by Dara Girard
“Don’t give yourself a headache.” He massaged the back of her neck. “It’s not really a mess.” He sat down next to her. “We act like we’re engaged for a couple of weeks—”
“Weeks?” she choked.
“Then break up.”
“With you dumping me?”
“No, you dumping me. Don’t worry, my ego can take it.”
She groaned.
“Is it really that bad to pretend that we’re engaged?”
The guy had three college degrees and couldn’t even tell when a woman was in love with him. She began to question his intelligence. “I guess not.”
“The truth is I wanted you to win big. Not just the pendant but Deborah’s respect. I knew she wouldn’t believe I asked you to the ball because I wanted to, so I thought an engagement would be more convincing.”
“It would have been, if she wasn’t saving the pendant for a wedding present.”
He looked crushed. “I ruined it for you.”
It was odd, but she didn’t feel disappointed. She didn’t feel angry with Deborah for being a liar or at herself for falling for Deborah’s ploy. She didn’t feel annoyed that there was yet another obstacle to getting the pendant. It was as if the sweet evening had calmed all her haunting thoughts. She was quiet then said, “You didn’t ruin it. It’s just her excuse. She wasn’t going to give it to me anyway.”
Kenneth sighed. “I could ask Mrs. Ashford how much—”
She stood and glanced down at the amethyst on her finger, remembering it was a spiritual stone. A stone that called to the depth of her soul, shedding off the layers of her past. The Jessie of before: anxious, angry, vengeful, scared. A Jessie full of bitterness and pain whispered the true story of the pendant before vanishing into the sky. “Doesn’t matter,” she said.
“What?”
She looked at him. “The pendant’s center is like the very sky above us. I don’t need to hold it in my hands to claim it. It knows to whom it belongs and is already working its magic.” Her voice fell. “It gave me you.” He looked blank and she laughed at herself. “I sound as crazy as my father and I don’t care. It’s a night for believing in magic and stories and dreams and…” She stopped, feeling an overwhelming freedom as if her skin had fallen away leaving her soul to fly. She spun around and looked up at the sky. “Look at the stars, Kenneth. Aren’t they beautiful?”
Kenneth gazed at her instead and fell in love.
* * *
When they arrived home, Syrah opened the door, brimming with excitement. “Is it true?”
“What are you doing up?” Kenneth asked.
“I couldn’t sleep. Is it true?”
He began to bend down to pat Dion, who was eager for attention, but a biting pain ripped at his side and he stopped. Jessie watched worried, but said nothing. “Is what true?” he asked.
“That you and Aunt Jessie are going to get married?” Syrah looked at Jessie’s hand and jumped up and down with joy. “It is true! I’m so happy! We’re going to be a family!”
“Wait, wait a minute. How did you find this out?”
“It was simple really. Denise’s cousin was a waiter at the party and someone told him that they heard Tracy talking to Wendy about your ring. So Denise’s cousin told his girlfriend who called Denise’s sister who told her mother who told Denise who told me.”
He blinked. “I see.”
“So when are you getting married? Can I be in it? Can we have lots of lemon sherbet?”
“There’s not going to be a wedding just yet,” he said cautiously. “We have to get things in order. We have a lot of things we need to discuss first.”
“Like what?”
“We’ll tell you tomorrow,” Kenneth promised in an awkward tone. “Now it’s time for bed.”
“Okay.” She raced up the stairs.
Jessie shot him a glance. “Nothing to worry about you said.”
“I didn’t expect her to hear about it so soon.”
“What are we going to do about her?”
“She’s grown. She’ll understand when it doesn’t work out.” He shoved a hand in his pocket. “Besides...she’s going to have to see her father at some point.”
“Have you spoken to him recently?”
“No.”
She touched his sleeve. “You don’t want to send her back, do you?”
He yawned.
“Why don’t you adopt her?”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He yawned again and headed for the stairs. “Because I can’t. I’ll see you in the morning.”
