A Hold on Me

by Pat Esden

  I walked toward him, the damp sand and pebbles giving slightly under my weight. “We’ll have a cool drink on the terrace. Lemonade with a little wine, your favorite.”

  Dad reached into the pocket of his chinos. “I would not ask for help if my hands were steady.” He lied. I could see his hands were steadier than they’d been in months. “Confining a soul like this is despicable.”

  Then, before I could turn and run, Dad closed the distance between us. The old-time straight razor he used for shaving appeared in his fisted hand, the cutting edge flipped open, like a switchblade ready for a fight. What the hell?

  He grabbed my hair in one hand, yanked my head back, and sliced the back side of my ear with the blade.

  Pain zinged across my skin.

  He sliced again and warmth trickled down my jawline.

  I twisted against his grip. “Dad, stop!”

  He wrenched my hair tighter, leaned in close, and whispered, “If you run, I will catch you and slit your throat. Now shut your mouth and do as I say.”

  My pulse banged louder than the waves against the rock. I clamped my mouth shut, but the voice inside my head screeched, Dad, no!

  He yanked my hair again, then released me.

  I staggered backward, my hand going to my ear. It came away wet with blood. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I glanced toward the stairs. He’d catch up with me before I could ever reach them.

  “Over there.” He nodded at the rock and Mother’s jar.

  As if trapped in a nightmare, I stumbled to it.

  Dad edged closer and held out the razor. “Open the jar,” he commanded. But when I went to take the razor, he locked his grip. “Do not get any foolish notions, daughter of these loins.”

  Daughter of these loins? He sounded ludicrous, like a bad actor in a cheap movie. But this wasn’t a movie. It was reality, a terrifying reality where the dangerous stranger my father had become recognized me as his child—when my loving father did not. I swallowed hard and nodded that I understood.

  He released the razor. I took it, sat down on the edge of the rock, and put the jar between my legs to hold it firm. Dad had told me a million times how he would have bought a rosewood box for Mother’s ashes. But by the time he was told of her death and traveled back to Moonhill where Mother and I had lived, her ashes had been put in a brass jar and sealed in with beeswax.

  The beeswax curled off in ribbons as I worked the blade around the jar’s mouth. Under the wax I discovered a cork. Pausing for a second, I reached up and ran my fingers behind my ear. The trickle of blood had slowed to a sticky seep. Dad had cut me. He’d cut me, and he might do something worse if I didn’t do as he said. I had to stay calm. Otherwise he would just get angrier, and he’d never snap out of this. Whatever this was.

  “What are you waiting for?” he snarled.

  With trembling hands, I pried the cork out. “I-I’m done,” I stammered, holding the jar out to him.

  His eyes sliced toward where the waves slapped the shore, then retreated. He took a step backward. “Pour them in the water.”

  My jaw tensed. No. I couldn’t. Once he got better, he’d regret doing it like this. But I couldn’t refuse him either. He was stronger than I was. I’d never make it to the stairs.

  “Now, girl.” He glared at me. “Do it while the tide is still going out.”

  Leaving the cork and razor on the rock, I yanked off my sandals and rolled my pants legs up. Then, with the jar in my hands, I waded into the shallow waves, the bone-cold water numbing my feet and ankles.

  For a split second, I looked at Dad.

  His face quivered. His hands clenched.

  My fingers tightened on the jar. All right, I’d do this, but this moment belonged solely to honoring Mother and nothing else. Not to whatever was going on inside Dad’s head or the tears burning in my eyes, or the pain throbbing behind my ear, or the fact that I really hadn’t known my mother at all. Nothing was going to steal this moment from her, not even fear.

  “Mama, I love you,” I said under my breath, as I tilted the jar and let the ashes fall.

  Then, I bowed my head in respect and watched them ride the waves, washing over a starfish, over stones and sand and shells, as the tide drew them into deeper water.

  Something the size of a small earring shimmered amongst the last of the ashes.

