Loreena's Gift

by Colleen M. Story

  She set the cane down against the pedestal and reached overhead for Haley’s hands. When she found them, she took them gently in her own. Closing her eyes, she asked a silent question while leaning her head against one of the stone sleeves.

  Angel Haley, was it wrong to save my brother?

  The sun warmed her dark hair, the stone cool and hard against her forehead. She waited for a long time, but there was no answer.

  6

  As she made her way to where Dominic would be waiting, it occurred to Loreena that the day was glorious, one of those brilliant September Sundays when the weather couldn’t be more perfect, the sun more golden or warmer in the sky, the air more crisp and still, or the temperature more even and comforting on the skin. She felt her steps light on the red rounded stones, her hair flowing free behind her shoulders, the taste of lipstick on her tongue. She rubbed her finger over her teeth to make sure none of it had marred her smile, and tried to move nonchalantly in the direction of the church, though she felt very much as if she were going on her first date. Dominic had said it was just an interview; still, she couldn’t remember being this excited about anything in years.

  My first date, Mom. Wish you were here.

  A crow answered her, cawing noisily and flapping away with a ruckus. She stopped, her first thought of Dirk’s spirit, an irrational fear that somehow it had found her and was now watching, planning its revenge. Her shoulders taut, gazing up toward the sky, she thought then that perhaps she was foolish to expect she would be allowed to enjoy herself now, go out on a date, dream about romance, when it was so very clear to the powers above that she had murdered a man.

  He was going to kill my brother.

  The first crow had gone, but another cawed away to the left and took off in a flutter, its cries accusing her far into the distance. Kill-ah! Kill-ah! Kill-ah!

  When the sky quieted, Loreena walked forward, much less carefree now, her lips pressed tightly together. Perhaps this was all a mistake, like her uncle had said. If she had listened to him before, when he cautioned her about going out with Saul in the first place, nothing bad would have happened and she wouldn’t be left shivering at the call of a crow.

  But then, maybe her brother would be dead.

  When she reached the cement sidewalk, she turned left and headed for the front steps of the church, where Dominic had said he would wait. It would be easy enough to call it off now, when she didn’t really know him and had no reason to attach high importance to their meeting—before things got any more complicated, especially before he wrote up some story and published it, attracting the attention of any other dark spirits that might have something to say about the new path she had taken.

  “Ah, there you are.” Dominic’s feet were light on the cement as he flew down the stairs to meet her.

  She stopped, startled at his eager approach.

  “I was a little afraid you had disappeared, never to return. Well, not that you wouldn’t return to the church, but, you know, that you had changed your mind about lunch. I’m glad you didn’t.”

  He smiled again, one of the breathy ones, and seemed poised in front of her, as if he might bolt the minute she spoke. It left her paralyzed. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Well, anyway,” he said, “where shall we go?”

  Tell him you can’t. Tell him you’ve changed your mind. Tell him you don’t feel well. Loreena lowered her head, and then looked up and smiled. “There’s a café just at the bottom of the hill, if you don’t mind walking?”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “It’s such a beautiful day.” Extending her cane, she stepped up to the curb and prepared to cross the street.

  “That’s the truth. Only a few weeks ago, I was shivering in a tent at the edge of a lake.”

  Her thoughts shifted to the deer, the sunset, the rowboat, the rose.

  “Do you like the water?” he asked. “Lakes, oceans, that sort of thing?”

  “I’ve never been to the ocean. But yes, I’ve enjoyed some time by the lake.”

  “Which one, do you remember?”

  Russell’s lake. Rose lake. She shook her head.

  “Well, one lake looks quite a bit like another, that’s for sure. Especially up here, where you have so many of them.”

  They waited at the curb, Loreena’s ears tuned for any approaching traffic. When the road fell quiet, they crossed.

  “That’s amazing, how you do that.” They stepped up on the next sidewalk. “Is it by listening that you determine when to go? I imagine that would be a good way, considering how trained your ears are, from the music and all.”

  “This is a small town,” Loreena said. “Not too hard to get around in.”

  “Even without your sight?”

  “Are we doing the interview now, Mr. Taylor?”

  He hesitated, clearing his throat. “Was that impolite of me?”

  “It’s just a question about me being blind. Not something most people ask.”

  They traveled downhill, Loreena’s pumps clacking against the cement while Dominic’s shoes barely made a sound. The urge to take his arm was strong, a desire she hadn’t experienced before with a stranger. Usually, she was perfectly happy to make her way on her own. Still, she didn’t want to assume he would guide her, so she kept the cane moving, left, right, left, right, painfully aware of how she was announcing her disability to everyone who could see her, especially Dominic. Was that how she appeared to him—just a blind girl, a poor, disabled unfortunate who lived tucked away in a church?

  “Is it unusual,” Dominic began again, “for someone to ask questions? About you being blind, I mean?”

  “Most people don’t.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  “I just assumed, if you were asking, that it had to do with the interview.”

  “Not necessarily. Just curious. Comes with the trade, I suppose.”

