by C. D. Gorri
I could see he was tall though he was seated, His long legs spilled out from under the table. It seemed he was carelessly lounging about, but I knew he could spring up from such a position easily to defend or attack. Whichever suited his immediate purpose.
He had yet to raise his head though I could tell from the change in his breathing that he knew we were there. Perhaps he was giving us a chance to decide whether or not to approach.
I shrugged and elbowed Ronan a little. He nodded and we walked over to the man. I let Ronan step slightly in front of me. It seemed to be his preference when we were out and possibly in danger. My protector. My Wolf smiled in my mind.
It should have bothered me maybe that he did this so often. I mean it’s the 21st Century and I’m a Werewolf. I was hardly defenseless. But the truth is I liked it. I’ve just always been so tall and awkward, not petite and pretty like my cousins or their friends.
I always felt so clumsy and unrefined next to Julianna, but not right now. Not with him. I was tall, but he was taller. And I liked it. Feeling protected. Taken care of even. Some might call it a weakness, but whatever. I only felt this way when I was with him.
“Sit.” His voice was worn, scratchy. Like he smoked way too many cigarettes in his lifetime.
“Which one of you is WolfGirl?”
“Funny.” I said and had to stop myself from smirking at Ronan.
The man looked up and I was taken aback by the pale gray eyes that stared back at me. He looked at Ronan first who after a moment adverted his gaze in respect to the other man’s dominance.
Then he fixed his silver gaze on me. I could see age, wisdom, and sadness. Tremendous sadness and perhaps a hint of insanity. I shuddered slightly. This man was a breath away from being completely unhinged. I looked down.
“Ask me the right questions and I’ll give you answers.” He took a long slow sip of his coffee and settled back into his previous pose.
“Well, my real name is Grazi Kelly. My dad was Patrick Kelly.”
“I knew your father some time ago. Ask your questions child, I’ve not come here to reminisce.”
“Fine. What do you know about dreamscaping?”
“Dreamscaping? Hmm, there are those who can speak to others in dreams. Dreamscapers interpret the messages. Mostly gypsies practice nowadays. Ask another question.”
“What if it’s more than messages? Can a person actually go somewhere else in their dreams?”
“Ah. Dreamwalking now, is it? Well, that is altogether different. There are myths of Dreamwalkers in almost every culture going back to Ancient Greece and even further back in aboriginal folklore. In Italy Dreamwalkers are called Benendanti. But that was hundreds of years ago.”
“Hundreds of years ago?” I rubbed my eyes. This was getting me nowhere. I recognized that name, but what did it mean?
“There hasn’t been a living member of the Benendanti on record since the 1600s.” SilverWolf continued and sipped his coffee. It had gone cold, but he passed his right hand over it and it was steaming once again. I chose to ignore it. Ronan, however gripped the edge of table so hard I expected it to crack.
“Nonna called me that once. A Benendanti. What does it mean?”
“Did she? Ask her about it then. You’ve got little time left with me. Ask another question.”
“Can I bring someone back with me? From my dreams?”
“That’s a tough one. I have heard of Dreamwalkers who have killed or have been killed during an episode, but to actually move another physical presence back with you? Now, that I have never heard. Perhaps if the other was a Dreamwalker too. Ha! I knew this would be an interesting conversation. I wouldn’t have come for anything less.”
“How could you have known that? I only posted messages on the Wolf Moon board last night.” Ronan eased his grip on the Formica tabletop. He was as caught up in SilverWolf’s explanation as I was.
“You live long enough you know things.” His pale gray eyes glowed a little and for a second I saw the ages pass as he had. But that’s impossible.
That would make him, like real old. Hundreds of years old at least. He rapped once on the table with his bare knuckles. They too were covered in tattoos of what looked like ancient glyphs to me. His long, lanky frame looked much more powerful when he stood.
“I’ll find out more information if you like. In the meantime look for a Romani, you know, a Gypsy, to talk to. They can determine whether you are actually dreamwalking or not.”