  Before Dad could shout another command, I reached into the water with my free hand and scooped it out.

  I hesitated, expecting Dad to demand what I’d found. But only a whisper in the back of my mind had anything to say. It’s not yours. Leave it with the ashes.

  Opening my hand, I gave it a quick study. It was sapphire-colored and shaped like a raindrop with a small hole on the slender end. Not a gem. More likely sea glass. Why had it been in with Mother’s ashes?

  And why was Dad so quiet?

  I shoved the sea glass in my pocket and raised my head.

  He slouched on the flat rock, his knees tucked to his chest, his head bowed. The razor and cork sat untouched beside him.

  “Dad?”

  He looked up, his eyes wide with confusion. “I’ve met you before, haven’t I?”

  CHAPTER 6

  Like the ocean you wash over me.

  Like death you steal my heart.

  Like a shell you whisper in my ear,

  “What is it you desire?”

  —“Song of the Stolen Heart”

  While I rolled down my damp pants legs and slid into my sandals, I took one steadying breath after another and willed my pulse to slow. Normally I would have found Dad not recognizing me upsetting, but right now I didn’t care as long as the violent version of him was gone.

  Dad listened quietly as I wiped the blood off my jawline and explained who I was. He didn’t react at all when I folded the razor closed and slid it into my pocket. I wanted desperately to ask why he wasn’t at the doctor’s. However, chances were, he wouldn’t know what I was talking about any more than he’d remember attacking me. What I needed to do was keep him calm and get him to the house.

  I took Dad by the hand. He allowed me to lead him up the stairs to the cliff top. But as we passed the Shakespeare garden, he slanted his eyes at the unsealed jar in my other hand. His knees locked and he yanked his hand from mine. “I know what that is. You’re going to kill me and put my ashes inside it! Aren’t you?”

  “No. Dad.” I set the jar on the ground far enough into the garden so leaves hid it from view. “See, I’ll leave it right there. No one wants to hurt you.”

  His eyes became slits. “You can’t lie to me. They told me about you.”

  The cool I’d managed to patch together evaporated. My voice became shrill. “They? Who? What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “They came to my room and told me to warn you to stay out of their way.” The terrifying glisten in his eyes told me he wasn’t talking about the doctor or any member of the family. It was something more sinister.

  My mind raced, searching for answers to a remark that I shouldn’t have even been taking seriously. “Are you talking about the shadows?”

  His lips pressed into a guarded smile, and his eyes went to something behind me. He leaned in and whispered, “He belongs to them, you know.”

  Instinctively, I glanced over my shoulder to see who he was talking about.

  Chase was striding toward us. A trace of sweat darkened the front of his olive-green sleeveless T and a few leaves clung to his low-slung jeans. He must have shed his hoodie and traded in his graphic novel for yard work while I was in my room.

  “Need a hand?” He didn’t look me in the eyes, but he sounded sincere.

  I opened my mouth to say no. Dad would never want a stranger involved, no more than he’d want anyone to ever know what had happened on the beach.

  My hand went to my ear. It no longer seeped blood, but it was still painful. Oh God. I hated this. I didn’t want help and I didn’t want Dad going back to where I’d seen the shadows, but we couldn�
��t just stand here forever. I forced my head to nod yes. “I was taking Dad inside,” I said, my voice edged with unwanted tears.

  No sooner were the words out of my mouth than Dad took off at a trot. “I can find my own room, thank you very much.”

  Wiping my eyes, I jogged after him with Chase close behind. “I don’t know what happened at Dad’s appointment this morning, but he hasn’t been himself since he got back from town.”

  “Back?” Chase said. “What are you talking about? No one went anywhere.”

  I stopped and swiveled toward him. If Kate had taken Dad off his regular medicines and not taken him to a doctor, that might explain everything. “Are you saying he didn’t leave the grounds?”

  “I didn’t see anyone.” He rubbed his neck, his fingers pausing when they touched a jagged scar on the left side of his collarbone. “But I wouldn’t have, I was working inside the sheep barn.”

