by Ciana Stone
“You knew the previous owners?”
“Not really. I saw him in town from time to time. Does it bother you that he died in the house?”
Morgan looked at her in surprise. “He did?”
“Oops, sorry,” she said with a smile as she stopped in front of the house. “I’d assumed you were told when you bought the place. Yes, he died in bed. From what I hear it was a peaceful passing.”
“Oh.” Morgan didn’t want to admit that it kind of gave him the creeps to know that he was living in a house where someone had died. Had he known he might not have bought the place.
“But that shouldn’t concern you,” Nanette said as she opened her door. “His wife had died the year before and the poor man was just lost without her. I imagine he was happy to join her,” she said when she had his door open.
“You think so?” Morgan asked, accepting her help to get out of the car.
“Oh, without a doubt,” she replied. “Now, let’s just get you inside then I’ll get out of your way.”
As they headed up the sidewalk, Morgan realized he hadn’t heard one single whisper since Nanette had stopped her car to help him. That thought turned his attention back to the voices, and thoughts of the voices made his anxiety spike again.
“Honey, are you okay?” she asked as he fumbled for his key. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“Yeah,” he responded. “Probably just…uh, the ankle. Pain, you know.”
“Maybe I should take you to the hospital. If it’s broken, then you’ll want to get it looked at right away.”
“No. No.” He unlocked the door and slid away from her support. “I’m sure it’s just a strain or sprain or whatever you call it. Thanks for your help, Nanette.”
She said nothing for a few moments, but it seemed to him that her soft brown eyes looked right into his soul. Finally she nodded and stepped back. “Take care, Morgan Sands.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the help.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Thanks again, Nanette.”
“Any time.” She turned away and returned to her car. Morgan stepped inside and closed the door. He’d just started peeling off his sweatshirt when there was a knock at the door.
Tossing the sweatshirt over a chair, he opened the door to find Nanette on his doorstep again. “Hey.”
She held her hand out to him. “Just in case,” she said.
Morgan looked at her hand. In it was a card. He took it. A soft lilac in color, it bore a stylized image of a lotus blossom along with her name and a phone number.
He couldn’t imagine why she would give him her card, or what it signified.
“If you want help with the voices,” she said and turned away.
Morgan couldn’t have responded if he’d wanted to. He was stunned speechless.
How could she have known?
* * * * *
Lola sat on the front steps of Nanette’s small house and waited. It wasn’t like Nanette to tell her to come over and not be there. Angelique, Nanette’s partner, was not there either. Lola hoped nothing was wrong. She’d wait ten more minutes, then she’d call again. Nanette hadn’t answered her cell phone the last two times she’d tried.
At that moment, Nanette’s little car rounded the bend in the tree-sheltered drive. Lola jumped up and walked out to meet her.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Nanette said as she got out of the car. “I was going to scoot over to the store for cream before you got here.”
“Where is it?” Lola asked as Nanette closed the car door and started for the house.
“Oh!” Nanette chuckled. “Fate decided I didn’t need cream with my tea after all.”
“What does that mean?” Lola followed Nanette inside.
“Just a nice man with a sprained ankle who needed a lift,” Nanette passed it off. “Now tell me. What happened?”
Lola lifted the tablet she carried in one hand. “It’s more of a show thing.”
“Okay, then let’s get inside.”
Once inside the kitchen, Lola sat at the table. Nanette filled a kettle with water and put it on the boil. Lola accessed the image and turned the tablet to face Nanette.
“Look at this.”
Nanette turned and looked at the tablet. For a moment she stood frozen. Then she sat and took the tablet from Lola. “When did you do this?”
“Last night.”
Nanette nodded, still focused on the screen. For several minutes there was silence. The whistle of the kettle drew Nanette from her seat. She placed the tablet on the table and busied herself preparing tea. When she reclaimed her seat, she didn’t look at the tablet. She focused on Lola.
“That’s the most realistic thing you’ve ever done. Your work is becoming near photographic. Tell me what you did before you painted this.”
“Technically I didn’t paint it. I did it on—”
“Honey, I know. Now tell me.”
“Well, last night I went out with Kelly to JT’s and…oh my god!” Excitement appeared in her voice, along with a measure of anxiety. “I met Morgan Sands. The Morgan Sands.”
Nanette smiled. “The Seraphim photographer.”
“Yes. And it was…well part of it was just horrible. Nanette, something happened. When I met him, I mean. I looked into his eyes and something just…came over me. It was like…god, I don’t know what it was. Like being hit by a truck. Time stopped, sort of. Nothing existed but his eyes. There was no sound, nothing. Then the next thing I knew I was waking up on the floor.”
“Keep going,” Nanette said as she got up to pour the tea.
Lola recited the events of the previous evening, trying as best she could to describe the strange effect Morgan had on her, and the attraction she felt for him. By the time she’d finished, they’d both had two cups of tea and were working on a third.
“And when you came home, the Sight took you,” Nanette said. “And you painted this.”
“Yes.”
“What do you feel when you look at it, Lola?”
“Loss,” Lola replied without thinking, then paused. “I mean—”
“No, you meant loss. Let’s explore that. What about this image speaks of loss to you?”
