The Book of Eleanor

by Nat Burns

  Grey

  A quick glance at the green glowing face on my alarm clock told me it was three in the morning. I lay very still, trying to discern what sound had awakened me. There it was again, a low growl. I rose slowly and peered along the hall that led into the living room. In the dim light coming from the condominium streetlights, I saw Oscar Marie crouched low, her ears back, facing the doorway that led into the Bookmark.

  I started to call to her, then experienced a sudden, clutching fear. Suppose someone had succeeded in breaking in again? I had reset the alarm system with another new code, but suppose it had been circumvented somehow?

  I picked up a flannel shirt from next to the bed and shrugged into it while I unplugged my cell phone so I could carry it with me. I stepped carefully across the bedroom and into the carpeted hallway. I would not call the Port Isabel Police Department again until I knew something definite. I’d felt so foolish yesterday when they’d found no evidence of a break-in. I could tell by their actions that they thought me a loopy, hysterical female, overreacting and not even remembering what I had done or not done.

  Yet I knew without a doubt that I had not stacked the books that way. They had been neatly placed in vertical alignment. The policeman who responded first had caused me to briefly doubt myself, but after he and the second officer left, I retraced my steps in my mind and knew what I had done. But no door locks had been breached, and the windows were all still securely locked from the inside.

  Approaching the kitchen, I silently slid a butcher knife from the knife block and approached the door into the front room. Oscar Marie meowed her concern to me, but I ignored her and quietly turned the knob with my left hand, taking care that my cell phone didn’t knock against it.

  The door squealed when it opened, so I reached in right away and flipped on all three toggles for the house lights. Sudden, blinding brightness from the ceiling lights made me squint my eyes into tight slits, but I still searched the room for an intruder.

  I saw no one. Oscar Marie raced past me and paused just past the first coffee counter to arch her back and hiss. Her fur had bristled up all over her body. My first thought was that one of Maddy’s dogs had somehow found its way back here, and then I thought of a raccoon, or a rat. There simply had to be something there.

  I renewed my grip on the knife handle and leaned across the coffee bar to see if there was anything behind it. There wasn’t anyone or anything large back there, but my view was limited by my angle. I slowly moved forward, prepared to dart away if I saw anything threatening. Nothing. As I stood there, perplexed, glancing at Oscar Marie, a blanket of coldness washed over me, a coldness like I’d never felt before. It wasn’t like weather, like a draft, but rather something that clung to my skin like rubber and instantly chilled me to the core.

  I gasped at the sudden onslaught. The knife tumbled from my abruptly numb fingers. Immediately, the coldness disappeared and I took a deep, shuddering breath.

  “Mary,” I whispered, seeing an image of her in my mind. Clearing my throat, I spoke louder. “Mary, is that you?”

  My Swedish mother had always sworn her belief in ghosts, in the restless spirits that walk our realm, but until that moment I had never experienced anything that even smacked of the supernatural. I doubted the experience, but knew there would be no cold breeze naturally. The South Texas nights were balmy.

  I let my gaze roam the room. Had Mary left me some sort of sign? What did the stacks of books mean? Was she trying to get them back? Enjoy them from the other side just as she had while alive?

  Seeing nothing, I hung my head in frustration. “Mary,” I whispered once more, sadness rebounding within me.

  After some time, I turned helplessly to return to my apartment. Lifting my gaze again, I noticed a book spread open on the bookshelf behind the coffee bar. I hurried over to see if there was some possible message from Mary.

  Goddess Annalise

  The gift of you

  Clenches

  Draws the soul of me into you.

  Light dawns in your smile and night

  With you makes each day fresh;

  lust chases itself

  As need for you simmers

  And cooks me into

  A new stew

  Eat of me and

  we grow as one

  I studied the poem until my brow grew tired from being curved into a bow. It made no sense. I understood the passion of it, but the name Annalise meant absolutely nothing to me.

