Sara looked away. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t, you’re right. It was kind of rude of me. I—I just felt like I needed to get out of there. I didn’t want to be involved anymore, with the dreams and everything.”
“Well,” Taylor said, shrugging, “I can see that. But David was pretty upset, I think. Anyway, Alex is getting coffee. Mind if we join you?”
Sara cocked her head. “You’re here with Alex? I thought you broke up?”
“Yes!” Taylor smiled broadly, grabbing a chair. “We made up, isn’t that great? Alex was upset I took the job in Dunnhill, because it would take me out of town so often. But we sorted it out. Good thing, too; the furniture thing was getting complicated. Not to mention where Toby was going to live.”
Sara slowly sat back down. “Toby…”
“Yeah, our dog, a little Scottish terrier. He’s really cute. I was so torn about having to leave him here.”
“Ah. I see. What about David? I mean, I guess—I’m sorry, I’m confused. I thought you liked David and he liked you, if you know what I mean. You just left him?”
Taylor stared at Sara, blinking a couple of times. “Well… David and I do like each other. We’re really good friends. But I think you misunderstood; there’s nothing there. I mean, we tried, a long time ago, when we were sixteen or so. It didn’t work out, of course, for the obvious reasons.”
“The obvious reasons…” Sara repeated.
“Yeah.” Taylor looked at her quizzically.
A husky voice interrupted their conversation. “Oh hey, I see you found a table. Awesome. Geez, that line was long. It took forever.” A petite blond-haired woman with a friendly face set two cups on the table.
“Sara, this is Alex,” said Taylor. “Alex, this is Sara, I met Sara in Dunnhill—she’s the friend of David’s I mentioned.”
“Hey, nice to meet you.” Alex plopped down on her chair. She sported a nose ring, and a large tattoo on her right upper arm. She smiled at Sara, revealing two attractive dimples in her cheeks. “Taylor told me some cool stuff about you.”
All Sara could do was stare. Finally, she found her voice. “You’re Alex… you’re a woman,” she blurted out.
Alex nodded. “Alexandra. And yes, I am a woman. Does that bother you?”
“No. No.” Sara shook her head fervently. “No, not at all. I—I just expected, with the name Alex, you see—I expected a man.” She looked at Taylor. “I didn’t know. I thought you and David had something... I didn’t know you were—”
“Gay?” Taylor finished her sentence.
“Right. I had no idea. It never occurred to me, actually.”
Taylor smirked. “Well, now you know. Me and David, huh? I still can’t believe you would think that. We weren’t lovey-dovey, were we? Not overly physical? Did you ever see us kiss?”
Sara looked pained. “No, now that you mention it, not at all.”
Taylor crossed her arms. “You are as blind as a bat, Sara. David isn’t attracted to me—he likes you. Anyone could see that.”
Sara felt her cheeks grow hot. “I didn’t. Well, I thought maybe he did. Like, maybe he couldn’t make up his mind. It was all too complicated. At least I thought it was.” Resting her head in her hands, she rubbed her eyes. “I’m an idiot. Is that what you’re thinking? Because you’re right.”
Taylor laughed. “Well, I do think you’re an idiot, but not for misjudging me and David. What I’m wondering is, if you like David, why did you give up on him? Why didn’t you ask him how he felt about me? He would’ve told you. Now he’s under the impression you’re not interested in him. You left without a word. A little cold, don’t you think? Trust me, you’d be lucky to have a guy like David. He’s a good man.”
Sara moaned, keeping her face covered with her hands. “I’m not very good at confrontation. It was just easier to let things be.” She looked up. If she was being totally honest, Taylor had been a pretty convenient excuse not to pursue David.
Taylor sighed. “Easier, maybe. But is that what you want?”
“That’s a good question,” Sara muttered.
“You look like hell, by the way. What’s going on? Are you sick?” Taylor said, eyeing her.