“The boy,” Lola said, not needing to look at the image still displayed on the computer to know it in intimate detail. “Cradled in the woman’s arms, lying there on the road with fire and wreckage all around them. It’s like a nightmare. There’s fear and confusion, but most of all sadness and loss.”
“Whose loss, Lola?” Nanette prompted. “Don’t think, just answer.”
“His. No, hers. No…I don’t know. It’s jumbled. The loss is too keen and I don’t know if it’s hers or his but I know there’s something protective here. Like she’s trying to comfort or protect him. Or maybe it’s the other way. I—it’s overwhelming and every time I look at it I want to cry.”
Nanette nodded. “It will come. Don’t fight it. You’re still trying to control it, to make it all make sense in your conscious mind. You have to give in to it and let it come on its own.”
“I try,” Lola said, twirling her teacup in its saucer. “Really, I do.”
“You’re doing fine, honey,” Nanette said gently and reached out to put her hand on Lola’s wrist. “Just fine.”
Lola stared into her teacup for a few moments, fighting tears that threatened to spill. “This…Sight. I don’t know how to use it. You’ve always said it was for good, to help others, but I can’t help anyone. Not even myself.”
“Oh, Lola, honey, that’s not true. You’ve come such a long way.”
Lola looked up at her friend and mentor. “Do you ever think about that day? The day you found me, I mean? Does it make any sense to you? It doesn’t to me. How did I end up on that road? And where did I come from? Who leaves a baby on the side of the road and just drives off?”
“Lola, this is old ground, and ground whose twists and turns are not yet navigable. As I’ve told you all along, when the time comes the a
nswers will reveal themselves. Until then, your job is to learn to be comfortable with your gifts and to use them for good.”
Lola sighed and leaned back in her chair. “It’s never tried to take me when I was with someone before.”
“And yet last night it did.”
Lola nodded. “What does it mean?”
“That’s for you to discover,” Nanette said. “Obviously, Morgan Sands holds significance in your life. And the only way to discover what that significance is, is to spend time with him.”
Lola smiled. “Now that’s homework I wouldn’t mind.”
Nanette laughed. “I don’t imagine you would. Now, I have a client coming in a few minutes so I need to prepare. Email me this image and I’ll have another look at it later. I want you to put it aside for now. Don’t look at it again. Let your subconscious have time to process it. When your mind has translated it, the answers to its meaning will come to you.”
“Okay,” Lola said and stood. “Thanks, Nanette. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Nanette rounded the table and pulled Lola into her arms. “I love you, pumpkin.”
“I love you.” Lola melted into the comfort of the embrace. Aside from Delphina Boudreaux, the woman who’d adopted her, Nanette’s was the only love she’d ever known. Most of the time she thought that was enough and forgot about the mystery of her life, and the string of unsuccessful attempts at relationships she’d had.
But her introduction to Eulalia, her mission, and the appearance of Morgan Sands had wakened more than mystery. It had given birth to a longing she didn’t know how to cope with. She wanted to believe that her mission was one of worth, that her life had real purpose. That in itself was a longing she’d not previously known. But the biggest and most profound longing came from Morgan. Her first look into his eyes had her yearning for the kind of love one can only find with their soulmate.
“Give it time, honey,” Nanette whispered. “If he’s the one, you’ll know soon enough.”
Not surprised in the least that Nanette had read her secret longings, and grateful that she hadn’t yet suspected anything about Eulalia, Lola pulled back and smiled. “Patience. Got it. Well, not really. But I’m working on it.”
Nanette chuckled. “There’s my girl. I always know when you get that sassy tone that you’re back. Now off with you. Call me later.”
“I will. Have a good day,” Lola said and headed for the door. “I love you.”
“And I you,” Nanette replied.
Lola left and Nanette sat at the table. She picked up her phone and accessed her email. She opened the email with the image attached. For a long time, she stared at the screen.
“Morgan Sands,” she murmured and set the phone aside.
Chapter Five
The car bumped. Like she’d run over something on the road. Which she knew she hadn’t. Then it bumped again. Lola’s face tightened in a frown as the car went through a series of jerks and bumps. She steered to the side of the road, turned on her emergency flashers then got out.
“Great,” she grumbled as she saw the flat tire on the back driver’s side. “Just great.”
It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to change a flat. The problem was that she had no spare. She went for her purse and pulled out her cell phone. It was dead.
“Well screw me,” she complained and looked both ways up and down the road, trying to decide which way to go.
Rather than hike back to Nanette’s, she opted to head down the road. Lola knew that Nanette had a client coming in and she didn’t want to intrude. Besides, there was a house not far, perhaps a mile. Maybe the people who lived there would let her use their phone and she could call for help.
The drive leading to the house was narrow and rutted, old gnarled trees formed a thick umbrella, creating a shadowed tunnel. In her mind, she could see gnomes peering from behind the trees, and fairies with iridescent dragonfly wings darting about.