  My voice became harsh. “That’s bullshit. You were watching for the mailman, so you could get your graphic novel.”

  A nerve twitched at the corner of his eye. “That was later—and he was the only person I saw. Earlier, I was in the barn.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, like I believed him. But I was certain he wasn’t telling me everything.

  The terrace door slammed and Dad disappeared inside.

  “I’ve got to catch up with him,” I said.

  Chase’s voice gentled. “You look like you could use a break. Let me take care of him.”

  I bit my lip. He was right. I did need a break to process what had happened, and what I’d just learned. But how could I trust Chase, when it was obvious he was hiding something? And how could I forget the unwelcoming way he’d glared at the Mercedes’s window when we arrived? And what did Dad mean by: He belongs to them? My hormones definitely wanted to trust Chase, but look where that had gotten me before.

  Still, I was good at reading body language and Chase’s kind smile and relaxed stance said he was sincere. I really didn’t want Dad to be alone, especially in his room. Besides, there was something else I had to do before I lost my nerve. Kate had legal guardianship over Dad, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t confront her about his care, or lack thereof.

  “Do you mind staying with him? I’ll be up as fast as I can,” I said.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. He’ll be safe.”

  My stomach twitched at the word safe, but his smile softened me. To be honest, it wasn’t Dad’s safety I was worried about. It was mine. The mere thought of being alone with Dad terrified me, making me feel both guilty and sad, which in turn felt totally foreign and wrong. Even the idea of running into the shadows again didn’t begin to compare to the memory of what had happened on the beach.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  His eyes lingered on mine, communicating something else, something deeper that made the air between us simmer and left me more than a little breathless. Then, he turned and jogged toward the house.

  As I watched him, I noticed a curtain fall shut in an upstairs window. Someone had been spying on us, and it had been from a window at the end of the hallway where my room was.

  Heart hammering, I made a beeline into the house and dashed for the back stairs, then skidded to a stop. There was no point in trying to catch the person. He or she would be long gone by now. Plus, I had something more important to do. I turned to start in the opposite direction, but the kitchen door swung open, missing me by inches, and Olya flew out.

  “Your Dad, have you seen him?” she asked, breathless. Her gaze darted to the terrace door, then toward the other end of the hallway.

  My hands shot to my hips. “Why didn’t anyone tell me he was back?”

  She hesitated, toying with the hem of her sweater and averting her eyes from mine. “He returned a little while ago,” she said. “He asked me if I could get him some lemonade. When I brought it back to his room, he was gone.”

  She was obviously lying. Still, I doubted she was the mastermind behind whatever was going on. And it was probably smarter to stay on her good-witch-mother-hen side than turn her against me. “I found Dad outside. Chase is going with him to his room right now.”

  Relief washed the worry lines from her face, and her craggy fingers fluttered to her breastbone. “Thank goodness.”

  “Do you know where Aunt Kate is?” I asked, trying to appear as cool and collected as possible.

  She shook her head. “There’s no need to tell her what happened.”

  “If you tell me where Kate is,” I said, “I promise I won’t mention Dad’s escape. I’m really grateful you’re helping take care of him.”

  Olya’s gaze slid toward the staircase and then back to me, like she wanted desperately to get back upstairs to Dad. “Kate’s in her study. On the first floor, last doorway on the west wing hall, right under your father’s room.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “It’s better if you talk with her at lunch. She has a visitor right now.”

  “I’ll do that.” I lied.

  I waited just long enough for the sound of Olya’s footsteps to vanish up the stairs, and then I rushed to the foyer, past the dining room, and into the west wing hallway. I could only hope that Olya wouldn’t text or phone Kate and warn her of my impending visit. Then again, Kate probably never answered her phone.

  Both sides of the hallway were lined with closed doors and mirror-backed display cases full of ticking clocks and bizarre whirling apparatuses that looked like Leonardo da Vinci might have invented them.

