by A. L. Singer
Everything went into slow motion. I turned away from the table, away from the pictures. I tried to move, but my legs weren’t responding. I grabbed at the back of one of the chairs as my legs turned to mush. All of a sudden the few people in the foyer were rushing to me. Everyone was reaching for me and saying my name with panic in their voices. I had let go of the chair and was falling down, my eyes fluttered as I saw the ceiling above me. Everything went black as my body hit the floor.
Chapter 2
I could hear voices that sounded like they were in a tunnel some distance away. One voice said, “Oh … Aaron! … Aaron, I think she passed out. I told her to eat something. I should have made her eat.” That would be mama bear Jennifer hovering over me. Then I heard other voices, muffled, off in the darkness surrounding me. “Is she all right?” one voice asked. “Should we call for help?” another wanted to know.
Then I heard his voice, crystal clear. An accent, Romanian possibly. “There is no need for that,” he said. “Mia … Mia, open your eyes for me.” His voice was soft and warm.
My body tingled, and I wanted to obey. My eyes fluttered, and I saw light for a second before they closed again. A part of me refused to rejoin the world around me. No, I thought. I just want to lay here in the darkness; let me be. There was a light caress on the curve of my neck. It wasn’t until then that I realized my head hadn’t hit the floor like the rest of my body. My head shifted slightly, but I had not moved. I felt someone touch my face, sensing it was the stranger with the warm soft voice. His thumb traced my cheek, and I knew my head was resting in his hands.
He spoke again in that same voice, at once tender and alluring. “Where should I take her?” There was heavy silence for a minute, followed by Jennifer’s fumbled answer. “Um … follow me.” And with that I was floating through the air. My eyes fluttered again in the kitchen, and I saw familiar dried herb bouquets and a flash of copper. I smelled sandalwood and felt soft fabric against the side of my face. Soon I was in the guest room, sinking into the bed. A hand gently ran down my arm and rested over my palm. A few muffled voices again. I could not make out the words but heard slight panic and concern. Leave me alone. I thought. Just go away.” I wanted to scream. Leave me here in my darkness. … Alone.
He spoke again trying to reassure mama bear. “She will be fine, Jennifer. …I will watch over her; she just needs some rest. Go make sure the guests are attended to. I will call on you as soon as she wakes up.” His voice was heaven, soft and soothing.
Jennifer answered with a low and empty whisper. “You-will-call-on-me-when-she-wakes.” I heard the soft movement of her leaving the room and the door closing behind her. I began to stir. She left me—just like that. No fussing. No hovering over me. The stranger had called her by her full name, I realized suddenly. Only her closest friends and family called her Jennifer. Even customers at the coffee shop called her Jenny. I called her both. Whatever mood she was in on any particular day determined whether I called her Jenny or Jennifer. Since the accident, though, I had only called her Jennifer. Whoever this stranger might be, Jennifer must know him.
He slid his hand around my ankle now, lifting it an inch or two above the bed, just enough to slip off my black high heel, and then he did the same with my other foot. The sensation of tiny bubbles climbed my spine. A blanket drifted over my body, covering most of my legs and some of my abdomen. I could feel his presence. He stood at my side or maybe over me. Suddenly his breath was at my ear. “Sleep, Mia. … Sleep and know I will not leave your side.”
A beautiful promise. I sighed. Such a chivalrous promise from such a beautiful voice. But it meant nothing to me. If I had the strength I would have told him to leave. Everyone I truly loved had left me. Absurdly enough, this stranger thought his words would mean something to me … on this day. My head fell to the side in his direction, and just before I fully embraced the depths of sleep my eyes opened slightly. They were so heavy, this movement took all I had. A tingle spread throughout my body, and my heart felt absent briefly. I caught a glimpse of him. He was angelic looking, with perfect pale skin. Ice-blue eyes, a strong jaw line with a touch of stubble. His shiny black hair was combed back from his face except for a few loose strands that fell over his forehead. He looked a little past thirty, and I knew I had never laid eyes on him before now. I fantasized that maybe he was my angel, here to take me to my parents. To end the pain that filled me. It was what I wanted in that moment. My eyes drifted to his lips, pale pink and full. Take me … my beautiful angel, from this awful place. Make the pain cease. Please.
