by Ophelia Bell
“I prefer you naked, too,” she said, grinning up at him.
“I didn’t just hear that,” Iszak said, giving his sister a severe look before stepping out and leading the way up the steps to the street level.
Marcus’s pulse raced and he held tighter to Evie’s hand. The short walk to the row house Evie and her brothers shared with their grandmother seemed to take an eternity.
“You’re going to have a panic attack, if you keep that up. She really is a lovely woman,” Evie said.
“So, she raised you guys?” he asked, trying to make conversation. “Where are your parents?”
Lukas shared a quick, furtive glance with his brother, then shot a look over his shoulder at Evie.
“Sort of,” she said. “Our parents raised us, but they’re musicians. They left when we were old enough to not need them anymore, and Nanyo’s been there for us ever since.”
“Left… as in deserted you?” He tried not to sound accusatory, because deep down, he thought he understood.
“No. They both got jobs with the Budapest Festival Orchestra. It was their first love—the thing they wanted most together, after each other and having a family.”
“Ah, musicians,” he said, as though that should explain everything. The truth was, he envied their lifestyle. She and her brothers seemed so free. He had the weirdest sense that they might just fly away at any moment, and he wanted more than anything to keep Evie on the ground with him.
Climbing the steps to their front door, he believed his heart might be a percussive genius the way it kept time with Evie’s steps and every single rhythm of her movements. Maybe he was meant for a life in music, too?
At least, he hoped he was meant for a life within her music.
The apartment they led him into was nothing like he expected. In spite of the exterior’s humble appearance, the interior was cluttered with wondrous things. Everywhere he turned, he spied new details. Old photographs lined the walls up the stairs, each one with a different, ornate frame. The photos the frames contained seemed to stretch back for centuries. In one particularly ancient one, he could swear he saw Evie’s face, but the tug of her hand urged him onward.
At the top of the stairs, he was blinded by the sunset through the high windows. When his sight returned he gazed around, awe-struck at the view they had from this seemingly mundane location. It took him another moment to register the eclectic décor inside. Every inch of wall was filled with something. Photographs, shelves of books, knicknacks, or memorabilia. Yet everything was neatly placed and belonged exactly where it was. It had its own rhythm that meshed perfectly with everything he knew and loved about Evie.
Evie led him through the entryway, into the living room. Though Marcus couldn’t really call it one room. Except for one hallway that led toward what he assumed were bedrooms, the entire apartment was one big room.
“Do you like it?” she asked. “We had to take out the walls to fit all our stuff in.”
“It’s amazing. It feels like a…” He couldn’t find the word at first, as he gazed around at the sofas and cushions scattered over the immense array of colorful rugs that covered the floor. More bookshelves rose up around an ornate fireplace and even flanked the huge mirror that hung above the mantel. He saw himself in it, with Evie behind him, curled up in the deep sofa like a little bird roosting. The silhouettes of Iszak and Lukas were visible for a second before disappearing down the hallway.
“What does it feel like?” she asked.
“A nest,” he said, walking over to sit beside her. “It feels like a nest. A very comfortable nest, too. How long have you lived here?” The collections he’d seen had to have taken decades to amass. Generations, really.
Evie darted her eyes out the window and plucked at his shirt cuff. “Not that long,” she said. “It is pretty cozy, isn’t it? I love it here. Especially now that you’re here.”
She threaded her fingers through his hand and squeezed. The mere sensation of her touch made him crave more of her. He looked at her, enthralled again at her beauty. He’d heard her sing so beautifully so many times. Watched her sweet mouth make the words of those songs. Then considered himself infinitely blessed to have that same mouth encompassing him so thoroughly as to make him sing her praises. He loved her mouth, and decided to risk a taste of it.
Just as his lips found hers and she leaned into him, her eyelids fluttering closed, he sensed a presence in the archway behind him. He pulled away and looked over his shoulder at the newcomer.
“Are you going to introduce us, or just sit there smooching?” The brittle, ancient voice sounded amused, and totally incongruous coming from the vital, healthy woman standing backlit in the arch.
She could have been Evie’s twin, if it weren’t for her forbidding posture and the butcher knife she held in one hand.
Evie stood up abruptly and turned. Marcus followed, resting his hand on her hip.
“Nanyo! This is Marcus. Please be nice, okay?” Her voice held the faintest hint of panic that had his instincts on edge until Evie leaned into him and squeezed his hip in return.
“Marcus, this is my grandmother. Sofia North.”
The other woman raised an eyebrow. “So, this is the man.” She ventured forward, the knife still raised parallel to the ground. Marcus eyeballed the blade, a little worried, but when he met the woman’s eyes, all he saw was devious mirth. She was fucking with him. That should have made him relax, but he couldn’t.
There was no way in hell this woman could be Evie’s grandmother, but he was pretty sure there was even less a chance he’d survive if he told her so.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. North. You are even more lovely than I imagined from Evie’s descriptions.”
The woman smiled and gave him a once-over. “You are about what I expected. My granddaughter always had good taste in men.”
Oddly, Marcus sensed the comment was a challenge. He wanted to be more than that to Evie. More than expected.