  They came to another crossing. The café was at the fifth block. Loreena tucked her thumb under two fingers, counting the ones they’d crossed. As they stepped up on the next sidewalk, she heard the sound of a motorcycle engine behind her and froze. Listening, she waited, worried the bike would come after her, but it passed without changing pitch and moved on into town.

  “Something wrong?” Dominic asked.

  She shook her head and walked on. “Sorry.” They took a few more quiet steps, and she realized she had stopped the conversation. He was going to think she was mentally challenged, too. “What else are you curious about?”

  “That’s a very dangerous question—one that would get you in deep trouble, Loreena. You would be listening to me go on for days.”

  The way he said her name. A little twist on the “r,” a lift to the “n,” as in “señorita.” Yet it wasn’t a Spanish accent, more like he enjoyed saying it, and placed a little extra emphasis on the pronunciation just for the pleasure of it. The sound lifted her heels off the sidewalk.

  “Okay,” she said, “just one thing, then. What was your last story about?”

  “Ah, that will work. Narrow it down a bit, and then if I still go on, you have permission to stop me at any time. Just hold up your hand like a traffic cop, all right? Promise me, as I really hate to bore people.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone finding you boring.”

  “Really? Well then, I appreciate your imagination. It’s obviously a much more hospitable place than my reality, at times.”

  They came to block three, and she wished they had farther to go, for it was easy, walking and talking to him. Usually, it took more effort for her to come up with conversation, but with Dominic, it was natural, one sentence growing out of another. “So, what was it about?”

  “Oh, yes. Forgive me. My mind tends to wander.”

  “Where was it wandering?”

  He paused. “Perhaps I’ll tell you sometime.” His voice had gotten softer, a little lower, and she felt him drift away for a moment. Turning toward him, she wondered where his thoughts were, and
why they would intrude now, here, as they were walking together. “The last story. Let’s see.” He hummed a little. “It took place in another mountain town, much like this one, except in Colorado.”

  Colorado. Was it anywhere near her childhood home? “Who was it about?”

  “A music teacher. You would have liked it. He taught piano his whole life, the last thirty-five years at the college level. He was just about to retire when he got lung cancer. Took him in six months.”

  Lung cancer. The same thing Russell had. Coincidence? “That’s sad. Did you interview him, before he died?”

  “No, unfortunately. The story didn’t come to my attention until his students held a special recital in his honor. But through them, and his wife and colleagues, I felt I got to know him. He was an extraordinary man—built his own telescopes, wrote choir music, and biked to work every day, except for sometimes in the winter, when the snow was bad.”

  They crossed block four. Loreena moved her thumb. They were entering the town now, the sound of car engines growing up around them, people walking and talking, various accents betraying many of them as tourists. Instinctively, she slowed to avoid running into anyone, and shortened the length of her cane taps. “Where was it? The town.”

  “Fort Collins,” he said. “Near Denver.”

  “We used to live near Denver.”

  “Yes? When?”

  “A long time ago. When I was very young.”

  “Well, that’s a coincidence, then.”

  She nodded, wondering where Dominic was while she and Saul were playing on the backyard swing and selling lemonade near the road and helping their mother feed fertilizer to the rose bushes. “What was the main point?” she asked.

  “The main point?”

  “How did you end it?”

  “Oh! You want to get right to the core of the thing. Of course. Well, he and his wife had planned to travel after he retired. With the illness and all, he felt somehow he had let her down, so before he died, he bought her and their daughter tickets to an opera in Vienna. He left the details with his lawyer, so the women didn’t know about it until after he was gone.” He paused as they made their way around a group of people. “It was a story about love, really, which I guess all stories are.”

  Loreena listened to him talk, the tone of his voice calm and steady. It helped to chase away her earlier fears, so that she wished he might go on talking, no matter what the subject. “It must be rewarding, telling stories like that.”

  “Personally, yes. Financially, maybe not.”

  “But they pay you, right?”

  “Sometimes, depending on the publication.”

  They had reached the entrance to the café. Loreena stopped. “Where was the story published?”

  “The college journal. The city paper. And one regional magazine.”

  “Do you have copies?”

  “I did keep copies. The story was special to me.”

  “Could I see it sometime?”

  “Sure. Sure! He played the piano, after all. A fellow musician, so to speak.”

  She smiled. “Actually, it was more how you described it. I feel like I want to know more about him.”

  Dominic fell silent.

  “Maybe you could read it to me?”

  He paused, lifted one foot, and tapped the toe behind him. “I’m afraid I’m a little humbled, Miss Picket.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It seems in a matter of five blocks, you’ve turned this thing around on me. I believe this meeting was supposed to be for your interview.”

  A couple passed them, the woman talking about someone named Amelia and how much the costumes were going to cost for her dance class, and on the street the cars rolled on in a steady stream, stopping and going with the rhythm of the traffic lights. Across the block, a small dog yipped three times, and Loreena wondered if her mother were watching, and if maybe she’d had a hand in this, too, as well as the rosebush by the lake and her brother’s appearance the same day. If so, maybe it meant that it was all okay, that everything was going to be all right.

  “Please,” Dominic said, extending his arm. “My turn. Let me take you to lunch.”