The words failed to leave my mouth as I tried to reach out to him. He took my hand as we just looked at each other, quiet and still in that moment. My eyes moistened when I understood how foolish my fantasy was. He looked toward the door and then leaned closer. “Sleep, Mia.” My eyes grew heavy and I did as he said. I had no strength to fight sleep anymore.
Soon I was sitting on a dock surrounded by water lilies. The air was fresh and crisp, as if it had rained earlier in the day. All the lilies were fully opened and snow white, framed by the bright green pads around them. I eagerly wanted to touch one, hold it in my hand. I reached out to pick one but jerked my hand back when my father’s voice boomed. “No, Mia!” he yelled frantically. I spun my head to look over my shoulder. There he was on the opposite side of the dock lunging forward. “Mia!” he exclaimed. “You really scare daddy some days. If you want a flower, you just need to ask.” He wasn’t looking at me; he wasn’t even speaking to me. He reached down and plucked a lily from the water. My father turned to his right with it facing away from me. I turned my body around to watch him. A tiny voice spoke up. “Thank you, daddy … it’s pretty.” There I was at his side, only four or five years old. Big black curls framing my face. Bright eyed with rosy cheeks. …
I was dreaming. I had this dream at least once a year. The only recurring dream I ever had. It was actually one of my first childhood memories. The dream was always the same: me beside my dad on a dock surrounded by water lilies. Little Mia almost falling into the water trying to reach a flower. This time the mood was different. I didn’t want to watch, didn’t want to relive this memory. My father reached over and pinched my cheek. “You need to be more careful, okay?” His voice loving and stern. I wanted to look away. My heart began to ache. My father wasn’t real; he was not really here only a few yards away from me. I tucked my knees up against my body and rested my chin on them. I wrapped my arms around my legs and started to rock my body slightly. “Wake up, Mia, wake up.” I started to cry, repeating the same words over and over. I rocked my body harder and clenched my fists. “Wake up now!”
I cried out and jolted up in bed. My eyes, still filled with tears, tried to adjust to the dimly lit room. Without warning, strong arms embraced me and held me tight. “Shh … It is all right now.” He whispered, holding me against him. “Just a bad dream.”
My body lost some of its tension. “Bad dream.” I repeated. Yes it was all a horrible dream—the phone call, the accident, all of it. My dad must have heard me crying and come to wake me up. He was still here, and my mother was probably in the kitchen cooking something for breakfast. I inhaled deeply, trying to smell something sweet. Waffles with syrup or cinnamon rolls … anything comforting. But nothing sweet filled my nose. Instead it was a woodsy aroma, sandalwood or cedar.
My eyes shot open. I instantly knew. This wasn’t my father holding me so close, trying to comfort me. I shoved the soft-voiced stranger away, moving backward until my body was pressed against the headboard. I couldn’t speak, only stare at him and let it all sink again. I looked down at my dress in the dim light, felt the string of pearls around my neck. It had all happened. Earlier in the day I had left my parents in the cemetery, now surrounded by other lost loved ones. They were stones with their names on them to visit and bring flowers to. More tears filled my eyes, and I just let them fall down my cheek.
He reached for me, but I shrank away. His ice-blue eyes looked right through me,
and he let his hand fall to his side. “Do you want me to retrieve Jennifer for you, Mia?” He said it slowly, shifting his body to go. Glancing at the door and then turning back to me. His eyes searched my face, waiting for a response. A vague ache filled my body. I remembered falling earlier in the dining room and then hearing his soothing voice. He had carried me to bed and tucked me in. There was a chair next to the bed. The pretty white wood matched the vanity across the room. As soon as my eyes feel on the chair he stood up from the bed and sat on it.