“Where would I find a Gypsy?”
“I imagine you know a few. Look around, little princess, you just might see what is right in front of you.” He bowed slightly and Ronan did the same. An oddly respectful gesture, but I’ve seen Ronan move like that before. Maybe early training or whatnot.
SilverWolf walked like a gunslinger from an old Western movie. Not bowlegged or anything like that. But with a lazy grace that belied his skill and proficiency at dealing death to his enemies. I had no doubt of that skill. I had seen it in his pale silver gaze.
Ronan and I left the Chelsea Market a little while after our meeting. But not before purchasing some spices for Nonna and Dimitri both. I wondered if we could get those two together and have like a cook off or something.
“So what did you think?” Ronan interrupted my wayward thoughts. Good thing too, I tended to jump from topic to topic when I was stressed. And this definitely had me stressed.
“I think he was old, Ronan. Like old in a way that makes Rolf look like a baby. How can that be?”
“I don’t know but I think you’re right. He was telling the truth though. Well, however much of it he was willing to spill.”
“Yeah, I picked that up too.” My phone buzzed. It was a text from Sebastian. Crap I forgot about him. I texted back quickly asking how he felt. He answered we needed to talk. I looked up, Ronan was reading my texts over my shoulder.
“Do you mind?”
“A little, yes.”
“Ronan, come on. He’s probably wondering what the heck happened to him last night.” We made it to the Port Authority and hopped on the crowded bus that would take us home. Ronan lowered his voice to where I was certain only I heard him.
“Yes, well tell him he should be grateful he made it home.”
I elbowed him in the ribs and he grunted, but I knew I didn’t hurt him. I texted Sebby I was shopping and would call him when I got back. Ronan stared out of the grimy window of the bus and didn’t speak to me until we got home. Maybe he was interested in the architecture? I sat quietly, missing the time before the text. Cell phones, ugh.
We had been getting along so well. I was starting to think maybe there was something else going on between us. Until Sebastian texted me.
Who was I fooling? Why would Ronan care about me when he was clearly involved with someone like Julianna? Uncle Sean made him tag along with me, it’s not like he wanted to. Did he? I wish I knew more about boys to make an educated guess. Maybe there was a book or blog I could read or something.
When we got home he watched as I walked to my door then left without a word. Boys! Agh!
CHAPTER 6
I headed to my room. The house was dark and empty. Good. I wanted some alone time.
There was the faint and pleasant odor of freshly grilled chicken and Ceasar salad coming from the kitchen. I stopped in to grab the dish of food Nonna had left me and a glass of ice water before heading upstairs.
I shut the door to my bedroom and sat at the desk. I needed to sort through what I had learned. One thing was for sure, I didn’t want to sleep until I could figure out what to do.
Find a Gypsy. Where the heck would I find a Gypsy? Not like they grew on trees. Why couldn’t anyone just give me a straight answer?
Disgusted, I grabbed my mother’s diary from my nightstand and flipped to where I had left off. She was in her senior year and only wrote a few entries. I started eating my salad and began reading my mom’s neatly penned memoir. I wish I had handwriting like hers. I sighed and rea
d.
I’m sure of what I want. We have spent months, no years with this. We have gone from casual flirting to exchanging deeply personal letters on his long trips back home. I’ve shown him my soul and he has gifted me with pieces of his. His last trip almost broke my heart. I love him.
What else is there to know? The long talks, the hand-holding, the kisses, they just aren’t enough. I want him, for keeps. But how do I tell my parents? They’ll say I’m too young or don’t know what I’m doing. They just won’t understand.
Patrick says he has to leave, this time for good. But I can’t let him. When we meet in the woods at night, those are the happiest times of my life.
I don’t think I can live without him. He says he must go. To protect me, but who’s going to protect me from a broken heart if he leaves?
I need him. I love him. Without him I don’t know what I’d do. He’s so secretive about everything. I just want him to open up to me. I know I have to prove my love for him and then everything will be alright. He’ll stay. I know he will.
