by Brenda Hill
She made her way to her bed, slowly, afraid to make a sudden move. If he were here, she didn’t want to startle him or force him away. When she reached to turn on the lamp, a spark of static sizzled and she jerked back.
Bay Rum filled the air.
“Don’t turn it on,” a male voice said, his voice, the voice her heart would know even if an eternity separated them.
“Galen?” Joyously, she turned around.
To an empty room.
“Noooo,” she cried. “I know you’re here. Why can’t I see you?”
“Berina, my darling. I’ve waited so long …” His voice sent delight through her body. Finally, they would be together. Nearly weeping, she whirled in the direction of his voice.
Still nothing.
“Where are you?” she cried in desperation. “Why can’t I see you? Please, Galen, I want to see you, see your eyes, your lips.” She felt the stirring of air, the sight shift in pressure and knew he was near. Her longing for him grew so intense she could barely breathe.
“I can’t allow that,” he said. “It is too dangerous for you.”
“What are you talking about? Please, Galen, I must feel you, hold you in my arms.”
“I want more than anything to be with you, but this must be enough for us.”
“What are you saying? I don’t understand.”
“Think, my darling, each time I came to you in dreams, you woke a little more exhausted. Being with me in this state is draining your life force.”
“I don’t care. You must understand how I feel, how I long to see you, to touch you.”
“As I long for you. Now I must go before I sacrifice your life for my own pleasure. It’s enough of a miracle to just speak to you. Goodbye, my darling, until I can return …”
She felt a whisper of touch on her eyelids, the tip of her nose, then her lips. The touch grew faint, and the air pressure wavered.
“No, don’t leave! Please!” The scent dissipated and she knew he had gone. “Galen,” she cried, falling onto the bed, weeping uncontrollably.
That couldn’t be all that was allowed. The heavens wouldn’t be that cruel. There had to be a way.
“Galen? Are you here?”
But there was no answer. She had to see him, so she headed for the attic.
God, she really was going mad, but she lay her cheek against the canvas, wanting with all her heart to take him into her arms.
When her cell phone woke her, the sun was flooding the attic with brilliant light. As before, she ignored it until it stopped, and again, the house phone rang. She rose stiffly from the floor, made her way to her bedroom where she listened to Eric’s voicemail about his move to Mark’s home.
Her eyes heavy, she listlessly carried the phone to the kitchen and made coffee. Once she had downed two cups, she returned his call. Not that she wanted to talk to him, but it was better than trying to explain why she didn’t answer or didn’t call.
“You sound strange,” he said after telling Lindsay about his move. She had responded very little. “You sick?”
“Just tired. A lot of things going on.”
“Anything I need to know about?”
She laughed. She hadn’t meant to, but she laughed, then the laughter turned to sobs. “Oh yes, I’d say you need to know. But not now.”
The line went silent. Then, “Have you been drinking?”
“Not yet, but I intend to do so.”
“What in God’s name is going on? You haven’t sounded right the last couple of calls. Lindsay, I’m trying like hell to save my business and I need your support.”
“Support. Yes. It is important, isn’t it?”
“What’s that suppose to mean?”
“Never mind. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
“You’re talking about that ghost business, aren’t you?”
“I don’t want to discuss it right now. I’m too tired and it’s too big a subject. We’ll talk about it when you get home.”
She hung up before he could respond. Ignoring the subsequent rings, she clicked off the volume and headed for the sofa. With thoughts of Galen and the hope he would appear again that night, she quickly fell asleep.
Chapter Thirty
When she woke, evening shadows filled the parlor. Good, maybe it wouldn’t be long before Galen returned—that is, if he did. He had to; she couldn’t bear another day if he didn’t.
Still in her tee and panties, she nuked day old coffee and checked messages on her cell—all from Eric demanding she call him.
Should she? Most likely he’d be at Mark’s home by now and could find a private place to talk. She owed him an explanation, but as before, the timing was in question.
She took her cup to the porch and watched the sun set over the far shore. Shrieking sea gulls circled over the water. Several motor boats buzzed by filled with people laughing, talking, or fishing, people with joy in their lives.
How little joy she had felt in her life.
Why was that? Karma? Was she being punished because of her actions—or inaction—as Berina?
She thought of Galen as Berina had known him. How handsome he’d been, how noble. He had wanted to tell Frida about their love, but she, Berina, had stopped him.
Would they all have led happier lives if she and Galen had done the honorable thing and told the family about their love? Surely there would have been heartbreak, but perhaps Frida would have eventually found someone else. And Galen would have lived a normal life span.
What tragic lives they all led because of her decision. No wonder she had felt such sadness when she had first seen the house that evening with Eric.
And she was about to hurt someone else with another of her decisions.
Yet would Eric be that hurt? If he was no longer physically attracted to her, wouldn’t he be relived she was ending their marriage?
Should she return his calls? And tell him what was happening? She knew from past mistakes she should be honest. Like Frida, he would be upset at first, but she had no doubt he could make another, happier life for himself with someone who truly loved him. The sooner she ended their marriage, the sooner they could each make a new life.