I realized hours had passed; there wasn’t much light coming in from above the curtains. I looked at the clock on the vanity to confirm, squinting as I tried to focus. He reached over to the nightstand beside next to him and passed me a glass of water. I wiped away my tears and took it. I drank half the glass and set it back on the table. The stranger just sat there, watching me in silence. I thought he was an angel before. Here to take me away to a peaceful place without pain and sorrow. But he didn’t; I was still here. If he wasn’t my angel, who was he? Why had he sat here this whole time? I didn’t feel threatened; eerily, I felt just the opposite. Actually not feeling uncomfortable about his presence alarmed me a little inside.
He tilted his head slightly and shifted in the chair. He wore a navy-blue sweater, a lightweight knit, but a sweater in the heat we had been experiencing was odd to me. I cleared my throat and finally spoke. “You could introduce yourself. Jennifer may know you … and you obviously know my name, but I know you and I have never met.” It came out as a demand and rather rude. But I didn’t care. He was in my house and in my room.
He stiffened, sitting up straight in the chair. “I apologize. I should have introduced myself as soon as you awoke, Mia.” He shook his head, and his eyes fell to the side of the bed. “I only came for you … I mean stayed here with you to make sure you recovered … after that fall.” His voice was consistently soft and gentle, as if he thought speaking to me like this would make the moment less awkward. “Sorin. My name is Sorin.” He held out his hand for me to shake. But I just looked at it and pulled the blanket draped over me a little higher.
“You knew my parents?” I asked. His ice-blue eyes met mine, and I shivered. Every time he looked at me directly, my stomach knotted up a little. He never just “looked at me”—no, he saw into me somehow. I felt vulnerable, exposed in some way.
“I knew your mother, Evelynn, but I never met your father, Mia.” His accent was thicker on some words. The way he said my name, as if he knew me personally, really annoyed me.
“She never mentioned a Sorin, and you don’t sound like you are from around here,” I countered.
His gaze fell away. “I met your mother many years ago when passing through town once.”
It sounded like a single meeting many years ago. My parents were wonderful people. My mother was the sweetest woman you could meet. My father, Vincent, was an architect, mostly for hotels. Both had crossed paths with many people in their lifetimes. But everyone I had seen today I had known or at least heard of. Why come a distance for someone you met once? I felt confused and suspicious. “You met her years ago, and now you’ve come all this way to pay your respects. Have you been in touch with her this whole time?”
He looked at me but quickly turned away, mumbling something. Sorin’s jaw flexed tight. He was silent a moment, and then he spoke slowly. “Your mother was a very brave, very strong woman. I may have only had a brief encounter with her, but it forever altered me.”
I shuddered when he fell silent again. He had meant every word. He’d actually seemed a little uneasy as he said the words aloud. I was about to ask more but heard voices in the kitchen. The clock said it was late evening. I sank down into the bed and sighed. “Are there still a lot of people here?”
Sorin looked at me and then glanced at the door. He tilted his head and seemed to think for a moment. “Not many; six or seven guests are still here. Close friends of your mother.” He said it so matter-of-factly. “Do you want me to get someone, or would you prefer that I walk you out?”
I knew I should go back out there, at least to let the mama bears know I was all right. I considered it some more. I didn’t want to leave this room; it had slowly grown darker, and I wanted to stay right here forever. Sorin took my silence as an answer and leaned back into the chair. “Are you feeling a little better now that you rested?”
I contemplated the simple question, as the answer was anything but. My head was still reeling in disbelief from the events past few days. My heart literally ached, filled with utter pain, whenever I focused on what had happened. But for the first time in days my body felt like some stress had left it. My eyes weren’t burning from lack of sleep and never-ending tears either. “Yes, actually I do, physically.” I answered at last, surprising myself.
Looking to the doorway, I heard the voices again. I rubbed my temple and whispered to myself, “I wish they would leave. I can’t do this.” I wanted today to be over. I looked at Sorin and felt conflicted. I didn’t know him. My mother had never mentioned him, but I felt like there was something more than what he’d told me. He spoke of my mother with an admiration that was touching. I wanted to continue talking to him. For the first time in days the conversation wasn’t about me surviving this experience, and his eyes weren’t filled with pity. As peculiar as this whole scenario was, a part of me didn’t want it to end. I shifted my body, preparing to leave the bed finally. “I’m going to freshen up and then join everyone. Will you stay a little longer?” It came out as a plea, and I winced. It must have sounded desperate.
