Awakening

by Jacqueline Brown

  ***

  Sunlight woke me. I got up, went into my bathroom, put my robe on, and then went downstairs.

  I yawned as I ambled into the kitchen. The place was deserted. I went to the fridge; a note was taped to it.

  Took everyone to the fall festival.

  I’ll be back by 10:30. Be ready.

  Love, Dad

  I glanced at the oven clock. “Shoot,” I said as I turned and ran upstairs.

  I was so exhausted when I went to sleep, I hadn’t set my alarm and it was already after ten. When I reached my room I stripped off my pajamas and put on the nearest clothes. In the bathroom, I pulled my hair back and washed my face. I applied tinted moisturizer, added some mascara and lip balm, and ran down the stairs. Jackson raised his head when I entered the kitchen. I grabbed a banana as the garage door opened.

  “Oh, good,” Dad said as we faced one another at the door to the garage. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” I said, slightly out of breath. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I asked as we went to his car.

  “There was no need. You helped last night. You deserved to sleep in a bit. Besides, your shift at the cantina doesn’t start until eleven. Want to drive?” he said, holding the keys out for me.

  “Okay,” I said. I got in and adjusted the seat of the Range Rover. I didn’t have my own car because I didn’t need one; I could always drive whichever car wasn’t being used. If today were not the festival I would’ve driven Gigi’s car, but with parking at a premium, our family couldn’t have two cars at the church.

  I backed out of the garage, the breeze from the car pushing the dry autumn leaves out of the way.

  “Were the signs okay?” I asked as we waited for our gate to open.

  “Perfect,” he said, leaning his head against the seat.

  “The weather is nice,” I said, turning onto the main road.

  “We couldn’t ask for better,” he said.

  Something was bothering him. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He hesitated before saying, “Gigi told me about your conversation the other night.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I love Gigi, but when it comes to all of this, she’s a little … confused.”

  He put his arm along the door, near the window, thumping his fingers against the wood grain of the door. “That’s the thing,” he said. “I’m not sure she is.”

  “What?” I said, forcing myself to stay focused on the road.

  “I’ve been praying about it, and memories of conversations with your mom have been popping up. She always believed Gigi. I never did, but she did, and I figure I’ve been remembering those conversations because I wasn’t being fair to her. Your mom was the smartest, most reasoned woman I’ve ever known, and if she were here, she’d probably be telling you all the same stuff Gigi is. I don’t agree with any of it, but I guess I thought you should know your mom would have a different take on the whole thing,” he said, facing me.

  I glanced at him before returning my attention to the road.

  “I’m not sure what to say.” I watched the yellow dashes in the road blur by.

  “You don’t need to say anything, Siena. I still don’t believe any of that haunting stuff, and I think Luca has been through too much in his life to recognize fact from fiction—though that isn’t his fault. It’s simply the way it is. But as much as I don’t believe it, your mom believed it, so take it for what it’s worth.”

  “So, you worry about people going into the inn because …?”

  “Because it’s lasted decades longer than I thought it would, and one wrong step and the whole place will come tumbling down. I don’t want it tumbling down on top of my kid.”

  I nodded, silently hoping he was right. “I’ve seen a light in the inn,” I said, surprised I was telling him this.

  He said, “When?”

  “Last night, and the night Gigi talked to me. I was up late both nights, and when I went to bed I spotted a light from my window. I was really tired both nights, so maybe I was mistaken.”

  I slowed the car as we approached the crowds.

  “I’m sure that was it. Besides, with all the crazy talk about the inn, it would be strange for your mind not to play tricks on you,” he said, comforting me.

  I slowed the car to a walking pace, following crowds of festival-goers.

  “Turn in here,” he said. “I hope you feel like you can always tell me things. I hope I’ve earned your trust in that way.”

  A pang of guilt made my face flush red. I hadn’t told him about Luca watching the house and I didn’t plan to. I had good reason. Dad already didn’t like Luca and he would never believe Luca wasn’t staring into the windows. He’d convict Luca, sending him away before Luca even had a chance to explain—though what that explanation could be I had no idea.

  A member of the Knights of Columbus moved a traffic cone from the parking spot reserved for my family. I pulled in and turned off the car.

  “It’s going to be a busy day,” Dad said. “Have fun and don’t let those old ladies work you too hard.”

  As he stepped from the car, he was swarmed by half a dozen people, no doubt with questions. This festival was his brainchild, his and my mom’s. They started it after they got married. Dad was always proud of how well it did, both from a revenue standpoint and a community-building standpoint.

  He was right to be proud.

  I slipped out of the car and made my way toward the cantina.

  “Were you awake or did Dad have to wake you up?” Lisieux asked as she filled lemonades and set them on the counter, which was a folding table covered with a plastic tablecloth.

  “I was awake, but just barely,” I said as I ducked below the table.

  Gigi said, “Oh good, you’re here.”

  “What do you need?” I asked, aware of what her expression meant.

  “We’re out of buns,” she replied. “Will you go get some from the kitchen?”

  “Okay,” I said, ducking back beneath the table, leaving the makeshift booth.