* * *
Stephanie laid her gold necklace on the dresser and unzipped her dress. She glanced at Brooke who painted her toenails on the brown tufted ottoman in front of the window. Since girlhood Brooke liked to visit her room, even though her own was more elaborate.
Stephanie let her dress fall and stepped over it. “You’ll be sorry you missed the ball.” She grabbed her robe.
“I doubt it,” Brooke said. “Events like that are so boring.”
“Not this time.” She tied her robe and sat on the bed. “Kenneth is engaged.”
Brooke glanced up. “To whom?”
“Jessie Clifton. Can you believe it? It was a complete shock to everyone.”
Brooke’s eyes turned shrewd. “To you especially.”
“I misjudged her. She seems to care for him.”
Brooke wiggled her toenails. “Or his money. One can never know.”
“She doesn’t seem the type,” Stephanie said. “I spoke to her for awhile. She’s very insightful and the dress she wore was amazing.”
“You liked her?” Brooke asked in an odd tone.
“Yes.” Stephanie opened a bottle of lotion and lathered her legs. “Oh, by the way, she was wearing a bracelet just like the one I lost. Brooke, you’re about to spill your nail polish.”
She righted the bottle. “Jessie was wearing the bracelet?”
“I doubt it was the exact one. She said Syrah gave it to her.”
“Then it must be the one.” Brooke tightened the top of the bottle. “Syrah must have picked it up when you lost it.”
“Are you accusing her of theft?”
“She’s just a kid who saw a pretty bracelet. I don’t blame her for taking it.”
“But she’s Kenneth’s niece. Prestons always do the right thing. She would have taken it to the Lost and Found.”
Brooke wasn’t listening. If Syrah was anything like her father, she had fast fingers and a ruthless mind to match. “I want you to get it back.”
“How? I can’t just go up to Jessie and say it’s mine and I want it back now.”
“Sure you can. If Jessie is as likable as you claim, it should be no problem. It was lost— not abandoned—so it is ours. Please, Stephanie.” She dimpled prettily. “For me?”
* * *
An uneasiness woke Jessie from her peaceful slumber. She sat up in bed, certain the feeling was part of her dream until she felt a desperate need to check on Kenneth. She raced down the hall to his room, imagining him writhing in pain as his pills wore off, desperately looking in his medicine cabinet in search of relief. She flung the door open and stopped. He lay asleep. She walked to his bed.
His blankets lay in a violent disarray at the foot of the bed. She stared at him for a few moments his bandage standing out like a wound of war. Though he didn’t toss and turn his rigid body made clear that his thoughts were anything but peaceful.
She gently shook him. “Kenneth.” When he didn’t move, she kneeled on the bed and whispered in his ear. “It’s just a dream.”
His jaw tightened more.
She shook his harder. “Wake up.”
His eyes fluttered open, bright with pain and worry. He fumbled for her hand and seized it, his voice urgent. “You’re all right?”
“Yes.”
He relaxed. “Good.” He closed his eyes again and buried his face in the pillow, sighing
like a contented child. She pulled the blankets up and stroked his cheek. He was probably still dreaming about the fight and the pain pills weren’t working. Fortunately, she knew an alternative.
* * *
Trying to force him to stay home the next day; however, made Jessie want to hurt Kenneth rather than heal him. When she finally persuaded him that Radson wouldn’t topple in his absence, she made him tea, sweetening it with a sleeping pill. She then called Teresa.
“I need to borrow one of your potions,” she said.
Teresa’s voice hardened. “Witches make potions. I create medicinal drinks and ointments.”
Jessie rolled her eyes. Like it matters. “I need your service.”
“I’ll be right over.”
An hour later, the two sisters entered Kenneth’s room as if they were entering the cave of a sleeping beast. Even in sleep he looked formidable—though he didn’t face them.
“He’s exhausted,” Jessie whispered. “Plus, I slipped him a sleeping pill. I don’t think he’ll wake up.”
