by K Larsen
“I got you something.”
Annabelle looked up at him. When she didn’t take the present, he took her hand and pressed the box into it. The present was wrapped in sparkling paper, Annabelle’s favorite kind, celestial stars glittered in gold against a black background. She took the package from him and lead him away from the house. She didn’t want to risk getting caught.
She led Mark through the backyard until they reached the treehouse that had long been abandoned, but that she thought should still be able to hold them. She watched as he looked up into the tree.
“Ahh,” he gave her a sideways glance. “You sure this will hold us?”
Annabelle shrugged. “Let’s find out.” She tucked the box into the waistband of her yoga pants and started climbing the ladder. Mark followed behind.
Brushing aside some stray leaves and dust she sat on the floor Indian-style. Mark did the same. She tore the paper from the box and opened the lid. A gold nautical compass pendant sat nestled in velvet.
“It’s queer,” he said. Annabelle shook her head. “It’s perfect. It’s beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Will you wear it?” he asked. Annabelle nodded.
“Will you help?”
Mark grinned and nodded. He took the necklace out of the box and carefully fastened it around her neck. Maybe that’s why he bought it, so they’d have this moment, with his hands warm on the back of her neck, under her hair. He ran his fingertips along the chain and settled the pendant on her throat. She shivered.
“I can’t really picture you as a treehouse kind of kid.”
“I wasn’t,” she sighed. She laid down on her back. Mark scooted next to her and followed suit. His warm hand enveloped hers as they stared silently up at the endless, star-littered sky. She didn’t feel disappointed anymore.
~***~
Annabelle’s mother breezed in through the front door wearing a fitted white skirt and a tailored black blouse. Her hair was swept up in a loose knot and she wore a little superficial smirk at the corner of her full lips.
“Monica!” her father roared from his office. Annabelle startled from the den where she was curled on the couch watching TV. The sound of her mother’s heels clacked on the hardwood as she waltzed through the den to her father’s office. She muted the TV and watched her parents instead.
Both her mother’s and her father’s mouths were tight and firmly shut, as if they were using all their willpower to contain their anger from exploding out, able only to stay composed for the moment. Her father’s nostrils flared, his chest heaved. Her mother crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door jam.
“What happened?” her father asked. Annabelle shifted her position on the couch to get a better view. She needed to know what was going on.
“What?” her mother spit out curtly.
“I waited at the restaurant for an hour. I texted. I called. Where the hell have you been?” her father boomed.
“My phone’s on silent. I was at the club,” her mother stated. Her posture changed then. Slumped slightly, her mother let out an audible sigh. She pushed from the doorframe and took a step into the office. A step toward her father.
“Don’t.” Her father raised his hand. Her mother froze where she was. Her father ran his hands through his hair and looked straight up, something he always did when thinking deeply.
“Gavin, I’m sorry,” her mother offered quietly, her head hung as she stared at the floor.
“Sorry? It’s our anniversary,” her father said, the hurt evident in his voice.
Her mother snorted. “Yes, what a joyous thing,” she offered dryly. Her father’s eyes grew dark and narrowed. He stood from his desk and marched up to her mother, fuming.
Annabelle silently pushed off the couch and tiptoed out of the den toward her room. She could already hear their yelling as she moved through the hallway. Her parents were crumbling under the weight of their bitterness. A knot formed in her gut and she wanted nothing more than to bury her head under her pillow and forget about this week.
~***~
Jezebel waited in her usual spot for Annabelle. She had her nose in a book and a fan in the window blowing in the warm early summer air.
“Whatcha reading?” Annabelle greeted. She dropped her bag to the floor near the door and kicked off her flip-flops before sitting. She felt lighter in Jezebel’s presence. No bitterness or grief assaulted her here. Two glasses of water waited on the table. She picked one up and took a sip.
Jezebel looked over the top of her book at Annabelle. “The Other Typist.”
“Any good?”
