The Messenger: A Novel

by Burke, Jan

She looked around her. Was there any reason to be here? The sad truth was, she had a completely blank to-do list. A blank calendar. A blank life.

  And if she stayed at Tyler’s house, perhaps she’d get over this ridiculous obsession with him.

  Familiarity breeds contempt, right? Or is that, obsession breeds rationalization?

  “Amanda?”

  “I’m here. Can you give me a little time to think about it?”

  “Sure. But—say yes.”

  She laughed. “I’ll call back in a little while.”

  A hot shower eased most of her aches to a tolerable level.

  She dressed in jeans and a light sweater, then went downstairs and sat in the living room. She listened to a silence broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall and the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

  I can always come back, can’t I? It’s not as if he’s asking me to live in another country.

  She went upstairs and packed a small overnight case.

  She called.

  “Yes,” she told him.

  “Thank you. I’ll be there in a few moments.”

  Tyler hung up the phone, and took the stairs down to the garage, Shade following on his heels.

  He hesitated when he saw that the dog wanted to get into the Mini Cooper with him.

  “Ah—should I take you with me? Yes. I think it’s best if she grows accustomed to you. But let’s take the van instead, so we’re not crowded—that might be too much to ask of her.”

  When he parked and let Shade out of the van, the dog immediately disappeared around a corner of the house. Tyler stared after him, then walked toward the front porch. He was surprised to feel anticipation. He stood for a moment on the steps, savoring it.

  When had he last anticipated anything?

  Vague memories came to him, from the time near his real youth.

  Things will be changing for you.

  That message, delivered to him at the last two deathbeds he’d attended. Was this what they meant?

  He knocked on the door.

  She opened it almost immediately and welcomed him inside. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Fine,” he said. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes, I just have to get my bag from upstairs.”

  “May I help you?”

  “No thanks, I can get it. Make yourself at home—I’ll be right back down.”

  As she went up the stairs, he glanced around him. The room was elegant and yet not lacking in warmth. He closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the sound of the grandfather clock, a sound he found soothing.

  When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was drawn to a photograph on a side table, of two handsome young couples surrounding a teenage version of Amanda. He picked it up to study it more closely.

  The setting seemed to be a party, the couples and Amanda dressed in evening wear, the adults lifting glasses of champagne. There were many other formally attired people in the background. The photograph had been taken in a large room, with a sweeping staircase in the background, a mansion, but not one he recognized. The adults were laughing, but Amanda, who was looking directly into the camera, wore a serious expression. She looked—perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought she looked hurt, and perhaps disappointed, but was putting on a brave front. He found himself wondering what had happened just before the photo was taken.

  He heard Amanda come down the stairs, and turned to see her carrying a small overnight bag. She set the bag down and came to his side. “My parents, Thelia and Hudson Clarke,” she said, pointing to one of the couples, “and my aunt and uncle—Cynthia and Jordan Clarke—Brad and Rebecca’s parents.”

  “You don’t look as if you were enjoying yourself.”

  “I wasn’t,” she said simply, and started to reach again for her small carry-on-size bag.

  He managed to pick it up first, saying, “Allow me.” He frowned, thinking of it being so light. “Is this all?”

  “I can always come back here, right?”

  “Alex or I will bring you back to gather anything else you might need,” he said as they went out the front door.

  She laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I hear an assumption that I won’t want to come back to my own home.”

  “I just want you to be comfortable while you’re with us.”

  “Us?”

  “Ron and me. And Shade.”

  “Don’t forget Alex,” she said, setting the alarm again and locking up.

  “Yes, Alex as well. Did you get along with her?” he asked as they walked outside.

  “Yes. I like straightforward people.”

  He fell silent, busying himself with stowing her bag in the van.

  He heard a sound and looked up. “I wonder what that dog is up to now?”

  She turned quickly to look in the direction of his gaze. She looked panic-stricken. “What dog?”

  “Shade. Are you all right? I didn’t think he still frightened you…”

  “Oh, no. He doesn’t. Not much anyway. I just wondered if you were seeing that other dog.”

  “What other dog?”

  “Didn’t Alex tell you? A strange dog has been coming around here. It was running loose in the woods between our houses last night—Alex said it looked like Shade, but we knew Shade was with you.”

  “You thought it was Shade?”

  “But he was with you, right?”

  “Yes, he came upstairs with me, but I did notice that he stayed out on the deck, watching for something last night. Perhaps…” His voice trailed off as he considered how little interest Shade usually took in other dogs. “Alex didn’t tell me any of this, but she’s been working the late shift, so perhaps over the hours I slept, it slipped her mind. Did the dog look like Shade to you?”

  “I’ve never seen it. I’ve heard it, though. And I’ve seen tracks near the house.” She shuddered. “Judging from those, it’s a big dog.”

  He put an arm around her shoulders. “You saw tracks last night? Was that the first time?”

  “No, I think the first time was the night someone broke into your house, while you were in St. Louis. But—was Shade with you then?”

