Lara walked up to the counter, where two steaming mugs of coffee stood. “Which one of these is mine? And what do you mean by ‘strange’?”
Geoff knew that she’d spotted Mark from the window. She must have been too embarrassed by his behavior to admit she’d witnessed the scene. At least she wasn’t encouraging her ex-husband’s line of conversation. If she’d chimed in and called Mark a few choice epithets of her own, matters would look worse.
“The white mug.” Sulley stepped up beside her and handed her the drink, taking the other one for himself. “Some guy came to the door asking for you, but he wouldn’t give me his name. He ran off in a huff, muttering something about having your interests in mind.”
“Is that what he said?” A hint of disdain twitched her lips.
“Yeah.” He looked at her more closely. “Does it sound like someone you know? He claimed to be a friend of yours.”
Her expression went bland, and she looked away from him.
“It must have been the guy from the historical society. He’s been here a few times to talk about the house.”
“This visit seemed to be about something else.” Sulley continued to study her. “He looked very worked up about you. I got the impression that he had more at stake than a passing interest in the house.”
“The man I’m talking about has a great interest in historic homes. He can be pretty fanatical about the subject.”
His lips stretched into an unpleasant grin. “Well, this guy may well have been a fanatic of some sort, if not a flat-out lunatic.”
Geoff scowled. It was one thing if he himself insulted Mark, but he didn’t like having a stranger deride his family. In the time he’d spent with his descendant lately, he’d noticed how the mortal’s attitude toward him had changed. Unlike Lara, Mark hadn’t completely condemned the ghost for his mistakes. On the contrary, he seemed to be trying to understand Geoff. The mortal had spent hours with his nose buried in Geoff’s biography and letters. He’d even taken up reading the poetry he’d once dismissed as “maudlin.” Geoff had been pleased to find that Mark wasn’t so devoid of discernment as he’d originally seemed.
“In any case, if he had something important to say, I’m sure he would have stuck around.” Lara stared into her coffee. Her blue eyes looked huge and sorrowful. “Let’s forget it. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to, Ron? Anything new going on in your life?”
“As a matter of fact, there is.” His smirk broadened into a genuine smile. “I think I’ve finally sold one of my household appliance ideas to Lambro Corporation.”
“Really?” Her gaze shot to his.
He nodded. “They’re the ones I’m meeting with today. The deal’s all but final. They’ve even given me reason to hope this will only be the first of many ideas they buy from me.”
“That’s great.” She hesitated. “Are you getting the sort of money you were looking for?”
He shrugged. “What I actually make will depend on whether or not the product takes off--but if it does what we expect, I should be pretty well set.”
Wonderful, Geoff thought. Her former husband had suddenly come into money. He worried that the development would make Sulley more attractive to her. Success meant a lot to women. His own love life had soared through the roof after he’d started publishing poems.
“You’d better make sure you’re getting a fair percentage of the profits,” she said, her brow furrowing.
She appeared more concerned than Geoff liked. Months ago, when he’d last seen these two together, he’d detected only contempt between them.
“I’ve read the contract and I’m happy with it. I only have a few minor questions before I sign it.”
“Do you want me to take a look at it for you?” She set her mug down on the counter. “I’m no legal expert, but a second pair of eyes can’t hurt.”
The ghost frowned to himself. She was definitely softening toward the fellow.
“No need.” Sulley flashed a smug look at her. “My brother has a friend who’s almost finished law school. We had him review it. He even checked into other similar contracts and compared them.”
“Good. It sounds like you’re handling it the right way.” She shook her head and gave him a small smile. “I have to say that I’m proud of you.”
Her show of pleasure deepened Geoff’s fears. He hoped she’d keep in mind that the fellow couldn’t hold a candle to Mark. Sulley’s inventions hadn’t earned him anything yet, but Mark was a successful author. Over the past few days the ghost had read some of the mortal’s work from over his shoulder and come to respect his talent. Having another decent writer in the family, after all these years, had been a welcome surprise.
“Wow.” Sulley actually looked a little sheepish about her compliment. He glanced down at his watch. “Well, I’d better get moving, if I’m going to be there on time.”
“Yeah, I need to start working, too.” She took his mug from him and set it on the drain board. “Good luck today--and in the coming months.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
They said good-bye, and she showed him to the door, watching as he walked to his motorized carriage.
When Sulley had driven away she went to the coffee maker and poured another cup. Softly, she said to herself, “Well, who would have imagined that?”
An ominous feeling descended on the ghost. Damn her ex-husband for showing up now, of all times. If Geoff didn’t come up with a way to mend matters between her and Mark, he might miss his only chance to find peace. For a century he’d done his best to avoid thinking about his dismal future, but with the possibility of rest dangling before him he couldn’t forget what the alternative was. What could he possibly do to bring the couple back together?
While he raked his brain, Lara took a box of breakfast cereal out of the cupboard and poured a serving into a bowl. Retrieving a carton from the ice box, she added milk. She carried her mug, bowl and a spoon into the dining room.
