Enchanted Bookstore Legends (5-book complete epic fantasy romance box set)

by Marsha A. Moore

  She smiled. “Thanks. I’ll try to rest and get some writing done to keep my mind occupied. Later, I might need you to stay. Let me see how I feel being alone.”

  “Just ask. You’re right. Writing may take your mind off of troubles. But, if not, don’t force yourself. You have time.” He stood, walked to her, and kissed her forehead.“Come along, you two,” he said to the dragons and bent to pick up a couple towels they used for wrapping.

  She went downstairs to see them out. Cullen loaded first Noba and then Yasqu into his car. She watched them drive away and turned around to the feel the press of total silence.

  Padding over to the master bedroom, all the monitors were gone. She’d grown accustomed to their whirring, clicking, popping rhythms. They’d even taken the hated hospital bed. As much as she despised that bed, she now longed to have it back, with the smell of Aunt Jean’s favorite bath soap lingering on its sheets, its presence bringing to mind chats over cups of tea and story time for the dragons. A huge empty spot claimed the room and her heart.

  Chapter Thirty-One: A Smile on a Dark Day

  Lyra sat in the master bedroom, staring at Aunt Jean’s favorite things. The happy group picture on the dresser of Jean and Sam sailing with Lyra’s father, Jean’s brother. Uncle Sam took them sailing every summer. The kindergarten painting she made for Aunt Jean that now hung under glass on the wall, her childhood vision of their cottage with the lake behind. How proudly she had presented to her aunt. An ivory hand mirror, Sam’s wedding present to his bride. An afghan Jean made hung over the back of a chair, matching one in Lyra’s home in Tampa.

  The banging of the garbage truck outside broke her concentration. The clock read two. She’d sat there for three hours since Cullen left. She couldn’t bring back time; she needed to move forward. Upstairs, she forced herself to shower and dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt. She dragged a comb through her wet hair, didn’t bother to dry it, and pulled the wet strands into a ponytail.

  She sat at her computer, opened her email account, and directly closed it back down, unable to interact with the outside world. She selected the unfinished chapter of her writing project and attempted to continue it. After rereading the chapter, it seemed strange. Jean’s death shocked her into harsh reality. The fantasy now seemed unbelievable, distant. Maybe with some food…

  She wandered down to the kitchen. The quiet in the house unnerved her. In the refrigerator, she found plastic containers filled with foods Cullen had prepared. So thoughtful. If only she were hungry. Her stomach growled, but nothing tempted her. She stood at the counter and forced a few bites of cold macaroni and cheese. That passed the taste test. She ate more, washing it down with a glass of milk.

  While she chewed, she examined a stack of papers on the counter where Nancy always left directions. A handwritten note told the name, address, and phone number of the funeral home they’d taken Aunt Jean to. A man by the name of Todd would call. She hoped he’d help organize her life. She didn’t know where to begin with everything, from arranging the service to probating Jean’s will and handling the house. And all the belongings to sift through. When her parents died, Jean took care of a lot since Lyra couldn’t get enough time off from teaching her literature classes. Overwhelmed, she left it for another time.

  Back upstairs, she sat at her laptop and stared at the word processor page. Nothing came to her. Not writer’s block. She never suffered from that, always having more ideas than time to write. Trauma simply prevented her from moving forward. She pulled a notepad from the desk drawer and moved to the bed, trying to scribble a storyboard to use as a guide. She strung three concepts together and suddenly, her stomach cramped severely, and she broke out in a cold sweat. In the bathroom, she reached the toilet in time, and hurled her meal. She gripped the edge of the bowl, bracing herself to stand. After rinsing with mouthwash, she crashed on the bed. Luckily, sleep relieved her torture.

  ***

  The phone woke her. She moved a hand toward the sound, Cullen’s ring, and her eyes slowly opened to meet twilight. It was nine according her clock. How had she slept all day?

  She flipped the phone open and answered with a raspy voice.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Uh-huh. Stomach isn’t doing so good.” She rolled onto her back and rubbed away sleep stuck in her eyes.