  When I reached the door to the study, Kate’s demanding voice and an unfamiliar man’s deeper tone came from within. I paused, my confidence wavering. If I went in now, I wouldn’t be able to confront her, not with a stranger in the room. That would make me look like an ignoramus, and I didn’t want that any more than I wanted yet another person to know why Dad was here. Olya was right. I needed to wait.

  As I turned to leave, I heard the door open.

  “Stephanie?” Kate’s voice said.

  I whirled around and gave her a sheepish grin.

  Kate looked down her nose at me.

  “I—I wanted to talk to you, but if you’re busy, I can come back later.” My voice stammered and a dribble of sweat fell down my spine. I clenched my hands, and fortified my resolve. I had to stay strong.

  Kate stepped into the hallway and a gray-haired man in a dark suit with a white clerical collar came out with her. A priest.

  He dipped his head to greet me. “You’re Stephanie Freemont, I presume?”

  Unable to find my tongue, I nodded. I’d met loads of priests and ministers over the years, but coming face to face with one here was the last thing I’d expected. On top of that, the only way he’d know my name was if he and Kate had been talking about me.

  “Well, nice to meet you, Stephanie.” The priest smiled at me, then turned back to Kate. “Like I said, I don’t think we should delay.” He gave me another quick nod and headed down the hallway, most likely toward the front door.

  “You might as well come in.” Kate’s voice brought me back to attention. She waved me into the dimly lit study and closed the door. “I assume there is a reason for this impromptu visit?”

  I straightened my spine and marched straight toward the chair beside her desk. If I sat there, then she’d have to sit at her desk rather than lording over me while we talked.

  “Don’t make yourself too comfortable. We’ll be talking over there.” Kate waved an imperious hand, indicating a high-backed settee that faced away from us and toward a fireplace. It was a beautiful piece of eighteenth-century furniture with brocade upholstery, and so tall it would have protected anyone sitting in it from cold drafts and hidden them from view as well. But I wasn’t here to admire the antiques.

  Head held high, I followed Kate across the room. As she went to stand by the fireplace, I started to sit on the settee, but leapt up when I realized Grandfather already sat in it.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, backing away. “I didn’t realize you were
there.” My neck and face burned from embarrassment.

  Chuckling, he scooted over. “You are a skittish little thing.” He patted the cushion next to him. “Now, what is it that you want to talk to Kate about?”

  Determined not to let him think I was that flustered, I lowered myself onto the settee and casually crossed my ocean-dampened legs at the ankle. I looked at Kate.

  Behind her and above the fireplace hung a huge oil painting of frolicking cats. The absurdity of it hanging where I had expected to see a portrait of some grim ancestor gave me the will to smile as I steered the conversation in a very specific direction. “I wanted to know how Dad’s appointment went.”

  “Given time and proper treatment, your father may recover.” Kate glanced away from me and ran a finger down a porcelain ginger jar that sat on the mantel, like she was checking for dust. Then her eyes rushed back to mine, narrowed and hard. “The doctor said your father’s recovery would have been ensured if he had received help sooner. In the future, Stephanie, you must refrain from keeping secrets.”

  I planted both feet on the floor. She had no right to lecture me like that. Biting my tongue, I dropped my gaze. No. I wasn’t going to let her get to me. I wasn’t going to lose my temper. No matter how hard she pushed.

  Grandfather cleared his throat. “Secrets breed trouble,” he said quietly.

  But his words barely registered in my brain as I braced myself and then asked a seemingly innocent question. “The doctor, what did you say his name was?”

  “Dr. Jerome,” Kate said without hesitation. “He’s a world-renowned expert. The best in these sorts of cases. We’re lucky he’s close by.”

  I knifed her with a glare. “It must be very close. I asked Chase and he said he didn’t see anyone leave the property or return this morning.”

  Her lips pursed, like she’d sucked on a sour pickle. “My, don’t you think you’re the clever one, seeing conspiracies where there aren’t any. Just like your father.”