Teresa still made a wide arch around the bed. Her eyes were fixed on his back, watching for any sudden movements. If he suddenly woke, he may not be pleased to see her. Her hand clutched her large bag.
“Well?” Jessie asked.
“Let’s get to work.” Teresa dug inside her bag and pulled out a rectangular wooden box. “I brought your stones in case you wanted to use them.”
“Thanks,” Jessie said, knowing she had no intention of using them.
Teresa opened the window and closed the curtains. She placed candles of various sizes about the room and lit them.
Jessie watched her replace one candle with another, growing impatient. “Is all this necessary?”
“Positioning is important.”
“But—”
“Do you want him to heal or not?”
Jessie had to admit the cool scent of a dew filled morning, which permeated the air with the aroma of candles, made her feel calm. Or perhaps it was her sister who moved around so quietly, yet with such purpose that dispelled her worries. It reminded her of how Teresa had taken care of their parents. Unfortunately, the pneumonia still took them away.
Teresa checked to make sure that everything was set. Then she went to Kenneth and pulled down the bedclothes. She recoiled in horror at the sight of the bruises and scars. His body looked as though some hideous monster were trying to take form.
Jessie grimaced. “They look bad, don’t they?”
Teresa swept one hand over his back without touching him. “They’re horrible. He must have suffered terribly.” She clasped her hands together as if in prayer, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m not sure the cream will be enough to heal these.”
Jessie sighed disappointed. “I know. Those thugs were enormous.”
Teresa stared at her in surprise. “These aren’t from them.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look at his back and his arms.” She pulled the bedclothes down to his feet. “Jesus, even his legs.”
Jessie leaned closer. A series of long, raised scars caught her attention. She pointed to one. “I wonder what could have made that.”
“A belt, a rod, a whip.” She toyed with her bracelets. “And this looks like a burn mark.”
Her gut clenched. She met Teresa’s eyes. “You don’t think...?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice fell. “But he suffered, Jessie. He suffered. I can feel it.”
“He told me he bruised easily.”
“That’s possible.”
But neither believed that. The sinister marks told their own story.
Teresa took his wrist and felt his pulse. “The mask he wears takes up so much energy. It will take a while for him to heal.” She closed her eyes. “He’s sad.” She suddenly dropped his hands and stepped back.
“What? Did you sense something?”
She continued to stare at him.
“You saw something, right?” Jessie watched as Kenneth’s hands balled into fists. “Do something, he’s hurting.”
Teresa opened a bottle of oil and handed it to her. “Rub this on him.”
“Why me?”
“Just do it,” she snapped.
Jessie began to lather the oil on his back and immediately felt him relax. She sighed relieved. “It’s working.”
Teresa shook her head and said in a quiet voice, “It’s not the oil. It’s you.”
* * *
Outside Syrah kicked around a soccer ball in the front yard while Teresa and Jessie took care of Kenneth. Her heart began to pound when she saw a gray Mercedes come up the drive. She watched a woman step out, dressed in khakis and a white blouse. She recognized her from the office. She walked up to her before the woman could come any closer to the house.
“Hi,” Syrah said suspicious.
The woman smiled. The expression was guarded, but sincere. “Hi, my name is Stephanie Radson. Is Jessie around?”
“No.”
She hesitated. “I see. Perhaps you could help me. I believe you found my bracelet at the office and I would like it back.”
Syrah clenched her teeth. Ever since she’d seen the ad in the paper she’d been worried. If only the woman had advertised sooner the reward would have been so sweet. But it was too late now. She couldn’t have it. If Aunt Jessie found out she would know for sure that it had been stolen. Then she might tell Uncle.