“It’s a total mind-fuck—so yes, it’s brilliant.”
“Maybe I’ll borrow it when you’re done.”
Jezebel dog-eared her page and shut the book, setting it on a side table. Annabelle picked at a hangnail on her middle finger and bit her lip.
“Kid?” Jezebel said.
“Jez, did you ever forget your wedding anniversary?” Annabelle asked while still studying her cuticles.
“Never! It’s a sacred day between married people. It doesn’t mean you have to celebrate it grandly, but it should most certainly be noticed and revered,” Jezebel answered.
Annabelle nodded her head in agreement. In years past her parents always did something together. Her mother had once told her, when she was little and wanted to celebrate with them, that it was a private day for the mom and the dad to remind each other of their commitment and renew their love. She’d cried, feeling left out when their parents spent an overnight at a hotel that year.
“Yeah,” she said blandly.
“You’re dismal today,” Jezebel said. Annabelle snapped her eyes up.
“Yeah. Just a long week I guess, but not all bad,” she answered.
“Tell me the good then.” Jezebel settled deeper into her chair, making herself comfortable.
“Mark kissed me,” she breathed, recalling the memory of his lips on hers, how he’d kissed her goodnight and cupped her butt as she started back up the trellis to her room.
“Finally,” Jezebel said with barely concealed amusement. “When I told him to be a gentleman I didn’t mean be a prude!” Annabelle laughed loudly, a grin taking over her features. “Well . . . don’t just sit there looking starry-eyed—details!” Jezebel exclaimed.
“Well, we were in his truck. Mark leaned across the cab. ‘Annabelle’ he said. I said ‘Yes,’ and then he was all . . . ’I’m going to kiss you now.’” Annabelle sighed, happy. “It was tender and flawless. When he pulled away I was breathless.” Jezebel pushed her sleeves up her forearms and leaned her elbows on her knees.
Jezebel waited. “And . . .” Annabelle didn’t want to finish her story, but she knew she didn’t really have much say on the matter around Jezebel.
“And then like a fool I blurted out ‘We should do that again.’” Annabelle flushed and buried her face in her hands.
“Brava! Did you?” Jezebel asked.
“He said, ‘We will,’ and then I got out of the truck. Why am I such an idiot around him?”
“You’re not! He probably thinks you’re just about the most adorable thing to ever land in his lap. Trust me.” Jezebel stated. Annabelle shook her head in protest but smiled at the thought.
“Trust . . . you,” Annabelle deadpanned.
“Well, I do see him more often than you,” Jezebel countered with a sly expression. Annabelle chuckled. Jezebel was always one step ahead of her. But she didn’t know about the treehouse and for an unknown reason, she didn’t want Jezebel to know. She kept that moment to herself.
“You’re so infuriating sometimes,” Annabelle commented playfully. “I can never beat you.”
“You can’t beat someone at their own game, dear.”
Annabelle stifled a laugh and surrendered. “Let’s just move along, yeah?”
“To Celeste?”
“Yes . . . to Celeste,” she answered.
Chapter 28
Celeste
>
Paris 1994
“Cece?” Matteo’s deep voice came through the receiver. Celeste smiled.
“Matteo, hi,” she greeted. She propped her hip against the kitchen counter and twirled the cord through her fingers.
“Have you spoken with Dr. B?”
“Not since I left yesterday. Why?” she questioned.
“Can you stop over at my office this morning on your way to work?”
“Matteo, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” Celeste’s fingers stilled, the cord dropping from them. Gabriel strode into the kitchen and fixed himself a mug of coffee. He stopped and gave Celeste an ‘everything-ok?’look. She shrugged in response.
“He left me the strangest message last night on my work answering machine.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “So?” Looking to Gabriel she nodded that things seemed fine. He leaned in, kissed her temple and scooped up his briefcase as he breezed out of the kitchen and headed to work.