  I closed the book and had a moment of déjà vu. This was the same book that had been moved my first day at the Bookmark. Titled Abandoned, it was by an author, a poet, named Eleanor Copeland. I thumbed through the small hardbound volume, trying to jog my memory.

  I’d never heard of this author nor recognized any of her work. I was not surprised. The copyright date was 1952, way before my time. Why would Mary choose to talk to me with this volume out of the many thousands here? Why not a poet we both enjoyed, like Emily Dickinson or Elizabeth Browning?

  Oscar Marie purred below me and rubbed my bare legs with her silky fur. She seemed to have returned to normal, no longer afraid.

  “I don’t know, baby girl.” I sighed. I looked around the room again, suddenly feeling very alone. Obviously, my Mary had gone somewhere else.

  “Back to bed for us.” I noted the page the poem was on, closed the book, and replaced it on the shelf. I shepherded Oscar Marie back into the apartment and switched off the Bookmark lights. It was a long time before I fell back asleep.

  Mary’s haunting seemed like a strange, meandering dream the next morning as I dressed and made my way into Brownsville to run errands. I tried to push the night’s strangeness from my mind while I focused on furniture needs and coffeemakers.

  Brownsville, the southernmost city in the state of Texas, is only about twenty miles from the Gulf waters. Big and sprawling, it has a definite easygoing, Hispanic influence, even though it offers a large, busy, international port. According to the brochure I cribbed off the counter at one of the furniture stores I visited, the city was actually carved from Matamoros, a city in the Mexican state of Tamaulipas. All I noted while driving around the business district was that even the modernized area had a prominent sense of history about it.

  Leaving the city proper, I saw an access road, and following signs, decided to explore the Old Port Road. I traveled along Highway 48 which took me through the port and industrial areas. Both sides of the road were dominated by huge, nondescript warehouses.

  My curiosity made me want to stop, but the heavy security, highly evident, put me off. This was no place for the casual passer-by. I saw several restaurants that catered to the large industrial workforce as well as a few small convenience stores. When the long road ended, I found to my delight that I’d made a big circle and was back on Highway 100, the road that led past my home and over to the island.

  I turned right. Going past the Bookmark and other businesses at Lighthouse Square, I drove across the two-mile long Queen Isabella Causeway.

  The drive across the long, regally sloping bridge had to be one of the most beautiful sights known to man. Choppy bay and ocean water, bearing the characteristic dusky, clay-based blue of South Texas waterways, beckoned on both sides while brightly colored banners on the bridge and the accompanying long fishing piers lent a festive air to the journey. I’d heard how crowded the island became during spring break, but right now, during the month before, traffic was sparse and I was across and onto the island quickly.

  Gaining South Padre Island’s now familiar main street, I turned left and proceeded down the center of the island. Turning onto the road that fronted the powerful Gulf of Mexico, within minutes I was at a wide beach access behind a small thatched hotel called The Surfer’s Stay.

  The hotel was only three stories, much smaller than the towering hotels on either side. It had a warm, welcoming air. I was greeted with friendly catcalls from a table full of rowdy partiers at the open-air bar on the water. I smiled and w
aved to them, and made my way down the sand dunes until I stood next to the battering waves.

  I stood a good while, allowing the harsh ocean wind to push against me. I took a deep breath and allowed my mind to dwell on the events of the night before.

  I felt cheated and angry. I couldn’t even believe that my Mary would do this to me, torture me with her love, so close but so inevitably far away. I had begun to feel hopeful that healing had a chance, even though I knew I was far from healed, but I would never forget the pain of my loss while Mary continued to haunt me.

  Emptying my mind, I headed north, my sandals dangling from my fingers. I listened as gulls appeared to shout snap counts to one another before arranging into an offensive line.

  The water today was a muted blue, different from the bright blue of the day before. It was amazing how the ocean could change its face and demeanor from day to day, sometimes hour to hour. I stood at the water’s edge, my eyes following the slow progress of two shrimpers far out on the horizon. I moved on, closing my eyes and savoring the wind on my face.