  “Probably did you some good to rest. Be sure and try to eat.” The dragons teased each other in the background. It surprised her that all life hadn’t stopped, even though hers felt suspended.

  “I did earlier, but it didn’t stay down. I’ll try again. At least my head feels better now.”

  “Good. Well, I just wanted to see how you were doing. I’ll check again midday tomorrow. If you need me during the night, just call.”

  They said goodnight and she headed to the kitchen, this time with a little appetite. She grazed on whatever appealed: a chicken leg, a spoonful of coleslaw, a blueberry muffin, an apple. She couldn’t bring herself to sit at the table and eat; that was strictly reserved for family meals. She had no family now.

  With a bit of energy, she made herself grind out a paragraph on her book, hoping it would pique her interest. The sentence seemed hollow, and she couldn’t grasp how to begin a new scene. Instead, she drifted in cyberspace, entertaining herself with whatever caught her eye on one site and then another. She didn’t stop until dawn. Time wasted when she needed to be writing. Tired, she crawled back into her unmade bed.

  ***

  Again, a phone call woke her, but this time with an unfamiliar ring that turned out to be Todd, from the funeral home.

  “I’d like to meet with you today. Can you come to our address or would you like me to stop by there? It’d be better if you came here to see our facilities. So you can make some decisions about services.” The man’s voice sounded too perky, as though he’d long ago accepted death as a routine occurrence.

  She didn’t want to go anywhere, but reluctantly agreed. “I can go there. When?”

  “How about noon?”

  She agreed and hung up, then realized that was only an hour from now. She’d barely had four hours sleep. Groggy, she headed for the shower.

  She raced through getting dressed, skipped make-up, and grabbed a muffin on the way out. As she opened the car door, Cullen rang. In a hurry, she agreed to call him back later. She tossed the phone into her purse and pulled into the parking lot of the mortuary.

  As expected, Todd was mid-forties and had been a mortician for half his life. Death must have seemed commonplace to him. Thankfully, he did provide a lot of assistance, to organize the service, obituary, and burial, as well as setting up appointments for her with a realtor and Jean’s attorney. After giving her pages of information, he showed her to the door with a forced smile.

  She headed home, head thumping from lack of sleep. How would she ever finish her quest and write that book?

  When she turned down Walnut Street, Mrs. Kendall waved. Lyra lowered her window and pulled the car to the curb. “I’m so sorry, Lyra,” her neighbor said. “I heard about Jean passing. I was just coming to pay you a visit and bring you some food. Do you feel like having company for a bit?”

  “Yes. Come on over.”

  Moments later, Lyra parked and walked down the driveway. She took a deep breath and prepared mentally to put on a mask to contain her grief and exhaustion. She just wanted to sleep and escape all of this.

  “I brought you some salad this time.” Mrs. Kendall offered the dish. “Light things seem better for the body when stressed.”

  Lyra accepted and motioned toward the house. “I learned that the hard way.”

  “Oh dear. Grief is hard. Lord, I do know. All of my family’s gone. I’m the only one left.” Mrs. Kendall held the door to the house open for her. “Been to at least ten funerals in the past three or four years. It’s never easy.”

  Lyra led her into the kitchen. “Have a seat while I put this in the fridge. I thought I’d be okay since I kind of knew what to expect after
my parents died, but I guess not.”

  “No, I won’t stay long and be a bother. It’s too soon, child. This compounds your loss…it’s a wonder you’re as together as you are.”

  “I only look together.” Lyra sighed.

  “You’d be wise to get back into a routine with your job as soon as possible. Keep your mind busy and time will heal your heart.”

  Lyra nodded. “I think that would help. The viewing will be tomorrow at six in the evening and the funeral, Saturday at eleven, both at the Greenhaven Home, if you want to attend.”

  “I’ll be sure and come. Could you write those down for me, please?”