  “Hurry, if you don’t mind,” Gigi called to me. “The lunch rush is going to start any minute, and I want all hands on deck when it does.”

  I jogged toward the kitchen, situated at the back of the parish hall.

  “Hi,” Avi called as I passed the corral, where we kept all the kids. Avi was technically a helper, but in truth, the corral was for the helpers too.

  “Hi,” I said, over the temporary chain-link fence. “How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good. We’ve already made a few crafts,” Avi said, showing off her multicolored hands and arms.

  “I can tell,” I said. It didn’t matter what she was doing, she’d find a way to be the one who got the messiest. “It’s good you’re helping with the little kids.”

  “Yeah, next year I get to help at the bakery. Dad already promised,” she said.

  “That’s a good one!” I said, suddenly wanting some gooseberry pie. “Maybe I’ll sign up for the bakery next year too.”

  “That would be fun,” she said as she was getting pulled away by a clump of four-year-olds.

  I entered the kitchen and found it surprisingly quiet. There was coffee brewing, but no activity otherwise. I spotted several large bags of buns on the counter. I took two and went out the back door. The door closed behind me. The air smelled of frying dough sprinkled with sugar. My stomach grumbled. I’d picked the wrong day to eat only a banana for breakfast.

  Thomas appeared at my side. “Good morning,” he said.

  “Oh, hi,” I said, excited he was there. “Where did you come from?”

  “Back there,” he said, pointing to nowhere in particular. “How’s the cantina?”

  “I’m not sure. I just got here,” I said.

  “That explains why I didn’t see you earlier,” he said.

  “Were you looking for me?” I asked, teasing him as we went toward the cantina.

  “Maybe,” he said, in the same tone.

  “You did
n’t shave,” I said, finding his scruffy face far more attractive than I had last Sunday.

  He touched his face as we reached the cantina. “A by-product of a late night and early morning. I better get back to my parents at the silent auction. I’ll come by when I get a break, okay?”

  “I’ll be here the rest of the day,” I said, holding up the hamburger buns for effect.

  “I’ve missed you this week,” he said, stepping a little closer.

  “Have you?” I asked, stepping toward him.

  “You’re like a breath of fresh air,” he said, coming closer.

  “Buns, hon.” Gigi’s voice rose above every other sound, reminding me where I was and that everyone could see me talking to Thomas.

  “I better go,” I said, stepping back toward the cantina.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll come by in a bit,” he said as I ducked beneath the table and entered the cantina.

  Right away, I was hit by order after order. The lunch rush had begun and did not slow down for the next three hours.

  Fifteen

  Crowds continued to arrive. It was, as my dad had said, the perfect weather. Sunny and crisp, but not cold. Those who lived here refused to believe it was almost winter; they were the ones drinking lemonade. Those from out of state, who lived south of us, were excited by the prospect of colder weather coming to their homes in the next few months and they drank hot chocolate and hot apple cider. It was not a one hundred percent accurate test of local versus nonlocal, but pretty close.

  I made up for being late by working hard for a solid four hours. I barely stopped, running back to the kitchen over a dozen times for more buns, more plates, more cups, and various food items. My father brought Avi on her break and the two of them, along with Lisieux, ate on a sunny slope toward the back of the field. I devoured a hamburger in between serving customers.

  Thomas came by a few times, but each time I was too busy to say anything more than “Hi” and get him whatever food or drink he’d asked for.

  The sun was starting to get a little lower. I glanced at my phone; it was already after three.

  “Take a break,” Gigi said as she came behind me and noticed the time. “We have at least an hour before the dinner rush starts.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, not wanting to fall short on my responsibilities, while wanting to wander around the vendor booths and perhaps take the opportunity to run into Thomas.

  “Yes, go enjoy the festival,” she said. Resting her hands on her ketchup-and mustard-stained apron, she sat beside two of her friends.

  “Okay,” I said, more than ready for a break. I pulled off my greasy apron and ducked beneath the table.

  My feet kicked up leaves as I dodged trees, making my way to where the musicians were playing. I had no musical ability, but I loved music and I especially loved music played outside on a fall day. Something about that combination brought more joy than either the music or the day did by itself. It somehow reminded me the world was, at its core, a good place.

  I glanced toward the tent housing the silent auction items. There was a large crowd with Thomas in the middle of it. I decided I’d try to meet him later, toward the end of my break.

  I found an empty spot on the hill, looking down at the stage and sat, rolling up my sleeves so the sun could warm my skin. I leaned back against the hill and closed my eyes, listening to the singer’s voice spread through the countryside. Children ran around me, but I kept my eyes closed, enjoying the feel of the sun on my face.

  I felt someone sit beside me and reluctantly opened my eyes.

  “Luca?” I said, surprised that he was sitting next to me, watching a new singer take the stage.

  “Do you mind if I sit here? The rest of the hill is full,” he said.

  I sat up. He was right; people had filled in all around me.

  “That’s fine,” I said, startled at his closeness. I had purposely avoided him since he told me evil was stalking my family and killed my mom. “I didn’t think you’d be here,” I said, taking my hair out of the ponytail and picking out a few strands of dead grass before putting it back up again.