“Cece, just come here. Listen. Please,” Matteo pleaded. Celeste would never say no to Matteo when he sounded so bewildered and nervous.
“Of course, give me forty minutes. I need to throw clothes on,” she answered.
Matteo exhaled a relief-filled sigh. “Thank you.”
Celeste tossed clothes out of her way, shirts and pants flying out the closet door behind her. She grabbed the pair of jeans she was looking for and tugged them on one leg and a time, doing a little hopping dance to get them up over her hips. She and Gabriel really needed to do laundry this week. Their closet was a sad affair at the moment. Grabbing a white button-up shirt she stepped out of the closet and addressed each button as she walked down the hall and descended the stairs. Slipping her feet into clogs she snatched her purse from the console table by the front door and left for Matteo’s.
Carly Simon and James Taylor songs kept her company as she made the twenty minute drive. They also helped her mind not to wander. Matteo was never riled up. Matteo was solid, calm and rational. The waver in his voice had her stomach twisted up with worry. She was anxious. She doubled parked behind his car and bolted from the car into his office where she found Matteo pacing.
“Cece, thank God,” he said. Three powerful strides brought him just short of her. His arms engulfed her in a hug. A tight, scared hug.
“You’re kind of freaking me out Matteo, what’s going on?” she asked looking up at him as he dropped his arms.
“Come on.” She followed him to his office and motioned for her to sit. She did. He pushed play on the answering machine and Dr. B’s voice filled the cozy room.
“Teo, Teo, Teo, I’ve stumbled across something.” Papers shuffled in the background. “It’s rather urgent that you get to Celeste. Please.” Dr. B’s voice shook as he spoke and Celeste winced. He sounded rushed and scared. “There are things . . . many things I should have told her . . . told you. I suspected for years . . . but the impossibility . . . such an impossibility . . .”
The message cut off, the room silent again. Celeste sat confused and staring at the machine. What was Dr. B going on about? His message made no sense.
She looked to Matteo. “I don’t understand.” And she didn’t.
“Neither do I. I was hoping he called you, too. That maybe you knew what was going on. In nine years Cece, I’ve never heard that man’s voice quake once. Something is wrong.”
“Let’s go then.”
“I have a parrot arriving any moment for its annual exam.” Matteo frowned. He was clearly conflicted. Despite the mood, Celeste smiled.
“Damn parrots.” She grinned. “Alright, I’ll go and I’ll call you with news if you haven’t arrived by the time I figure all this out.” She stood as Matteo rounded his desk before embracing her.
“Okay,” he answered. “Okay.”
“Relax Matteo, I’m sure everything is fine.” Matteo ran his fingers through his hair then tugged an earlobe. It was his go-to habit when he was stressed out. He kissed her cheek and sent her off without another word.
Celeste threw her bag and herself inside her car and started the engine. The thirty minute drive was thirty minutes too long. Her mind wandered and her heart raced. Matteo was right, she’d never heard that particular panic in Dr. B’s voice before and it worried her. It worried her deeply. Her stomach swarmed with anxiety.
When she arrived at the estate she slammed the brakes so hard the car skidded to a halt. Celeste killed the engine and jogged to the front door. She mentally berated herself for the frenzy she was creating. Surely she’d be laughed at by Dr. B as soon as she waltzed through the door. On a deep breath she pushed through the kitchen entrance. The house was quiet. The tea kettle whistled on the burner. Her panic grew. She switched the burner off and began frantically calling out Dr. B’s name.
Chapter 29
Annabelle
“And I ever want, Is just a little love.”
~ Toes, Glass Animal
Annabelle groaned. “You can’t stop there.”
“Sorry kiddo, the clock says otherwise,” Jezebel stated before stretching her legs. A quick glance at the clock confirmed Jezebel was right. Damn. “You wouldn’t want to miss your moment with Mark would you?” Jezebel added.