“How can I exceed your expectations, Mrs. North? I love your granddaughter. I don’t think anyone who simply ‘meets expectations’ is worthy of her.”
The woman in front of him smiled. “What do you think I am, an oracle? I’m merely an old woman who wants the best for her grandchildren. Now, come set the table. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Iszak and Lukas appeared from another room when the scent of food became strong enough. Marcus was more comforted by their appearance than he thought he’d be, and their easy banter with Evie and their grandmother took the burden off him. He tried to sink into the background and simply enjoy what was probably one of the most amazing meals of his life while the family discussion went on around him.
“What do you do anyway, Marcus?” Lukas asked, a playful hint of challenge in his tone. They were all intent on testing him tonight weren’t they?
“I just finished a degree in Aeronautics. I’ve always wanted to fly. I hoped it would be commercially, but…” He let the word trail off, his throat unable to let him articulate the rest of his thought. But I love Evie too much now to fly away.
The utter silence at the table only became apparent when he finally took another bite of food and the clink of his silverware echoed through the room. As he chewed, he stared around the table at their faces, trying to decide what each of their looks meant.
Evie’s brothers both stared intently at Evie, who only gazed down at her plate.
But Sofia North set her gaze directly on Marcus.
“You seem like an intelligent young man, Marcus. Don’t fool yourself. Your call will come, just like the others. But this is not your war to fight.”
Marcus bristled. He’d heard the liberal-minded argument against the war over and over. While he agreed with it on the surface, he couldn’t in good conscience say no. His own countrymen were overseas dying. He owed it to them, if nothing else.
&n
bsp; “It may not be my war, but if I have something to offer, it’s my duty to my fellow soldiers to do so. I’d do it for them.”
Fuck, had he just admitted he was doing it? He hadn’t even been drafted yet. Sure, he had originally planned to enlist anyway, but the argument somehow seemed hollow now that he said it.
He continued eating in silence. No one else said a word. The delicious food he’d been eating had lost its flavor. Only the slight squeeze of Evie’s fingers on his thigh under the table gave him comfort.
He reached down and gripped her hand, wishing fervently that they could crawl into a cave somewhere and come out only when this Godforsaken war was over. He’d abandon it for her. He’d do anything for her.
When dinner was over, Marcus started to help clean up, but as he was about to turn on the faucet to wash the dishes, Sofia gripped his arm tightly.
“There’s something I need to show you,” she said. “Let them finish cleaning up.”
He nodded and followed her down a dark hallway. She kept walking to the end and flipped a switch that illuminated the entire corridor. It was filled with photographs, small and large. They had ornate and plain frames, and as he followed the path, the photos seemed to progress. The same faces appeared throughout, surrounded by different scenery in each picture.
More of Evie’s ancestors, he thought, though it was clear she had at least one ancestor who she took after more. Soon he saw photos of men in uniform. Some of them resembled Evie’s brothers so closely the likenesses made him shiver.
“We’re not a family who is ignorant of war,” Sofia said. “Every single generation of this family has seen it, in one way or another. But this human war is not your war, Marcus.”
She pulled at his arm and reached a hand up to turn his face to hers. He met her gaze and blinked, disconcerted at the colors that swirled in her irises.
“It’s all our war,” he said by way of argument, but knew he was just making excuses.
“Not yours, and not ours. Your war will come when the shadows fall over you and you truly believe all is lost. The darkest shadow will be your redemption, and your path to the love you seek.”
Marcus shook his head when she stopped talking, trying to clear his disorientation. He was sure she’d been speaking another language for the last bit, but had no idea what it was. All he knew was that he’d understood every single word, and the implications sent his pulse racing.
The woman walked away and he watched her pause at the end of the hallway, facing Evie and speaking to her softly in much the same way she’d just done with Marcus. He could hear her clearly now, but the words themselves were unintelligible. Definitely another language. He stood silent while they spoke, staring at Evie’s sepia-toned face in a photo that must have been a hundred years old.
Evie’s small form pressed into him a few moments later, molding herself to him as though she were meant to be at his side. He slipped an arm around her and pressed his lips to the top of her head, still staring at the photograph.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly, her voice quavering.
“Your grandmother said…” He looked down at her and shrugged, still confused. “Honestly, I’m not really sure what she said. Just that I shouldn’t go to Vietnam. But Evie, I won’t have a choice if my number comes up.”
She moved around to face him, resting her palms on either side of his face. Her fingers slid through his hair, making his scalp tingle, and her stormy gray eyes held his gaze. He longed to hold her tight, to take comfort in her soft curves and the taste of her lips, but his heart nearly stopped when he finally registered the terrified look in her eyes.
“Nanyo is a little bit psychic, so if she told you something, please take it seriously. She’s had visions my entire life, and they’ve always come true.”
“What did she say to you?” he asked, lifting a hand to brush a stray tear from her cheek. “Whatever it was, it upset you for some reason.”
“She said if I don’t keep you from leaving, you’ll die over there. Marcus, I don’t know if we’re meant to be together forever, but I don’t want to lose you now.”