  “Uncle Jace and Aunt Sam wanted to come, so I decided to ride along.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, not interested in saying more to him.

  He continued speaking with an edge of nostalgia in his voice. “My mom loved this kind of stuff, so it seemed like I should be here.”

  I sat forward, wishing I knew what I was supposed to do in such a moment. It wasn’t his fault his mom was dead and his dad wanted nothing to do with him. It wasn’t even his fault he passed out at the inn and believed it was because he could feel evil. None of that was his fault, I decided.

  The bluegrass music quickened, making the awkwardness of the moment stand out even more.

  “What was she like?” I asked, deciding to forgive him for being so weird.

  He rubbed his right hand against his short hair. “Sort of hard to describe, I guess. Some days I understood her. A lot of days I didn’t,” he said pensively.

  “I’m sure she had her reasons,” I said, trying to be comforting.

  He nodded silently. “Sam said you made all the signs for the festival.”

  “I did,” I said proudly.

  “They’re good. Very pretty, really,” he added thoughtfully. “It’s a shame they aren’t made on something stronger than poster board, so you can keep using them.”

  “Then I couldn’t make new ones every year,” I said with delight. “People often have reasons for doing things, even if they don’t make sense to others. Maybe your mom was the same way,” I said.

  His face softened. “Maybe,” he said.

  I looked at my phone. It was later than I realized. “I need to get going,” I said. “My break will be over soon and I haven’t stopped by my favorite booths.”

  “Which ones are those?” he asked.

  It was a legitimate question. There were more than eighty, selling practically every homemade thing you could think of: quilts, woodwork, pies, candles, lotions, toys, oven mitts, you name it. All was here.

  “I have a few favorites that sell soaps and candles. I buy from them every year,” I said as I rocked forward to a standing position.

  Luca gazed up at me, holding his hand up to block the sun. “That’s what my mom would buy if she were here.” He lowered his hand and leaned back against the hill, watching the musician.

  I slowly left him, wondering if I should have said anything more, or not.

  I wandered through the booths until I found my favorite one. I spent far too long sniffing; ultimately I decided on rosemary-mint and lavender-vanilla soaps. The candle I chose was beeswax mixed with mint.

  I carried the bag past the church, to my dad’s parked car. I opened the passenger side and placed the package on the floorboard. From the looks of the other bags strewn about the car, I wasn’t the only one who went shopping today. I shut the door and glimpsed Luca from the corner of my eye. He was standing at the entrance of the church; he hesitated and then opened the door.

  Sam and Jason were not religious people, or at least not the type of religious people who went to church. I’d assumed the same about Luca, and maybe even more than that. It would not shock me for Sam or Jason to go into a church or even attend a service every once in a while. As I thought it about, I realized it would shock me if Luca did any of those things.

  I checked my phone. I had ten minutes before I said I’d be back at the cantina. I went to the front of the church, opened the door, and then gently closed it behind me. I stepped lightly through the narthex and into the nave, and saw Luca. He didn’t hear me. The room was dimly lit by sunlight and the red candle burning by the tabernacle near the altar. Luca moved forward, stopped at a pew a few rows from the front, and sat down. He waited, looking from side to side. He stood and moved cautiously to the front pew. He slid into the pew, facing the front of the church. He was still unaware of my presence.

  I hesitated, unsure of what to do. Sh
ould I go toward him, should I sit in the back, or should I leave?

  Without my fully deciding what to do, my body began moving forward. I was suddenly beside the pew he was sitting in. I genuflected and sat down beside him. He turned to me in understandable surprise. I wasn’t sure why I was there, either. I sat back and stared at the tabernacle—the music and laughter from outside was loud in the sanctuary.

  “Did you follow me here?” he asked.

  “No!” I said, embarrassed it must have appeared that way. “I saw you come in. Why did you?”

  “So, you followed me here,” he said with the slightest hint of amusement.

  “No, I was curious why you were coming in here,” I said, keeping my voice a low whisper. “You don’t strike me as someone who goes to church.”

  “If that wasn’t true, I’d be offended,” he said, also in a whisper. “But you aren’t wrong. I was outside and I felt something. It made me curious, so I came inside.”

  “Something evil?” I asked.

  “No,” he said with force. “Evil makes me feel sick and repulses me. This makes me feel good and my instinct was to come closer.”

  “So, it’s good?”

  He paused as if focusing on what he was feeling. “Yes.” He inhaled peacefully, as if smelling something sweet. “It’s good.”

  “Have you been in a church before?” I asked. “Churches have a nice feeling to them.”

  “I’ve been in a few. My mom would take me, sometimes, when I was little. None of them felt like this. This isn’t a good vibe, this is … a presence of some sort.”

  “A presence?”

  “Like someone is here, someone is good. It isn’t the building. It’s like a person or something.”

  “I’m here,” I said.

  He laughed out loud. “It isn’t you, though I’m glad you don’t suffer from low self-esteem. I felt it from outside, before you were in here.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  He shook his head slowly, studying his feelings. “It’s coming from up there,” he said, bending his head toward the altar. “Can I go up there?”