  “Thanks. It means a lot to me that you’ll be there.” She scribbled a note and handed it to the elderly lady.

  “What do you plan to do with Jean’s house? It’s a nice place. Will you keep it?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know. Jean sent me a copy of her will. Her house is left to me. I think I’ll sell it—memories are already haunting me. Can’t imagine staying with them chasing me.”

  “After a while they come to be comforting reminders of happy moments. But, your job’s so far away, I wouldn’t blame you.” Mrs. Kendall patted Lyra’s arm. “Well, I’ll be going, to let you alone. See you tomorrow evening.”

  “Thanks for everything.” She hugged her kind neighbor and showed her to the door.

  No sooner had she closed the door than the newspaper called, wanting confirmation on details for the obituary. After the call, she headed upstairs for a nap, this time setting an alarm for seven. She needed to get back up and try to write.

  ***

  The alarm woke Lyra, and immediately she remembered she’d forgotten to call Cullen. She snatched the phone and dialed.

  “It’s about time you called. I thought you’d forgotten me,” he quipped, teasing, but his tone sounded concerned.

  “I’m spun around and terribly tired. So many people to talk with and things to do, when my mind’s barely operating.” She poured out a confusion of details.

  “I know. Take it slow.”

  “I can’t write. I keep trying, but can’t hold enough details in mind at one time. My focus is shot.”

  “It’ll come.”

  “I hope so. It’s really important.”

  “True, but don’t force it. It’ll happen fast when you’re able. When’s the funeral?”

  “Viewing is tomorrow at six and funeral’s the next day at eleven.”

  “I’ll be with you. I expect she’s well known here since everyone’s so close; there will be a turn-out.”

  “I need your arm around me.”

  “And I need to hold you. You’re having a hard time. You can’t do this alone. I didn’t know if you’d want time by yourself or could use my help today. I’m going to take the dragons to Cranewort and come stay with you for a while.”

  “Please come. I need you.”

  “Be there soon.”

  Lyra crawled out from the covers and cleaned up a bit, dragging a brush through the lumps in her hair. She made the bed and picked up clothing, papers, and stray mugs from her room, collected during the past day and a half. Doing simple routine chores calmed her nerves. She wouldn’t have bothered if Cullen wasn’t coming over. Having someone in her life who cared gave her a little initiative to carry on, even if her motivation was only to make the bed. Normally a small step, but not today.

  The doorbell rang, and a moment later, Cullen called out, “Hello! I’m here.”

  She hurried out of her room and greeted him at the top of the stairs with a smile.

  He dropped his pack and walked closer. “Ahh. A smile. I know I’m special to get one of those on such a dark day.”

  At the lower landing, she set the empty mugs on a nearby table and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. No words came, but he read her mind; she relaxed knowing none were necessary.

  He pulled her tight to him. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this together.” Several minutes passed while they held as one. He loosened his grip and looked at her face. “I don’t see any tears.” He managed a slight grin. “A little better. One day at a time. Have you had dinner?”

  “No, but Mrs. Kendall, the neighbor on the corner, brought some nice salad. I think I’ll have that and some toast. Do you want anything?” She walked to the kitchen.

  “No, I’ve eaten. I’ll get some tea though.”

  After dinner, they watched television. Images flashed on the screen, but didn’t register with Lyra. Instead, she focused on the warmth of being next to Cullen. That was all she wanted. Nothing could feel more comforting than his arms around her. He stroked her arm and tingles trailed along her skin after his fingers.

  When the show ended he announced, “Time for bed?”

  “I thought I’d try to write for a while. I want to get that finished.”

  He shook his head. “You need some good sleep and a regular schedule. Then, your writing will come easier.” He stood and pulled her arms gently. “Come on. I’m staying tonight and tomorrow night to help you.”