“Gee, thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear.” Sara couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice, despite knowing Taylor meant well. “I—I haven’t been sleeping well. More dreams. The same dream, actually; it keeps coming back. It’s a very scary one. I hate going to bed now. I’d hoped, being away from Dunnhill, that it would stop.” She glanced over at Alex, wondering how much she already knew. Alex sipped her coffee, seemingly unfazed.
“Have you ever thought about talking to someone?” Taylor suggested. “You know, somebody else who’s ‘gifted,’ like you? Maybe they can help you control it in some way, or learn to block it out.”
“Who? People don’t exactly advertise this sort of thing.” Sara’s response was flat.
“Maybe not. But it may be worth looking around a bit. Not sleeping isn’t exactly a long-term option.”
“The last time, it stopped when everything was… resolved, I guess you might say. I thought we’d resolved this mystery as well. So why won’t it go away?” Sara looked desperately at the two women across the table.
“Maybe because it isn’t really resolved?” Taylor suggested. “That seems like the obvious conclusion to me. Maybe there’s something you missed. What’s the dream about?”
“I’m in a room—it’s dark and cold—and I notice someone hanging from the ceiling. Like hanging…” Sara put both her hands around her throat.
“Seriously creepy…” Taylor mumbled. “Can you see who it is?”
“No. It’s too dark. It’s an adult, though.”
“Maybe you need to figure out who the hanged person is. And why they hanged themselves. Or were hanged… Anyway, just ignoring the dream doesn’t seem to be doing you much good.”
“Right. Easier said than done.”
“Yeah, I suppose. Want me to ask David if someone in the village fits the description?”
Sara hesitated. “If you want. Just don’t tell him too much.”
“Don’t fret, my dear.” Taylor winked. “You can trust me. I won’t say anything to make the situation worse.”
“Somehow that’s not very reassuring.”
Taylor smiled mischievously. “Look at the time. We’ve got to go. Looks like the rain has stopped, too. You have my cell number? Call me if you need to talk, or if you have any other dreams.”
When Sara was alone again, she put away her laptop. There was no point in trying to work now. She tried to make sense of the whirlpool of emotions inside her. More than anything, she felt like a coward—for leaping to the conclusion that Taylor and David were involved, and for not daring to take the plunge into something new. She had been so afraid of losing something great that she had avoided gaining it in the first place. Yes, going back to Dunnhill had been a hesitant first step, but it hadn’t taken her more than a few minutes to chicken out.
Outside, it had started raining again. Irritated with herself, she got up and left the Starbucks, and walked back to her aunt’s house in weather that perfectly matched her mood.
Sara spent the next week in a mostly apathetic state. Still haunted by her nightly dream, she was too tired to think about making the necessary changes, or even care. Aunt Shelley was getting really worried and made a doctor’s appointment. Sara protested, though she knew her aunt was right. She couldn’t go on like this.
With the doctor’s appointment set for the following week, Sara forced herself to at least get out of the house. Encouraged by the lack of rain one morning—a pale sun was doing its best to make its way through the clouds—she threw on some clothes. The mail had come, so she collected it for her aunt and uncle, quickly flipping through the stack. To her surprise, there was a small envelope addressed to her. The return address was located in Medina, Washington, and it belonged to a certain Arthur Monasset.
Frowning, she trie
d to place the name, certain she had heard it before. An image of a tall, stiff-looking man with grey hair slowly seeped through the fog in her brain. Of course! The owner of Ben Stevens’s cabin near the falls, who had come to visit the last day she had spent with David.
What did Arthur want? He hadn’t seemed the least bit interested in her at the time.
She opened the envelope and took out a card. It was an invitation.
Dear Ms. Eriksson,
After talking with Mr. Sanders, who showed me the property near Sawyer Falls and informed me about its past, my interest in meeting you again was piqued. I would like to invite you to my house this Sunday, September the 20th, at 3 p.m. Refreshments will be served. I have also invited Mr. Sanders and Ms. Russell.
Sincerely,
Arthur Monasset
Puzzled, she laid the invitation down on the small antique table in the hallway. Sunday… that was in two days. Arthur Monasset wanted to talk to her about what happened near Ben Stevens’s house—but why? What on earth did David tell him? The last thing she wanted was for more people to find out about her dreams. On the other hand, Arthur had invited David as well. And Taylor.