The house was dark. Dark wood siding, a dark shingled roof, and sheltered beneath tall trees to put it in shadow. It was almost foreboding. It always had been. Even as a child when she would visit Nanette, Lola had avoided the place. Maybe it was haunted. She dismissed the idea and proceeded up the steps and across the narrow porch to the door.
There was no bell, so she knocked. And waited. She knocked again. When no one answered after several moments, she turned away. Just as she did, the door opened.
She turned back around and her eyes widened in surprise. A flush of desire rushed through her the moment she saw him.
“Morgan!”
“Lola?” Morgan pushed open the screened door. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t seem particularly pleased to see her, which stabbed at her, but what was more, he didn’t look particularly well. Haunted eyes ringed with dark shadows stared at her from a face tight with tension or pain—she couldn’t tell which.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said hurriedly, feeling slightly embarrassed at the flutter in her belly and the heat that had settled in her sex merely from looking at him.
The shocked expression on his face had another thought spring to mind. What if he thought she was one of those weird stalker fans? That idea sent her mouth into gear and her words came out in a rush.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this was your house. I have a flat and no spare and my cell phone is dead so I came looking for a phone to call for help.”
“Please, come in,” Morgan said and held the door for her. Seeing her on his doorstep had thrown him for a loop. He’d wanted to call her since the moment he’d gotten home the previous night. Wanted to be back in her company. Wanted to touch her. Wanted the voices to disappear.
And he’d not wanted to think about Nanette and her offer to help him with the voices. Not wanted to try to figure out how she could have known or what he should do about it.
“I’m really sorry to barge in on you,” Lola said as he closed the door. “If I can just use your phone, I’ll call Nanette and have her meet me at my car.”
“Nanette?” Morgan’s spine tightened at the mention of the name.
Lola smiled at him. “Sorry. Nanette Beaureguarde . She lives not too far from here. I know. I probably should’ve just walked back to her house, but I knew there was a house here and thought it would be closer.”
“How do you know Nanette?” he asked.
Lola’s smile faded. “That’s kind of a long story, so in a nutshell, she’s close friends with the woman who raised me.”
Morgan’s curiosity was piqued. And he did not want Lola to leave. The moment she’d stepped into the house, the voices had stopped. “I’ll make a deal with you. You have coffee with me and tell me about Nanette, and I’ll help you with your car.”
“Okay,” she said with a hint of a smile.
Morgan led the way to the kitchen, hobbling a bit.
“What’s wrong with your leg?” she asked.
“Sprained my ankle running.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Listen, don’t worry about coffee, you should sit.”
“It’s not that bad. Please.” He gestured to the table where his laptop was set up with thumbnails of some of his work on the screen. “Have a seat.”
“Are these recent?” Lola asked as he started preparing coffee.
“It’s a mix,” he replied. “Images I’ve been sticking away the last couple of years. Now I’m trying to decide whether to include any of them in a new book.”
“Would you mind if I looked?” she asked.
“No.” He looked over his shoulder at her with a smile. “Help yourself.”
She did just that. He watched her as he got together cups along with cream and sugar. She seemed totally engrossed. He leaned back against the counter and looked at her, his hands wishing for a camera. How he would have loved to have taken her photo, capturing the light coming in from the kitchen window and slanting across the table, dust motes giving it a textured appearance, lighting one side of her face and
casting the other side in shadows.
It occurred to him how unaware she was of her own beauty. Her face was set in concentration as she looked at the photosJust watching her made lust bloom strong and potent. How many nights had she appeared in his dreams? Her warm lush body providing pleasure he’d never been able to equal in his waking hours. How was it possible that he’d dreamed her in such perfect detail, then found her in the flesh? What strange twist of fate was at work?
A low beep signaled the coffee was ready. She didn’t blink or move at the sound. Morgan poured two cups and brought them to the table, then fetched the sugar and cream.
“How do you want it?” he asked as he sat beside her.
“Huh?” She looked up at him with wide eyes, a flush tinting face. It was enough to make him daydream of laying her on the kitchen table and licking cream from her smooth skin.
“Your coffee?”
“Oh!” She smiled. “I like a little coffee with my cream and sugar.”
Morgan laughed. “In that case, you better take care of it yourself.”
“Thanks.” She accepted the spoon he offered, spooned in several scoops of sugar into her cup, then topped it off with enough cream to turn the color to pale beige.
“This shot…” She clicked the pad on the laptop to move back a few frames. “This is…incredible.”
Morgan leaned over and glanced at the photo. It was one he’d taken of a child picking wildflowers that grew around an old gnarled oak. Sunlight filtered down through the leaves, creating a dappled effect on the child. But the child’s hand, gently pulling on the fragile stem of a flower, was lit by a shaft of light.
“It’s okay,” he commented and took a sip of his coffee.
“Okay?” she asked with arched brows. “It’s fantastic! Look at the boy’s face, how hard he’s concentrating trying to pluck the flower. You can see petals on the ground and it makes you think his fingers have slipped and pulled off petals. He’s being so careful. And the hand holding the flowers. Look how carefully he clutches them. This is something important to him. It’s more than just a casual sit-down-and-pluck-flowers. He’s doing this for a reason and whatever the reason is, it’s very important.”