Eric. Her husband. If it hadn’t been for him, she would never have returned to Minnesota. Or this house. How strange the fates are.
She had felt so fortunate when they’d met, and she would never have believed she would be the one to fall out of love. A stab of guilt pierced her, but she owed him her honesty. Never again would she hide her feelings to please someone else.
She picked up her phone to call him and walked to her favorite place in the house, the dining room window through which she could see the tree. To give her courage.
She punched in the numbers. When he answered, she said, “I have a lot to tell you.”
Sometime later, Lindsay opened a can of soup. The next few days would be long and strenuous and she needed her strength.
Eric had been shocked when she told him everything. Incredulous. Disbelieving. All of it. But she continued in spite of his protests and didn’t stop until she had told him everything up to this day.
“I know how this must sound,” she’d said. “But it’s all true and I felt you should know. When you get your business affairs in order, you need to come home so we can decide what to do.” For the first time since she had met him, Eric was nearly speechless, and even when she had finished, he’d said very little.
What were his thoughts now? she wondered. Did he believe her? She doubted it, but that was his concern. She had done what she felt was right.
She took a bite of her soup and chewed with surprise. What was it? She had opened the can without paying attention, but it was delicious. Clam chowder. Her appetite was back. Not only back, but she felt ravenous. Amazing what a clear conscience can do for the soul. She finished the helping and emptied the rest of it into her bowl, then dug in the freezer for some ice cream.
After loading the dishwasher with the odds and ends from the pa
st few days, she turned and looked at the shiny new kitchen. Then she walked into the dining room, admiring her parents’ or Berina’s parents’ dining suite. She hadn’t really noticed how nice it all was when she lived as Berina, but now she ran her hands over the glossy mahogany table and sideboard.
She’d have to find a new place to live after the divorce. After all, Eric was the one who had inherited the house and it was legally his. She certainly couldn’t make a claim in court. If she did such a foolish thing, she’d wind up in a straight jacket.
Would Galen follow her to a new home? He must. She didn’t want to live another life without him.
As soon as she entered the bedroom, she knew he was there. It wasn’t just the hint of Bay Rum; the very air felt different, even heavier than it had before.
“Galen, you’re here. Please let me see you.”
She scanned the room, but saw nothing. Was something wrong?
“Galen?” She waited for a sign of him, but there was nothing.
Was something wrong? Should she do something? Go to a different room? It seemed crazy, but she’d do anything just to be able to speak to him again.
The silence stretched on. Just as she feared something happened and he left, the air went very still. Her skin tingled and the hairs stood as if a lightning storm were exploding above the house. Sparks of static electricity appeared and gathered in the far corner of her room, sparking and crackling up and down in a pattern. The air shimmered and waved in a vague outline. A man. Her heart pounded in anticipation and excitement.
Then, in the space of a heartbeat, he stood before her, first as a shadowy form, then, as she watched in awe, the form became solid. Galen.
She wanted to run to him, throw her arms around him, but she felt chained to the bed, unable to move. When his image was complete, he crossed the room to stand before her. Silently, his eyes full of love, he took her hand and drew her to him.
Joyously, she embraced him, wrapping her arms around him. He was there, finally there with her. She stood, her head on his shoulder, her cheek next to his, breathing in the scent of him, content just to hold him.
He wore a shirt and trousers from his era, and he felt the same as he had when she was Berina. His cheek was soft, freshly shaven. She wondered for one insane moment if ghosts shaved. Or bathed, or dressed or did any of the rituals humans performed every day. Maybe she would ask him. Later. Right now she couldn’t get enough of feeling him in her arms.
After an eternity, his grip tightened. His breathing quickened, and he ran his hands up and down her back. He nuzzled her face, her cheeks, her neck. When his lips met hers, she returned his kiss with a yearning long denied.
Her knees weakened and gave way. He picked her up and placed her gently on the bed, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She didn’t let go of him, couldn’t take her arms from around him. He eased down next to her and they lay side by side, simply holding each other. She ran her hands down his side, his back, then caressed his check, his mouth.
“You feel so real.”
“I am real—in your mind, your heart.”
“How is it that you’re here? Actually here with me in this house?”
“I never left.”
“Never?” She wanted to ask him more, but he kissed her again, this time with the passion of a man wanting a woman.
She wanted him desperately, but wasn’t ready to consumate their love. The wonder of having him, physically, with her was too great and she wanted to hold him, to look at him, to convince herself he was truly there.
“I’ve waited so long,” he whispered urgently, kissing her again, tasting her mouth, her tongue. “Let me love you.” He ran his hands over her shoulders, her breasts. Cupping her buttocks, he pressed her to his hardness. She felt his erection. He was a ghost; how was this possible?
“Oh my darling, I love you so …” He ran his tongue over her lips, then gently sucked, the sensation sending pleasure waves to her toes. Her nipples hardened. He ran his hands over each breast, then eased her shirt over her head. “You’re so beautiful.”