  I suddenly felt a presence next to me and paused. Alarmed, I opened my eyes to see the scowling countenance of a young Hispanic youth. His dark eyes bored into me. He stood less than a foot away. I could smell his strong, earthy scent, even in the pounding wind.

  He made strange gestures with his hands, and then grasped me by the shoulders, trying to push me down to the sand. I gasped in fear which rapidly changed to outrage. I knocked his hands away, but with a grim expression, he grabbed me yet again. He made odd grunting noises and simply would not let go. I pushed at him again and we grappled. Realizing he was stronger and would soon overpower me, I swept his legs out from under him, a technique I had learned in self-defense courses.

  “What the hell are you doing? If you’ve hurt him, I’ll have your butt in jail so fast...”

  I turned and saw an athletic blonde shouting and racing angrily toward me. I recoiled and lifted my hands to my face. It was the same woman who had dumped pizza on me at The Fat Mother restaurant. What would she do to me now?

  Angie

  It was a perfect day for a beach outing, even if only for the hour we stole from the end of the school day.

  The sky was a pure pale blue with just enough cloud to make it interesting, and the sun was a golden glow on its descent toward evening. I guided the Jeep into a parking space at Billy’s beach access and quieted everyone for a quick pep talk about safety and staying together as a group. Tommy had gotten hyper on the trip over, as he always did when riding in the open-air Jeep, and I had to give him a few stern looks to calm him during my warning speech, but I think everyone got the importance of staying safe. Besides, they knew the drill from previous trips. My overprotectiveness was just that—overprotectiveness.

  It was only the mobile kids with me today anyway. The wheelchair kids would be riding out with Father Sephria when he came in the van to pick these kids up for their ride home.

  I had actually been hoping for some beach time all week. I think we all needed a little R and R right about now.

  “Miss Angie?” Maria had fallen in step with me while the others ran ahead to chase the retreating waves.

  I rested my hand on one of her slim shoulders. “Um-hmm?”

  “The school is closing, isn’t it?”

  Her voice was so quavery and light that I almost couldn’t discern the words. “Let’s not go there just yet, Maria.”

  “I’m...”

  I paused and turned her so that she faced me. “What, hon? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Her long, dark hair hung in her face to hide the scar that marred her right cheek. My hands itched to pull back the thick hair so I could see both her eyes, but I knew that would make her uncomfortable. I took a chance, though, and laid a hand on the bare skin of her arm. My body jolted uncontrollably when I felt the cold steel of a knife against my throat. I jerked the hand away, but I had also felt her question and knew her fear.

  “We’ll figure something out, Maria. You won’t have to go to regular school. I promise I won’t let that happen.” I made her see me, see my truth. “Don’t be afraid. Trust me on this.”

  She nodded, and I saw a smile curve her lips. “Better watch out.”

  I turned just as a shirttail full of sand landed on my sandaled feet. Tommy had talked Sally into holding out the hem of her T-shirt so he could load it with sand. They were huddling back and giggling uncontrollably.

  “Tommy, I know you were the mastermind of this one,” I said as I lifted each foot and tried to shake the sand off.

  “Mastermind,” he muttered behind the hands pressed to his mouth, ineffectively holding the hilarity in.

  I turned my head around and glared at Sally. “Do you even know what your mother is going to do to me when she sees that shirt?”

  Sally looked down as if just now realizing how peppered with sand her shirt was. She looked up and I saw a storm of tears brewing.

  “Oh, no, honey. Don’t cry! Look, we can brush it off…”

  Her chubby little hands started scrubbing at the shirt. I leaned to help.

  “Oh, no,” Tommy called. “Someone’s hurting him!”

  I whirled to see that Emilio was under attack. “Watch them,” I told Maria as I rushed to rescue Emilio.

  “What the hell are you doing? If you’ve hurt him, I’ll have your butt in jail so fast...”

  I took a double take. It was her! My future wife. I had been wondering when I would see her again. But she had thrown Emilio to the ground and was standing over him, her chest heaving. What in the world?