“Har har,” she returned dryly as she stood and stretched. Annabelle collected her things before stepping into the hall. She paused and looked over her shoulder at Jezebel.
“Thank you,” she said.
Jezebel stiffened slightly, something flashing in her eyes. Disbelief maybe? Or was it mirth? “For what?”
“For . . .” Annabelle wracked her brain for the right word, “everything.” She didn’t wait for Jezebel’s response as she headed to the parking lot and a waiting Mark.
Mark scanned her head to toe as she approached him. She breathed in and inhaled his scent as a thrill shot straight into her stomach. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. Pulling back slightly to look at her he reached out and caressed her lips with his fingertips. She stared at his mouth, thinking how amazing it would feel to have his lips move with hers again.
“Kiss me,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Yes, ma’am,” Mark said with barely concealed amusement.
Annabelle closed her eyes, imagining what she might do if Mark were to suddenly kiss her neck or other places. Her knees felt weak at the thought. Butterflies took flight in her belly. He intertwined their fingers and it seemed like such a natural fit; and imagining what his fingers would feel like caressing her skin almost caused her pants to incinerate in a cloud of ash. His lips were warm and moist as they pressed to hers. The kiss felt as natural as their hands felt twined together. She leaned into him and let herself get lost in an utterly perfect moment of bliss.
~***~
The sound of a whistling tea kettle drove Annabelle toward the kitchen. Obviously her mother was already up and about this morning. She lifted the kettle from the stove and turned off the burner. Her mind was spinning at how similar this particular situation was to Dr. B’s in Jezebel’s story. Helping herself to a cup, she added a sprinkling of sugar and a touch of honey. She leaned up against the counter and slowly sipped at her tea and wondered, if she put the kettle back on the stove, how many minutes of whistling it would take before her mother heard it. Before she went through with the ludicrous idea, a blur of movement outside the kitchen window arrested her attention.
Her mother moved across the yard, a lost look plaguing her face. The back door squeaked. Her mother had been after her father for months to fix it. Clearly he hadn’t. Annabelle turned to find her mother entering the kitchen. Things were unbearably tense between her parents lately. It was obvious they hadn’t spoken since their fight last week. In fact, she didn’t think they had spoken a single word to each other since it happened. The habit of burying things instead of resolving them was going to have severe consequences on their family soon. She could feel it in the air, wrought with tension.
“Want me to fix you a cup?” Annabelle asked. S
he watched her mother stride to the bar and perch on one of the stools.
“Alright.” For a long time her mother stared around the room, seemingly without seeing anything.
Annabelle shifted from one foot to the other. Her mother’s stiff posture and her refusal to make eye contact with her did not signify anything good. She smiled anyway as she fixed her mother a cup. Setting it down her mother gave her a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Annabelle shuddered involuntarily as her thoughts drifted to dark musings—her family living under the same roof but existing in two different worlds.
~***~
Summer was in full force. At least the heat was anyway. Annabelle swiped at the back of her knees before she plopped into the chair opposite Jezebel.
“My mom’s freaking me out,” Annabelle blurted.
Jezebel raised an eyebrow.
“Care to elaborate? Hi, how are ya?”
Annabelle huffed as she sank down into her seat and explained the strange behavior her mother exhibited over the last week. The distance. The lost look on her face. The casual indifference that rolled off her. “They’ve been married for like twenty friggin’ years . . . Why now is everything falling apart? I don’t understand!” she finished, anger rolling off her in great waves. She twisted her back to the side and let out a small grunt of pain-pleasure as it loudly popped.
“The difference between men and women in marriage is this: a woman marries a man thinking he’ll change, but he doesn’t. He won’t. A man marries a woman thinking she won’t ever change, but she does. Sometimes, those things can’t be reconciled after so many years. You’re family has also suffered a great loss Annabelle. That changes people and it takes time to have enough courage to accept that.”
“I don’t think either of them have accepted that. They’ve barely been parents, let alone partners, for years.” She seethed.