He held her tighter. “I don’t want to lose you, either.” But the call would come, he was sure of it. Whether or not he would answer it, he didn’t know anymore.
* * *
New York
Spring 1966
Marcus had almost started to believe having Evie in his life had charmed him somehow. Months passed with no contact from the Draft Board. No ominous summons to report for induction. Her brothers, Iszak and Lukas, even seemed to warm to him finally, and the four of them had become closer. He spent more time at their house than at his own small apartment, unless he and Evie craved time to themselves.
Oddly, her family didn’t seem to have any hang-ups about the pair of them spending the night together in Evie’s bed, which they did frequently. Even her grandmother gave him sly looks in the mornings over breakfast. He still preferred to take her home with him when he really wanted to make her sing.
They spent Christmas together that first year, going caroling around the neighborhood, to the delight of every single household they stopped before. Evie even praised Marcus’s singing voice, which he knew was, by far, the least impressive. The Norths were the most talented musical family he’d ever known. The brothers seemed to be able to play just about any instrument they picked up. Evie usually sang, but he learned she was just as clever with a saxophone or guitar as her brothers.
For those glorious months of their relationship, they spent nearly every day together in between Evie’s singing gigs and his own work as a charter pilot for a small Westchester airport. Life was so perfect his mind began to shift gears—to risk considering taking a bigger step and making things more permanent between them.
Rather than go to the regular Friday evening dinner he had a standing invitation for at the North residence, he told Evie he wanted to take her out instead. He gathered his meager savings and found a jewelry shop in his neighborhood on the way home that afternoon. With the ring in his pocket, he went home to change clothes. She would come to him in just a few hours, since their favorite restaurant was in his neighborhood, so he had time.
He hustled through his door, grabbing the mail before taking the stairs two at a time, his entire body thrumming with anxious excitement.
It wasn’t until he was sitting on the bed, dressed in his nicest suit and tying his shoes, that he happened to glance at the scattered envelopes on his desk and his skin instantly turned to ice. On top of the stack was an unmistakably official-looking piece of mail, with an emblem in the corner that could only mean one thing. Marcus reached out a shaky hand and grasped the corner of the envelope, right over the presidential seal. He didn’t want to open it. Couldn’t open it, because that would make it all too real if he did.
In a daze he stood and shrugged into his jacket, stuffed the envelope blindly into the inside pocket, and left the apartment. He needed to breathe for a few minutes, to try to fend off the sense of his world crashing down around him. He walked aimlessly until he found himself stumbling down the steps into the bar around the corner from his place. Without thinking he ordered three shots of bourbon and stared at his hands.
The bartender raised an eyebrow and poured. “I’m guessing it’s not good news from the look on your face,” he said.
Without answering, Marcus tugged the envelope from his pocket and laid it on the bar. From his other pocket he withdrew the tiny velvet box and opened it, setting it atop the envelope. The glimmering jewel in the ring seemed to mock him for letting himself be too happy.
The bartender’s mouth tightened into a grim line and he lined up three more shot glasses. “On the house today, mate. You need this more than I need the money.”
And as if to drive the point home, the radio behind the bar announced yet another protest and slew of men being arrested for burning the
ir draft cards.
“Fucking bullshit, all of it,” a slurring patron two seats down from him said. “You should take her away, if you love her. Don’t let the goddamn government tell you how to live your life. What’s it for, anyway? This ain’t our war.”
Marcus downed another shot and glanced sidelong at the stranger. The man was older and had the look of a veteran. He was clean cut, wore a nice suit, and smelled like Old Spice, cigarette smoke, and whiskey. Of course, that last could have been the bar itself, but it was distinct enough that Marcus believed it came from him.
The man gestured to the items Marcus had laid on the bar. “You love her, right? The worst thing you can do to love is die for anything but love. If you go over there, you’ll wind up dying for nothing. Even if you don’t die, leaving will kill what you have now. Trust me.”
“I don’t exactly have any other options.”
“There’s a whole world of options,” the man said. “Run away or go to jail are the top two. Jail might be better than war, but not if you care about your girl.” He paused and fished into his jacket pocket, pulling out a flimsy pamphlet which he set on the bar next to Marcus’s drink. “I found this little gem on my windshield the other day. Thought it was pretty clever and wished I’d had that option before Korea. The place sounds nice. The best part is it’s in Canada.”
Marcus warily picked up the brochure with the photo of a smiling couple on the front, relaxed in an idyllic nature setting. “Tantric Healing,” the title read. The small logo at the bottom looked like a sword impaling the head of a dragon, which was totally at odds with the photo. It looked like a vacation brochure on the surface, but once he opened it up, the truth became clear.
He flipped back to stare at the front again. This “Alexandria Institute” had a clever marketing scheme. They weren’t offering a vacation, but inclusion in a research program that was specifically looking for committed couples to undergo a series of psychological and physical tests over the course of a year. They would be given room and board in exchange for offering their assistance with basic upkeep of the facilities and allowing themselves to be occasionally poked and prodded for the purpose of scientific advancement—while they had sex. He and Evie had fantastic sex, and the idea of being studied while they were doing it was oddly arousing.