  I took a minute to study her. Dressed in walking shorts and a sleeveless tank top, delicate leather sandals trailing from one of her hands, she was still gorgeous. She looked tired, with dark smudges under her eyes, and had an absentminded air about her.

  I approached slowly and leaned over to pull Emilio up off the sand.

  Grey

  I stopped in my tracks and studied the delivery girl. She was different today, less severe, her unruly hair in a loosely fastened ponytail. She wore baggy khaki shorts and a crew neck shirt in navy blue. The color enhanced the depth of hue in her blue eyes. I found myself admiring the strong lines of her face.

  She approached and helped the boy to his feet, then looped an arm protectively about his shoulders. She eyed me angrily. “Why are you beating up on Emilio?”

  My jaw dropped. “What? He attacked me! For no good reason.”

  The blonde cocked her hip and folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, I am so sure. He doesn’t know you from Adam.”

  Her sarcastic tone hit a nerve. “And I don’t know him. If this is your son, and you’re going to let him wander the beach alone, maybe you should teach him how to behave.”

  The blue eyes widened in surprise, then clouded so I knew my remark had hit home. Emilio, who had been following the conversation by peering intently at each of us in turn, started gesticulating wildly. I backed away. The fair woman watched him intently before she gestured in return. I realized suddenly that they were speaking in sign language. I sighed in dismay. Obviously, the youth had been trying to tell me something.

  The woman shook her head and smiled. She gestured once more to Emilio then came toward me.

  “Come with me,” she said, her gaze meeting mine.

  A strange thing happened. As I gazed into her eyes, I felt something push my curiosity about what she was going to say clean away. I had an absurd urge to touch her, and had to clasp both hands together so I wouldn’t. I looked away, afraid of the intensity of the feelings welling in me. Ridiculous.

  She turned and walked a few feet. “This is what he was warning you about.”

  I followed her pointing finger and saw a long swath of jellyfish in a vertical arch that traversed my path. I would have stepped on them, especially with my eyes closed.

  I glanced back at the boy. He stood, his fingers nervously flipping the hem of his shirt. I felt awful. I lifted my eyes to the wo
man’s and knew she realized I’d meant him no harm. I still felt compelled to explain to her. I didn’t. Instead, I moved toward the boy.

  “Emilio. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to misunderstand.” I positioned myself so he could clearly see my lips. He brightened and hung his head as if much younger than his teenaged years. I tapped his chin, bringing his gaze back to mine. “Thank you for saving me from a lot of pain.”

  “Well, I guess you’re not as mean as I originally thought,” the blonde said from behind me.

  I stiffened. “I can show you mean, if that’s what you prefer,” I said, turning around slowly, ready for battle.

  The woman held up her hands, spread apart as if to show me her good intentions. She smiled. Though miffed at her, I couldn’t prevent my own small grin in return.

  “What, no pizza today?” I asked.

  She blushed a fierce red and shook her head. “I am so, so sorry about that. I can be such a klutz sometimes.”

  “No harm done,” I said as several young people approached us. “It was a nice welcome to the area.”

  “What happened?” asked a young boy. His speech was slurred by an overlarge tongue, but I understood him easily. He peered quizzically at me through thick glasses.

  “Everything’s okay, Tommy,” the blonde told him. “Emilio was trying to warn this nice lady about the jellyfish. What do we know about jellyfish, especially the blue ones?”

  “Don’t touch,” said a young girl with a heavy mane of flaxen hair. She wore thick glasses as well. Her face was round and seemed to encircle a continuous smile.

  “That’s right, Sally,” the woman said, nodding sagely.

  I watched them, and suddenly realized that the woman had to be a teacher of special needs kids. I wondered why they were walking the beach instead of working in the classroom. Some type of field trip?

  “Look, let’s try this again,” the woman said, extending her hand. “Let’s forget about the pizza and about today. Hello. Welcome to South Padre. I’m Angie June.”