  “Yes. He travels with me.” Seeing her curiosity about that plainly written on her face, he quickly added, “This other dog has obviously frightened you. Has it tried to get into the house?”

  “Not exactly, but it isn’t shy about coming close to it. That’s why I moved to the upstairs bedroom—I kept hearing it at night, near my bedroom window. Maybe that makes me sound like I’m totally chicken, but—well, yes—I’m scared.”

  “Understandable, though. Can you show me some of the tracks?”

  They found Shade intently sniffing the ground beneath her old bedroom window.

  Tyler reluctantly let go of her and bent to study the ground.

  “These, here in the dried mud?” he asked.

  She edged closer, then nodded.

  Shade came to her side, tail wagging. Tyler worried that she would be further frightened by him, but she reached out and petted him.

  “You’re looking for that other dog, aren’t you, Shade?” she said.

  Shade wagged his tail harder.

  “Do you think he understands English?” she asked Tyler, who was noting that the tracks were indeed those of a large dog.

  “Among other languages,” he answered absently.

  Her laugh caught his attention, and he smiled. “One of the gifts of dogs, you know. Our words don’t matter. And even our tone of voice may not count for all that much with the brightest of them. They read our gestures and expressions, the way we hold ourselves. They probably smell our reactions as well. There’s an old saying, ‘You can’t lie to a dog.’ I believe it.”

  “Oh, so you have to be truthful with Shade.”

  He stood up. “I can be sure Shade will return the favor.”

  She fell silent. He realized she was studying him in a blat
antly assessing way.

  “I wonder…,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  She took a deep breath. “I understand you’re involved with grief counseling.”

  “Not…professionally,” he said cautiously. “I just try to be of help to people whose deaths are imminent. And of help to their families.”

  “Are you planning to go back to the hospice?”

  “Yes, I’m going over there again this afternoon.”

  “I’d like to come with you.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “Please!”

  He raised a brow. “It’s not a place most people are anxious to visit.”

  “I don’t know if you can understand this, but—there’s one thing I want more than anything else.” She drew a deep breath, as if screwing up her courage. “I want to be useful.”

  He started to make a glib reply, saw how earnest she was, and instead said, “Tell me what you mean.”

  “I mean—having some purpose, doing some good. Not just being a locust.”

  He smiled. “A locust, is it? I haven’t seen a lot of signs of you being an überconsumer.”

  She laughed and shook her head.

  “Right,” he said. “Let’s see—how much of your spare time is spent shopping?”

  “Not much,” she admitted.

  “Your car—solid and dependable, but not new?”

  “True.”

  “I don’t mean to stick my nose into your finances, but I have the impression you could be chauffeured in a Rolls if you wanted to be.”

  “I could be, yes. I’m a trust funder. I’ve never had to work a day in my life and never will. The idea of taking a job from someone who needs one bothers me. I say I’m a locust because I’m living off the harvest someone else brought in—the money my great-grandfather and grandfather worked to earn.”

  “Not your father?”

  She glanced around, making him wonder if she had heard someone approach. He glanced around as well, but no one else was nearby.

  “My father wasn’t a very serious person,” she said. “You’ve seen the photo. He was handsome, my mother was beautiful, and they were the life of any party they were invited to—and they were invited everywhere. They flew on private jets to go to parties on other continents.” She paused. “They usually teamed up with Brad and Rebecca’s parents. Two gorgeous couples, full of life and fun. When they ended up with me, they must have thought someone swapped babies on them in the hospital.” She looked up at him. “Are your parents living?”

  “No. You, Ron, and I have that in common.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “My parents?”

  She nodded.

  He thought of giving her the story he usually told, a set of half-truths that kept others from asking further questions. Instead he said, “I never knew my mother—she died giving birth to me.”

  “Oh!”

  “My father and I didn’t see much of each other before I moved away from home. I didn’t understand then—well, I suppose I expected to be able to spend time with him in a future we weren’t destined to have together.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  He shook his head. “No, no need to be. I’ve found that grief eases over time, but regret has real staying power. All those things you wish you had said to the ones you loved.” He paused, then asked, “Do you miss your parents?”

  He tried to read the look that came into her eyes when he asked that—almost one of amusement, he thought, and he wondered why.

  “To be completely honest,” she said, “they’ve always been—I mean, they always were difficult people to live with. The adults who knew them thought they were a lot of fun. For me, as their kid, they weren’t so fun. They drank a lot. They were so crazy about each other, I think they just didn’t have much room left over for me. They were away from home more than they were here, so, for the most part, I was raised by a succession of nannies—none of the nannies could put up with the carnival atmosphere here for more than two years at a time. It probably sounds crazy, but for all of that, I loved them, knew they loved me in their own weird way, and I wish to God I could talk to them.”

  “They died in a car accident?”