Syrah pulled her face into a worried frown and wrung her hands. “Do you really need it back? I gave it to Aunt Jessie because she was sad about...about her father. He made jewelry you know.” Her voice grew soft. “I said I bought it for her. It would make me look bad if you told her I found it.” She lowered her eyes. “I don’t have much money but—”
Stephanie waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, forget it. I can buy another one.” She pointed at her, trying to sound stern. “But next time it’s better not to claim something that isn’t yours.”
Syrah fought a grin, keeping her gaze lowered. “I will.”
* * *
Stephanie returned from her errand with mixed feelings. She slammed her car door and walked up to her house, her heels pounding against the concrete drive. She was a softie and she knew it. When Syrah had looked up at her with those large, round, worried eyes, she knew she wouldn’t tell on her. Unfortunately, explaining that to Brooke would be a problem.
Brooke met Stephanie in the foyer, her hand griping the stair post. “Where’s the bracelet?” she asked.
Stephanie hung up her jacket. “I’ll get you another one.”
Brooke’s knuckles paled as she tightened her hold. “But you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s one of a kind you—” She moved her hand with impatience. “I’ll get it myself.”
Stephanie shut the closet and turned to her. “You can’t. I said Syrah could have it. She was so proud to give it to Jessie as a gift.”
Her voice fell flat. “Was she?”
“I’ll buy you another bracelet. Two if you want.”
Brooke forced a smile to ease her sister’s anxiety. She touched her cheek. “Fine. You did your best.”
Stephanie relaxed and headed for the stairs. “We can go shopping tomorrow. Donovan’s Antiques if you wish. It will be fun.”
“Yes.” Brook waited until Stephanie was gone then picked up the phone. Just as she thought, the kid was a shark like her father. She would have to handle things a different way. “I’ve found the bracelet,” she said once someone picked up. “And I want you to get it back. You’ll be going to the annual Preston barbecue.”
* * *
Syrah lay on her bed thinking about Stephanie’s surprise visit two days ago. She sat up when Jessie came into her room and handed her a large rectangular box.
She frowned at it. “What’s this for?”
Jessie folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “Michelle and I thought you’d like it.”
Syrah swallowed, wondering if
they would still like her if they knew what she had done.
“Go on. Open it.”
She opened the box. “Pajamas!” She raced into her closet to try it on. She quickly dressed and came out to show Jessie, but Jessie had a strange look on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“What happened to your back?”
She felt her gut clench. “That boy hit me pretty hard.”
“Oh, I see,” Jessie said quickly, trying to dispel the panic in Syrah’s eyes. But Jessie had been in a lot of fights when she was a kid and had never ended up with marks like those. Jessie had seen Syrah’s reflection in the mirror and the marks stamped on the girl’s back. They looked eerily similar to the ones Kenneth had. Syrah was lying to protect someone. Who would she try to protect? Jessie felt sick as a horrible possibility froze in her mind of who that person was: her uncle.
Was that what Kenneth had meant when he’d said Syrah wasn’t safe with him? Had the tiger she suspected that lurked beneath his cool exterior lashed out in the privacy of his home? Had what had happened to him in the past effected his present actions? She knew abusers could be consummate actors and Kenneth was one of the best. Why else would he want to send Syrah back to an alcoholic father instead of keeping her? He knew he was a danger to her and these bruises were proof.
* * *
“Jessie, will you please calm down?” Michelle said.
She continued to pace the office and bite her nails. How could she be calm with such thoughts on her heart?
“You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“I’m not. I saw them with my own eyes. Kenneth has the same bruises too. Ask Teresa about them. She even had a vision.”
Teresa quietly organized a bouquet of sunflowers.
“Well, Teresa,” Michelle said. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
Jessie stopped pacing. “But you saw a vision. I know you did.”
“What did you see?” Michelle asked.
Teresa threw up her hands exasperated. “What does it matter? You’ve never believed my visions before. Why would you care now?”
Michelle and Jessie shared a look and sighed. Jessie finally said, “Okay, we’re sorry.”
“We might not understand them,” Michelle added. “But we respect your gifts. Please tell us what you saw.”