Two weeks later.
Patrick has told me he loves me frequently. He wants to stay, I know he does, but he can’t. His father is demanding he go home. I feel so hopeless. What am I going to do without him? I know we could figure it out. Graduation is just three months away. Lord, I pray in that time things change and he can make this his home permanently.
He’ll stay for prom he told me. At least we will have the memories. Thank goodness. I don’t think I could ever be with anyone else. He’s my whole world.
Two months later.
I’m late. I’m so terrified. My mother and father will be so disappointed in me. Prom was so beautiful and we drove down to the beach. We lay under the stars in a big quilt he had in his car. Gosh, he drives like a maniac. But seriously, then we started kissing and it was the most perfect night of my life.
I felt like we were the true definition of being married. That night, under the stars and Heaven, we were one. Being with Patrick was so perfect. I don’t think either of us could help but express our love.
He doesn’t even know about this though. He’s gone now, back home to Ireland and I’ll be all alone. If this is real and I have this small piece of him I will cherish it and I promise to love, protect and always take care of our baby.
She means me? She got pregnant with me the end of senior year? Yup, the numbers definitely add up.
Nonna said she was in college when I was born. I had always believed that. Another lie, another secret. And my father? He left her and didn’t know? When did that happen? I dried my eyes. I didn’t even know I had started crying. I forced myself to read on.
It’s a girl! I just found out I’m having a girl! How wonderful! I’ve sent letters to Patrick’s address that I sort of stole from the school office. He hasn’t answered me yet, but maybe it just takes long for them to get there? I know he’d be pleased. He always talked about wanting a big family.
Mom and Dad cried when I told them, and Vito wanted to beat Patrick’s head in. Lucky he’s gone I guess. They are all being really supportive now and I wasn’t showing at graduation so no one knew except my best friends. Gotta go take my vitamins and finish my application for NJU. Mom insists I go, she’ll help watch the baby.
Thank God for her. I miss Patrick so much. I wish he was here with me. I haven’t let mom and dad make the nursery yet. I’m still waiting for my love to come back and get me I guess.
Dumb? Maybe. But I believe in him. I love him so much. That serious face and those crystal blue eyes. I wonder if she will have them too. Sometimes I think I hear him in my mind, telling me he loves me and wishing me safe. God, I miss him. Please. Just please. You know my prayer.
Wow. Mom was pregnant senior year. And she was alone. The enormity of it all just sort of hit me. Eighteen, pregnant and on her own. Her boyfriend gone to another country and completely in the dark for all she knew. It was just too much. I needed to know though so I continued on to the next entry a few weeks later.
I just received a phone call from Rolf Kelly, Patrick’s father. He told me to stop trying to contact his son. That Patrick told him the baby couldn’t be his and that I was to stop all contact. The jerk. As if. I’m not going to stop. No way.
As a matter of fact I don’t think he has told Patrick anything about me or the baby. I know what I’m going to do. Patrick told me his uncle was the parish priest in his village and I’m going to send him a letter, maybe I’ll have more luck that way.
It’s been weeks and I was beginning to think I’ve run out of choices but the most amazing thing has happened. I got a phone call today from Ireland and it was Patrick’s uncle, the priest.
He told me he had no idea of my situation and he didn’t believe Patrick did either. He was very grateful I contacted him. He promised to get Patrick in touch with me right away and that all would be made right. I’m so happy I cried the whole afternoon.
Do you hear that my little princess? Daddy is going to finally learn about you. I promise!
A soft knock on my door had me turning around. Nonna stood at the door with a mug of cocoa and some cookies on a plate. I had been sitting up in my room for a couple of hours so absorbed in my mother’s journal that I hadn’t even heard her come home.
“I bring you a small snack, si?”
“Thanks Nonna.” I reached out to take the tray and she sat down on my bed facing me.
“You’re reading Lilliana’s diary, si?”
“Yeah. Um, I didn’t realize that she was still in school when she learned about, you know, me. I guess I never thought how difficult it was for you and her.”