  She nodded. “We were all at a party. The one in the photo, as it happens.” She blushed again, and he couldn’t figure out why. She went on quickly, “When we were leaving, I was the only one who was sober, and I tried to convince the adults to let me drive. They insisted that my learner’s permit only allowed me to drive before eleven at night. I pointed out that I could drive at any hour when one of my parents was in the car, but Aunt Cynthia—Brad and Rebecca’s mom—said I was wrong. She insisted on driving.”

  She swallowed hard and looked off into the distance.

  “We didn’t have far to go, just a few miles. But the few miles were through the canyon. I don’t really remember the accident itself, or much of anything that happened after we left the party, but I’m told the car went over an embankment. I was the only one wearing a seat belt. I was told the others were killed instantly.”

  “You had a head injury?”

  “Yes. They say that’s why I don’t remember the accident.”

  “It’s common, you know, that type of memory loss.”

  “That’s what they say, but—it’s hard to walk around with that piece missing. Brad and Rebecca have a theory that I caused the accident and I’m repressing it out of guilt.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  She shrugged. “Who knows? I never will. I woke up in the hospital. A concussion, three broken ribs, and a broken ankle. My father’s aunt told me what happened. Ron visited me every day.”

  Ron. He swore to himself that he would not interfere in their relationship. He stepped away from her.

  “Anyway,” she said resolutely, “that’s all in the past. I want to move on with my life. I can’t just sit around being useless. I’ve been thinking about what you do, and it seems so important. I’d like to see if it’s something I could do one day, if I got training, and some experience. I’m not afraid of being around people who are sick or dying. Maybe—maybe I could even be of help to you.”

  He had a dozen excuses to offer her, a dozen more ways to put her off doing this at all. But he had made the mistake of watching her face, and he had seen the longing there. He tried glancing away, only to find that Shade was staring at him, too.

  He had spent too many years with the dog not to be able to read that particular look—he was being compelled. He sighed. Apparently I’m the one trained to be obedient.

  “Tyler?”

  “I suppose so,” he began.

  “Thank you! Oh, thank you!” She launched herself at him and held him in a fierce hug. He managed to keep his balance, at least physically, by awkwardly returning the embrace.

  “You don’t know what this means to me,” she said, “but I promise—I promise!—I won’t get in your way. And if—if someone doesn’t want me to be in the room with you, then I won’t argue or say a word. I’ll—I’ll just wait in the hallway until you’re done talking with them. And—”

  “All right, all right,” he said, laughing.

  She leaned back in his arms, smiling up at him. Suddenly she frowned and let go of him. “Your ribs! Oh my God! Oh, did I hurt you?”

  “No, not at all. I’m fine.” Confused as hell, but fine. He let her step back from him.

  She held her head to one side. “You are, aren’t you? I mean, I don’t feel as bad today as I thought I would after that accident, I’m just a little sore. But you—I’m kind of amazed.”

  He looked away. “I’m sure it looked worse than it was. I—”

  “Don’t lie to me,” she interrupted. “Please don’t.” Her smile was a little wistful as she added, “Don’t say anything to me you wouldn’t say to Shade.”

  He looked down at the dog, whose tail was wagging. What are you so all-fired happy about, Shade?

  “All right,” he said aloud. �
�But I was going to tell you the truth. I was going to say that I heal quickly.”

  “Hmm. And that’s not all there is to it, right?”

  A silence stretched, then he said, “Right.” If she started asking him questions now, he would tell her the truth, the whole truth, and then—then he would have to disappear from her life. He would have to leave her, let her go on to whatever life and lovers she was destined to have without him.

  He found himself especially unhappy to think about her having lovers. Even Ron. It was something like learning your girlfriend had a crush on your little brother.

  His whole life was spent uprooting and reestablishing himself as need be. He knew that come what may, he would survive the loss of her.

  He was so very tired of surviving losses.

  Tired of surviving, period.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. She was looking up at him, brows drawn together in concern. Those lovely brown eyes…

  Well, maybe not so tired of surviving after all.

  If he told her who he was, what he was, he was fairly sure she’d either disbelieve him or hold him in disgust. He would lose any chance of growing closer to her.

  If he didn’t, well—the outcome was the same, wasn’t it?

  “I’m okay,” he said. “But I have a question for you.”

  She looked at him expectantly.

  He screwed up his nerve and said, “You and Ron—are you—well, it’s none of my business really, but—are you—?”

  She grinned. “Lovers? No. I suppose a lot of people assume we are, but no. We’re close friends. I don’t think I could love a brother more than I love Ron, but long ago we figured out that we never wanted to date. As I told Alex, it’s always been more like a brother-sister thing.”

  “Oh,” he said, and found himself grinning, too. “Well, thank you. Shall we go?”

  “All right, but don’t think I’m giving up.”

  “Giving up?”

  “On getting answers to my questions.”

  She turned and walked toward the van.

  She stumbled over something along the way, caught her balance, and moved on.

  Ron had told him that everyone knew she was a klutz, but maybe people watched the wrong set of movements when they watched Amanda.