray fitted t-shirt with John Lennon’s face stamped on the front, and a black cardigan. I guess the look is more hipster casual than DC chic. But oh well. I don’t fit in here, and I’m not about to start trying.
I meet my family at the bottom of the stairs just as they walk through the door.
“Evie, don’t you have something nicer to wear?” Grandma Winnie complains as I maneuver around her to the door.
“Nope,” I reply as sweetly as I can. Kill ’em with kindness, my mother used to say. “See you all tomorrow!”
CHAPTER 7
“Oh, my God!” Camilla says as she backs out of the driveway. “I thought we’d never get out of there. They were ask
ing me all kinds of questions about my family, my classes, what I like to do in my free time. Jesus, you’d think they were interviewing me to be your girlfriend.” She wrinkles up her face in disgust.
“No, Matilda was just trying to climb the social ladder. She was probably hoping you’d invite us all over for dinner or something.”
“Oh really?” Camilla laughs. “She does have that air of douche-baggery about her.” We enjoy a good laugh at Matilda’s expense.
“Where are we headed?” I ask, as Camilla turns to the on-ramp of the freeway.
“To the mall. We have to get new outfits for the party tonight.”
“Oh, I didn’t bring enough money,” I say.
“No worries, I’ve got it covered. We have to look awesome for this party. It’s the big event of the fall.”
“Great. Wish I’d had a heads up. I would’ve tried to fix this rat’s nest on top of my head.”
“Honey, that’s what salons are for, and you’re going with me to my appointment. We’ll just have your hair done, too. Oh, and your nails,” she says, looking down at my gnarled fingertips. My worst habit is biting my fingernails down to the quick, although popping my knuckles comes in a close second. Knuckle popping drives my Grandma crazy so it’s become somewhat of a sport for me.
“I can’t let you pay for all that, Camilla.”
“I’m not. My daddy is. Don’t worry your pretty little head; he won’t care. He never checks his credit-card statements. Besides, it’s my welcome gift to you.”
The Saints of the Cross Page 8