Geoff watched her eat without any ideas. How could he influence this woman, who viewed him with disgust? Perhaps the first step was to try to regain her respect, to show her just how important Mariah had always been to him.
He thought of a poem he’d once written that hinted about his feelings. Unfortunately, the last time he’d tried to get Lara to read one of his poems, she’d ignored the open book he’d left on her library floor. Then again, he couldn’t think of a better way to communicate to her. All he could do was try again. He had nothing to lose.
Floating across the hall to the library, he found his book back up on the shelf. Once more, he knocked it to the floor. Blowing to turn over the leaves, he found the poem he wanted.
He glided out into the hall to see if Lara was responding to the thud the volume had made.
She still sat at the dining room table, her back to him.
Frowning, he returned to the library and searched for a way to make a louder noise. His gaze fell on her easel, currently empty. Mustering up all his energy, he rushed at the wooden contraption. The legs folded together, and it fell to the parquet floor with a loud clap.
He heard Lara’s chair screech across the floor in the other room. Almost instantly, she appeared at the entrance, her hands upon her hips. Her gaze shot to the easel, then to the open book beside it.
“All right, already,” she murmured. “If you’re going to be insistent, I’ll look.”
Stooping, she picked up the volume and read the lines he’d written about Mariah:
Your love engulfs me like the sea.
The fear of drowning fetters me,
But, dear, at moments I do wonder
Whether to save myself or go under.
As much as the waters of your love soothe me,
As much as the attention you give me moves me,
As much as I love to hear your heart pounding,
How can a man submit to drowning?
As she finished, her lower lip began to quiver. She stared at the boo
k a moment longer, then sniffed and closed the cover. Getting up, she returned to the dining room and picked up her dishes, taking them into the kitchen. To Geoff’s consternation her sniffling continued, gradually increasing in frequency. By the time she’d rinsed out the bowl and mug, she had dissolved into tears.
Frustration ate away at him. Why was she crying--over his mistake with Mariah, over Mark’s mistake with her, maybe even over Sulley? Geoff had never been one to abide tears, and his instinct was to flee.
He tried to float out of the house, but the stone wall blocked him. What was happening to him? Early in his ghosthood he’d learned that he faced some barriers, but normally he could go anywhere he’d been during his lifetime without worrying about passing through objects.
Lara picked up a napkin and blew her nose loudly. He knew she’d spent most of the previous night crying, too. The woman was a virtual watering pot. If she was so unhappy, why didn’t she do something to improve her lot?
With growing aggravation, he tried passing through the doorway leading to the hallway. To his shock he came up against an invisible barrier. He couldn’t even get out of the room!
Glancing over his shoulder, he threw Lara a spiteful look. He didn’t understand this muddle about building permits and zoning boards that had her upset with Mark. What did such matters have to do with love? How was he, a ghost, supposed to fix something that he couldn’t even comprehend?
Desperate, he charged toward one of the inside walls. He passed through easily and found himself in the secret room. All at once a heavy weight pressed down on him--an devastating sense of heartbreak like he had never felt before. For the first time in his existence he knew what it was to long for something--someone--with all of one’s heart.
Initially he thought that Lara’s feelings had somehow come upon him. Good God, was she that lonely without Mark? Then a flicker of light in front of the fireplace caught the corner of his eye.
“Mariah?”
When he turned to look, the hearth stood empty.
“Mariah, is it you I’m feeling? Is that dreadful pain yours?” His voice broke under the stress of his emotions. Staring into the hearth, he looked for a sign of her presence but couldn’t detect a trace. He tried to concentrate on the memories he’d recently recovered of making love to her here. Instead of the pleasurable sensations that he anticipated, yearning and despair cut through him.
The pain in the room was his, he realized with a shock. Mariah wasn’t here. He was all alone.
To his horror, a tear squeezed out of his eye. He dropped to his knees in front of the fireplace and asked the empty air, “How can I bring you back to me?”
Of course, he got no answer.
He let out a sob, reduced to the wretched state he’d scorned in Lara only moments before. Intently aware of his isolation, he couldn’t bear staying in the room where he’d once been as one with Mariah. With no particular aim, he floated away and through the wall into the hallway.
He came across Lara, now back in the dining room. Standing beside the table, she slid Mark’s book toward her. As she reread the inscription inside the cover, her eyes looked round and soft. Whatever Mark had written obviously eased her anger with him, if only temporarily.
There’s the answer! Geoff saw suddenly. As a poet he should have thought of it before. Mark was a man of letters, and words could be a powerful thing.
A swell of inspiration rose inside him. All he had to do was convey the information to his descendant, to show Mark how he could reach Lara. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt that he had a purpose.
Plunging through the dining room wall, he reached the outdoors with no struggle. His restored freedom of movement seemed to confirm he’d taken the right path, and the conviction
exhilarated him.
Immediately he warned himself to temper his elation. Though he appeared to be on the right course, he didn’t want to speculate how far it might lead him. Hope had eluded him for so long he didn’t dare try to grasp onto it now.