“It’s a shock, you know, when your baby tells you something like this and the boy is not around. It was very hard for your grandfather. He thought he had failed her somehow.”
“I never knew that.”
“Yes, well. I must say it was not Patrick’s fault. His father took him away, but your mama. She was always so stubborn and determined. Vito, hah, he wanted to go to Ireland and beat him up.” She laughed and I nodded. My uncle was always protective of her. I guess that’s why he has a soft spot for me.
“Mia bambina. Your mama, her faith in your father never wavered. She believed he didn’t know and she sent a letter every single week to Ireland with sonogram pictures and love notes. Pictures of her round belly.” She sighed and shifted her small frame on my bed.
“She was so petite you know, she looked like she had a little basketball right under her shirt. She glowed, my Lilliana, she glowed. Then she got the idea to send one to the priest, his uncle.” Nonna reached out and took my hand. I held onto hers as she continued.
“Some nights I thought she’d walk a hole right through the floor pacing back and forth. I’d make her tea and she’d settle down and read a little.” Nonna’s eyes grew misty, she released my hand and took her old lace handkerchief from the pocket of her soft wool sweater. She sniffed and looked at me with an unsteady smile on her face.
“She loved you so much, Maria. Even before you were born. She was a good girl. A good mother. The night you were born, I will never forget. We had just finished dinner. It was still warm in the evening for November. Lilliana went to bring the garbage outside with Nonno. He told her to go sit down, rest. Her belly was so big by then, but still she had weeks to go.”
She cleared her throat, lost in her memory. I made no sudden moves, I wanted her to continue. I was desperate for her to tell me more. Having never heard this version of the story of my birth.
“Her water broke and Nonno, he ran into the kitchen yelling and pulling dish towels out of the drawer. Telling me to hurry up, don’t I know I got a grandbaby coming now! Oh boy! He was so proud and terrified for her.” She smiled though I could hear the pain in her voice.
“While we were checking her into the Emergency Room at St. Brigit’s Hospital your father comes bursting through the door. Like a wild man. Right from the airport, a duffle bag on his back. Your mother, she was no fool, and this wa
s a handsome boy. Como tu, bellisimo, si? He ran right to her side and he says ‘Why didn’t you wait for me?’ Ah! My daughter she smiles and said, ‘I am waiting, Patrick, but I think your daughter is impatient.’ Two hours later you came into the world right into your father’s arms. An hour after that your father’s uncle, the priest, who came with him from Ireland, he married them right in the hospital. A few weeks afterwards they had a party, you know a big reception for family and friends. Nonna, he don’t let me cook, but the caterer was good. I baked the cake. Three tiers. One chocolate, one vanilla, and one cinnamon swirl. All buttercream, I make it so nice, you know. With yellow and white roses. Your mama’s favorite.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I looked at my parents wedding photo almost every day. I had it in my room. How could I have never put it together that I was born already? I took the frame down and looked at it.
“Si, that is a nice one. Bellisima. But look here. I carry this one always.” Nonna took a folded piece of paper from her pocket and opened it to reveal a small photograph.
It was my mother in her wedding gown standing next to my father, handsome in his tuxedo. She was smiling and holding a tiny pink faced baby wrapped in a fluffy white blanket. It was me. I touched the photo with a shaking hand and Nonna pressed it into my palm.
“You keep it, Maria. I have it here.” She tapped her forehead and stood up. She gave me a squeeze and I bent and let her kiss my forehead.
“Bring down the tray later, si? I’m going to watch my shows and maybe nap before dinner. Ciao, bella.”
She left as quietly as she had come in leaving my room with the faint smell of rosemary and basil. I stared at the photograph of my parents holding me. I must have been less than a month old. So tiny. I couldn’t believe how small. And I was pretty.
My face was round and soft, not wrinkled and squished looking like my cousins pics. I guess they got the better end of it because they were both model gorgeous now, but I was a pretty baby. I smiled and let the tears flow.