“I will stay as long as you want, Mia.” Every time he spoke, Sorin’s words and voice seeped into me. I started to slide my legs over the edge of the bed to stand up. Sorin quickly stood and moved the chair he had been sitting on out of my way. I just sat on the edge of the bed for a minute. When I was sure I was able to stand I crossed the room to the bathroom. I felt his eyes on me as I passed him. Just before entering the bathroom doorway, I turned back to thank him for his kindness. But the guest room door was closing its last few inches.
I turned on the bathroom light and stood in front of the mirror. I looked awful, and I moaned in disgust. My long black hair that had been smoothed back in a low ponytail was now loose and wild. I leaned in closer. My mascara had become black smudges under my eyes. My eyes themselves looked grayer than their usual mix of colors today. I gave up years ago trying to decide what color they were. They weren’t dark in any way, just a combination of gray, green, and some light brown. If I wore green they seemed to follow. My optometrist laughed about not being able to figure it out himself, telling me to put hazel on my driver’s license. I looked pale and drained, and my stomach growled. I couldn’t remember the last thing I’d eaten. Resting my palm over my abdomen, it felt hollow, empty. It matched my heart.
I heard a few low voices somewhere down the hall. I stepped out of the bathroom and looked at the guest room door. I stood still, waiting for Jennifer or Gina to walk through it. To my surprise, minutes passed, and I relaxed again. I went to the love seat off in the corner of the room. A pile of my clothes lay covering the cushion. They were the only clothes that had been on the first floor, still in the washer. I had washed them the morning of the accident, forgetting about them once I started to paint—I left clothes in the washer like that pretty often. And then the accident happened, and nothing else mattered. I was now wearing the same clothes over and over. A pair of jeans, three shirts, two pairs of socks, and some undergarments. I just washed them again when needed. I couldn’t bring myself to go upstairs and get more clothes. Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice, and I was too embarrassed to ask someone to retrieve some clothes for me from upstairs. I was sure if Jennifer or Gina knew I was struggling so much in my own house they would have insisted that I go home with one of them. I had sent Kayla up for the black dress and heels I wore today. She hadn’t questioned the request, much to my relief.
After staring down at the pile of clothes, I just lifted a pair of dar
k-washed jeans and a dark-green V-neck T-shirt. I locked the guest room door before taking off my mother’s pearl necklace. I laid it on a silver tray that had been my grandmother’s many years before. My fingers ran over the pearls. I unzipped my dress and was shrugging out of it when I felt a slight soreness in my lower arm. I let the dress fall to the floor and returned to the bathroom lighting for a closer look. Just above the underside of my left wrist two small bruises were visible. I tried to recall bumping into something or hurting myself recently. The fact that they were almost perfect circles struck me as strange. I passed my fingers over the bruises again; they were tender but not painful. Stopping my fingers right on top of them it all made sense. They were left from someone’s fingers earlier when I passed out. Whoever had tried to catch me before I hit the floor wasn’t worried about being gentle at the time; it was a good thing I hadn’t broken my neck or gotten a concussion.
I looked at my reflection. At five foot, six inches and 130 pounds, I was average height and weight, with a few Italian curves to my body. I hadn’t been down to the gym room in our basement for many days now, even though I still looked toned. I had lost some weight from not eating lately, and I didn’t care. I didn’t want food and couldn’t imagine eating. I looked at my loose wavy hair, which had lost the perfect curls of my childhood. It fell to the middle of my back when I didn’t pull it back. I washed my face clean, redid my ponytail, and then shut off the bathroom light. I pulled on my jeans and T-shirt in the dark of the guest room, as there was hardly any light coming in from above the curtain. Rain faintly fell outside. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the fussing and scolding for not taking care of myself.