  She hadn’t expected he’d spend the night. Having someone care caught her pleasantly off guard.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Pink Roses and White Daisies

  Cullen lay beside her, spooned against her back, with his arm around her waist. She nestled against him. He read her thoughts, but the tangle of emotions left him without a clear interpretation. Anger, guilt, fear, insecurity. She’d been through too much. Silently, he listened and monitored for several minutes more. Finally, from the chaos a dominant emotion—security and images of himself. Within moments, her breathing slowed and the energy within her mind quieted. She slept peacefully.

  He sighed, heartened to know he brought her real comfort. Nothing he’d achieved as a grand wizard of the Imperial Council compared to this satisfaction. He ceased reading her and relaxed, simply enjoying the curve of her waist against his arm. Delicate, but toned. He loved her shape. He inhaled the flowery smell of her hair next to his face. She moved slightly and her leg brushed his with the heavenly touch of her soft skin. Cocooned behind her, sleep came quickly.

  ***

  Cullen woke with the sun shining through the bay windows. The lake water glinted with the angled light.

  Lyra had barely moved during the night.

  He woke often to observe her thoughts and found no dreams disturbing her.

  A ray of sunshine caught the waves of her hair, causing it to shimmer like spun gold. He stroked the strands and kissed her ear.

  She stirred and turned onto her back, her eyes fluttering open. “Morning.” She snuggled her head under his chin.

  “Good morning. You slept well?”

  “I did. It was nice to have you beside me.”

  “That’s why I came.” He curled his arms and legs around her.

  “I just remembered. I have calls to make to tell a few distant cousins on my mother’s side who vacationed here on the island a few times. Doubt they’ll come to the funeral, but…and I need to go to the florist’s this morning, meeting the funeral home director there.” She looked at him for a moment and studied his face. “Will you come with me?”

  “Certainly. Let’s get up and moving then.”

  The mortician met them at the florist, and led them to the work area. As Lyra made introductions, Cullen initiated a bow, then caught himself and extended a hand in greeting.

  “They’ve already done a nice job using the pink and white you specified to fill orders that have come from your aunt’s friends,” Todd said as he waved a hand to draw attention to dozens of arrangements. “We just need your decisions on the main vases and casket spray.”

  A pudgy female florist cleaned her hands on her apron. “Let me show you what we have in our cooling cases.” She led them around a long work table and pointed out specific flowers.

  Lyra looked to Cullen. He shrugged. “I’m here to give you support, not select flowers.”

  She gave a weak smile. “That’s more than enough.” She peered
through the glass at their assortment of roses. “Those pink ones. They’re the most like Mrs. Kendall’s which Jean loved. And these white daisies like she had in her own flower beds, lots of those.”

  Todd made plans to get everything correctly placed before the viewing.

  On the way home, Cullen held her hand as he drove. “Very nice of you to choose flowers Jean loved.”

  She grinned and blinked back tears. “Many things with the service didn’t matter at all, but she and I always liked to work in her flower garden together every summer.”

  A film of moisture covered his own eyes. Such a warm heart as hers shouldn’t be tortured with so much grief.

  ***

  Throughout the afternoon, Lyra looked for the phone numbers of distant cousins. Her cell phone rang constantly when she wasn’t already using it.

  Jean had lived here year round and locals were close, as Cullen knew, always trying to get him involved in village affairs. Generous, kind folk, they brought many covered dishes to the house. He manned the door and cordially thanked each guest. In a few short hours they’d amassed an abundance of food, enough to keep a large family for a week. At least he spared Lyra from getting overwhelmed by the outpouring of well-wishers.

  Time passed quickly with all this commotion. He served her a bowl of an especially delectable-looking dish which just arrived, and reminded her it was time to prepare for the viewing. She emerged from the bedroom in a light blue, flowered dress, not really correct funeral attire. “I didn’t have anything somber. It’s summer, and I packed for a vacation island.”

  “Hmm. Allow me.” He lowered his ring toward her. “Infusco!” The dress darkened to a black background with tiny flowers.

  She ran her hands over the fabric of the skirt. “That’s better. Thanks.”

  Cullen made certain they arrived early to the funeral home. Stress from rushing wouldn’t help Lyra.