* * * *
Mark stared at the computer monitor on his desk without seeing the words on the screen. He’d been sitting at the keyboard for over an hour but hadn’t written a single sentence. Since he’d come home from Lara’s house, all he could think about was her--what he should have done differently throughout their acquaintance, how it was too late to do anything now. Why hadn’t he tried to reason with her in the beginning, instead of insisting that his way was the only way? If he’d acted sensibly, she wouldn’t have applied for her building permit until they’d developed workable plans together.
That would never happen now.
The screen saver came on for the fourth or fifth time since he’d sat down. This time he didn’t bother to turn it off.
Getting up from his chair, he paced away from the desk. So much for the burst of productivity he’d enjoyed two days before. Feeling the way he did now, he doubted he would ever manage to finish his manuscript.
He went to the window and looked out at the parking lot. His apartment may have been laid-out in an interesting way, but the view left a lot to be desired. Currently under a cloudy sky, the stretch of asphalt below looked even more gray than usual. Even the cars there seemed to be the dullest ones in the lot. The lack of color suited his mood.
The scene in front of him blurred as his thoughts lapsed back to the crisis in his life. How could Lara have called that jerk, Sulley, and asked him to come back to her? Didn’t she realize she’d be sorry? People didn’t change, not really. Judging by Karen’s recent behavior, she already regretted making up with her ex...but he supposed Lara wouldn’t appreciate that example. Trying to explain Karen’s involvement in the zoning problem to her had probably been a mistake. He would have been better off simply taking the blame himself. After all, he had been the one who’d let the information slip.
The morning continued to pass with agonizing slowness as he alternated from the desk to the window to the bookcase, pacing back and forth, mentally kicking himself. He checked his watch and found it finally approached noon. His stomach rumbled, and he remembered that he’d never eaten breakfast.
Dragging himself to the kitchen, he rummaged up some leftover pasta from the fridge and microwaved it. The meal turned out dry, and washing down it with a bottle of the beer he didn’t like only made it less appetizing.
Afterwards he went to the living room. He sat down in front of the TV but didn’t even turn it on. Nothing interested him now that he’d ruined things with Lara.
As he sat in gloomy silence, a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention to the shelves under the stairs. His gaze shot to the neat rows of books and CDs he kept in the built-in case. Everything looked to be in place, and he hadn’t heard anything fall. The idea of being haunted occurred to him, but he refused to get caught up in that kind of thinking. His state of mind was already bad enough. Outside the clouds had grown dark, and in the dusky lighting his eyes must have been playing tricks on him.
Forcing himself to get up off the couch, he turned on a floor lamp that stood beside the stairs. He glanced over at the shelves again and noticed one of his ancestor’s volumes of poetry among the books. Lately he’d found himself caught up in Geoff’s verses--a world Lara had opened up to him.
Hoping the words might offer him something now, he reached
for the book and pulled it out.
He returned to his seat and opened the cover. To his surprise, a folded piece of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. Though he’d skimmed through the book within the last few days, he didn’t remember seeing the sheet before. He leaned down and picked it up.
White and unfrayed, the paper looked new, but when he unfolded it he saw that elaborate old-fashioned writing filled one side, taking the form of poetry. He recognized his ancestor’s hand. If Geoff had written the words, the paper must have been older than it looked--a good, acid-free pulp that held up to time.
Curiosity piqued, h
e read the lines:
Two lovers stole a moment of bliss,
Captivated in each other’s kiss,
But, weighted down by worldly affairs,
They forgot what it means to care.
Dear lovers, forget the problems you bear,
Remember the joy you have to share.
When happiness comes, don’t close the door.
If you forsake this chance, you may have no more.
The fear of change may grip your hearts,
But if you let it keep you apart,
Time will show how much you missed,
The day you renounced each other’s kiss.
As Mark finished reading, a chill shivered through him. As much as he kept trying to deny the existence of ghosts, he couldn’t help wondering if his great, great grandfather had spoken to him through the poem. The words seemed conspicuously applicable to him and Lara--and the paper looked perfectly new. Was it possible that the lines were actually written for them?
He gulped. He wasn’t about to try asking the ghost for clarification, but he thought that the poem made sense. If Lara wouldn’t see him, maybe she would read a letter from him, especially if he enclosed Geoff’s poem with it. Instead of sitting here passively while she made up with her ex, he would make sure she knew how he felt about her.
Taking his ancestor’s poem to his desk, he sat down and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.
“Dear Lara,” he wrote...then stared at the empty space beneath the words. What did he really have to offer her? How could he even capture her attention enough to make her care how he felt about her? In her point of view, he’d tried to block her plans for her house. How could he make that up to her?
The beginnings of an idea stirred in him. Earlier he’d been sorry that he’d missed out on the chance to work with her on an alternate plan for her house. What if he could come up with a great concept now and present it to her? With all of his experience with old houses, he had to be able to think of something.
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