The question was whether Sara wanted to see David again. Of course she wanted to, but what would it be like? Taylor had said he was upset with her for leaving without a goodbye.
Later that day, still not resolved to go, she showed her aunt the invitation.
“I think you should,” her aunt said. “If anything, it won’t hurt. Are David and Taylor going?”
“Taylor is,” Sara replied, having texted with her earlier that day. “I don’t know about David.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Shelley nodded, keeping any thoughts to herself. “Well, I think you should go. Medina is beautiful—lots of big houses. Arthur Monasset must be a wealthy man. If anything, it would probably be fun to check out his house.”
“I guess.” Sara shrugged.
That Sunday, Taylor arrived in a Jeep to pick Sara up. “Nice outfit,” she commented. Sara had deviated from her customary yoga pants that morning, instead choosing a long-forgotten dress and high-heeled boots that had been hidden under some dust in a closet.
“Thanks. You too.”
“You still look tired. Are you sleeping any better?”
Sara shook her head. “No. You happen to know what this invitation is about?”
“Nope. I was bummed it was over the weekend. I drove back from Dunnhill this morning and I had to leave Gary in charge of the office. At least we’re not that busy yet, so he’ll manage.”
“Is David coming?” Sara was almost afraid to ask.
“No, sorry. He declined,” Taylor said without offering an explanation.
“Ah.” Sara felt a surge of disappointment. Not that she blamed him. She shrugged. “Well, maybe it’s better this way.”
Taylor looked at her sideways, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you really think?”
Sara ignored the question, focusing on the traffic. Taylor was weaving in and out of lanes like a madwoman, and more than once Sara closed her eyes to avoid screaming a warning. “Let me guess,” she gasped, “before modeling, you had a career as a NASCAR driver?”
Taylor laughed. “No, but I drove a lot in Italy.”
Squeezing her eyes shut again, Sara made a mental note never to visit Italy. Wild driving was just not her thing anymore after her parents’ accident.
Taylor’s driving style did get them there fast, and they were soon turning into a stately driveway leading up to an imposing mansion.
Taylor whistled. “Mr. Monasset sure lives in style!”
Sara nodded. “That’s one big house. I hope he doesn’t live alone.”
They rang the doorbell and a well-dressed man they didn’t recognize opened the door. “Welcome,” he said formally, after they had introduced themselves. “Mr. Monasset is expecting you. Allow me to show you the way.”
They followed him through a large, decadent hall, the walls brightened by tasteful, expensive-looking paintings. The home had high ceilings and two enormous staircases at the end that led to the second floor. The whole place exuded wealth.
The man guided them through a few more equally impressive rooms before they reached what looked like a sun room. An abundance of light poured in through the many windows, highlighting plants and flowers that created a colorful atmosphere. Multiple refreshments were already set out on the bar. In the middle, seated at a round table, was Arthur Monasset, reading a newspaper. Curled up in the fluffy chair next to him, sleeping contently, was a cat with glossy, soft grey fur.
The butler announced their arrival and Arthur got up. Considering his age, his movements were still very fluid and quick. Today he was wearing a tailored suit, which seemed to accommodate him better than the clothes he had worn at their previous meeting.
“Welcome, welcome.” He shook their hands. “Ms. Eriksson, nice to see you again. And Ms. Russell, I presume?” His voice was not clipped this time, but more relaxed and friendly.
“John,” he said to the butler, “maybe you can ask Sally to bring out some appetizers? We’d appreciate it.”
John nodded and left.
“Please, please, have a seat.” Arthur pointed to the table.
Sara awkwardly sat down in one of the fancy chairs next to the sleeping cat, who had not deemed their presence interesting enough to wake from its slumber.
“So good of you to come,” Arthur continued. “Sadly, I’m afraid Mr. Sanders couldn’t make it.”
“Yes, it’s too bad,” Taylor said, appearing not in the least intimidated by her surroundings. “Thank you for the invitation. And please call me Taylor, Mr. Monasset.”