  She smiled and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.

  They sat at a table by the window, and Loreena thought how much nicer these chairs were than the ones at the bar. These were wider, more stable, and didn’t tip back and forth. Dominic sat across from her and pushed his napkin and silverware aside. She felt him lean his elbows on the table.

  “Loreena!”

  Loreena turned. She recognized the cheery voice.

  “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

  Merry Marcie, Saul used to call her. Loreena put on her best smile. The little waitress was like a string of Christmas lights rolled into a tiny frame no more than five foot four. Loreena hadn’t thought the animated woman would still be working there.

  “Where have you been?” Marcie approached and touched her shoulder with a slim hand. “I thought you’d moved away or something.”

  Loreena shrugged. “Nowhere special.”

  “But last time I saw you must have been…”

  “A while,” Loreena said.

  “What have you been doing with yourself?” Marcie shifted to stand closer, allowing another waitress to pass behind her. Dishes clacked together in the kitchen beyond, the voices of customers a general hum.

  “The same. I’m still playing at the church. You?”

  “Still watching over Mama.” Marcie set two glasses of water down on the table. “She’s not walking very well these days.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. She’s still eating well and knows what’s going on, so we’re happy. And who’s this?”

  Loreena turned toward Dominic. “This is Mr. Taylor. He’s a writer.”

  “A writer!” Marcie extended her hand across the table. “And he’s cute too!”

  Loreena blushed. “No, we’re not—”

  “I’m doing a story on Loreena,” Dominic said, shaking Marcie’s hand. “About her life here in Stillwater.”

  “A story!” Marcie turned back to Loreena. “You going to be in a magazine or something?”

  Loreena shrugged. She wished Marcie would take their order and move on.

  “I hope so,” Dominic said. “Miss Picket is a very interesting person. We were just conducting our interview.”

  “Oh! Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” Marcie started to walk away, then turned back. “I do need to take your order, though.”

  Loreena asked for the same thing she always had when she and Saul used to come after church: a cheeseburger, fries, Coke, and a piece of cherry pie. Her uncle preferred the steakhouse down the road, and only on special occasions, so it had been over three years since she’d enjoyed a café cheeseburger. Her mouth watered in anticipation. Dominic chose only the bowl of soup and said he would wait on dessert. Loreena wondered if he wasn’t really hungry, or if nothing on the menu appealed to him. Perhaps she should have taken him to the steakhouse instead.

  Marcie made scratches on her pad and then poked Loreena in the arm. “Nice job!” she whispered.

  Loreena ducked her head, her cheeks hot. Once Marcie was gone, she took a long drink of her ice water.

  “Sounds like they know you around here,” Dominic said.

  Loreena smiled. “I’m sorry. She’s a little…boisterous.”

  “Full of life,” Dominic replied. “Like a spark plug.”

  “Saul used to call her Merry Marcie.”

  “Saul?”

  “My brother.”

  Dominic waited. When she offered no more, he said, “Fits her.”

  Loreena took another drink. It had been so easy while they were walking. Now she felt wound as tight as barbed wire. “So what do we do now?” she asked.

  He paused before answering, and she shifted in the chair, feeling his gaze on her. “I ask you questions, and you answer them as you like.”
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  “That’s it?”

  “Ready to get started?”

  She nodded and sat up straight.

  “Well, this might sound strange, but I’ve found it especially effective to ask people about their secrets.”

  “Secrets? So soon?”

  The front door opened and closed. A young child begged for ice cream.

  “Everyone has them. We all hold some things under our hats, things no one knows about, or at least things we think no one knows about.”

  “What’s one of yours?”

  He hesitated. “I’m interviewing you, remember?”

  She smiled.

  “Fair is fair. I’ll start. A secret of mine.” He took a long drink and set the glass back down. “Here’s one.”

  She leaned closer, as if he might whisper.

  “I’m terrified of rabbits.”

  “Rabbits?” Loreena thought of the luxuriously soft one Ben used to keep in a pen behind his house. Marigold, he called her, because of the color of her fur. “Little bunny rabbits?”

  Dominic’s glass tugged on the tablecloth as he twisted it around. “Fuzzy, furry, adorable little bunny rabbits, yes. When I was little, I don’t even remember what age, I stayed up late one night with my older sister, Teri. I think she and my mother forgot about me or something, because I didn’t go to bed when I usually did. I fell asleep in the corner of the couch, and when I woke up it was dark and Teri was reading this story out loud.”

  “A scary story?”

  “Was to me.”

  “With monster rabbits?” She giggled.

  “One monster rabbit. It wasn’t overly large, not like a dinosaur or anything. More like a big dog, about the size of a German shepherd, with matted brown hair, like it had been mauled by a bear and still carried remnants of the saliva around its face. Long fangs jutted out of the front of its mouth, and it had red eyes with all this exposed flesh around them like the skin was decaying away from the eyeballs. It kept sneaking into these people’s houses and gnawing away on their noses. They’d wake up screaming and slapping at the thing, but usually not before it got in a good bite. In the end, it always hopped away with a nose in its fangs.”