She sighed and ran her hands through his hair, pulling his mouth to hers once again in a deep kiss. When they broke, he took a nipple into his mouth. Every nerve in her body caught fire. Her skin tingled. She closed her eyes, the sensations spreading liquid desire through her body.
He caressed her hips, her buttocks, and when he eased his fingers inside her panties and touched her, she nearly forgot to breathe.
“Galen, oh my God …” she murmured, her passion building to an uncontrollable need, and she no longer cared how anything was possible.
He slid down the bed to roll off her panties. Once they were off, she unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers over his shoulders, his chest, his nipples. She pushed her breasts against his skin, glorying in the sensation of his flesh against hers. She tried to loosen his trousers but she fumbled in her haste. He took over and in the space of a heartbeat, pulled off his clothes and dropped them by the side of the bed.
They lay melded together, skin against skin, looking into each other’s eyes, consumed with the wonder of finally being together. Her need for him built feverously and she kissed him, her passion shocking her. She slid her leg over his thigh, straining to get closer, demanding release.
He moved over her, his eyes locked on hers, and when he entered her, she cried out in pure ecstasy, a fulfillment of two lifetimes.
Chapter Thirty-One
As soon as Lindsay woke the next morning, she reached for Galen, but she was alone in the bed. Confident he’d return soon, she snuggled into her pillow.
Her skin still tingled from last night, and she smiled. Never had she felt anything so intense. She had enjoyed intimacy with Eric and her first husband, but it was never like last night. Galen’s lovemaking was everything she had thought it would be, and for the first time in her memory, she felt happy. Deliriously content, fulfilled in every way. To finally be with the one man your heart longed for was an incredible thing.
She yawned and realized how heavy her eyelids felt. If she didn’t make herself stay awake, she could easily drift back into sleep. Strange.
She checked her bedside clock. Nearly noon, so she’d had plenty of sleep. When she turned her head, she became aware of a dull throbbing in her temples. A headache. She’d take something for it after breakfast. Or lunch, if she’d be able to eat. The idea of food made her stomach recoil.
When she tried to rise, her body felt heavy, as if she had gained several pounds overnight. Even her arms felt weighted down.
She fell back onto the pillow wondering what was wrong. From a distance, she heard her cell phone ring. Probably Eric. She should talk to him, but she had left her cell in the dining room, and by the time she pulled herself out of bed, the ringing had stopped.
Her legs trembled, and she wondered if they’d hold her. Propping herself against the bed, she pulled on her t-shirt and stepped into her panties.
What was wrong with her? She hadn’t felt so weak in years, since that time in the hospital under an oxygen mask with pneumonia.
No pneumonia lately, not even a cold.
From downstairs the house phone rang, but she knew she’d never make it in time. She let it ring until it too, stopped.
She donned her slippers, and slowly, like an old woman using the walls and rails to steady herself, descended the stairs.
She’d call her husband as soon as she felt more steady. Even if something catastrophic happened and she never saw Galen again, she couldn’t have a life with Eric. She must make him understand that.
In the kitchen, she made coffee and popped bread into the toaster. Maybe something solid in her stomach would help the fatigue.
Where would she live after the divorce? The house was legally his, and though she never wanted to leave, she couldn’t make a claim. Even if Eric believed her, she wouldn’t feel right taking his house.
She took her cup to the porch and stood looking over the wate
r. Before her, Serpent Lake shimmered an iridescent sea green under the morning sun. Clouds rolled by, sending wavy white reflections to the undulating water.
If she were dressed, she’d sit on the beach and just drink in the sight. Even from the porch, she could detect the slight fishy smell mixed with damp earth that always seemed to permeate the shore and realized she didn’t find it unpleasant. Even the occasional acrid odor of a skunk was better than the layer of exhaust fumes hanging over the southern California freeways.
She supposed she’d find a smaller house next to the lake, although to be near and not live in the Peterson house would be painful—but not as unbearable as living the rest of her life without Galen.
She couldn’t think about it today. Already her little burst of energy from the coffee was waning.
Back in the kitchen, she checked her voicemail. She was right. Eric. She didn’t have the energy to listen to his rant, so she clicked off the phone.
Something catastrophic… never see Galen again.
What an unconscionable thought. If that happened, she wouldn’t want to live—which was the way she’d felt as Berina.
But was that the right way to feel? She poured another cup of coffee. She had been reborn, surely for some purpose other than to mourn his loss again.
Thank God he was with her now.
But, she froze, the full realization hitting her, what if she moved? Would he follow her to the new house, or was he bound to this one?
The thought she might possibly lose again him sent waves of terror though her. Her heart skipped a beat and took her breath. No, that couldn’t happen. That couldn’t be their fate, not after all that had happened in the past. Not now, not when they found each other again.
She had to see him. Now. He had to assure her they would be together always.
“Galen? Are you here? Please come to me, I need you.”
Only silence answered her.
Where did he go when he wasn’t with her? What did he do?
She ran to the parlor, searching for him, calling his name. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Where was he? Why didn’t he hear her?