“Very well. You can call me Arthur, then. No need for formalities.”
A woman in her fifties entered the room with a tray of pastries, which she set on the table. “Here you are,” she said. “Now, what can I get you to drink? There’s fresh tea, soda, juices, and of course wine, if you like.”
As the woman poured Sara some tea and Taylor a glass of juice, Sara wiggled in her seat. She could just picture herself, clumsy as she was, spilling tea all over this nice furniture. She glanced over at the cat; if she had chairs like these, she would never let a cat shed all over them.
“That’s a very beautiful cat,” she commented, attempting to break the ice.
Arthur glanced over. “Ah, you’ve found Tabitha, have you? Did you notice the folded ears? It’s a special breed. She’s my mother’s, actually. I’m more of a dog person, myself, but my mother adores her.”
So he lives here with his mother? Sara thought. She must be well into her nineties. They had quite a lot of rooms for just two people. Not wanting to pry, she directed her full attention to her plate of pastries.
When Sally had taken her leave, Arthur cleared his throat. “You must be wondering why I invited you here.”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Taylor said charmingly. “I was hoping maybe you invited us because you had changed your mind about selling the property?”
Arthur chuckled . “No, my dear, I haven’t. It’s not mine to sell, you see. After my father died, the property was passed to my mother. Anyway, that’s not the reason I invited you here.”
Sara and Taylor looked at him expectantly.
Arthur continued, “As you may know, I had no clue we owned the property. I’m still baffled as to why my father purchased it—there’s not much value in it. But as I said, it’s my mother’s now. Which brings me to the reason I invited you: My mother wished to meet you. I told her about the property and what you had discovered in perusing the old newspapers. She was intrigued, and asked me to set up a meeting. Nowadays, she hardly asks for anything, so I felt obliged to honor her request. She’s ailing—advanced heart disease—and she doesn’t have much time left according to the doctors. Though they’ve said that for a while now. She’s tenacious, my mother. Holding on to life like a dog to a bone.”
Sara frowned. That last remark was a bit rude, wasn’t
it? “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “At least you’ll have the opportunity to say goodbye…” she added coolly.
Arthur looked up, his brow creasing. “Yes, you’re right, of course. My mother and I—we have a somewhat difficult relationship. It hasn’t been without its tribulations, shall we say. Anyway, I thought I should prepare you. She’s bedridden and needs her oxygen, but despite that, her mental faculties are still sharp. Just to warn you.”
Sara would have preferred to leave this house, and Arthur Monasset, as soon as possible. But the thought of not honoring a dying woman’s wishes seemed as callous as Arthur’s remarks about her.
“I’d be happy to meet your mother,” she said softly. Taylor nodded.
“Splendid.” Arthur got up energetically. “I’ll take you to her.”
He led them back into the hall, then proceeded up one of the massive staircases. They followed him down a hallway on the second floor. At the end, he paused in front of two large French doors. He knocked. A young blond woman opened one of the doors.
“Kathy,” Arthur said, “is my mother able to have some visitors?”
“I think so,” Kathy said brightly, and opened the door further.
“Kathy is my mother’s nurse,” Arthur explained as they entered.
The room was enormous, with a sitting area and a fireplace at one end, and a king-size canopy bed at the other. Large windows looked out over the lush green lawn, with a door to access the balcony. A distinctive smell permeated the room; it reminded Sara of the nursing home her grandmother had lived in.
Hesitantly, they trailed Arthur as he stepped toward the bed.
Buried under sheets and propped against a multitude of pillows lay an old woman, her hands resting on the covers. Her eyes, deeply sunken, were closed. Her face and hands looked fragile and emaciated, covered by wrinkled, parchment-like skin. Her wispy body only needed a gust of wind, Sara thought, to lift off the bed and float away. The old woman’s chest moved so slightly, it was almost like she wasn’t breathing. The oxygen delivered by a nasal cannula made a soft whistling sound.
The Charm of Lost Chances Page 7